She stole from the lobby sad at heart. She had no longer the courage to
face the dangers of the street. The deep shadow of great St. Paul's,
sacred building though it was, afforded her no protection; it spoke
rather of cut-throats, footpads, ruffians ready for any outrage. The din
of voices, the sounds of brawling reached her from Cheapside. The London
'prentices let loose from toil and routine were out for boisterous
enjoyment and may be devilry. She dared not go further eastward.
The only goal of safety she could think of was the coffee house in the
Old Bailey. Why should she be afraid of her mother?
"She won't lock me up again. I'll take good care of that. I suppose she
thinks I'm still a child. Mother's mistaken as she'll find out."
So she wheeled round and went back to Ludgate Hill, keeping close to the
houses so that she should not attract attention.
CHAPTER XI
LAVINIA'S PILGRIMAGE
It was past nine when Lavinia turned into the Old Bailey. The chief
trade done by the coffee house was in the early morning. After market
hours there were few customers save when there was to be an execution at
Tyburn the next morning, and those eager to secure a good sight of the
ghastly procession and perhaps take part in it, assembled opposite the
prison door over night. Mrs. Fenton in the evenings thought no more of
business, but betook herself to the theatre or one of the pleasure
gardens in the outskirts of London.
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