She was not permitted to
pass from beneath its shelter. The canopy kept pace with her, closing
behind. And in this way the procession set out to cross Lincoln's Inn
Fields amid cheers and shouts of "Pretty Polly Peachum!"
It would seem as though the services of Polly's protectors were not
wholly unneeded. As she emerged from the door and the gallants closed
round her there was a sudden movement in the mob, a fellow forced his
way through, hurling curses at anyone who tried to stop him. Apparently
his object was to get to a man standing close to the bodyguard. Anyway,
when the intruder was behind this man a woman's scream pierced the din
of voices, then came the report of a pistol and the man staggered. Those
nearest him, seized with panic, fell back and he sank to the ground.
A woman was seen to fling herself on her knees, bend over the body and
gaze into the face already becoming ashen. The next instant she sprang
to her feet, her features drawn, her eyes blazing. Pointing to the
assassin who was rushing through the crowd she begged someone to stop
him, but the big pistol he was flourishing deterred them.
"Cowards!" she screamed in fury. "Will no one seize a murderer? If
you're men you'll help me."
She made a wild rush in the direction the ruffian had taken and a score
or so of apprentices and a handful of Clare Market butchers recovering
from their surprise joined her.
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