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Private Notes
Meet Smith: small buy wiry, like a cat in an alley - as a young pickpocket needs to be in the stews of eighteenth-century London. He is on the run, and in mortal danger from enemies both known and unknown...
Smith is desperate to understand the significance of a document that he has stolen. But a little learning is a vastly dangerous thing. Is the advice he receives friendly or hostile? And should he regard Mr. Mansfield and his daughter as friends, or enemies?
Smith is heartbroken and betrayed, with the document no longer in his possession. Once again, he finds himself hunted and homeless - with nothing to lose but his life.
Smith; perjured against and bewildered. Friends have become enemies overnight, Mr. Welsh sings the 'Tiburon Carol'... and the 'dockiment' still rules all.
New Year and bitter cold - and there is nowhere more bitter than Newgate gaol. Though a warm heart still rules one head, the devil appears in many guises - and those who choose to sup with him will need a long spoon.
Smith, hounded and hunter, finds that he is not without friends - and that freedom is but a narrow climb towards the sky; then a skip and a scramble over the roofs and away!
He that is down need fear no fail... and Smith is down. As is blind Mr. Mansfield, J.P. But there's none so blind as those that will not see. Smith sees, at last, cold and clear...
Smith, and Jack - Black Jack, Jack Black... limping, smiling, whispering Jack. But there's gallantry on the common too, riding high on the snaffling lay. And justice is done to all - even Smith. So God Save the King!
