She knew now that he never would. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad.
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