I picked my way across the room to what I decided must be my bed and cleared it of a small library of chapbooks, broadsides, novels and even – to my surprise – a bound and printed sermon. I had not taken Fleet as a man of faith. There was a short, hand-written message on the inside cover:
This usefull Discourse is
given to be seriously perused
and to be lent
about to other persons
gratis but must not
be sold, pawn’d or kept
too long nor be ill used
by any Reader
Rev’d Andrew Woodburn, 1725
The next several pages had been torn out, with some force.
I took out the coins Jakes had secured for me along with Moll’s half a guinea and laid them out upon the bed. I had walked out into the Park with the urgent intention of increasing my funds and two hours later was short almost a shilling. No more good turns, I warned myself again sternly. I couldn’t afford them.
I pulled off my jacket and lay down, closing my eyes. When I came to, the sun was setting, and a bell was ringing somewhere out in the Borough. I swallowed painfully, mouth dry and heavy. My head was pounding and my body ached from my beating the night before.
I ran my fingers carefully along my ribs. I had been lucky – there was no serious damage. At times the night’s attack felt like a fevered dream, so much had happened in the hours since I’d walked down that cursed alley. But now it felt close again, the memories playing round and round in my head, my cuts and bruises tingling and throbbing as if freshly made. If I had not gone with that link boy. If I had paid more attention to where we were going…
I made myself a pipe and limped across to a chair by the window. Outside, the nightwatchman was lighting the lamp in the middle of the yard while the prisoners wandered past in the long shadows. For the first time since my arrival, a kind of peace descended on the Marshalsea.
I was just beginning to doze off again when there was a smart rap at the door. I sat up, startled, to find a fit, dapper man of about thirty leaning against the doorway, studying me in a friendly way. He was well turned out, with a spotless lace-trimmed shirt and good wool breeches. He stepped like a dancer through the piles of Fleet’s belongings and offered his hand, his small, soft brown eyes shining with good humour. Some men one likes at once. I liked Trim at once.
‘How do you do, sir.’
‘How do you do, Mr…?’
‘Trim. Just Trim,’ he smiled. ‘The barber.’ He jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. ‘We’re neighbours.’
