I promised Trim I would join him shortly in the Tap Room and returned to my room to change my shirt. Fleet was lying stretched out upon his bed, thankfully still dressed in his banyan, though his stockings and breeches lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was smoking a pipe and reading a dog-eared pamphlet called
A TREATISE on the USE of
FLOGGING
In Venereal Affairs
Translated into English
By a PHYSICIAN
To which is Added
A TREATISE OF HERMAPHRODITES.
He had made notes in the margin, with exclamation points.
I could feel his eyes upon my back as I stripped off my shirt and took out the clothes Charles had sent.
‘You’ve taken a nasty beating, Mr Hawkins.’
‘I was attacked last night.’ I turned to face him, buttoning up the plain white shirt. ‘They took my purse. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Is that so.’ He breathed out a long stream of smoke. There was no surprise in his voice; no question. ‘Fate can be cruel.’
‘I don’t believe in Fate,’ I said, crossly.
My response – or perhaps my ill-temper – seemed to please him enormously, but he said nothing, just stared at me in that strange, intense way of his. I felt a sudden desire to strike him, or run from the room. I had never met a man who could provoke so easily, with just a look, or a knowing smile. But I had brewed up enough drama for one day. I held up the suit Charles had sent over. The coat was a little worn but the breeches and waistcoat were new and all were a better quality than the clothes Moll had lent me. They were also black – without a gold button or silver stitch to be seen. I slipped them on and was confronted with a terrible truth.
‘My God. I look like a country parson.’ I fixed my wig and hat and turned away from the glass before I saw my father in it. ‘Will you join us in the Tap Room, Mr Fleet?’
‘And ruin your evening? No, I think I shall stay here and work.’ He gave me a sly smile and returned to his pamphlet.
It was dark as I crossed the Park towards the Tap Room and I didn’t see Kitty until she called out to me. She was standing hidden beneath the tree outside Acton’s house.
‘How’s Jack?’
She pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders and gave a tight shake of her head.
‘Are you heading for home? When do the turnkeys lock the gates?’
‘Soon,’ she said, her glance sliding towards the Lodge. ‘But I sleep here in the prison. Mrs Bradshaw lets me bed down in the coffeehouse.’
‘Oh! Are you a prisoner? Locked in with your family?’ I had assumed Kitty had family in the Borough, and only worked in the gaol during the day.
