Jenings bit his lip. ‘I’ve been here a half hour, sir. Did you see something?’ He glanced nervously towards the window.
‘Oh, no more of that nonsense, I beg you.’ Mack yawned and stretched his arms above his head. ‘He thinks the prison’s haunted, Mr Hawkins. He’ll fill your head with ghosts and devils if you’ll let him.’
Jenings frowned across the table. ‘I know what I saw. It was the captain, back from the grave.’
Mack snorted. ‘Well, next time you see him, remind the old bastard he still owes me three guineas. I’ve asked Widow Roberts several times with no luck.’ He pulled a sour face. ‘Penny-scrimping harridan.’
‘Mrs Carey swore she heard something, a few nights ago,’ Trim said, scratching his jaw.
Mack groaned. ‘For God’s sake, will you let it rest, the pair of you! John Roberts is not haunting the Marshalsea. He hated this damned place – wouldn’t come back if the angels themselves begged him… Ah! Here’s the punch.’
And with that, the talk of ghosts was forgotten. Trim pulled out a set of dice and we played a few rounds of Hazard. As we played I recounted the adventures and misfortunes of my life and how they had led me to a cell in the Marshalsea. As the punch flowed and the rest of the ward joined us the stories grew wilder. I was part way through a somewhat intimate explanation of how to tell identical twin sisters apart when Jenings stood up, scraping back his chair.
‘Mr Jenings is a little out of sorts,’ Trim observed, settling down his punch with a slow, weaving hand. I was glad he’d offered to shave me at the beginning of the evening.
Mack snorted. ‘Wouldn’t do for our church warden to approve of such things, now would it?’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ I said. I hadn’t realised he was Woodburn’s assistant. ‘I trust I haven’t offended you.’
Jenings loomed over me. ‘It is God’s forgiveness you should seek, Mr Hawkins. But I think you know that, in your heart. I should start my rounds.’ He picked up his hat and club and gave us all a short bow. ‘Gentlemen.’
With my story told I sat back and let the rest of the company take over. Everyone was keen to offer advice and I was happy to take it – the more I understood about the running of the gaol the better. All was cantering along merrily enough until I mentioned my new roommate. The conversation stumbled to a halt.
‘Tell me,’ I said, searching their faces. ‘What sort of a man is Mr Fleet?’
The men looked at one another, hoping someone else might answer.
