walls and, for all that I bridled under the laughter of these wretched men and women, yet I pitied them also, for, truly, Newgate is a habitation of misery and quite the worst place in London.
Inside was yet more pandemonium, there being a great many dogs and cats, poultry and pigs, to say nothing of the roaches and rats that there abound, so that the smell of animals and their excrements being added to the reek of ale and strong water that were brewed there, as well as the smoke of fires and the cold and the damp, can make a man’s head ache for want of good air.
There were four quarters to Newgate: the Condemned Hold in the cellars; the Press Yard; the Master’s Side; and the Keeper’s Lodge, where ale and tobacco were sold and where we met Mister Fell, the head keeper. Fell was a knavish-looking fellow, with a badly pox-marked face and a nose that resembled a small potato gone to seed, sprouting several greenish hairs from his nostrils.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said, grinning boozily. “Will you have some comfort? Some mum, perhaps?”
We had some of his mum, for the comfort in his strong water smelled none too palatable, and we drank each other’s health with more optimism than was warranted in that foul place.
“’Tis a great pleasure,” Mister Fell said to me, “to be the messenger of important information to a gentleman such as yourself, sir, who is the friend of Doctor Newton, who does so much to keep us all in work.” He laughed unpleasantly, and added, “I shall not keep you in suspense. Except to say that you must excuse me if my first enquiry relates to the squeamish matter of compensation, for nobody can help the frailty of poverty, sir.”
His poverty I doubted, for I knew that, as head keeper, Fell could make at least several hundred pounds a year in garnish. But I humoured him for the want of his information.
“If your information be good, I’ll warrant you’ll be well rewarded by my master.”
Fell delved into his pockets, scratched his arse for a moment, and then retrieved a gold guinea which he polished briefly on his filthy coat and then laid down upon the table.
“But if my guinea be not good?” he said. “What then? Will it be replaced by a proper yellow boy?”
“You have my word upon it, sir,” I replied, and scrutinised the coin most carefully. “But what makes you think it is bad? Faith, sir, it bears my own examination well enough, although, in truth, I’m not as well acquainted with golden guineas as I should care to be.”
I handed the coin to Mister Hall, who bit the coin hard with no discernible damage. “Aye, sir,” he said. “It looks and tastes all right.”
“Why, sir,” said Mister Fell, “to look at and to chew upon, it passes well enough, don’t it? But then answer me this: Why would a man say a guinea was not real if it were indeed a true coin?”
“You make a good point, Mister Fell,” I said. “Pray tell me more of this man you mention.”
“Yesterday evening there was a fight at The Cock, in Threadneedle Street. Mister Berningham bought his chop at a butcher’s shop in Finch Lane and, as was his wont, took it to The Cock to be cooked, but eating it liked it no more than if it had not been cooked at all, and quarrelled with the landlord; and, drawing upon him, ran him through the belly with his sword, whereupon he was arrested and brought here.
“He paid fifteen shillings for four weeks food, lodging, and strong waters, for I told him it would likely be that long afore his case came before the court. And five shillings in advance for his wife to come and visit him. He said she would come on Sunday afternoon. But later on, in his cups, he boasted to a prisoner named Ross, who keeps his ears sharp for me, that the yellow boy he had presented was counterfeit. Which put me in mind of Doctor Newton and yourself, sir, you two gentlemen being so very diligent in the enquiry of such felonies, sir.”
“You did right, Mister Fell,” said Mister Hall.
“Indeed, sir,” said I. “And we are obliged to you for your trouble. With your permission I should like to borrow this guinea to show to Doctor Newton. It shall be returned unless, if it proves to be counterfeit, it will certainly be replaced. And if your information leads to the arrest and conviction of its manufacturer, I daresay you will be rewarded as well.”
Mister Fell nodded slowly. “You may borrow it, sir. And I am very glad to have been of assistance to you.”
“Shall you require a receipt, Mister Fell?”
“No need of that, sir,” he grinned. “I have a fixed confidence in you and the Doctor, sir, as men of honour. Besides, we have two witnesses here that it’s my guinea what you are borrowing.”
“Did Mister Berningham say when his wife would visit on Sunday?”
“He did, sir. At around five o’clock, and that I should keep an eye our for her, as she was a lady, and not used to the Whit.”
“I’m obliged to you, Mister Fell.”
When at last I got home and to bed again I had a very restless night of it being too excited to sleep soundly, for the next day being St. Valentine’s Day, I was now possessed of the perfect excuse to be at my master’s house in the morning. It being the custom for a woman to take as her valentine and kiss the first person she saw, naturally I hoped to see Miss Barton in advance of any other and so become her valentine.
I rose from my bed at five o’clock since it was also Sunday and I decided I must arrive in Jermyn Street before eight o’clock as, very soon after that, Miss Barton would likely accompany her uncle to St. James’s Church. Finding myself lousy I washed myself with cold water and found in my head and my body above a dozen lice, little and great, which I did not wonder at after my visit to Newgate. Being the Lord’s Day there were no boats to carry me down to Westminster, nor any hackneys, although I should not have taken one, the fare being one and sixpence, and I was obliged to walk from the Tower to Piccadilly, which is a good distance, and took me almost two hours.
Upon arriving in Jermyn Street, I presented myself at my master’s door and knocked, but Mrs. Rogers, the housekeeper, would not open the door until I answered whether I was a man or woman.
“It is I, Christopher Ellis,” said I.
“Wait there, sir,” Mrs. Rogers told me.
And by and by the door was opened by Miss Barton herself. “I am mighty relieved it is you, dear Tom,” she said, using my pet name. “Quite careless of such important matters, my uncle has invited the Dean of St. James’s Church for dinner, and I do not think I would have wanted him as my valentine. He has breath like a stews, and I should have had a sermon and no embrace.”
“Then it is well that I came,” I said, and stepping into the parlour, Miss Barton let me kiss her, being the first time this had happened. This kiss was the most chaste I had had in many a year, and yet it did give me more pleasure than any other I had ever received; and which made Newton laugh out loud, something that I had not seen before that day.
That being done, to Miss Barton’s no less evident pleasure, upon our mirth subsiding, Mrs. Rogers fetched me some bread, a piece of hot salt beef and a tankard of hot buttered ale, and, much refreshed by my breakfast, I acquainted my master with the other reason for my attending him so early in the morning.
“And here was I thinking you had walked all the way here from the Tower solely on my account,” she said, affecting some disappointment. “Christopher Ellis, I do believe you have no more romance in your body than my uncle.”
But Newton expressed great satisfaction at the story of the golden guinea and, upon examining the coin, declared that we should, by experiment, test it in a crucible as soon as possible.
“But before then I should be grateful if you would escort Miss Barton and Mrs. Rogers to Church, this morning,” he said. “For it will require the work of a whole morning in my laboratory for me to build the heat up in the furnace.”
“I should be delighted, sir, if Miss Barton is not too disappointed in me.”
She said nothing.
“Or perhaps,” continued Newton, now addressing his niece, “you had hoped to have the Dean all to yourself over dinner. For I was going to ask Mister Ellis to stay and dine with us.”
Miss Barton closed her eyes for several moments, and then opening them again, she did give me her sweetest, most engaging smile.
And so I escorted Miss Barton and Mrs. Rogers to St. James’s Church, which gave me great pleasure, although it was the first time I had been in church a month of Sundays, and I had to endure a most tedious sermon of the Dean about Jacob wrestling with an Angel of the Lord, which was only made easier to bear by the content I found in having such a handsome girl as Miss Barton to look upon, and have squeeze my hand once or twice during the prayers.
