were up for trial at the Lent assizes; the rest were already judged and sentenced, mostly to transportation. And of those fourteen, three were women-Mary (known as Maisie) Harding, charged with receiving stolen goods-Betty Mason, charged with stealing a purse containing fifteen guineas from a house in Henbury-and Bess Parker, charged with housebreaking in North Nibley and the theft of two linen garments. Bess Parker had formed a firm relationship with a 1783 felon, Ned Pugh; Betty Mason had bewitched an under-gaoler named Johnny. Both were due to have babies at any moment.
What a fine little world is ours! Richard reflected wryly. A common-room one can hardly stand up in, and, when a gaoler opens the gate, a disgusting men’s dormitory up the steps. He had become quite case-hardened; stripped and bathed at the pump in an airless black cell without regard for the women, washed his bum rags under it with calm unimpaired, and filtered his drinking water through his dripstone under the gaze of more than three dozen pairs of incredulous eyes. A degree of selfishness had crept into him, for he made no attempt to share his purified water with either Lizzie or Willy; the dripstone was slow, taking an hour to produce two pints of filtered water. Nor did he share his soap or rags. What few pence he disbursed from his hoard went to Maisie, the laundress, for washing his underdrawers, shirts and stockings; as for breeches and other outer wear-well, they simply stank of sweat.
Maisie was the only one of the women without a protector and dispensed her favors gratis, whereas two or three of the others could be had for a mug of gin. When the urge visited a couple, they lay down on whatever vacant piece of floor they could find, or, failing that, stood against the wall. Not an erotic business, as clothes stayed on and the most a curious individual could see was a glimpse of a fleshy pole or hairy mound, though usually not even that. What fascinated Richard most was that none of the copulating happened in one of the adjacent cells; everybody seemed terrified of the dark.
Bess Parker and Betty Mason broke their waters on the felons’ common-room floor early in March and were carried off to the female dormitory to finish the birthing process in that foul place. Two other women were nursing babies born in Gloucester Gaol, and Maisie had a toddler she had brought into gaol with her. Most of the babes died at or soon after birth. Toddlers were a miracle.
But there was plenty of work to do, a blessing. Richard was put to carrying limestone blocks from the castle dock to the new prison, which gave him both fresh air and a chance to look around. Gloucester’s tiny port was just north of the castle precinct on the same bank of the Severn, which was navigable to this point for small snows and large barges. One of the town’s two foundries made church bells, whereas the other contented itself with small iron items readily sold in the neighborhood. They gave out smoke, but not nearly enough to foul the air, which Richard found sweet and crisp. Nor did the Severn look fouled, though the endemic gaol fever indicated that the gaol’s water source was contaminated. Or else it was spread by the fleas and lice, which Richard dealt with by scrubbing his filthy pallet with oil of tar and keeping himself and his clothes picked over constantly. Oh, God, to be clean! To live clean! To have a meed of privacy!
The gaol fever broke out scant days after Richard and Willy were admitted, which brought the population of the common-room down from forty to twenty; only a small influx of new faces kept the number due to be tried at fourteen.
Time and shared work had introduced him to all the men, some of whom he found himself able to like well enough to call them friends: William Whiting, James Price and Joseph Long. They were all on the Lent assizes list with him.
Whiting stood accused of stealing a wether sheep at the same place had harbored Richard and Willy amid the straw of the Stars and Plough, Almondsbury.
“Absolute rubbish!” said Whiting, who was a regular wag. No one was quite sure if what he said could be taken seriously. “Why on earth would
“Desperate, Bill?” asked Richard without cracking a smile.
“Not so much desperate as-well, I plain like fucking, and a sheep’s arse feels much the same as a woman’s quim,” said Whiting chirpily. “Smells the same, at any rate, and ’tis a bit tighter. Besides, sheep don’t answer back. See, ye stick its back legs in the tops of your boots and away ye go.”
“Whether it is bestiality or sheep stealing, Bill, ye’re up for the rope. But why
“Could not wait, just could not wait. Had the loveliest face-reminded me of a parson I once knew.”
Richard gave up.
Jimmy Price was a Somerset yokel with a poor head for rum. He and a companion had robbed three houses in Westbury-upon-Trim and stolen a large quantity of beef, pork and mutton, three hats, two coats, an embroidered waistcoat, riding boots, a musket and two green silk umbrellas. His confederate, whom he called Peter, had since perished of the gaol fever. He was unrepentant because he considered his conduct blameless. “Didn’t mean to do it-don’t remember doing it,” he explained. “What would I need with two green silk umbrellas? Ain’t nowhere to sell them in Westbury. Wasn’t hungry neither, and none of the clothes fit me or Peter. And never took no powder or shot for the musket.”
The third of the trio, whom Richard pitied deeply, was far sadder. Weak-willed, weak-witted, Joey Long had stolen a silver watch in Slimbridge. “I were drunk,” he said simply, “and it were so pretty.”
Of course Richard had answered the same sort of questions; the felons’ common-room was a kind of Grand Larceny Club. His explanation was always brief: “Extortion and grand larceny. A note of hand for five hundred pounds and a steel watch.” A reply which earned him much respect, even from Isaac Rogers.
“A useful term, grand larceny,” he said to Bill Whiting as they lugged limestone blocks; Whiting was literate and intelligent. “For me, a steel watch. For poor Bess Parker, a couple of workaday linen shifts worth sixpence, if that. For Rogers, four gallons of brandy and forty-five hundred-weight of best hyson tea at a pound a pound retail. Over five thousand in plunder. Yet we are all charged with grand larceny. It is senseless.”
“Rogers will dance,” was Whiting’s comment.
“Lizzie got the sus. per coll. for stealing three hats.”
“Repeated offenses, Richard,” said Whiting with a laugh. “She was supposed to reform her ways and never do it again. The trouble is that we are most of us drunk at the time. Blame the booze.”
The two Cousins James arrived in Gloucester by hired post chaise on Monday, the 21st of March. As they could find no decent accommodation in the town itself, they ended in putting up at the Harvest Moon, in the barn of which Richard and Willy had spent their last night before entering Gloucester Gaol.
Like Richard, they had confidently expected to find the new prison more bearable by far than the old. Besides, they had not imagined that any prison could be worse than the Bristol Newgate.
“It is pretty fair at the moment, Cousin James, Cousin James,” said Richard, surprised at their horror when conducted into the felons’ common-room. “The gaol fever has cleared it out greatly.” He had pecked each of them on the mouth, but would not let them enfold him in hugs. “I stink,” he said.
A table and benches had suddenly appeared after the Sunday service; warned that the Parliament was paying severe attention to John Howard’s report on debtors’ prisons and that in consequence the Baron Eyre might ask to inspect his premises, the head gaoler had responded by doing what he could.
“How is Father?” was Richard’s first question.
“Not well enough to make the journey, but better all the same. He sends his love,” said Cousin James-the- druggist. “And prayers.”
“Mum?”
“Herself. She sends her love and prayers too.”
The Cousins James were amazed at how well Richard looked. His coat, waistcoat and breeches were very smelly and shabby, but his shirt and stockings were clean, as were the rags padding his ankle irons. The hair was cropped as short as it had been in the Newgate and showed no sprinkling of grey; his nails were clean and well trimmed, his face freshly shaven; and his skin showed not a single line. The eyes were remote and stern, a little terrifying.
