Andrew Pepper - The Last Days of Newgate

Campbell winced. ‘We’re not a violent people, Mr Hawkes. But you must understand, we regard the Roman Catholic religion as little more than idolatry; they worship symbols, the crucifix, statues of the Virgin Mary, rosary beads, while we worship Christ himself. For us, it’s about developing an interior relationship with God.’

‘And if God happens to instruct you to beat a Catholic man nearly to death with your bare fists?’

Campbell appeared shocked by such a notion. Arnold smirked. ‘That might happen in England. .’

‘But not here?’

‘We’re law-abiding people.’

Removing his wallet, Pyke took out a crisp ten-pound note and tossed it into the pot. ‘Your five and another five.’ Without missing a beat, he turned to Arnold. ‘You’re saying that kind of hate doesn’t have a place here?’

‘What? Around this table?’ Arnold said, mocking. Laughter filled the small room.

Pyke’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know what I meant.’

‘And things were fine here till Cromwell turned up and slaughtered folk in their thousands. Believe it or not, Mr Hawkes, we can sort out our problem without the help of the English.’ He looked again at his hand. ‘Another five, eh? Yes, I think I’ll have some of that,’ he said, throwing a pile of coins into the mounting pot.

‘I’m out,’ Tait said, folding his hand.

‘A pugilist with no stomach for a fight,’ Campbell chided.

‘I’ll see the both of you.’

Arnold wanted one fresh card, Campbell two. Pyke discarded a jack and a queen and dealt himself two new cards. Turning them over, he found himself staring at the six of spades and the ace of clubs. Together with the two sixes already in his hand and the six of clubs up his sleeve, it gave him an all but unbeatable hand.

He just needed to find a way of retrieving the hidden card and discarding the ace.

‘I’m surprised you don’t see Cromwell as something of a hero,’ Pyke said, feeling for the card up his sleeve.

‘How can an Englishman be a hero?’ Arnold smirked.

‘Anyway, the English have never understood what it’s actually like, having to live with the papists.’ He consulted his hand. ‘Would anyone object if I were to raise the bet to fifty pound?’

The mood quickly intensified. The gathered crowd murmured excitedly. This was more money than any of them would earn in ten years. Briefly, Pyke wondered whether someone might lose their head and make a grab for the whole pot.

‘Bet too rich for you, Bill?’ Arnold said.

Campbell winced. ‘Aye. Damn.’ He folded his hand.

Arnold’s stare returned to Pyke. ‘Hawkes?’

‘Fifty pounds, you say?’ Pyke had another look at his hand. ‘How about we raise the bet by a further hundred?’

‘Pounds?’ The word seemed to catch in Tait’s throat. Campbell stared at him without emotion.

Arnold weighed up the offer. ‘You’ve got the money to cover any losses, I presume?’

‘You can presume.’

‘On your person?’

Pyke raised his eyes to meet Arnold’s gaze. ‘You can check my wallet, if you don’t believe me.’ But he did not retrieve it from his jacket because he did not want Arnold to see how thin it was.

Arnold wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘A hundred, you say? That’s a powerful bet.’ He allowed a smile to ripple across his lips.

Until now it had not entered Pyke’s head that he might lose the hand. For Arnold to beat him, he would need to be holding four sevens. The odds of two such hands emerging from the same round were practically impossible. No, he decided, Arnold might be holding a strong hand, a flush perhaps, but nothing that would beat his four sixes. He glanced down at the pile of coins and banknotes on the table.

‘Aye, I’ll see your bet,’ Arnold said, his hands trembling a little. ‘Let’s see what you’re holdin’.’

Concealed by the table, Pyke let the ace slip out of his hand into his lap. He then placed the four cards face down on the table and turned them over one at a time. ‘One six, two sixes, three sixes.’ He waited for a moment before turning over the final card. ‘Four sixes.’ He permitted himself a smile and, as he did so, took a moment to slide the discarded ace up his sleeve.

‘Good hand,’ Campbell murmured, glancing nervously at Arnold.

‘Aye,’ Arnold said, staring drily at Pyke.

As casually as he could manage, he threw his hand down on the table, as though to concede defeat.

‘Would ye away a’ that.’ It was only then he smiled.

‘Four sevens.’ He motioned at the cards. ‘Check ’em if you don’t believe me.’ Now the grin had spread across his face. Addressing Pyke as though the others were not even in the room, he said, ‘That’s one hundred and fifty pound ye owe me.’ An excited cheer erupted from the onlookers. ‘Make no mistake, mister, I plan on collectin’ the money, too.’

That Arnold might also have cheated was indicated by the man’s general demeanour and the sheer mathematical improbability of two such strong hands appearing in the same round.

But since Pyke had not even considered the possibility he might lose, it was only once he had actually lost, and had been seen to lose, that the seriousness of his situation became apparent.

He had gambled unnecessarily, allowed his dislike of Arnold to cloud his judgement, and now, since he could not pay what he owed, his prospects were bleak. He estimated there were ten or twelve labouring men in the room, in addition to Arnold and the ex-pugilist, who would relish the opportunity to work him over with their bare fists. As a man with no acquaintances or allies, his life was marginally more valuable than that of the crippled dog that had followed him to the tavern. And any of those men would have killed that dog and given it less thought than whether to order an ale or a stout from the bar.

Briefly, Pyke considered his options, or lack of them. Without a weapon, he could not hope to fight his way out of the tavern. Nor could he simply bolt for the nearest exit. The only way out of the cellar was up the staircase and into the waiting arms, and brickbats, of the mob gathered in the taproom.

To compound his discomfort, it was now unbearably hot, because of the turf fire and the sheer number of bodies packed into the small room. Pyke’s armpits were leaking sweat and his throat felt scratchy. Arnold wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket for the third time in as many minutes, before declaring that the time was right for Pyke to settle his debt.

Pyke took a breath, removed his jacket, making sure to retain his wallet, and asked whether it might be possible for him to visit the privy before he attended to the matter in hand. Initially Arnold baulked at such a suggestion but eventually relented, once it was agreed that the pugilist would accompany him as far as the privy door; this was as much of a plan as Pyke had formed.

The outdoor privy was much darker than Pyke had expected. In fact, it was so dark he had to place himself over the privy itself before he could relieve himself. The stench was vile. Outside, he heard Tait tap on the door and ask whether he was done, but he did not hear the movement inside the privy until it was too late; a shuffle of feet and then a click. Something hard and cold — the barrel of a pistol — was pressed into his head.

For a moment, he was stunned at the inappropriateness of it; that he should be killed in such a place, in such a pointless manner. It seemed almost comical. He braced himself for the shot.

‘So how did ye do?’

Pyke heard Megan’s voice but still could not see her in the darkness.

Outside, Tait rapped on the door. Pyke could hear other voices now, too.

‘They tell me it’s loaded but, to be sure, I didn’t check,’ Megan whispered.