Edward Marston - The Merry Devils

'Where will you be lodged, sir?' asked the sergeant roughly.

'Lodged?'

'Our guests here choose their favourite chambers." Another harsh laugh rang out. 'There's fourteen prisons in London and we're the best, sir, if you have the garnish for it.'

'Garnish?'

As soon as he spoke the word, Nicholas understood its meaning. The Counter ran on bribery. It was not the nature of his offence or the severity of his sentence which determined a prisoner's accommodation. It was his ability to pay. Those with a long purse could buy almost anything but their freedom.

'We have three grades of lodging here,' said the sergeant.

'What are they, sir?'

'First, there's the Master's Side. That's where you’ll find the most comfortable quarters, sir. There’ll be fresh straw in your cell and sheets that are almost clean.'

'How much will that cost?' asked Nicholas.

'I'll have to put your name in the Black Book,' said the sergeant, opening the tome in front of him. 'That will need a couple of shillings from you. And at each doorway you pass through on your way, the turnkey will expect no less.'

Nicholas made a quick calculation. His money was limited and he had to try to make it last. It was common knowledge that to be poor in prison was to be buried alive. He had to hold out until he could get help from outside.

'What is the next grade of lodging, sergeant?' he said.

'That would be the Knight's Side, sir.'

'How much is that?'

'Half as much but less than half as cosy. You'll get straw on the Knight's Side but you have to shake the rats from it first. You'll have a sheet but you'll have to fight for it with the others. There's meat and claret to wash it down, if you've the garnish, and tobacco to take away the stink of your habitation.'

'You said there were three grades, sergeant.'

The harsh laugh grated on the prisoner's ear again.

'Shall I tell you what we call it, sir?'

'What?'

'The Hole.'

'Why?'

'You'll soon find out, sir,' said the sergeant. 'There's some as likes to lie in their own soil and feed off beetles. There's some as prefers four walls with never a window in them. There's some as would rather starve to death down there than pay a penny to an honest gaoler .' He crooked his finger to beckon Nicholas forward. 'I'll tell you this much, Master Bracewell. We puts more in the Hole than ever we takes out.'

'I'll choose the Knight's Side,' said the prisoner.

'Not the Master's?'

'No, sir.'

'Very well.'

The sergeant put his name in the black prison register then charged him for the effort. He was about to motion up an officer who stood at the back of the room when Nicholas interrupted him.

'I must send a message to someone.'

'Oh, now that could be expensive, sir.'

'How much?'

'It's against the regulations for us to take messages out of here. We'd need a lot to sweeten us on that score. It would depend on how long the message was and how far it had to go.'

Nicholas haggled for a few minutes then struck a bargain. He borrowed the quill to scribble some words on the parchment then he rolled it up, flattened it out, and appended the name and address. It cost him five shillings, over half of his weekly wage. As he watched his message disappearing into the sergeant's pocket, he wondered if it would ever be delivered.

'It's late, sir. You'll be taken to the Knight's Side.'

'Thank you.'

The officer came forward to escort Nicholas through a series of locked doors. Each time they stopped, the prisoner had to pay the turnkey to be let through. It was extortion but he had to submit to it. Eventually, he reached his quarters.

'Go on in, sir,' said the officer.

'Will I be alone?'

'Oh no, sir. You've lots of company there and you'll hear lots more.' He gave a chuckle. 'The cell is next to the jakes.'

He pushed Nicholas in and walked away.

It was a bad time to arrive. It was pitch dark in the cramped cell and the other prisoners were asleep. They stirred angrily when they sensed a newcomer. All the best places had been taken and there was nowhere for Nicholas to lie down properly. As he felt his way around in the gloom, he became aware of his bedfellows. One punched him, another bit his arm, a third shrank away in fear and a fourth cried out for some affection and tried to stroke his leg.

Nicholas found a space where he could sit against the wall with his knees up in front of him. There was no straw and no covering. It was warm, unwholesome and oppressive. If this was the quality of lodging offered in Knight's Side, he wondered how much more terrible it must be to get thrown into the Hole.

The officer had been right about the proximity of the privy. Prisoners shuffled in and out all night. Nicholas was kept awake by the noise and stench of their evacuations. It was like lying in a pig sty and he wondered how long he could survive it. Certainly, his purse would not gain him many privileges. Nearly all his money had gone already and he had no means of acquiring any more at short notice. As a hand groped across for his purse, lie saw that he would have a job to hold on to what he still had.

There was one tiny consolation. The squalor of his surroundings brought him fully awake and helped him to shake off the lingering effects of the bang on the head. Though he still could not remember what happened between his arrest and his arrival at the Counter, his brain was no longer swimming. Revolted by his situation, it was working madly to get him out of it.

He reconstructed his day in his mind. An early start after a nourishing breakfast at his lodgings. Rehearsal then performance of Love and fortune. The removal of one load of costumes, properties and scenic items followed by the organisation of another for the morrow. An evening with Edmund Hoode and too much drink. The walk home and the unexpected attack by three men with a firm purpose.

They had succeeded in what they had set out to do. Nicholas sat up stiffly as realisation dawned. He now saw why he had been the target of the assault and what the men hoped to achieve.

It was all part of a logical pattern.

He was next.

Night was far worse than day in the hospital of St Mary of Bethlehem. It seemed longer, darker and infinitely more sinister. While the rest of London slumbered peacefully, madness was abroad in Bedlam. Strange, unreal, inhuman cries would pierce the ear and reverberate around the corridors. Someone sang hymns at the top of his voice until he was beaten then religion became a long howl of pain. Those who could not sleep woke those who could. There were fights among inmates, attacks on keepers and lacerating self-scourging. Tumescent males tried to reach the female patients. Wild-eyed maniacs tried to escape. There was such a fierce mixture of nocturnal suffering that it sounded as if the whole of Bedlam was in the process of committing suicide.

Kirk hated it. He had been put on night duty as a punishment and spent most of his time rushing to different parts of the building to cope with an emergency. The whip was even more effective than the kind word at night. He was ashamed of his skill with the former. It had long since dawned on him that he could stay at the hospital for ever. It was destroying his soul and his belief in God. All that kept him there was the hope that he might be able to rescue at least one man from the shackles of his madness.

David was now out of reach. Rooksley had taken away Kirk's key to the young man's chamber. All that the new keeper could do was to peer at his friend through the grille on the door. David was quiet that night. As pandemonium raged around him, he lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Watching him from outside, Kirk wondered what thoughts were going through the man's mind and what secrets lay hidden there. If he could find the key to unlock that mind, it would unlock the doors of Bedlam for David as well.