Michael Irwin - The Skull and the Nightingale

Mr Gilbert turned his face directly towards the sun and was silent for a moment, as though savouring the warmth on his thin cheeks.

‘I was once a regular visitor to the capital. But it is five years since I last was there, and I did not enjoy the experience. I found the din and the stench repellent and the social life artificial. Yes, yes, there was more to it than that, of course. But my recollections are of dirt, disorder and foolish gossip. I will not go to London again. Yet I need diversion, I need stimulation.’

With sudden earnestness Mr Gilbert placed a hand on my sleeve.

‘In consequence – in consequence I have devised an odd plan. Here I am, out of touch with London and life. The town demands a young man’s constitution, and a young man’s appetites. My proposal is that you should explore it on my behalf.’

I was floundering. ‘How so, sir? In what capacity?’

‘In the capacity of a young gentleman. You will stay in your present lodgings, and I will maintain you with a sufficient income. Your task will be to sample the life of the capital and convey to me your sense of it by regular letters.’

My spirits were rising. Was I really to live as I pleased and to be paid for doing so?

‘This is a most generous offer, sir. But what in particular–’

He silenced me with a gesture.

‘I leave the matter in your hands. When abroad you naturally felt obliged to see certain famous buildings and monuments; and you reported on them fittingly enough. Now I ask something different. Go where your own inclinations lead you. But write down what you see and hear and feel.’

I nodded, knew not what to say, so nodded once more.

‘Although I no longer care to visit London it interests me more than I can say. It is a mighty experiment – or assemblage of experiments. I want you to report on the resulting pleasures, oddities and extremities as you experience them.’

He stopped, but I remained silent, seeing that he was still ordering his thoughts. When he spoke again it was in the tone of one summing up an argument: ‘My hope is to be able to live two lives simultaneously – the familiar quiet existence here and, by proxy, a young man’s life in the town. But is my proposal agreeable to you?’

I took a deep breath. ‘How could it fail to be so?’

Mr Gilbert looked at me sharply: ‘So you have no misgivings?’

‘None, sir.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’ His face relaxed into a grim little smile. ‘I have some myself. It may be that we will lead one another into dark territory.’

It is a strange fact that a mere idea can alter one’s physical capacities. I am certain that in the excitement elicited by Mr Gilbert’s proposition I could have run faster or sprung higher than at other times. Cramped within a coach for the return journey to London I had no scope for physical exertion of any kind, and the confined energy heated my brain till it simmered like a kettle. Fortunately my fellow-travellers were taciturn, leaving me to occupy the two slow, jolting days in thought.

The effect was to modify my exultation. I began to think my task less simple than I had assumed. What topics would find favour with my godfather? Wherever I looked there were doubts. It seemed unlikely that he would derive much entertainment from drawing-room chatter: indeed he had positively implied an interest in livelier activities. I could undertake escapades of one sort or another; but my descriptions of such doings would require tact. Drunken pranks might be seen as doltish. I would not wish to play the carousing clown; yet if I were too squeamish my letters might prove tepid.

There was also dignity at stake. I was not so craven as to be willing to prostitute my entire waking life to Mr Gilbert’s requirements. If I was now to become a London gentleman I should do so on my own terms, and have interests of my own to pursue.

This line of thought led me to the notion that I could explore the town at more than one level. The modest dignity to which I aspired was not of a kind to prevent my enjoying mischief and carousal. Part of the time, however, I could wander the streets as a mere observer, sketching the singular, and often ugly, sights of London. There was much to be seen. I had long taken a passing interest in the work of builders, carpenters, glaziers, watermen and other such skilled artisans. The city teemed also with vendors, vagabonds, thieves and performers. Recording their doings would be an entertainment for me, and might provide material to divert my godfather. His responses would show me which of my activities he found most intriguing, and I would be guided accordingly.

A visit to Mr Ward gave me further encouragement. My godfather – who never went into such details in person – had handsomely adjusted my allowance to provide all the freedom I could wish for. Before commencing on my duties I could allow myself some pleasure. Needing to assuage my animal desires, which had by now become clamorous, I visited Mrs Traill’s admirable establishment in York Street, where the young ladies were warranted to be free of contamination. But although I was pleasured with efficiency my imagination was left sadly unengaged. I concluded, with some disgust, that I had merely relieved a physical need in a species of public privy. During my travels I had enjoyed some extended intrigues. Now settled in London I would need to look beyond Mrs Traill.

It was not surprising, therefore, that I thought again of Sarah Kinsey. My desire for her person had always been compounded with admiration for her intelligence, good sense and underlying spirit. Unless she and her aunt had left the town I might hope to find her out and revive our old intimacy. I looked forward to telling her about my changed situation. With her, if all went well, I could contrive a private life of which my godfather would be told nothing.

Meanwhile, to equip myself for the parts I had decided to play I made immediate appointments with hairdresser, tailor, hosier and shoe-maker. My revised wardrobe included two new frock suits and as many waistcoats, one scarlet and one blue. Resolved also to appear sufficiently formidable, I purchased a sword of a quality proper to the wounding of the highest gentleman in the land, should the occasion unluckily arise. In appearance, at least, I was now equipped to mingle in the best company.

Pursuing my plan I procured also a number of plain garments that might enable me to pass muster as merchant, traveller, or skilled workman. To master my new terrain I obtained the latest map of London, and carefully perused it. With a little simplification it could be seen as a rectangle, perhaps five miles wide by three miles deep. At the western extremity lay Hyde Park, at the eastern were Wapping and Mile End. To the north the thoroughfares seemed to trail into open country beyond Old Street and Great Ormond Street. The southern limit was a series of irregular clusterings along the further shore of the Thames. This tract of land had somehow become home to half a million people. What similar tract on the face of the globe could match it for variety of interest? There would surely be much to see and hear.

My dear Godfather,

How would the town now strike you? Perhaps as bewilderingly frantic. At Fork Hill all is tranquillity. Here the senses are ceaselessly assailed. To enter any of the main streets is to be thrust into competition: wagons, coaches, carriages, chaises, chairs and pedestrians vie for space and priority. All too easily the traffic thickens to a standstill. How it was kept in motion before the opening of Westminster Bridge I cannot guess. At the busier times of day even walking is a struggle that can too easily become a scuffle. The air is clouded with vapours, and there is an incessant rattling, clattering, rumbling and banging, diversified by shouts and curses.