by Mary Hooper
Robert heard a movement in the corridor outside, and he looked toward the door anxiously, fearing that at any moment Sir Thomas would return with the hangman close behind. It was merely the lighter step of Martha, however, who came in with a glass of ale to help revive Nathaniel Frisk.
“I’d like someone to take notes for us,” Dr. Petty said, and on Robert quickly raising his hand, went on, “for until we are certain that Anne Green is entirely dead, we must treat her as a normal patient. Someone, perhaps, who’s recovering from the ministrations of some blundering surgeon.” His eye caught that of Nathaniel Frisk, and he checked himself. “I do beg your pardon, sir.”
“No offense taken, sir,” said Frisk weakly.
“We must treat her as a recovering patient,” Dr Petty went on. “One who needs constant monitoring and care.”
Robert nodded and took out his notepad. “I . . . I . . . I . . .” he began, and then gave up and merely held the notebook and a sharpened pencil aloft and gave a confirming nod.
Dr. Petty consulted his watch, then handed it to Robert. “The time is now eleven fifteen. Start with that.”
Chapter ~ 17
This soft and enclosing blackness where I can feel neither heat nor chill, hunger nor thirst, is indeed preferable to the circumstances in which I next found myself, which was the jail at Oxford Castle. I had been thrown into a big dark space more like a pit than a room. It was circular in shape, with high-up windows that had bars across them but no glass, so that the wind constantly swirled around and in and out and made a ghostly moaning sound that frightened me at night and stopped me from sleeping.
Not that I could sleep easily. I found no comfort there: not a mattress, a plank, nor even straw to lie on, for most of the inmates slept either directly on the foul floor or on the stone seating ledge that ran around the outer limits of the room. This hard ledge was cold and inhospitable, but, if you could but secure yourself a place on it, was preferable to the floor, which was damp with slime and gritty underfoot.
But I am jumping ahead of myself. On being rough-handled into the jail, the first thing to assault my senses had been the fetid smell. At home with Ma I’d lived constantly with the hot stink of livestock, but this stench was much worse than that and made me retch, for ’twas a fusion of smells which—I know now—consisted of human excrement, rotting limbs, untreated sores, and the foul miasma of squalor, degradation, and despair. It also held the stench of death, for three days after I’d been admitted, a crone wearing heavy leg irons who’d been hunched into a far corner was found to be dead—and to have been dead for some days, too, for when they went to move her, it was discovered that her legs had quite rotted away from her body.
When, that first day, I became a little more used to this stink and was able to stop retching, I dragged myself (for I still wore manacles) to a space on the ledge and looked around me. What I saw was like a scene from hell—only that hell is hot and this was wintry cold—for some forty souls were crammed into this room, either sitting around with their faces full of despair, or walking about raving and railing against whatever had brought them here. Some inmates seemed utterly mad; one woman spoke high-pitched and sobbed in a child’s voice, another did nothing but gibber like a strange animal and run up and down in the channel where we relieved ourselves, and one man spent most of the day against the wall, standing on his head.
I was terrified, of course. Though I had hardly known before that such a thing as a jail existed, nor at all what it would be like, I never could have imagined it would be as foul and offensive as this. For some time I sat in a dark corner, clutching my bundle of clothes to me without moving or drawing attention to myself, for I thought it best to observe the inmates going about and see how things were done and if there was a certain way to behave.
I quickly realized, however, that there was no pattern to the day and no set of rules to follow, for all was just confusion and beastliness. People shuffled about, dragging their manacles behind them, or sat, heads drooping, seemingly owned by misery. A continual wailing filled the air, and occasionally there would be a scuffle and one man would half-heartedly wrestle another to the ground, but generally they seemed too cold, ill, and disheartened to bother with anything, as if the very effort of keeping themselves alive in such a place was trial enough.
It was bitter cold, and though there was a brazier in the center of the room wherein burned a few sticks, it was surrounded by so many trying to glean its meager warmth that it could not easily be seen, and I did not even discover its existence on that first day. There was no outside space to use, and it became apparent that everyone was incarcerated continually, with no respite from the foulness that surrounded them, and never a breath of good fresh air. The only space where the outside world could be seen was through the high windows, which afforded tiny, oblong views of sludge-gray sky way over our heads, and a barred grill in one of the walls, which opened onto a pathway through the castle, enabling inmates to beg alms from visitors as they walked through the grounds. When anyone passed, a beseeching and a crying would come from every nearby prisoner. “Sire, spare a little food!”; “I beg you, madam, I am dying!”; “I have three children and a babe to feed!” they would variously plead (for there were, indeed, several poor children placed among us).
I found that a small amount of old straw had been placed here and there along the concrete ledge, but when, that first night, I went to take some to sleep on, I soon discovered that each paltry clump had been bought and paid for by a prisoner, who would as soon stab you through the heart as have you take it from him.
Some time after the sun went down, perhaps about five o’clock, just as I was fearing that we were going to be left in the dark all night, a few torches were lit and put to the wall, and then one of the turnkeys came around with a great basket of dark bread and began to throw it to us, joking that we were all performing dogs and must catch it. Indeed, every one saw to it that they did catch it, because to miss would have meant it falling onto the floor, which was coated with filth, dung beetles, and dead lice.
I jumped for a roll when he threw one my way, for I was very hungry. This amused the turnkey to no end, and he began to roar with laughter, saying it was quite a thing to see a murderess jumping for her bread—but that I must have done many a good jump in my time. I hardly knew what he meant, but the jeering and hooting from some of the men told me that he’d been making a lewd joke. Some of them looked at me strangely after this, and I knew that they were wondering who I’d killed and if it was perhaps my sweetheart. I did not speak to them, however, or ever tell the truth but to one person, for I thought it better that they should think I was a murderess, for then they might be a-feared of me and leave me alone.
The bread was dark and solid, but I began to gnaw at it, and then remembered that Mrs. Williams had given me some food. I opened this paper and found some slices of ham, a decent-sized piece of cheese, a green marchpane cake, and an apple. I stared at the apple, and then clutched it to me and began to weep, for it was a little red apple from the tree at the very front of the orchard that overlooks the lane and—it being an early fruiter—I had probably picked it with my own hands that summer, sitting in the tree’s branches and calling over the fence to John Taylor at the forge. I’d been happy then, but had not realized it. Oh, how I yearned for that time again so I could order my life differently!
But through my tears I could smell the delicious aroma of the cheese, so dried my eyes on a corner of my skirt and, when I looked up, was surprised to see myself surrounded by six or seven men and women, all staring hungrily at my food.
“Do you not want that, mistress?” one asked.
“Can you spare a little?”
“It is several months since I had a bit o’ meat.”
“I’m fair starved, so I am . . .”
I was torn by pity for them and greed for myself, for I knew that if all that was to be provided was black bread, I’d soon be in dire need of more nourishment. As I hesitated,
however, each put a hand out and looked at me with such pleading eyes that I could do no less than place a small amount of food into each one.
Of course, as soon as the rest of the room saw what was going on, they flocked around me like the doves when I threw grain, and I had to tuck the apple up my sleeve and quickly stuff the rest of the food in my mouth or would have found myself with none at all. And so, barring the apple, by the end of that first day my food was all gone.
I didn’t sleep a bit that night, for I couldn’t secure a place on the ledge and had to lie on the floor, and there was never a moment when someone wasn’t wailing, screaming, pleading to be let out, or begging for rope to hang themselves and be done with the place. As well as this there came horrid little noises as the rats pattered along the floor or the occasional splash as they entered the open sewer and began to eat whatever they found there. I was terrified that if I closed my eyes, one might creep up and begin to gnaw at my finger or toe.
I spent most of that night thinking on the scrap of babe that I’d birthed and found it hard to rid myself of the image of it rolled, tiny and stiff, in its linen shroud. I also wondered with horror if I might have unthinkingly killed it by neglecting it. If I’d picked it up and rocked it, or cleared its mouth, might it have lived? I could not envisage myself doing either of those things, however, for whenever I thought of handling it, it made me near shudder with dread. I couldn’t think that I ever would have loved such a little creature, although I pitied it with all my heart.
The following morning there was more black bread to eat, and some thin and foul gruel, and at this time I was approached by a prisoner I did not think I’d seen the previous day. She was a woman I judged to be of around thirty years of age, not too shabby in her dress and wearing a passably clean white apron and cap. Her hair was frowsy and colored red, and she had some fleabites on her face, but she was not unattractive, with large and very dark eyes. She asked if I’d brought any food from home and, if so, if I had a scrap to spare.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry but I have not, for it all went last night,” I said—although I still had my red apple up my sleeve.
“No matter,” she said, sitting down beside me. “How did you like your first night in the jail?”
“I did not like it one bit,” I said and, feeling my bottom lip begin to tremble, knew that I was about to weep again. “How do you bear to stay here? I can’t see how I’ll survive in such a place.”
“’Tis not too bad for me,” she said, “for I gets myself out of this animal den at night.”
“You go home?” I asked, looking at her in astonishment.
“No, dear,” she said. “But I go to a gentleman’s cell of an evening, and there I sleeps the night on a good feather mattress.”
I forgot my tears. “How do you do that?”
“I’m a nightwalker, dear,” she answered. I must have looked at her uncomprehendingly, for she added, “A trugmoldy. A whore.”
“Oh,” I said, much shocked, for I had not met any woman of her occupation before, and she sounded so very bold about it.
“They picked me plying my trade under Magdalen Bridge, so while I waits to be sentenced, I does a little work here and there to keep my hand in.”
“But where are the gentlemen’s cells?” I asked, looking around.
“They’re on the floor above,” she said, and went on confidentially, “There are all sorts there: famous and rich highwaymen, and gents who turn tricks with playing cards, and also a couple of merchants who are accused of stealing from each other. And all are very willing to pay for a lady’s company of a night.”
“They have their own cells?”
“They do indeed! And some of these are nicer than my own lodgings at home, for they has pictures and hangings brought in, and food sent from the tavern, and one of the highwaymen even has his own four-poster bed. You may obtain anything here if you has the money to pay for it.” She looked at me questioningly. “But you don’t seem the regular sort of prisoner, and I sees you aren’t of my persuasion, so why are you here in Oxford’s finest?”
I sighed and, there being precious little else to do, began to recount the story of Master Geoffrey and my downfall. And I finished by telling her, swearing to her, that the child was stillborn and never drew breath. “But for all that, they still say I’m a murderess!”
She took my hand and squeezed it. “Never fear, my dear, the truth will come out at the trial, for when you has a chance to speak you must say exactly what happened. And when the judge and jury realize that you’re a truthful and honest girl, then they’re sure to release you straightaway.”
“But when do you think that will be?”
“Well, the judge travels about the country, but I’ve been told that he’ll arrive here before Christmas. About the fifteenth of December, so they say.”
“How far off is that?”
We worked out that it was nearly two weeks hence, which realization filled me with acute misery. To think I had two weeks incarcerated here before I could come before the judge, tell him I’d done nothing wrong, and be released. I didn’t even consider that my liberation might not happen.
“If you wish, I can find you a nice gentleman protector,” my new friend—whose name was Rebecca—said, “and then at least you’d sleep comfortable well at night.” She gave a knowing little smile and added, “Or you would sleep well after you’d done the business with him!”
“I could not,” I said, shaking my head. “I was persuaded to sleep with Master Geoffrey, and it has led to my ruin. I’ll never lie with another man until I’m wed. I’m certain of that.”
She looked at me consideringly. “After you’ve been here a few days, you may change your mind.”
“I shall not!” I said, then added more gently (for I had a mind to keep Rebecca as a friend, whatever her occupation might be), “But thank you for asking me.”
I found out that she’d come to Oxford some eight years before, when the king had brought his court from London for safety before the war. “I was but fifteen then,” she said. “I was a beauty, with long black hair, which I wore in ringlets right down my back, and my eyes very dark and lustrous—as brown as yours are blue. My eyes!” she went on. “Oh, men wrote verse about them, saying they bade them come to bed.” She sighed. “I had several admirers among the young men of the court, and they paid for my lodging and bought me dresses and pearls. Once I even had a pretty pink carriage drawn by a white horse.”
“And what happened?”
“Then the war came to Oxford and all the men went into battle, the king was captured, and the city went over to parliament. But even at the start there was not so much rollicking fun to be had here as in London in the early days.”
“Was there truly not?” I asked, for I had heard as much from the ballads.
“And now ’tis all different—everything is run by Puritans and they’re all for stopping everyone’s fun.”
“And have you been a nightwalker all that time?” I asked.
She nodded. “But only for gentlemen,” she said. “I wouldn’t take a farmer or a laboring man. I have some clerical gents, one man who’s a magistrate—and many an Oxford scholar keen to lose his virginity!” She began to laugh. “They know where their member is, but don’t know what to do with it. Why, a young gent I had a few weeks back was so scared he was struck silent the whole time and could scarce e’en manage to thank me after.”
I looked at her, marveling. “But . . . but do you not continually find yourself in a certain condition?”
She shook her head. “I do not, for there are secrets to the game which are known to all ladies of the night.”
“And what are those?”
“I take a daily cordial of tansy and pennyroyal, which I was told to do by a mountebank in London, to keep my terms regular,” she confided. “And as well as that, one or two of my regular gents, not wishing to find themselves with bastards to despoil their family names, have taken to wearing a device
made from a pig’s bladder, which they wear over their member.”
I blushed to hear such talk, although wished that Master Geoffrey had used such a device.
“But if you are not to try for a gentleman yourself, then we must endeavor to improve your position here. Do you have any money?”
I nodded and, trusting her completely, for she had been so open with me, brought out from my pocket the fold of paper that Mr. Peakes had given me the day before.
Only one day before, I thought in disbelief, I’d bade goodbye to my fellow servants in Dun’s Tew and heard John Taylor’s voice for the last time. Thinking on this, a pretty conceit formed in my head: that if, on hearing him speak, I’d revealed myself in the back of the cart and asked for his aid, then perhaps he would have reached into the cart to rescue me. He might have struck off my leg irons on his anvil, thrown me over a horse, and carried me away to safety.
I felt my eyes fill with tears at this sentimental and silly notion, and Rebecca had to shake my arm gently to stir me. “How much money have you there?” she asked, and when we counted it, found that there was three shillings and four pence.
“You are a made woman! With this you can send out for some warm things, hire a mattress, buy some better food, and even have a little tipple of brandy to warm you of an evening. And what clothes have you?”
I unrolled my bundle and showed her, and her eyes rounded in admiration at the sight of the bodice, which she offered to sell for me. I turned her down, however, for I felt I had riches enough with my three shillings and fourpence, and should keep the bodice for another occasion. “You must guard that, for it’s worth a deal of money,” she said. “And when you need to sell it, I’ll get you a good price.”
I thanked her kindly and said I would remember her words, and she offered to go and speak to the turnkeys and bargain with them for whatever I wanted. We debated how I should spend my money, and I was happy to discover that I’d be able to rent a mattress stuffed with straw, a pair of fur gloves and a woolen tippet, some candles and a candlestick, and still have enough left over to buy food for several days. Another discussion led to us deciding that I’d dine later that day on oysters and boiled ham, and of course I invited her to share these delicacies with me. I felt a good deal better while these discussions were going on, for, although still cold and frightened, I was very content that my situation would shortly improve.
