misdeeds. “And someone stole it?”
“Young man, dark hair, dreadful clothes.” She sniffed. “An apprentice, I warrant. Just came along whistling, glanced round, picked up the book and walked off with it. I did
call out thief ,” she added, “But the street was busy and no one heard. And then I decided not to call again. About time Charnley was on the wrong end of life, even in a small
way.”
“You didn’t know the apprentice?”
“Never seen him before. Nothing more I can tell you.”
“I’m very grateful.”
She cackled with laughter. “Don’t worry – you’re doing me a favour. I’ve been waiting years to get my own back on Charnley and that shopman of his.” And she
whizzed back up towards the eaves, calling back, “He’s a liar, sir. A sneaking snivelling liar!”
Around midday, I found Hugh in the coffee-house on the Sandhill, sitting in a corner with a newspaper open in front of him; he was chortling over the latest sensational London
trial.
“Listen to this, Charles!” He waved me to a seat. “Lady Monro told the court that she had never been in company with the gentleman in question except with several other persons
present. Mr Elder asked if she had not on one occasion sat her maid behind a screen while she and the gentleman engaged in intimate activities on a drawing room chair...”
“Hugh,” I said, wearily. “Just at the moment, Lady Monro can go to the devil as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been talking to Charnley.”
“The devil you have.” He threw the paper aside. “Then you need something stronger than coffee!” He signalled to a serving girl to bring some ale. “Was he his usual
dreadful self?”
“Why did you not warn me his shopman was a spirit?”
“Is he? Well, I’m not surprised. No living man would put up with him. Do you know, he stood outside the Assembly Rooms for every dancing assembly last year distributing tracts
railing against trivial amusements ? It’s not trivial to me, I can tell you – it’s my living he’s trying to abolish. Did he have the book?”
“He had once.” I told him the gist of what I had learnt. “What I don’t know is where the book is now, what it has to do with poor Nell’s death and even if
there’s any point in running after it!”
The girl brought the ale and Hugh waved away my offer to pay. We sat in silence for a minute or two, which Hugh occupied by folding the paper and neatly smoothing it out. I drank my ale. Around
us, gentlemen debated Mr Walpole’s misdeeds, or the price of coal, or the advantages of investing in government stock.
“Ready?” Hugh asked eventually.
Just at that moment I wanted to be anywhere but in Mrs McDonald’s house, waiting for the spirit of a murdered girl to disembody, facing Bedwalters’s grief.
I finished my ale. “As much as I’ll ever be.”
11
If I have one piece of advice for all visitors, it is to leave the questions of politics and religion alone. No good will come of discussing such things.
[ A Frenchman’s guide to England , Retif de Vincennes
(Paris; published for the author, 1734)]
The empty bed, with its linen freshly washed and folded, dominated the room. If I looked at it out of the corner of my eye, I half-thought I could see a body there still. But
Bedwalters’s razor was on the table now, and a copy of the latest Courant. The women’s clothes had been put away; Bedwalters’s second-best coat hung over the back of the
chair. He brought a bottle of wine and three mismatched glasses from the kitchen; the wine was cheap but not unpalatable.
We sat for three hours, making desultory polite conversation. Beyond the closed door, we could hear the women coming and going, laughter, men’s voices... We talked about the political
situation, the weather, the cracks recently found in All Hallows church. We managed to work up some righteous indignation on this latter topic – the building has been known to be insecure for
years and nothing has
“Young man, dark hair, dreadful clothes.” She sniffed. “An apprentice, I warrant. Just came along whistling, glanced round, picked up the book and walked off with it. I did
call out thief ,” she added, “But the street was busy and no one heard. And then I decided not to call again. About time Charnley was on the wrong end of life, even in a small
way.”
“You didn’t know the apprentice?”
“Never seen him before. Nothing more I can tell you.”
“I’m very grateful.”
She cackled with laughter. “Don’t worry – you’re doing me a favour. I’ve been waiting years to get my own back on Charnley and that shopman of his.” And she
whizzed back up towards the eaves, calling back, “He’s a liar, sir. A sneaking snivelling liar!”
Around midday, I found Hugh in the coffee-house on the Sandhill, sitting in a corner with a newspaper open in front of him; he was chortling over the latest sensational London
trial.
“Listen to this, Charles!” He waved me to a seat. “Lady Monro told the court that she had never been in company with the gentleman in question except with several other persons
present. Mr Elder asked if she had not on one occasion sat her maid behind a screen while she and the gentleman engaged in intimate activities on a drawing room chair...”
“Hugh,” I said, wearily. “Just at the moment, Lady Monro can go to the devil as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been talking to Charnley.”
“The devil you have.” He threw the paper aside. “Then you need something stronger than coffee!” He signalled to a serving girl to bring some ale. “Was he his usual
dreadful self?”
“Why did you not warn me his shopman was a spirit?”
“Is he? Well, I’m not surprised. No living man would put up with him. Do you know, he stood outside the Assembly Rooms for every dancing assembly last year distributing tracts
railing against trivial amusements ? It’s not trivial to me, I can tell you – it’s my living he’s trying to abolish. Did he have the book?”
“He had once.” I told him the gist of what I had learnt. “What I don’t know is where the book is now, what it has to do with poor Nell’s death and even if
there’s any point in running after it!”
The girl brought the ale and Hugh waved away my offer to pay. We sat in silence for a minute or two, which Hugh occupied by folding the paper and neatly smoothing it out. I drank my ale. Around
us, gentlemen debated Mr Walpole’s misdeeds, or the price of coal, or the advantages of investing in government stock.
“Ready?” Hugh asked eventually.
Just at that moment I wanted to be anywhere but in Mrs McDonald’s house, waiting for the spirit of a murdered girl to disembody, facing Bedwalters’s grief.
I finished my ale. “As much as I’ll ever be.”
11
If I have one piece of advice for all visitors, it is to leave the questions of politics and religion alone. No good will come of discussing such things.
[ A Frenchman’s guide to England , Retif de Vincennes
(Paris; published for the author, 1734)]
The empty bed, with its linen freshly washed and folded, dominated the room. If I looked at it out of the corner of my eye, I half-thought I could see a body there still. But
Bedwalters’s razor was on the table now, and a copy of the latest Courant. The women’s clothes had been put away; Bedwalters’s second-best coat hung over the back of the
chair. He brought a bottle of wine and three mismatched glasses from the kitchen; the wine was cheap but not unpalatable.
We sat for three hours, making desultory polite conversation. Beyond the closed door, we could hear the women coming and going, laughter, men’s voices... We talked about the political
situation, the weather, the cracks recently found in All Hallows church. We managed to work up some righteous indignation on this latter topic – the building has been known to be insecure for
years and nothing has
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