‘No more than fifty or sixty in all,’ replied Griddle, ‘most of them girls.’
‘I heard there were the best part of two hundred people here.’
‘There are, but they’re not all sent for punishment. Many of them live here.’
Nicholas was surprised. ‘They live in a workhouse?’
‘Master Beechcroft rents out rooms to them,’ said the boy. ‘He makes more money that way. He sells what we make but it brings only a poor profit.’
‘What sort of work do we do?’
‘We make nails, draw wire, cut timber to size. When my brother was here, they had him unloading supplies on the wharf. We’ve no skills, Tom,’ he complained. ‘Hard labour is all we’re fit for. Those with skills are the ones they treat much better.’
‘Skills?’
‘Look at Ben Hemp, for instance. They’ll never let him out.’
‘Why not?’
‘He brings in too much money,’ said Griddle, resentfully. ‘That’s why he has a room of his own to work and sleep in. Ben is a cunning forger. He makes false dice and packs of cards for cony-catchers. He was taught by the best in the trade.’
‘Oh,’ said Nicholas. ‘And who was that?’
‘A fiendish clever fellow, according to Ben. A true master of the art.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Lavery,’ said the boy. ‘Philomen Lavery.’
Philomen Lavery dealt the cards with nimble fingers and shared a disingenuous smile among the people sitting at his table. Because it was his last night at the Queen’s Head, he had invited some of those who had played regularly with him to partake of food and drink in his room. It had put the visitors in a pleasant mood. They were sorry that Lavery would be leaving and taking his cards with him. None of the actors was there but Adam Crowmere had drifted in to play for a while. He soon accepted that he was not going to win. After losing every game in a row, he rose from the table with a chuckle.
‘I’m not going to let you rob me of my last penny, Master Lavery.’
‘Sit down again, Adam,’ coaxed the dealer. ‘You may yet have good fortune.’
‘Not at cards. Everyone at the table has better luck than me tonight.’
‘It was not always so. There was a time when you emptied all our purses.’
‘Then lost the money the next night,’ said Crowmere, amiably. ‘A card table has too many risks. To tell the truth, I prefer dice. Real skill is involved there.’
‘Yes,’ said one of the other players. ‘I’m a man for dice as well.’
‘Nothing gives me the same thrill as a game of cards,’ argued Lavery. ‘Turn one over and it could mean the difference between wealth and beggary.’
‘The same is true of dice,’ said Crowmere. ‘One throw could make you rich.’
‘Or very poor, Adam, if you do not have the knack of it.’
‘I have that knack, Master Lavery. At least, I used to have.’
‘I confess that I do not possess it.’
‘Then you must stay with your beloved cards. I know that you feel much safer with them, and they clearly favour you this evening. Dice would give the rest of us more of a chance to win back what we have lost.’
Lavery blinked up at him. ‘Do you really believe that, Adam?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said the other.
‘You feel at a disadvantage with cards?’
‘Only when I play against you.’
‘Yet you’d be prepared to wager on the throw of a dice?’
‘Time and again.’
‘Then we’ll put it to the test after this game,’ decided Lavery, looking around the table. ‘As it happens, I do have some dice with me somewhere. If we can find them, we’ll see if our cheery landlord really does have the knack of which he boasts.’ He beamed at the others. ‘Are we all agreed?’
Standing at the window, Nicholas had counted four carriages. One by one, they had rolled into the courtyard to disgorge their raucous occupants. All the visitors were men and they were welcomed at the door of the hall by Joseph Beechcroft. Other guests arrived on horseback and a few came on foot. Arrayed in their taffeta, the women soon came out to join them. Nicholas gazed around the room. Most of his companions were fast asleep, uninterested in a banquet from which they were excluded and too exhausted to remain awake to talk. Ned Griddle was the only one whose eyes were still open. He crept across to the window.
‘Get some sleep while you can, Tom,’ he counselled in a whisper.
‘I like to watch,’ said Nicholas. ‘Who are these people?’
‘Friends of Master Beechcroft’s or Master Olgrave’s. They eat well.’
‘By the sound of them, they’ve already drunk well. How long will they stay?’
Griddle yawned. ‘I’ve never stayed awake long enough to find out.’
The banquet was under way. Almost thirty people were seated at the long table and all them were relishing the occasion. Three musicians played in the background and their lively airs caught the spirit of the evening. The food was rich, the wine plentiful and the guests blandished by the women in their gaudy plumage. Seated at the end of the table, Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave looked on with satisfaction.
‘How much have we made this evening?’ asked Olgrave.
‘A handsome profit. When men are drunk, their purse strings are much looser.’
‘They get their money’s worth, Joseph.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Beechcroft, looking down the table to see one of the guests fondling a swarthy young woman with large, round breasts spilling out of her bodice. ‘I think that Master Greatorex will be pleasuring Joan Lockyer tonight. He cannot keep his hands off her.’
‘Is it not strange?’ said Olgrave with a grin. ‘Master Greatorex would never dare to venture into the stews of Clerkenwell Street, where Joan and her sisters ply their trade, yet he’ll play with her paps for hours in here.’
Beechcroft smirked. ‘Bridewell is a palace, remember.’
‘And we are its kings.’
A servant filled their cups with wine and Olgrave joined in the noisy badinage. His partner was more circumspect. While he was delighted that yet another banquet was such a success, he remembered what had happened the last time that the hall had been filled with guests. When there was a lull in the general hilarity, he turned to Olgrave.
‘The girl still worries me, Ralph,’ he confided.
‘Forget her, man. She belongs in the past.’
‘Not while she’s still alive to accuse us.’
Olgrave sneered. ‘Who will listen to the word of a beggar?’
‘Nicholas Bracewell did.’
‘And he’ll pay for his folly, Joseph. When that Welsh friend of his has been dispatched,’ he explained, ‘Gregory will follow the book holder to his lodging, for that’s where Dorothea will be hiding, I feel certain. Gregory has orders to kill them both.’
‘Good,’ said Beechcroft, reassured. ‘He’s a ready assassin.’
‘The fellow has never let us down before.’ Olgrave let his gaze travel up and down the table. ‘Now, then, which of these fine ladies shall I take tonight?’
‘Choose two, Ralph. There are more than enough to spare.’
‘One is all I need before I go home to my wife,’ said the other, as his eye settled on the youngest woman in the room. ‘Nan Welbeck tempts me, I must confess.’
‘She’s clean and fresh enough.’
‘And more than willing. There’ll be good sport for both of us, I fancy. Nan is no Dorothea Tate,’ he added with a lecherous cackle. ‘I’ll not need Gregory Sumner to hold her down for me.’
Bruised and bloodied, Gregory Sumner sat in a chair in the lawyer’s office. His legs were bare, he wore no shoes and his hands were still tied behind his back. Owen Elias was a menacing presence behind him but it was Henry Cleaton who asked all the questions, and who noted the answers down on a sheet of paper. Sumner was amazed at how much the two of them seemed to know about the death of Hywel Rees and the violation of Dorothea Tate. Involved directly in both crimes, he did his best to shift the blame entirely on to Beechcroft and Olgrave. Encouraged by an occasional sharp prod from Elias, the man tried to save his own skin by incriminating others and new facts tumbled out of him.