He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I have had to pay for food for her, water, everything. I can’t afford more, sir.’ He shook his head. ‘These gaolers must be the wickedest men on earth.’
‘Ay. But clever enough at turning a profit.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘I went to Lincoln’s Inn yesterday afternoon, Joseph. I learned the judge sitting at Saturday’s assize is Forbizer. That is no good news. He’s a strong Bible man and incorruptible—’
‘But that’s good, surely, a Bible man—’
I shook my head. ‘Incorruptible, but hard as stone.’
‘No sympathy for a young orphan girl half out of her wits?’
‘Not for any living creature. I’ve appeared before him in civil matters.’ I leaned forward. ‘Joseph, we must get Elizabeth to talk or she’s as good as dead.’
He bit his lip in that characteristic gesture of his. ‘When I took her some food yesterday she just lay there and looked at it. Not a word of thanks, not even a nod. I think she’s hardly eaten for days. I’ve bought her these flowers but I don’t know if she’ll look at them.’
‘Well, let us see what I can do.’
He nodded gratefully. As we got up I said, ‘By the way, does Sir Edwin know you have retained me?’
Joseph shook his head. ‘I haven’t spoken with Edwin in a week, since I suggested that Elizabeth might not be guilty and he ordered me from his house.’ A flash of anger crossed his face. ‘He thinks that if I do not want Elizabeth to die, I must be against him and his.’
‘Nonetheless,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘he might have heard.’
‘What makes you think so, sir?’
‘Oh, nothing. Never mind.’
JOSEPH’S WHOLE BODY seemed to slump as we approached the gaol. We passed the begging grille in the wall through which poor prisoners thrust clutching hands, calling to passers-by for charity for God’s love. Those without money got little or no food and it was said some prisoners starved to death. I placed a penny in a grubby, frantic hand, then knocked loudly at the stout wooden door. A spy flap opened and a hard face looked out from under a greasy cap, eyes flicking over my black lawyer’s robe.
‘Lawyer for Elizabeth Wentworth,’ I said, ‘with her uncle. He’s paid for the visit.’ The flap slammed shut and the door opened. The gaoler, dressed in a dirty smock and with a heavy stick at his belt, looked at me curiously as we passed through. Despite the heat of the day the prison with its thick stone walls was cold, a dank chill seeming to emanate from the very stones. The gaoler called out, ‘Williams!’ and a fat turnkey in a leather jerkin appeared, jangling a large ring of keys in one hand.
‘Lawyer for the child murderess.’ The gaoler smiled evilly at me. ‘Seen the pamphlet?’
‘Yes,’ I answered shortly.
He shook his head. ‘She still won’t talk; it’ll be the press for her. Did you know, lawyer, there’s an old rule prisoners should be naked when they’re laid out chained for the weights to be put on ’em. Shame to get a view of a nice pair of bubbies, then have to squash ‘em flat.’
Joseph’s face puckered with distress.
‘There is no such rule that I know of,’ I said coldy.
The gaoler spat on the floor. ‘I know the rules for my own gaol, whatever pen gents may say.’ He nodded to the turnkey. ‘Take ’em down to the Women’s Hole.’
We were led down a wide corridor with wards on either side. Through the barred windows in the doors men were visible sitting or lying on straw pallets, their legs fixed to the walls by long chains. The smell of urine was so strong it stung the nostrils. The turnkey waddled along, keys rattling. Unlocking a heavy door, he led us down a flight of steps into semi-darkness. At the bottom another door faced us. The turnkey pulled aside a flap and peered in before turning to us.
‘Still lying just where she was yesterday afternoon when I brought those people down to look at her through the hatch. Silent as a stone she was, hiding herself while they called witch and child killer through the door.’ He shook his head.
‘May we go in?’
He shrugged and opened the door. As soon as we had passed through he shut it quickly behind us, the key rasping in the lock.