take fancy words or book-learning to know when a man
was wanting to get between a tart’s legs.
Ketch did not entirely blame Sir Lewis, what with being married to that cold-eyed Lady Caradoc. A man wanted a bit of warmth in his bed of a night, and if it came down to it, Ketch was not
averse to giving any tart a good seeing-to himself, although Belinda had smacked his face when he once said that to her. Downright insulting, she had said. Women were not playthings or objects.
Ketch had not understood what she meant, but he had gone away thinking Belinda would pay for smacking his face one of these fine nights. She gave herself such airs, the slut, but Ketch would even
the score before much longer. Considering how to do that had warmed him on many a dull spell of night duty.
If the governor really did bang the slut, Ketch would go straight to the doctor with the information. The doctor had some odd ways – they said he went to those groups where people tried to
contact the dead, which to Ketch’s mind was downright daft – but he would be a bad person to cross. He liked knowing about people – he liked knowing their secrets – but if
you gave him information you had to be able to prove it was true. The doctor would not pay for any made-up stories.
‘You bring me information about people inside Calvary,’ he said to Ketch. ‘Things you see or hear or find out. If I can make use of it, you’ll get your cut. But you have
to bring me proof, mind that.’
Ketch was minding it. He was going to be watching Belinda Skelton and the governor to see if they got into bed together, and he was going to enjoy the watching. He would enjoy getting money from
Dr McNulty as well. The prospect of all this pleasurable watching and money-making enabled him to shovel out the dry lime with a good will. Even when Old Muttonchops told him off to move a bit
faster because they did not want to be here all day, Ketch said, quite meekly, ‘Sorry, Mr Millichip,’ and got on with filling up the tin vat with lime in readiness for activating and
then for chucking onto Nicholas O’Kane’s body tomorrow.
Lewis had gone back to his office after seeing O’Kane’s wife and son to Calvary’s doors and making sure arrangements had been made for their journey home.
The interview had disturbed him. The woman had been distraught, her face had been marked by extreme pallor and her eyes were swollen with constant crying. Beneath had been traces of considerable
beauty, although this was not surprising – O’Kane was not a man who would have married a plain woman. The boy had interested Lewis – he had reminded him a little of Cas at the
same age. A bright child, he thought, and hoped O’Kane’s wife would control her grief sufficiently well to handle the matter of the father’s death with tact.
It was the custom at Calvary for the female warders to bring cups of afternoon tea to the staff; Lewis did not always bother to drink his, but he encouraged the small habit which seemed to him
to maintain a fragile link with civilized behaviour in an uncivilized place.
Today it was the slant-eyed Belinda Skelton who was on tea duty. She set the cup down on his desk and Lewis noticed, as he had noticed before, that her nails were bitten but that the shape of
her hands was beautiful. Was the skin of her palms as soft as it looked?
He went on writing some notes, and was aware she hesitated. When he looked up enquiringly, she said, ‘Mrs O’Kane was dreadfully upset, wasn’t she, sir?’ and Lewis
remembered he had assigned Belinda to the condemned wing that morning. He would not normally have put a female warder there, but Nicholas O’Kane had shown no signs of violence and even if he
had, Saul Ketch had also been on duty. He had thought that the presence of a female might be reassuring for Mrs O’Kane and the child.
‘Yes, she was very upset. It’s difficult to find words of comfort at such a time, Belinda.’
‘I’ll
was wanting to get between a tart’s legs.
Ketch did not entirely blame Sir Lewis, what with being married to that cold-eyed Lady Caradoc. A man wanted a bit of warmth in his bed of a night, and if it came down to it, Ketch was not
averse to giving any tart a good seeing-to himself, although Belinda had smacked his face when he once said that to her. Downright insulting, she had said. Women were not playthings or objects.
Ketch had not understood what she meant, but he had gone away thinking Belinda would pay for smacking his face one of these fine nights. She gave herself such airs, the slut, but Ketch would even
the score before much longer. Considering how to do that had warmed him on many a dull spell of night duty.
If the governor really did bang the slut, Ketch would go straight to the doctor with the information. The doctor had some odd ways – they said he went to those groups where people tried to
contact the dead, which to Ketch’s mind was downright daft – but he would be a bad person to cross. He liked knowing about people – he liked knowing their secrets – but if
you gave him information you had to be able to prove it was true. The doctor would not pay for any made-up stories.
‘You bring me information about people inside Calvary,’ he said to Ketch. ‘Things you see or hear or find out. If I can make use of it, you’ll get your cut. But you have
to bring me proof, mind that.’
Ketch was minding it. He was going to be watching Belinda Skelton and the governor to see if they got into bed together, and he was going to enjoy the watching. He would enjoy getting money from
Dr McNulty as well. The prospect of all this pleasurable watching and money-making enabled him to shovel out the dry lime with a good will. Even when Old Muttonchops told him off to move a bit
faster because they did not want to be here all day, Ketch said, quite meekly, ‘Sorry, Mr Millichip,’ and got on with filling up the tin vat with lime in readiness for activating and
then for chucking onto Nicholas O’Kane’s body tomorrow.
Lewis had gone back to his office after seeing O’Kane’s wife and son to Calvary’s doors and making sure arrangements had been made for their journey home.
The interview had disturbed him. The woman had been distraught, her face had been marked by extreme pallor and her eyes were swollen with constant crying. Beneath had been traces of considerable
beauty, although this was not surprising – O’Kane was not a man who would have married a plain woman. The boy had interested Lewis – he had reminded him a little of Cas at the
same age. A bright child, he thought, and hoped O’Kane’s wife would control her grief sufficiently well to handle the matter of the father’s death with tact.
It was the custom at Calvary for the female warders to bring cups of afternoon tea to the staff; Lewis did not always bother to drink his, but he encouraged the small habit which seemed to him
to maintain a fragile link with civilized behaviour in an uncivilized place.
Today it was the slant-eyed Belinda Skelton who was on tea duty. She set the cup down on his desk and Lewis noticed, as he had noticed before, that her nails were bitten but that the shape of
her hands was beautiful. Was the skin of her palms as soft as it looked?
He went on writing some notes, and was aware she hesitated. When he looked up enquiringly, she said, ‘Mrs O’Kane was dreadfully upset, wasn’t she, sir?’ and Lewis
remembered he had assigned Belinda to the condemned wing that morning. He would not normally have put a female warder there, but Nicholas O’Kane had shown no signs of violence and even if he
had, Saul Ketch had also been on duty. He had thought that the presence of a female might be reassuring for Mrs O’Kane and the child.
‘Yes, she was very upset. It’s difficult to find words of comfort at such a time, Belinda.’
‘I’ll
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