Gallows Thief. Bernard Cornwell
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2001
Copyright © Bernard Cornwell 2001
Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover images © ClassicStock/Alamy Stock Photo (street scene); Shutterstock.com (texture)
Bernard Cornwell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on historical events and figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.
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Source ISBN: 9780007437559
Ebook Edition © June 2010 ISBN: 9780007339518
Version: 2018-10-01
For Antonia and Jef
Contents
Read on for an excerpt from Fools and Mortals
The SHARPE Series (in chronological order)
The SHARPE Series (in order of publication)
Sir Henry Forrest, banker and alderman of the City of London, almost gagged when he entered the Press Yard for the smell was terrible, worse than the reek of the sewer outflows where the Fleet Ditch oozed into the Thames. It was a stink from the cesspits of hell, an eye-watering stench that took a man’s breath away and made Sir Henry take an involuntary step backwards, clap a handkerchief to his nose and hold his breath for fear that he was about to vomit.
Sir Henry’s guide chuckled. ‘I don’t notice the smell no more, sir,’ he said, ‘but I suppose it’s mortal bad in its way, mortal bad. Mind the steps here, sir, do mind ’em.’
Sir Henry gingerly took the handkerchief away and forced himself to speak. ‘Why is it called the Press Yard?’
‘In days gone by, sir, this is where the prisoners was pressed. They was squashed, sir. Weighed down by stones, sir, to persuade them to tell the truth. We don’t do it any longer, sir, more’s the pity, and as a consequence they lies like India rugs, sir, like India rugs.’ The guide, one of the prison’s turnkeys, was a fat man with leather breeches, a stained coat, and a stout billy club. He laughed. ‘There ain’t a guilty man or woman in here, sir, not if you asks them!’
Sir Henry tried to keep his breathing shallow so he would not have to inhale the noxious miasma of ordure, sweat and rot. ‘There is sanitation here?’ he asked.
‘Very up to date, Sir Henry, very up to date. Proper drains in Newgate, sir. We spoils them, we do, but they’re filthy animals, sir, filthy. They fouls their own nest, sir, that’s what they do, they fouls their own nest.’ The turnkey closed and bolted the barred gate by which they had entered the yard. ‘The condemned have the freedom of the Press Yard, sir, during daylight,’ he said, ‘except on high days and holidays like today.’ He grinned, letting Sir Henry know that this was a jest. ‘They has to wait till we’re done, sir, and if you turn to your left you can join Mister Brown and the other gentlemen in the Association Room.’
‘The Association Room?’ Sir Henry enquired.
‘Where the condemned associate, sir, during the daylight hours, sir,’ the