Quoted By:
When you hand him the address from your pocket-book, the driver of the carriage gives you a sly, knowing glance; you think he wants to ask for more, the price of discretion.
The carriage driver peers at the ink-smeared location; mutters to himself in the calloused speech of labourers:
- That be wild William Hooke's old haunt, Bill Hooke and his Grueller gang - those that stray in, leave with a sharp trimming and a good grinning - from ear-to-ear! (the Coachman motions strangely, akin to a barber with a razor scalping someone unaware). I hears it from them blabbing glimjacks, they be learning it from the colonies, them mulattoes slanged about the hulks o' the dockyards abound for the New World, revolts and the burning of many a patroon house along the Skuytercliff shore. But here by old Saint Matfelon's, old Mary Mad Felons (har har) the Whitechurch, and the Spittle Field - best be staying away. Even the Peelers and the Catchpoles of New Lanthorn Yard, the Lambskin men and the Constabulary, they knows better than to venture in; for amongst that den of cribbing cutthroats, maundering thieves and filching whores - there is no Law.
The cold glint of bridle-ring and harness, as a dray-horse jostles and turns its head against the champ and fret of reins with a furtive restlessness.
The carriage driver cackles:
- Now, I would not ordinarily make for this address... it lies athwart the disreputable part of town, see. It makes for those lost souls who seek... low company. What would the wife of a young gentleman think, knowing where you be found?
>Say nothing, but present this greedy carriage driver with the wordless bribe of more coin, as an offer for his silence.
>Retort with annoyance: My affairs are mine own. I know the City well, better than you do, I'll warrant. You, sir, however, have a foreign manner to your bearing. Are you from the colonies?
>Explain haltingly with embarrassment: er... no, it is not that. No scandal, no malversation of trust. It is... a mere soiree, a... seance.
>(change the address, snatch it back quickly) you are mistaken, my dear fellow! Do you know The Cenacle Club, near Chattel House? By Mayerling Park Gardens?
>Reply: I felt the lurch and halt of her heart in my tightened arms; but I was not there - I was never there. I know my Beloved is dead.
