Coram Boy. Jamila Gavin

Otis selected three of them, yelled out orders, and then made for the door of the inn. ‘See to things. I’ll be inside,’ he yelled, leaving Meshak squelching about in the yard, ankle-deep in mud and manure.

      Meshak ‘saw to things’ as he always did, but began to feel his stomach tightening with hunger, especially with a smell of roast beef coming from the kitchen. He was almost tempted to eat the gruel dolloped out from the kitchen for the brats, though just looking at it made him want to puke. He was sure even the pigs wouldn’t eat it. But the brats fell upon it. He took the wagon and children into a barn to stay for the night. As he closed the huge wooden doors, one of the brats called out plaintively, ‘Can’t we have a light, mister?’ Meshak didn’t bother to answer and, pulling the doors to, dropped the great latch and locked them into the pitch, rat-scuttling darkness.

      He went to look for Otis and pushed his way into the dark inn with Jester at his heels. The atmosphere was choking with smoke and stuffiness. In a corner by the roaring fire, red-faced musicians and sailors, entwined with young women, jigged and sang, glad to be on dry land after months at sea. Others played cards and, in a further room, serious gambling was going on.

      Meshak squinted through the haze and at last discovered his father deep in conversation with a naval man. These days, Otis made more from selling boys on to the ships than anything else. They would sell the three older boys he had just brought in.

      Meshak managed to squeeze himself on to the bench next to Otis, who grabbed a passing barmaid. ‘Hey, darling!’ He pulled her down on his knee, causing ale to splash out of the four tankards she was carrying, two in each hand.

      ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she giggled. As it was Otis, she wasn’t cross. ‘Good to see you, Otis,’ she purred.

      He burrowed into her neck and then murmured, ‘Is Mrs Peebles in her parlour?’

      The barmaid tut-tutted with exaggerated disappointment and wriggled off his knee. ‘Why is it you always fancy her more than me?’ she pouted.

      ‘ ’Cos she’s prettier!’ He slapped her bottom and they both laughed.

      ‘She’s back there. Shall I tell her you’re here?’

      ‘Do that, my sweet, and while you’re about it bring me and the boy some ale and meat.’

      ‘Hello, Meshak,’ she purred, tweaking his chin before weaving her way through the crowd and disappearing into the kitchen.

      It was an hour later, after Meshak and Otis had drunk several pints of ale and consumed a full plate of meat and potatoes and dumplings, when the barmaid came and said Mrs Peebles could see him. Otis got to his feet and, like shadows, Meshak and Jester followed him through the dense crowd and out of a far door which led into a dark narrow passageway at the back. It was instantly chillier and Meshak shivered. He knew Mrs Peebles’ parlour. Whenever they passed through Gloucester, Otis always called in.

      Otis reached her door and was about to knock when it opened. A woman holding a flickering taper stood in the doorway taking her leave. Meshak gawped up at her. She was not young and the bright colours of her clothes, her body squeezed in at the waist and bodice, her flounced-up hair and rouged face, were all part of an effort to knock a decade off her age. ‘Ah yes . . . Lady Philomena,’ she spoke in a heavy confidential way, ‘now that young woman is one to watch, Mrs Peebles, you mark my words. There’s powerful talk of goings on up at the house with the tutor. A German, you know and-’ The woman stopped abruptly. ‘What you staring at, you insolent pup?’ she said sharply, pushing Meshak away, but then she saw Otis standing there, a slight smile on his face. She held her taper up as if to see him better. The shadows wavered around them, encircling the flame. ‘Oh! It’s you,’ she simpered. ‘The boy’s got bigger. I didn’t recognise him. I think you have a visitor, Mrs Peebles,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Otis. I hope you’re keeping in good health. Will you be coming up to Ashbrook this time? We could do with our knives sharpening and a few new pots, perhaps?’ The woman in the doorway tipped her head flirtatiously.

      ‘Nothing would keep me away, Mrs Lynch.’

      ‘Goodnight, Mrs Peebles,’ Mrs Lynch called out, without taking her eyes off Otis. ‘See you in the morning.’ As she sidled past, Meshak shrank back in case he received another blow and watched her go, looping her skirts over her free arm as she climbed the narrow winding stairs to the bedrooms above the inn.

      ‘Sleep well, Mrs Lynch,’ answered Mrs Peebles from within.

      ‘Mrs Peebles!’ Otis greeted her from the doorway, leaning nonchalantly, one arm up against the lintel as if he held it up.

      Meshak peered beneath his father’s arm into the parlour beyond, where a lady draped in a veil sat at a round table. No one crossed Mrs Peebles. She had been born nothing but a bargee’s daughter; no education, no position. But she had such intelligence, such a snake-like ability to target a person’s weaknesses, such an ear for gossip, scandal and innuendo, that people feared her. It was said she had been employed as a spy in her youth – when she was beautiful, and able to mix with any company, especially the foreigners who came through the city – and was clever enough to entrap or compromise anyone targeted by her paymasters. Now she wasn’t beautiful; although she was old enough to be Meshak’s grandmother, it wasn’t age which had spoilt her looks, but smallpox. He sensed his father wince and drop his eyes as she pulled her veil across her ravaged, pitted face.

      Pushing Meshak into a corner to sit and wait, Otis strode towards her, smiling that restrained half-smile which usually did more to soften the hearts of women than the effusive lace-handkerchief-sweeping charm of so many men trying too hard to please. He knew she despised them anyway, for if it’s one thing a woman with such a disability can cut through with a knife, it’s cant and false flattery.

      He kissed her hand. She waved him to sit down opposite her. The double candlestick with its broad flapping flame favoured him, while leaving her in a kinder shadow from which she could scrutinise her visitor without effort.

      Meshak settled on the floor with his arms clasped round Jester. The ale had made him sleepy.

      ‘What about him?’ Mrs Peebles indicated Meshak.

      ‘No need to trouble yourself. His body’s got bigger, but his brain is still soft as it always was. He won’t say nothing.’

      Meshak knew that his father and Mrs Peebles had been doing business together since before he was born. Otis had just been a lad when she spotted him. He was born a wheeler-dealer, already knowing how to make himself useful, dependable and indispensable. She took him on as a boy and liked to think she turned him into a man – the kind of man she could use and control. She liked to gather young men around her – those she felt she could groom and manipulate and trust to get involved in her various enterprises.

      ‘I hear they’ve given you a new name,’ she said, pouring out some gin from a large earthenware jug.

      ‘Pots man, charity man – even Mrs P’s man – so? What’s in a name?’ He shrugged.

      ‘They are calling you a Coram man. What’s that?’

      Meshak looked up. How did she know? He himself had only heard it for the first time today by the river.

      Otis shrugged.

      ‘Come on, Otis, don’t play coy with me. What does it mean?’ demanded Mrs Peebles. Her eyes gleamed at him with intense curiosity. ‘What have you been up to that I don’t know about?’

      ‘Nothing that you don’t know about, Mrs P.’ Otis leant back, still smiling. ‘It’s the same old business: brats. Just another angle. Haven’t you heard of Coram?’

      ‘I know of a Thomas Coram, the sea captain. I thought he was in America. Came this way sometimes. Didn’t have anything on him though. Clean as a whistle. Do you mean him?’

      ‘Look, Mrs P,’ said Otis, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘I think I may have hit on something good, something which can benefit us both, if we cooperate.’

      ‘You