By the Mast Divided by David Donachie Read Free Book Online

would not serve to calm the man whom he had offended. It was too late for promises of better behaviour and the look in the alderman’s eyes did not encourage the idea that an apology would settle the matter. But given that it was theonly thing Gherson could think of, he said, ‘I am truly sorry, Alderman Carruthers.’
    The four scarred faces between him and Denby Carruthers, the men who had trapped him in here, didn’t move a muscle. But Gherson did note that there was no ill will in them, just indifference.
    ‘I am here to ensure that you are sorry, Gherson,’ said Carruthers, in a voice that betrayed a great deal of suppressed emotion. ‘Firstly, you will oblige me by handing over that fine topcoat you are wearing, and the silk one underneath. Also those fine silver-buckled shoes which, I think I am right in saying, my household monies paid for.’
    Gherson obliged, trying to palm the purse he had into his breeches. But the villains before him were too practised to allow that, and swiftly had it off him.
    ‘I know that in acting as I do,’ Carruthers continued, ‘I will be saving a substantial group of men the worry that they too might find themselves in my position. To think that I took you into the bosom of my family, and that you betrayed me so…’
    ‘I…’
    ‘Do not deny it,’ Carruthers shouted, ‘do not deny that you are a damned lecher and a rogue! I gave you employment when you were strapped, got you out of Newgate gaol as an act of Christian charity, only to find out later that I am not the first to fall for the lies you spill with such ease. God only knows how many people you have dunned, how many good women you have corrupted. You have left behind you a trail of broken hearts and damaged households. You, Gherson, are a menace to every decent man in the City of London.’
    Gherson was thinking that there were few enough of those, and if they devoted their lives to the acquisition of wealth, and spent their evenings at the card tables or in the company of high-priced whores, it was hardly surprising that their neglected wives looked elsewhere for comfort or entertainment. But that too was not a thing to say out loud.
    ‘I admit to a weakness, sir, one I have often fought to overcome.’
    In just a shirt and breeches, with the cold stone of the bridge beginning to chill his shoeless feet he began to shiver, thinking it must look very like fear. Not that he wasn’t frightened – there was no way of avoiding a beating – but Gherson wondered if it might be ameliorated, so he managed to get a bit of a sob into his voice.
    ‘I realise that I have deeply offended you, and for that I can only curse myself.’
    The tone became more woeful as Gherson berated himself for awretch: swore that he would never transgress again; damned the God that had made him incapable of resisting temptation. Casting his head and body around in a theatrical manner, Gherson’s eyes never ceased examining the faces before him, and he could not decide which was more alarming, the professional apathy of the alderman’s hirelings, or the hateful look of the man himself.
    ‘I deserve a beating, sir,’ Gherson pleaded, ‘and perhaps in your wisdom you will chastise me enough to change my nature. I swear that I shall go on my knees to God as soon as I can and beg to be relived of the burdens of my ardour.’
    ‘He’s a fellow,’ said one of the hard men, finally speaking. ‘He could do for a playhouse.’
    ‘Girlish lookin’, mind,’ added another.
    Gherson threw his arms in the air, knowing that his histrionics had made no impact whatsoever. It was with a last forlorn hope that he said, with what he thought was becoming bravado, ‘Damn you all! Beat me if you must. Do your worst!’
    ‘You think a beating sufficient, Gherson?’ asked Carruthers, facetiously, adding himself, with a deeper timbre, the answer to his question. ‘I don’t, and I have in mind my responsibilities as a city alderman. The good citizens of