The Iron Master Read Online Free PDF

your back, sir, and you will not go wrong!’ He set out obediently, though a little disheartened by this reception, and was immediately transfixed by the sight of Newgate Prison: a cruel legend come to life again, rebuilt after Lord George Gordon’s rioters had burned down the jail and released the prisoners, five years since. And as he walked and reflected upon this recent piece of history, William went too far, and on turning left found himself in the noise and hustle of Covent Garden.
    Here the onlookers enjoyed themselves at his expense, passing remarks about his dress, his parentage and his intentions. Here, too, a nobleman somewhat the worse for wine jostled him into the mire and then, at William’s remonstrance, threatened to draw his sword and show him who should have precedence. Lost and angry, the young man took refuge in a barber’s shop, and while he was divested of a two-day beard listened to a monologue of good advice.
    ‘Keep a grip on your baggage, and button up your watch and purse,’ said the barber, trimming William’s hair without being asked. ‘There’s pickpockets a-plenty round here. Stay on the main thoroughfares. The side-lanes is full of murder and wickedness. If you want a nice quiet breakfast take it at Plates Coffee-house — I’ll point it out to you as you leave. If you want a whore to go with your food then find a coffee-house that shows a woman’s hand or arm holding the pot, on the sign outside.
    ‘You’re a stranger round here, aren’t you, sir? Yes, I can always tell. Now that’s the reason I’d choose Plates, rather than a better-known establishment. In London, you see, the coffeehouses have their favourites, as you might say. Actors go to one, wits to another, politicians somewhere else, scholars here, professional men there. But Plates welcomes everybody, even Scotchmen — you’re not a Scotchman, are you, sir? No, I thought not. They speak a sight thicker. You’ll feel at home, sir, at Platt’s.
    ‘Now, sir, you’re looking more like yourself again. Would you be wanting anything else? An aching tooth drawn, sir? A little blood-letting after the journey? Travelling often brings on vile humours, sir. No? There you are then, sir. Ready to meet King George!’ Jocularly. ‘Oh, thank you, sir!’ As William, in his embarrassment, tipped him far too much.
    But Plates was an excellent choice, a poultice on the wound of his self-esteem. Though poorly furnished, and dingy with years of smoke, the place was warm and comfortable, and above all it was not jouncing along at ten miles an hour. At this time of morning it was fairly empty, since the bulk of customers arrived between eight and ten o’clock. And the woman who served William was stout and homely, which relieved him very much, for he had been troubled by the notion of whores.
    She gave him the choice of chocolate, tea, coffee, wine, punch or ale. He would have preferred ale or tea, as his usual beverage, but feared to seem unsophisticated, so ordered coffee as though he drank it often, and was pleased to find it a hot and agreeable drink with a rich aroma. Since toast was a rare treat, and his stomach felt unsettled, he ordered several slices. And, the morning papers coming in soon after, he found himself in possession of the news of the day for tuppence. Now regular customers and passing strangers began to fill the benches and form into groups. Most of them smoked, and the air became thick. All of them talked freely; for coffee-houses were regarded as the bastions of English liberty, taking pride in the fact that any topic could be discussed, and even the monarchy criticised within their walls.
    Listening, while pretending to consult The Morning Post , William deduced that the company at the adjoining table was composed of a titled gentleman, a shoe-maker, a wool merchant and a physician. He was accustomed to open debate, having spent seven years in the Scholes’s household where any opinion warranted serious