She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. She confronted him with his own double-standard. “I want a plain word with you about all this. ” “I know,” said Mr Manning, “I know these Dreadful Statistics. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun.
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