[A Gentleman’s Companion, October 1735] I knew Hugh would not enjoy being woken – the snores I heard from behind the door of his attic room were too loud and energetic. It took three bouts of banging on the door to wake him, by which time the widow from the floor below was calling up the stairs in protest. When Hugh did come to the door, it was evident he’d had a hard night of it; he’d collapsed on his bed in breeches, shirt and stockinged feet. Kate took one look at his hair sticking up, and cackled loudly. Sighing, Hugh let us in, rubbing at his injured arm as if it ached. Behind him, one candle gleamed. ‘Wake up the widow below, did you?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘You know what she’ll think.’ ‘I’m no whore,’ Kate said indignantly, and turned for the door again. ‘I’ll tell her!’ I grabbed her arm. ‘You will not! Hugh, is that piece of pie going spare?’ He looked at the pie on the table and almost turned green. ‘Don’t talk about food.’ ‘Too much to drink?’ I passed the pie across to Kate who fell on it as if she hadn’t eaten for months.
