Charles looked grim. He never did like confronting trouble, even as a boy. But he liked half-finished business even less. ‘I took a turn through the gaol just now. I spoke to the turnkeys and the trusties. The porters. Any prisoners that weren’t locked up. Most of them are convinced that Fleet killed Captain Roberts. And they don’t give a damn who killed Fleet. Sir Philip and Mr Acton are hoping for a quick end to the matter. Killing was Fleet’s business. He was in the room the night Roberts was murdered. He might have done it.’ He cleared his throat, looked away. ‘Tell Acton that Fleet confessed to you. He’ll be happy to believe it if it puts an end to the business. Tell him now and I promise you will be released at once.’
‘No.’
‘Tom . . .’
‘No!’ I glared at him. ‘I will not accuse an innocent man.’
‘He’s dead,’ Charles said, chopping his hand through the air as if it were an executioner’s blade. ‘What does it matter? He has no reputation, no kin. No one would suffer from this.’
‘What of Kitty?’
He blinked. ‘The kitchen maid? For God’s sake, Tom! You will die in here. Look at you! Four days inside and already you’re battered and bruised from head to foot. I know you – you’ll pick a fight with the wrong man or wander into some trouble and then it will be your corpse they’re carrying through the Lodge gate on a cart. Please, I beg of you – don’t throw your life away because of some ill-placed loyalty to a man you barely knew! No one cares about Samuel Fleet.’
‘You want me to lie. To destroy a man’s reputation. And what of his soul, Charles? They’ll bury him in unconsecrated ground—’
‘God damn it, you’re a stubborn fool,’ he complained, through gritted teeth. ‘You know what Fleet was, in your heart. At best, a rogue. At worst, an invert and a killer.’ He caught my expression and held up his hand. ‘Forgive me, but I must be blunt. Samuel Fleet is already burning in hell for what he’s done. What is one more murder to add to his name?’ He got to his feet. ‘Come with me now and we will tell Acton together.’
I considered it for a moment. I owed Charles that much. But my thoughts couldn’t travel far before hitting a wall as hard as iron, and there was no scaling over it. I would not, could not betray Fleet. It was not rational, but no less true for that. ‘No. I’m sorry, Charles. No.’
He winced, and stared at the floor for a long moment. ‘Then it is over,’ he murmured, and rose from his chair. ‘I will not stay and watch you die in here.’ He gave a short, formal bow and turned to leave. At the door, he paused, and looked back. ‘He would have betrayed you in a flash.’
I smiled sadly. ‘I know.’
The clock upon the mantelpiece struck noon. I wandered over to the writing table and picked up the paper with the list of scratched-out names. Then I threw it upon the fire, pushing it deep into the coals until it caught light with a bright flash, the sudden heat scorching my face as the names burned away to nothing. The last name to burn was Trim’s.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Oh dear, oh dear, Mr Hawkins. You are in trouble.’
Gilbert Hand was sitting beneath his lamppost, legs stretched out, drinking a mug of beer. He grinned, presenting his teeth for inspection.
‘You knew Roberts took the money.’
Hand shrugged in acknowledgement. ‘A man needs to know when to keep his mouth shut, Mr Hawkins. I’m not a blabber.’ He took a long swig of beer. ‘Governor’s furious with you. You made him look like a fool in front of Gilbourne. Surprised he didn’t throw you in the Hole for a few days. He hasn’t tried you in there yet, has he? The hole under the stairs? It’s like being buried alive, they say . . .’
‘What else do you know, sir?’
He gestured across the Park. ‘I know I don’t want to go out of this world like that.’ I followed his gaze to the prison wards. Two porters were carrying Fleet’s body out on a stretcher, wrapped in an old sheet. Jakes – still standing sentinel – pulled off his hat as they passed and bowed his head.
‘Where are you taking him?’ I called out.
‘Coroner,’ one of the porters said without stopping. They carried the stretcher towards a cart that had just turned in through the Lodge. A crow flew down and perched on a wheel, watching intently as they loaded Fleet’s body on to the back. The driver shooed it away.
Acton stood by Fleet’s bench, fists on his hips, and watched the cart rumble past. For a moment our eyes met across the yard. I knew that he would be happy to see me leave the gaol the same way, preferably before the day was over.
Jakes strode to meet me. ‘They’ve let everyone out. Acton’s orders. I saved your things.’ He pointed through the door to a small bundle of possessions tied in a sheet. ‘They’ve been gambling for the rest up in Belle Isle. It’ll be stripped bare by now.’
I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and burst through the door. The room was empty. The old, cracked mirror had been pulled from the wall. Books, blankets, pots, pans and clothes, all the raggle-taggle of Fleet’s life had gone. Even the coal had been pinched from the bucket. Only the bed frames remained, like skeletons picked of meat. Kitty stood at the window, clutching Fleet’s red velvet banyan to her chest. She’d mopped up the pool of blood from the floor, but it had left a large, dark stain on the boards. Something to give the next occupants nightmares.
‘I won this for you,’ Kitty said, holding out the banyan.
I folded it carefully and placed it at the end of my bed. ‘Did you keep nothing for yourself, Kitty?’
She reached into her apron and pulled out the gold ring Fleet used to wear. ‘It’s a poesy ring. It belonged to my father.’
I held it up to the window light and read the inscription hidden on the inside of the band.
I Cannot Show the Love I Owe.
‘It won’t fit,’ she said. ‘It slides off my finger.’
‘Here.’ I unhooked the clasp of my mother’s chain and tucked the cross into my waistcoat pocket. I slipped the ring on to the chain and fastened it about her neck, fingers brushing against her cool, freckled skin. So smooth; the finest silk. After all that had happened, this . . . this was what I needed. I couldn’t help myself. My fingers whispered slowly down the nape of her neck. She shivered and turned to face me, eyes wide and serious. And then she rose on tiptoe and touched her lips to mine, gently at first and then deeper, wrapping her arms about my neck. I lost myself in that kiss, so sudden and unexpected. No one had ever kissed me like that, not in all my life. The room melted away, all my debts, all the horror, the whole prison was gone in a heartbeat. I was set free. I slid my arms around her waist and drew her close, as close as I could, pressing my hips against hers. I could feel the pulse of her heart thrumming against my chest.
‘Let her go!’ Catherine Roberts stood in the doorway, gaping at us in fury.
We jumped and stepped back, the moment broken like fine china on the floor.
Mrs Roberts’ gloved hands balled into fists. ‘You scoundrel!’ Her voice echoed about the empty room.
I saw the kiss from her eyes now, how it must seem. Taking advantage of a grieving girl. And after I’d promised – vowed I wouldn’t touch her. I wanted to explain but there weren’t words – and she would never have understood.
I took another small step away from Kitty. Felt the gap between us again. ‘What is it you want of me, Mrs Roberts?’
‘You betrayed my secret. I’ve been ordered to leave the prison at once.’
I closed my eyes for a moment. My heart was still beating hard and it took me a moment to understand or even care what she was saying. ‘Yes. Forgive me. I told Acton about the ghost. I’m afraid I had no choice. I was trying to discover your husband’s killer, madam.’
‘What’s this about the ghost?’ Kitty asked.
‘Mrs Roberts hired an actor to sneak into the prison.’
‘You promised not to tell!’ she said, glowering. ‘How am I to discover John’s killer now I’m banished from the gaol? I have lost my son because of
you! I will never see him again!’ She broke off, sobbing into her hand, shoulders shaking.
Kitty glared at her. ‘It was all a trick? You sent an actor to frighten Ben Carter – when his brother lay dying?’
Mrs Roberts dropped her hand, rubbing the tears from her cheeks as she composed herself. She gave Kitty a cold, regal glare. ‘How dare you speak to me in such a pert fashion! Do you think one kiss from a gentleman makes you a lady?’
‘I think you should leave, madam,’ I said quietly. A day or two ago I might have called her Catherine – but not now.
She rounded on me. ‘Mr Acton told me of the vile accusations you made about my husband and Mr Gilbourne.’ She put a hand to her throat. ‘John would never, never agree to such a foul thing. He was a true gentleman.’
I sighed but said nothing. She would never accept the sordid truth: that she had given up her family, her reputation and her heart to a man who would have sold her body and soul for ten guineas. Who could blame her for denying it?
‘Kitty.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come here, child.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Kitty declared, tossing her head.
‘You poor girl.’ Mrs Roberts laughed. ‘Do you think he will care tuppence for you, once he has taken what he wants? Come. If I’m to leave this place I might as well take you with me. A lady’s maid is a good position, Kitty – don’t ruin yourself for something so worthless. I’ll pay you a fair wage.’
‘I’m obliged to you for your kind offer, Mrs Roberts. Kitty replied slowly and with great deliberation, ‘But I’d rather suck Mr Woodburn’s cock.’
Mrs Roberts flinched. And then she drew herself up, winter-grey eyes cold with disapproval. ‘You will end up like your mother, child. A common whore, selling herself in a stinking alley for a glass of cheap gin.’ She pulled her hood over her face and glided away from us down the stairs.
Kitty set her jaw, defiant as always. But I was close enough to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. I wished that I could take us back to those few precious moments, before Mrs Roberts had torn us apart. I thought about taking her in my arms again. But the walls were back in place and we could both feel it.
‘So,’ I said carefully. ‘What now, Kitty?’ Tell me to kiss you again and I’ll do it.
She glanced at the dark stain by Fleet’s bed and shuddered. ‘I shan’t stay here. I’ll cut my hair and join the army.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Jakes growled from the doorway. He stared about him, taking in the plundered kingdom of Belle Isle. ‘Is there nothing left? Bloody locusts.’
Kitty picked up her broom, propped against the wall. ‘At least I can sweep the floor properly,’ she sighed. She dragged the broom across the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. ‘I haven’t seen it in months. Not since the captain died, now I think of it.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, coughing as the dirt caught in my throat.
She paused, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘The room was swept clean, just here.’ She gestured at the area that ran from my bed to the door. ‘I tried to tell Samuel but he was in one of his dark moods. He wasn’t always the way you saw him.’ She slid the broom beneath my bed, sweeping out thick grey clumps of dust.
I frowned at the empty boards. ‘Why would they sweep the floor?’
‘To clear a path through all the junk?’ Jakes suggested. ‘A man could trip and break his neck on it in the dark.’
Something caught my eye: a glint of silver in the dust. I stayed Kitty’s arm. ‘Perhaps they dropped something.’ I stooped down and plucked a coin from the dirt. A silver crown. I blew away the dust and held it out in my palm for them to see. A rust-brown mark covered the old king’s face. I scraped at it with my thumbnail. Blood. ‘They killed him, then swept up all the money.’ I turned the coin over in my palm, thinking hard. ‘Gilbourne paid Roberts five guineas – that’s a fair sum in here.’
‘It will be long spent by now,’ Jakes said with a frown, rubbing the scar that cut through his brow.
A loud creak from the floorboards above broke the silence. I peered up at the ceiling. Trim was still in his room. I glanced at Jakes, then lowered my voice. ‘Ask about – in the gaol and in the Borough. Who was flush, after Roberts’ death? Who paid off an old debt, or stood a round in the Tap Room? There’s a chance someone will remember.’ I touched his shoulder as he passed, brought my lips to his ear. ‘Ask about Trim. And Cross.’
Jakes blinked in surprise, then shrugged, as if to say, I would believe anything, of anyone, in here. ‘Will you be safe, on your own? I promised Mr Buckley I’d look after you, sir.’
I touched the hilt of my blade. ‘I’m not the man I was four days ago.’
‘Aye.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It changes people, this place. Or perhaps it strips them back to what they really are. Never quite worked that one out.’ He gave a short bow. ‘I’ll be back by candlelight.’
I grabbed his arm. ‘Sooner if you can, Mr Jakes. If I don’t have an answer for Acton by sunset he plans to arrest me for Fleet’s murder.’
‘No!’ Kitty cried in horror. ‘No – I won’t let him.’
‘The devil take him,’ Jakes muttered. ‘He would do it, too, I’m sure. But you’d never hang for it – the jury would see you’re an honest gentleman.’
Kitty slipped her hand in mine. ‘I’d speak up for you, Tom,’ she said softly. ‘We both would.’
Jakes nodded his agreement. I smiled at them, touched by their loyalty and their faith in me – but loyalty and faith would not save me now. Acton could fool the whole court if he chose. How simple it would be. Fleet murdered Captain Roberts and I murdered Fleet. He could line up his trusties one by one and they would say whatever he told them to say. I doubted Cross or Wills or Chapman would care about perjuring themselves. That is if I survived long enough to stand trial. It wasn’t hard to kill a man in gaol, poor old Mitchell was proof of that. Mitchell. I had almost forgotten about him. Easy to forget, over on this side of the wall. Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps there was something to be learned from his murder . . .
‘Tom?’ Kitty squeezed my hand, returning me to the world.
I blinked then rubbed my eyes. My head was spinning with questions about money and murder and motives. Jakes had left the room – I could hear his heavy boots stomping down the stairs. I should leave too; I had already wasted too much time here. I looked down at Kitty and she smiled, eyes bright. No, not wasted. I touched a stray lock of her bright red hair, then tucked it behind her ear.
‘I must go,’ I said. I’d be no good to her swinging from a rope at Tyburn.
She opened her mouth to protest then thought better of it. ‘But we will talk, later?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘Do you promise?’
Oh, yes . . . talking. The unfortunate penalty for kissing. ‘Of course. If you wish.’ If I’m still alive. I leaned down and touched her lips. And even with the threat of the noose I could have stayed just a little longer.
‘Go,’ she said, then giggled as I pulled her closer. ‘Go, for heaven’s sake, Tom. I’ll wait for you.’ She pushed me away. ‘Just this once.’
There is no easy way to tell a man you suspect him of murder. On another day and in a better state of mind I might have found a more gentlemanly way to raise the matter, but there it is.
‘God in heaven!’ Trim gasped, staring in alarm at the blade pressed to his heart. ‘Are you mad, sir?’
I shoved him hard against the wall. ‘I’m losing patience. Tell me. Did you kill Fleet?’
He shrank back. ‘No! I swear it!’
I let the blade travel from heart to throat. ‘And Roberts . . . ?’
‘No,’ he whimpered, holding very still. A bead of sweat slid down his face. ‘I swear . . .’
I held the dagger against his throat for a long, still moment. He was hiding something; I could see it in his eyes. I stepped back, lowered my blade. Ordered him to sit.
He did as he was commanded, stumbling over to the little table where we had
eaten supper together on my first night in prison. ‘Mr Acton will know of this,’ he sniffed.
I ignored him and poured us both a glass of wine. ‘Who killed Roberts?’
He took the glass, cradling it in both hands as if it were a prayer book.
I stood over him. ‘Did you help carry his body to the Strong Room?’
‘Why do you ask me these questions?’ he asked, his light brown eyes filled with hurt. ‘I have only ever been kind and civil to you, sir.’
‘Which is why I have not slit your throat. Someone tampered with the punch last night. I saw you put something in the bowl.’
Trim’s mouth opened and closed in shock. ‘Cinnamon and nutmeg,’ he stammered, when he’d regained his voice. ‘A little sugar – we drank it together, Mr Hawkins! I was knocked out cold all night, the same as you! I’m still groggy from it, I think.’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘You bought a sleeping draught from Mr Siddall.’
‘To aid Mr Woodburn!’ he cried, exasperated. ‘Here, it must still be on my shelf. Let me show you.’ He jumped up and began searching along his medicine shelf, reaching on tiptoes to study the higher shelves. ‘I only gave him a spoonful,’ he called, back turned as he shuffled through his collection of glass and stone bottles.
Trim ran a neat, well-ordered business, with everything easily to hand. He should have found it at once. He continued searching frantically for a few moments, then cursed under his breath. ‘Someone must have stolen it.’
‘I doubt the governor will see it that way.’
He blanched. ‘What are you saying, sir?’
I motioned for him to sit down again. ‘You live one flight up from Belle Isle. You can make no account of the sleeping draught you bought from Mr Siddall.’ I paused. ‘And you knew Captain Roberts planned to sell his wife for ten guineas.’
He gave a jolt, tried to protest. I cut him dead.
‘The walls are thin here. Voices carry to other rooms.’ I tapped the floor with my foot. ‘Fleet said he used to hide up here with you when the captain and Mrs Roberts fought, but you could still hear them. Every word.’
The Devil in the Marshalsea Page 29