Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

Henry paused for a moment, as small children do when they are shocked and hurt and want the world to know it. He took a deep breath. And then he screamed. He screamed with such a piercing intensity that the musicians flinched and stopped playing. Mack clapped his hands to his ears.

‘Henry!’ Mary wailed, scowling at her young son. ‘Stop your caterwauling! Mama! Make him stop . Oh!’ She stamped her foot and then again, louder. ‘He’s ruining the party.’

Mrs Wilson rose from the table and gathered her grandson in her arms, who shrieked and reached for his mother. Mary shooed them both away.

‘Take him for a walk about the Park. Hurry about it!’ she snapped. Then she caught my eye, and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘I cannot bear to hear him cry, Mr Hawkins,’ she sniffed. ‘It breaks my heart.’

Mary’s father looked worried. ‘It’s a cold night, dearest…’ he ventured, timidly.

‘Take him to the Tap Room and give him some whisky,’ Acton commanded his mother-in-law. ‘And tell Chapman to send over two more bowls of punch, damn it; we’re almost dry.’

Mrs Wilson did as she was told and took the screaming child away, his cries growing fainter as they headed across the yard. The party resumed, though Mack was now so drunk he had surrendered command of his flailing limbs and Mary was still sulking over her son’s selfish behaviour.

Grace cleared his throat. ‘The ledger, Mr Acton…?’

Acton scowled at him. ‘Very well, very well. No rest for the wicked, eh?’ He prodded a line in the book with a thick finger. ‘He can go.’

‘Very good, sir…’ Grace took up his quill and marked something on to the page.

Gilbourne watched them with a hand propping up one cheek. ‘And so a life is scratched out,’ he murmured.

‘What are they doing?’ I asked him.

‘Marking the Black Book. Grace keeps tally of each prisoner’s debts to the warden. It’s rent day tomorrow so they’re checking to see who has fallen behind. They’ll grant a week’s respite to the lucky ones, if they think they can squeeze more from them later. The rest will be flung over the wall. Monstrous. But what can one do?’

Grace dipped his quill and put a mark in the margin with a satisfied smile. The nib squeaked as it scraped across the paper, making my stomach turn. I’d heard enough about the Common Side to know that he was signing a death warrant for most of those unlucky prisoners. Worse still – it could so easily be my own name he was scratching out. Samuel Fleet struck me as a fickle friend – the moment he tired of me I would be discarded, tossed aside like the rest of his belongings.

I couldn’t afford another week’s rent on the Master’s Side, not even for the poorest room. For all of Acton’s good cheer and back-slapping, once he’d squeezed me of my last farthing he would throw me over the wall and leave me to rot with the rest of the poor Common Side wretches. How long before I caught a fever, or a blade in the ribs? How long before they were pulling my corpse out into the yard?

There was only one chance of escape. I had to solve Captain Roberts’ murder – as soon as possible. But where to start? Perhaps I should ask Gilbourne for help; he seemed a sharp, astute man and he would know more of the prison’s secrets than most, given his occupation. But could I trust him? Could I trust anyone?

John Grace drew a line through another name, sharp and straight. And then he looked up from his book and gazed at me for a long moment. The glass in his spectacles was shining in the candlelight so that I could not see his eyes – just the reflection of the flame.

The room grew hot, and I found it hard to breathe. I fumbled at my cravat, loosening the knot with trembling fingers.

‘Mr Hawkins.’ Gilbourne touched my arm, his dark brown eyes filled with concern. ‘Let’s step outside for a moment. You need fresh air, I think.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And there is a private matter we must discuss.’ He gave a discreet nod towards Acton and Grace. When Mack obligingly trod on Mary’s foot we used the distraction to slip outside.

‘Peace…’ Gilbourne sighed. He leaned against the tree outside Acton’s door and closed his eyes for a moment.

I lit a pipe and took a long draw of tobacco. My hands were still shaking. There were moments when I forgot the danger I was facing. It was an easy thing to forget, with all the drink, the music and the cheerful company of debtors like Trim and Mrs Bradshaw who had somehow made the Marshalsea their home. But that was just a thin layer of ice glittering across the lake. One false step and I would plunge into the black, freezing waters beneath. Charles was trying his best to protect me, and I loved him for it – but he was outside the prison walls. A man needed friends inside if he were to survive. For now, Acton had decided to like me, but I had made enemies of both his head clerk and his chief turnkey. Joseph Cross was an ill-tempered, mean-spirited bastard, but at least he attacked with his fists. John Grace was another matter. I wasn’t even sure why he disliked me so much, but I could sense it all the same; a cold, unwavering hatred that bided its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The thought made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

There was a light fog in the air, softening the gaol and leaving a damp trace upon the skin. The moon was still rising in the sky, shimmering behind the mist, and I could just make out the weak glow of the lantern in the middle of the Park. Out in the Borough, a clock struck ten, very faint. I peered out across the yard. The Palace Court, way down at the other end of the Park, was barely visible in the fog. Sam had said the ghost would meet me there at midnight. Well, it can wait all it wants , I thought, irritably. I shan’t be there . I had enough to worry about without chasing after phantoms.

‘Has Mr Buckley written to you yet, sir?’ Gilbourne asked quietly.

I gave a start. Charles’ letter was still tucked in my jacket pocket.

‘Sir Philip sent a message,’ he explained. ‘He’s ordered me to assist you in any way I can.’ He smiled at this, and gave a little bow. ‘I’m at your service.’

I returned his smile, but the news made me anxious. Gilbourne seemed honest and his position and power in the gaol could be helpful. But the fewer who knew about my investigation the better – news travelled fast around this prison. ‘Have you mentioned this to anyone?’

Gilbourne looked affronted. ‘Not a soul. Upon my honour.’

‘Forgive me, I meant no offence. It’s just… this is my only chance to escape this place. I can’t afford to fail.’ I swallowed hard. ‘My life depends on it, sir.’

‘I understand.’ His face was hard to read in the mist, but he sounded perfectly sincere. ‘And you are wise to be cautious. If Roberts was murdered, his killer is most likely still here in the prison. And should he discover that you’re hunting for him… Well. It’s all too easy to murder a man in the Marshalsea.’

I frowned and took another draw from my pipe. There was a burst of laughter from the Tap Room and a small drunken gang scuffled their way out into the yard; dark, murky shapes in the fog. ‘Light us, Mr Jenings!’ one of them called through into the Lodge and a moment later a lantern light appeared. The men weaved behind it, singing and sniggering to one another. A group of Acton’s trusties, heading for the turnkeys’ room under the chapel, with a couple of girls from the town. They didn’t notice us as they stumbled past. Jenings tipped his hat, silently.

‘There are men who would sell this information without hesitation,’ Gilbourne continued quietly, after they were gone. ‘They wouldn’t think or care about the danger to your safety. Mr Hand, for example. Your roommate for another.’ His gaze slid to the room I shared with Fleet. A dull light glowed from the window, but it was too dark and misty to see if Fleet were at his usual post. ‘D’you know, I happen to like Mr Fleet. He’s a queer, unpredictable fellow, but he’s decent company when he’s not in one of his dark moods. But he is not to be trusted. Not this much.’ Gilbourne pressed his thumb and finger together, leaving no space between them. ‘Belle Isle…’ he said, then laughed. ‘Have you caught the joke yet? Run the words together.’