Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘Mr Hawkins.’ He touched my shoulder lightly. ‘If Acton even suspected you were conducting a murder investigation in his Castle , he’d have you whipped and tossed in the Strong Room. If you were lucky. But for now, you have some value. You’re a friend of Charles Buckley, and Buckley has Sir Philip’s ear. Acton’s a clever man, don’t let him fool you. One doesn’t become warden of the Marshalsea through brute force alone. He was a butcher for twenty years; he knows when to bludgeon and when to fillet.’

I rubbed my jaw. The night had left me tired and uneasy – and I was afraid of where my suspicions were leading me. I had no doubt that William Acton was capable of murder. I’d seen the look in his eyes when I was dancing with Mary. He had made it into a joke, but the menace was still there, just beneath the surface. Perhaps Roberts had owed him money, or insulted him or beaten him at cards. Perhaps he’d tried to escape like poor Jack Carter. Acton could easily have beaten Captain Roberts to death in a fit of anger. But Roberts was a gentleman, he had friends, a wife. They might have asked questions, insisted on an investigation. So Acton hanged Roberts in the Strong Room and bribed the coroner to call it suicide. How simple it would be, a murder in his own Castle. The Marshalsea was not a place for justice, for honest dealing. The only question was why Acton allowed Mrs Roberts to stay in the gaol, causing trouble. Surely if he had murdered Roberts he would want to keep her as far from the prison as possible. But then, Acton was an arrogant man. This was his Castle. He wouldn’t be threatened by a woman, not even one as clever and determined as Mrs Roberts. Perhaps it amused him to take her money, knowing all the time that she would never discover the truth. If Catherine was prepared to pay a high rent on her room in the Oak, Acton was prepared to take it from her.

‘I’ll tell you something,’ Gilbourne said quietly. ‘If you could find enough proof to hang him I’d pay your debt myself. The man’s a monster. Worse than that – an unpredictable monster. Lets his feelings run away with him. It’s bad for the gaol, bad for profits. Things are much smoother at the Fleet prison, you know. Bambridge was a stockbroker; earned a fortune from the Bubble. That’s what the Marshalsea needs.’ Gilbourne nodded to himself. ‘A man of business.’

‘If I could prove it was suicide,’ I pondered, not really following Gilbourne’s thrust. ‘If I said Acton beat him for some perfectly sound reason, but then Roberts killed himself… perhaps that’s the safest path through all this.’

‘Who’s there? Who is that?’

The voice was muffled but I recognised the clear, commanding tone at once. Catherine Roberts. Had she heard me? Shame burned in my chest. A verdict of suicide might save me, but it would also keep Catherine and her son apart for ever.

‘Is someone there?’ she called. ‘Mr Jenings?’

I breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t heard us. ‘Catherine,’ I said. ‘I’m here.’

Her small, dark figure glided towards us. Candles still flickered up in Acton’s lodgings, throwing just enough light for her to find us. I could see her face now as she emerged from the mist. The damp air had left a light dew upon her skin and her cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. She looked softer and more beautiful than anything I had ever seen in my life – and too perfect for such a place as this.

‘Catherine,’ I said again, and reached out my hand.

For one sweet, heart-thrilling moment her eyes lit up with pleasure and recognition. But then her expression collapsed into grief and terror. ‘Oh!’ she cried, flinging a hand up to her chest. ‘Oh! What is this?’ She stepped back, overcome, tripping over her skirts and half-falling, half-sinking to her knees.

Before I could move, Gilbourne had stepped forward and kneeled before her. ‘Madam, pray don’t be startled.’ ‘You are quite safe.’

She looked up into his face, dazed and fearful. ‘Mr… Mr Gilbourne?’ Her shoulders sagged with relief as she recognised him. She let him lift her to her feet, leaning heavily against him. ‘Oh, Mr Gilbourne, what is that creature?’ she whispered, staring at me in horror. ‘Do you see it?’

Gilbourne laughed in confusion. ‘Why, there’s nothing to fear,’ he said, gently. ‘It’s only Thomas Hawkins. See?’

She stared at me for a long moment as I stood like a statue, afraid to move in case I startled her again. I supposed in the fog she must have mistaken me for her dead husband, returned to haunt the yard – just as Jenings and Ben Carter had said. And yet, did I truly look like Captain Roberts, so much that his own widow could be fooled? From the portrait she had shown me it had seemed a passing resemblance at best.

‘Why… why is he dressed like that?’ she asked, her voice high and trembling with shock. ‘Some cruel trick?’

I looked to Gilbourne but he just shook his head, astonished. I reached out and touched her hand. ‘Catherine…’

‘Oh! Don’t touch me!’ she shuddered, backing away as if her skin were scorched. And now, in a moment, the fear and surprise turned to a cold, bitter anger. She glared at me, eyes burning with contempt. ‘You scoundrel ! How dare you wear my husband’s clothes! The clothes he wore when he was murdered ! I thought… Oh, God!’ Her voice wavered, and a single tear slid down her cheek. ‘It’s so cruel. I thought he had come back. I thought he’d come back to me.’ She turned away.

Gilbourne glowered at me, furious, all his earlier warmth and friendship vanished in a moment. ‘What devilish foolery is this, sir?’ he hissed under his breath. ‘Did you hope to trick us all with this wicked nonsense?’ He flicked his hand at my borrowed clothes, disgusted.

I held up my hands in dismay. ‘Mr Gilbourne, please, I beg you… I had no idea. I swear upon my life.’

He gazed at me, cold and distant. ‘This is a dangerous place to play games, Hawkins,’ he said. ‘I thought better of you.’ He gave Catherine his arm and led her away. For a brief moment she turned back and gave me a look that left me in no doubt of her feelings. And then they disappeared into the mist, leaving me alone.

I’d lost them both. The two people in this rotten, stinking place I had truly admired. And the two people best able to help me escape it. Gilbourne would have been a powerful friend and ally. And Catherine… a lump formed in my throat. It would be difficult to learn the truth about Roberts’ death without the help of his widow, but in my heart I knew I had lost something much more important than that. After we had spoken in the coffeehouse that afternoon I had dared to wonder about Catherine Roberts; dared to hope. She was not a woman I could ever deserve and yet… I could imagine a life with her – one where I became a better man. And a richer one, for that matter. Now, in one moment, that hope had been extinguished and I knew precisely who to blame.

‘Samuel Fleet,’ I whispered to the night. ‘I swear to God. You will pay for this.’ And with that, the clock struck midnight.

I had an appointment with a ghost. It seemed impolite not to attend.

And why not, I thought bitterly, as I edged my way through the fog towards the Palace Court. What more could this night do to me? The only other choice was to return to my lodgings and murder my roommate. I stared down at my clothes; clothes that must have been stripped from Roberts’ cold and bloody corpse. Fleet had sent me to Acton’s lodgings dressed in a dead man’s clothes and I had been stupid enough to think he was being kind.

‘I’ll wring his neck,’ I muttered, then stubbed my toe against a wall. I cursed hard, then reached out into the darkness and found a broad brick column. I must have reached the porch that ran beneath the Court. The dark and the mist were impenetrable here; if someone or something were waiting for me, they had discovered the perfect hiding place. I felt a shiver down my spine; a powerful sense of being watched. Studied. I backed away softly.