Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘No,’ he replied simply.

No. And with that one word, I was sure of it. When one makes a living at the tables one learns to read a man’s face as if it were the London Gazette . One glance in Fleet’s eyes – and more than one glance was ill-advised – convinced me that he was either the greatest actor on earth or that he was telling the truth. More than that, I had the strangest feeling that if he had indeed killed Roberts, he would have replied, just as simply, ‘Yes’.

What he would have done with me after that, I prefer not to contemplate.

I stepped away from the wall, brushing the plaster and dust from my shirt. ‘But you must have seen or heard something.’ I gestured to our respective beds. ‘You were scarce six feet away. And don’t tell me you slept through it all.’

A pained expression crossed Fleet’s face. He turned the dagger in his hand, dancing it between his fingers as he considered his next move. ‘Very well,’ he muttered at last. ‘I will share my secret. But let me warn you, sir.’ He shot me an evil look. ‘If you breathe a word of this to another soul…’

I nodded swiftly. ‘Pain. Retribution. I understand. What happened?’

‘I was…’ He winced. ‘I was outwitted.’

I bit my cheek, stifling a laugh. I think he would have confessed more willingly to murder if he could. ‘Outwitted,’ I repeated, enjoying myself for the first time all evening. ‘Impossible, surely.’

He gave me a sour look. ‘Someone tipped a sleeping draught in my punch.’ He paused, scratched his stubble with the tip of his dagger. ‘I’d shake the rogue’s hand if I could. First time I’ve slept well in years.’ He looked away, then poked about until he found a half-empty bottle of wine.

‘Then why not tell people?’ I asked, as he handed me a glass filled dangerously close to the brim.

‘And ruin my reputation as a cold-hearted devil?’ Fleet gestured to the window. ‘It helps to be feared in a place like this. Better to be thought a murderer than a fool.’

‘Whoever drugged the punch must have killed Roberts.’ I peered into the glass and gave it a suspicious little sniff. ‘Or perhaps you’re lying. Perhaps you drugged yourself.’

Fleet blinked, incredulous. ‘Drugged myself? For what possible reason?’

‘Perhaps you knew Roberts would be murdered that night.’

‘I see.’ Fleet frowned. ‘I drugged myself to avoid witnessing the terrible crime, is that it? Tell me – if you knew someone was planning to sneak into your room one night and murder your roommate, would you knock yourself unconscious?’

I felt my grand theory dissolving. ‘Then who was it?’

Fleet gritted his teeth, as if he were trying to imprison the next three words that escaped his lips. ‘I don’t know.’

‘But you must have some notion,’ I protested. ‘Perhaps-’

‘I don’t know,’ Fleet hissed, then collapsed miserably on the bed. He sank his head in his hands. ‘I have thought it over day and night for three months,’ he said, wearily. ‘It could have been anyone.’

‘Have you not asked about the prison?’

He dropped his hands. ‘And how might I do that, without explaining what had happened?’ He rubbed his thumb deep into his palm. ‘It would spread through the gaol in moments. And everyone would know that I could be tricked. Beaten.’ He scowled. ‘I would rather let a dozen murderers go free than that.’

‘You jest,’ I said, without thinking.

‘No, Mr Hawkins,’ he replied softly. ‘I am quite serious. If you wish to survive in this gaol… in this world , then you must make people believe that you are the most ruthless, calculating, treacherous man they know. They must believe that you are capable of anything – the worst imaginable outrages. If your enemies learn that you are weak, they will destroy you. That is the way of the world.’

‘I do not wish to be thought of as ruthless or trecherous,’ I said. ‘And I don’t believe I have any enemies. Apart from Cross. And Grace.’ I frowned. ‘I suppose there may be others I don’t know about.’

‘Those are the most dangerous,’ Fleet said, crossing to the fire.

I knocked back my wine then started unbuttoning the captain’s shirt and breeches. The sooner I was out of these corpse clothes the better. I slung them in a dark corner with the waistcoat and hunted out an old nightgown, wrapping it close with a wide sash. It was not as fine as Fleet’s banyan, though it was a good deal cleaner – and at least no one had died in it. ‘Why did you put me in those damned things?’ I asked, gesturing at Roberts’ clothes.

Fleet was intent on building up the fire. ‘I thought it might provoke a reaction.’ He glanced up at me, waving the poker at my face. ‘You share a resemblance, especially in candlelight. The same colouring, the same bearing.’

‘What,’ I snorted, pouring myself another glass. ‘Are we in Hamlet ? Did you think the killer would take one look at me and run screaming from the room, wracked with guilt?’

‘Perhaps.’ Fleet shrugged and turned back to the fire. ‘In any case, it passed the time.’

‘ Passed the time? You warn me that I’m dining with a murderer and then you send me off in his victim’s clothes, just to help you pass the time ?’

He blew on the kindling. ‘Passing the time is very important in gaol, believe me.’

I glared at his back, furious. ‘Acton could have broken my neck, damn it. Thank God he didn’t even seem to notice…’

‘Acton?’ He grunted to himself. ‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’

‘And what must poor Catherine think of me, parading about in her dead husband’s clothes?’

‘Did Mrs Roberts see you? Oh dear. What a pity,’ Fleet said, with a distinct lack of remorse.

‘I doubt she will ever speak to me again,’ I sulked. The thought of that struck me again, harder than before. I’d begun to care for her, more than I liked to admit. Fate had been cruel to her. I wanted to help her find justice and win back her son, not for her fortune but because she deserved to be happy after all the suffering she had endured. Well. Perhaps I was a little interested in her fortune, to be honest – but it was hardly my fault that I had fallen in love with an extremely wealthy woman. The heart must be free to fly.

‘She near fainted with the shock,’ I added. Fleet remained unmoved. ‘It was lucky Gilbourne was there.’

‘Gilbourne…?’ Fleet tipped a shovelful of coal on the fire, stoking it slowly. ‘And how did he react to your costume?’

‘He was angry on Catherine’s behalf.’

Fleet thrust the poker deep into the fire. ‘How gallant of him,’ he muttered.

‘You don’t like him.’

‘I can count the number of men I like on one hand. Without letting go of my cock.’

‘I think he’s a good man. He rather likes you.’

‘Does he indeed…?’ Fleet blinked. ‘How peculiar.’

‘He also warned me not to trust you.’

‘Quite right. You shouldn’t trust anyone in here.’ He picked up his old boot and pulled out his pistol, waving it in the air with a grin before slinging it on to his bed. ‘Vile den of filthy liars. But this is all most interesting. Fascinating! ’ He beckoned me towards the fire. ‘Sit down. Tell me everything.’

I put on a blue velvet nightcap then settled down in the chair nearest the hearth. ‘I thought you said the mind worked better in the cold.’

‘I don’t need you to think,’ he said. ‘In fact I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Just talk.’

I described the whole evening at Acton’s in detail, which to my surprise was a good deal more enjoyable than the night itself. Fleet revelled in the horror of it, from Grace kicking Henry flying to Mack lying dead drunk under the table to Mary flirting and pouting and sulking her way through it all. When I came to our dance, Fleet jumped up and twirled about, capturing her perfectly. ‘Why, Mr Hawkins, your hands are like silk!’ he trilled, running his fingers down his chest and miming an indecent fit of ecstasy. Then he dropped back on the bed, fanning himself saucily with one of his pamphlets.