Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

Kitty began to sweep the grate, sending a cloud of dust into the air. I made a show of coughing and yawning as if freshly wakened then pulled on my breeches and slipped a waistcoat over my shirt. The floor was almost clear of Fleet’s clutter, his books and papers, clothes and curios stacked in neat piles against the walls. It would be scattered again by nightfall, but still, it was an impressive feat. ‘You’ve done a fine job there, Kitty.’

She froze, back stiffening at the compliment, then carried on with her work. ‘Will you need a fire, sir?’ she said, without turning round.

‘No, thank you. I’ll take breakfast at Bradshaw’s.’

‘Very good, sir.’ She knocked ash from her brush, smacking it hard against the grate. Clack, clack, clack.

I paused, frowning at her back. She seemed ill-tempered this morning, even for her. ‘Is something wrong, Kitty?’

She dropped her brush with a loud clatter, wiped the ash from her hands. Then she rose and looked me up and down. ‘And what is that to you , sir?’

‘Well, indeed! Your welfare is of no consequence to me, I’m sure,’ I snapped, irritated. ‘And you should mind your tongue when you’re speaking with a gentleman.’ Oh, good God in heaven. Why did I say that? I sounded like my father.

Kitty pressed her lips together, swallowing the words she so clearly wished to say. She looked me straight in the eye, chin high. ‘I beg your pardon, sir .’

It was such a churlish apology, so lacking in conviction, that I burst out laughing. ‘An elegant apology, Miss Sparks. You are forgiven.’ I bowed and left the room before she could answer. When I reached the stairs I glanced back and saw that she was staring after me, brows furrowed in confusion. I gave her a wink and was on my way.

A tempting smell of coffee, fried bacon and fresh-baked rolls wafted from the doorway at Mrs Bradshaw’s but as I reached the threshold she hauled herself from her chair and laid siege to the room, arms folded across her wide bosom. ‘There’s no room,’ she sniffed. ‘Try upstairs at Titty Doll’s.’

I peered past her to the empty chairs and tables and raised an eyebrow. ‘Have I offended you, madam?’

‘Oh! As if you didn’t know! You should be ashamed of yourself! Poor Mrs Roberts, she was in agonies last night,’ she scolded, looking pleased at the memory. ‘She thought the captain had come back from the grave, God rest his soul. I had to give her a sleeping draught just to calm her nerves. How could you, sir? Dressing up in the clothes he was hanged in. Well. I am vastly disappointed, Mr Hawkins. I thought better of you, I really did. But I should have known. A friend of Moll’s .’ She shooed me out of the door and slammed it behind me.

I was about to try my luck upstairs with Mrs Mack when I caught sight of Jakes striding across the yard beneath heavy black storm clouds. I’d forgotten Charles’ promise to send him over this morning. I stepped outside and met him beneath the Court porch.

‘Mr Jakes,’ I said, clutching a large paw. ‘I’m glad to see you.’

‘Mr Hawkins.’ He grinned. ‘Busy night, I hear.’

‘Oh. I suppose it’s all around the prison.’ Was that why Fleet rushed out this morning?

Jakes shrugged. ‘Mr Buckley says you have a talent for trouble. Asked me to give you this. You’ll need to keep it tucked away or the turnkeys will take it.’ He pulled a bundle from a bag at his side and handed it to me.

I unwrapped the cloth to find a short dagger, plain but well-made. I slipped it beneath my waistcoat. ‘It’s good of you to help me, Mr Jakes. I hope Charles is paying you for your time.’

‘Glad to help, sir. Captain Roberts was a loyal friend. I owe him my life.’ He looked down at the ground. Then he looked up and smiled again, eyes twinkling. ‘And yes, Mr Buckley is paying me for my time.’

‘From what I hear of Captain Roberts, he would approve of you making a profit.’

Jakes laughed. ‘Aye, true enough.’

‘So,’ I said, clapping my hands together. ‘Where shall we begin our enquiries? Is the Tap Room open?’

‘You won’t find answers there. I have a better idea.’ He glanced over his shoulder, a soldier’s instinct. ‘You had breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

He fixed me with a sombre look. ‘Good.’

Jakes was adamant. If we wanted to learn anything about Roberts’ death, we must visit the Common Side. ‘That’s where he was found. That’s where the secrets are kept. If someone knows something, we’ll find him over the wall.’ He gripped his club. ‘You’ll be safe with me, sir.’

I frowned. ‘Acton’s not a fool. If he hears I’ve been asking questions over there he’ll suspect something.’

‘Ah.’ Jakes jerked his chin towards the Lodge gate. ‘I’ve thought of that.’

To my dismay Woodburn bumbled into view, hand clamped to his hat against the blustering wind.

Jakes took one look at my expression and burst out laughing. ‘His heart’s in the right place, sir. And he can help us without knowing it.’ Woodburn, it transpired, visited the Common Side regularly to comfort the sick, lead the prisoners in prayer and hand out food bought with donations from the parish. ‘But keep that to yourself,’ Jakes muttered. ‘Or Acton will take it in a flash.’

‘Mr Hawkins!’ Woodburn limped over, breathless and gouty. ‘My dear fellow. Jakes tells me you wish to help me in God’s work this morning?’

I glanced at Jakes. He widened his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘Ah… yes. Indeed.’

‘Mr Hawkins was too shy to write to you in person,’ Jakes explained. ‘But he’s most eager to join you on your visit.’ He turned to me, face perfectly composed. ‘You were inspired by the good reverend’s example, isn’t that right, sir?’

‘Inspired, yes…’ I echoed, as Woodburn’s face puffed out with pride. ‘I thought I might ease their suffering in some small way…’

‘Through prayer,’ Jakes added.

‘Through prayer,’ I agreed, miserably.

‘Praise the Lord,’ Woodburn beamed.

Joseph Cross sauntered over, twirling his ring of keys. ‘So, Hawkins, I hear the governor had sport with you last night.’ He sniggered. ‘Says you almost shat yourself.’

Jakes crunched one heavy step towards him. ‘You’ll get your neck wrung for good one of these days, Joseph.’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen…’ Woodburn cautioned.

Cross made a show of looking about him. ‘Won’t find any of those around here.’

Cross gathered together a half dozen of Acton’s trusties, including Jenings the nightwatch and Chapman from the Tap Room, who was laden down with several bottles of liquor. When we reached the small wooden door fixed into the Common wall Cross turned and addressed the men. ‘You know the rules, boys. Hands on your clubs. Don’t take any damned nonsense from those sons of whores.’ He slotted the key in the lock. ‘And breathe through your mouth.’

I let the trusties go through first, then Woodburn. Jakes steeled himself, then squeezed through the door. I hesitated for a moment – every nerve screaming at me to turn back.

‘Hawkins,’ Jakes called, softly.

I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped over to the Common Side.

… And was it so very different, truly? I gazed about me, heart pounding. The sky – low, grey, heavy – looked just the same on this side of the wall. The worn and broken cobbles felt the same beneath my feet. But the air… the air felt different. Thick and cloying. Poisoned. I glanced at the other men and knew they all felt it – even Cross.

‘God, I hate this place,’ he muttered.

We walked towards the crumbling prison quarters – a raggle-taggle of ancient timber houses slumped, exhausted, against the far south wall. The Master’s Side had been unlocked for more than an hour but here on the Common Side the prisoners were still trapped in their wards. Three hundred souls crammed thirty, forty, fifty to a cell all night, stifled and starving, forced to breathe in each other’s filth. As we drew closer we could hear them banging on the doors, begging in broken voices to be let out, for pity’s sake.