Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

I stared at the Court letter in my hands, at the large, confident signature at the bottom. Signed with a flourish – no doubt, no hesitation – though Gilbourne must have known he was signing a death warrant for countless men and women starving on the Common Side. I felt sick. How easily he’d fooled me with his flattery and charm! All those empty, cunning, worthless words. Of course he had his fingers in the pie; why should that be surprising? I’d admired his horse and his fine clothes, I’d seen the way the lawyers fawned about him. I’d always prided myself on reading a man’s lies in his face but he had played me like a boy fresh in from the country. ‘Damn him. I should have seen it.’

Mitchell patted my shoulder. ‘You’re not the first he’s fooled,’ he said, kindly. ‘He acts the gentleman on the Master’s Side, you see. I’ve seen him. He’ll be whatever you want him to be. But it’s all lies. A mask he hides behind. He’d fuck his own grandmother if he had to,’ he asserted, with an air of authority.

I folded the court order. ‘Perhaps that’s what Roberts had on him.’

Mitchell cackled. ‘Hah! Perhaps! Well, one thing I do know, sir. Whatever Gilbourne was up to, it had nothing to do with the Common Side. No one gives a damn what happens in here. We could all die tonight – each and every one of us – and they’d just shrug and find another three hundred wretches to take our place.’

True enough. I wondered what Roberts had discovered. An affair, perhaps. Would that be scandalous enough? I remembered the first time I’d seen Gilbourne, talking with Catherine Roberts out in the yard. I had wondered then if they could be lovers. Was that it? Was Roberts prepared to ruin his own wife’s reputation to escape prison? Catherine said he’d never forgiven her for persuading him to give up their son. Perhaps there were other things he couldn’t forgive. Perhaps he’d decided to take revenge on Gilbourne and Catherine together…

‘I told the captain to be careful,’ Mitchell sighed. ‘I told him Gilbourne was dangerous. He wouldn’t listen. “I don’t care, Harry,” he says. “I’ll take that risk if it gets me out of this wretched hole. One last gamble.”’ He paused. ‘Then a few days later they found him hanging in the Strong Room. Poor bugger.’

‘Maybe he was lucky,’ Anderson muttered. ‘A quick death.’

Jakes frowned, and peered out of the window. ‘The rain’s stopped. We’d best head back before Mr Woodburn starts to worry.’

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, remembering Woodburn’s message. I told Anderson that the food would be sent round to the begging grate that evening.

Anderson sighed with relief. ‘Thank God.’

‘I heard a rumour of this,’ Jakes said. ‘Woodburn said he’d been given money in secret. A friend of the Common Side – that’s all he’d tell me. I thought it might be Matthew Pugh.’

Anderson shook his head. ‘Pugh doesn’t have that sort of money to spare.’

‘How much was it?’ I asked.

‘Five pounds,’ Anderson replied. ‘But we daren’t keep it in here. Acton would sniff it out in a flash. Mr Woodburn buys food and medicine and slips it through the begging grate once a week. Should last us the rest of the year, if we’re careful. Save a few people from starving, at least.’ He gripped my arm and pulled me close. ‘Swear you won’t breathe a word.’

‘I swear!’ I said, wincing. Anderson was even stronger than he looked. He let go, satisfied. ‘Would Acton really steal food from the Common Side?’ I asked, rubbing my arm. ‘Surely there’s no profit in that?’

Anderson dipped his finger in the beef stew to taste. Pulled a face. ‘He likes to keep us hungry, Mr Hawkins. We’re easier to control that way. And the worse it is in here, the more he can charge over on your side of the wall. Why do you think the Tap Room looks out over the Common Side? He wants all you gents and ladies to see us, doesn’t he? Living in the filth. Sick and starving. You take one look at us and you’ll pay Acton anything to avoid the same fate. Did you know there are five wards over here standing empty? There’s no need to pack us in like animals. But the more of us die in here, the more rent men like you will pay. Clever, eh?’

It was all true, I was sure of it. And the horror of it was – it worked. I would give just about anything, do just about anything, to avoid being thrown in here. I could still taste the vomit in the back of my throat. ‘Perhaps things will change. If I talk to Sir Philip. If I can prove that Acton or Gilbourne killed Captain Roberts…’

‘Fuck all the saints!’ Anderson cursed. ‘You don’t let him talk like that on the Master’s Side, do you, Jakes? If the governor heard him…’ He paused, looked me dead in the eye. ‘Last summer they chained a man to a corpse in the Strong Room for three days, for daring to stand up to Acton. I saw him when they pulled him out again. They took off his chains but it made no difference. He could still feel the corpse flesh against his skin. Scratched a hole in his arm the size of a hen’s egg. He said he was trying to gouge out the dead man’s touch.’

Jakes cleared his throat. ‘No need to frighten him.’

Anderson looked at him. ‘Isn’t there?’

Jakes frowned and moved to the doorway, scouting the yard with a hand on his sword. Anderson pulled me back. ‘Hawkins,’ he hissed in my ear. ‘Take my advice. Find another way out of here. You’ll get yourself murdered, boy.’ He released me back into the yard with a friendly shove and lumbered back into his ward.

Jakes and I pushed our way through the crowds of feverish, listless prisoners, back towards the wall. Inside, in the ward, we had been under Anderson’s protection. But now we were vulnerable – two men against three hundred desperate souls. They snatched at our clothes as we passed, thin fingers poking into pockets, under shirts, snaking and grasping and pulling. I clasped my mother’s cross hard against my chest, afraid it might be ripped from my neck.

When we reached the door there was no one on the other side of the wall to let us through, and we passed an anxious few minutes knocking and calling to be released. Joseph Cross, having his revenge on us both. While Jakes slammed on the door with his club I pushed another grabbing hand from my arm only to discover it belonged to Harry Mitchell. He leaned in close, breathing stale beer breath into my face. ‘I know Gilbourne’s secret,’ he said. ‘The blackmail . I’ll tell you for a price.’

I would have seized him by the throat and shaken the truth out of him if I could, but there were too many people pushing and shoving around us. I didn’t want to be ripped to pieces for throttling Harry Mitchell. ‘How much?’ I muttered, reluctantly.

‘Freedom. Same as you.’

The door swung open and Cross poked his head through. ‘Come on, then, come on!’

Mitchell clung to me, suddenly desperate. ‘Gilbourne’ll kill me if he finds out I told. Get me out of here, Mr Hawkins. Settle it with Sir Philip. I swear I’ll tell you everything.’

I pushed him away. ‘I’ll see.’

He fell back into the crowds. Jakes shoved me back through the wall while Cross closed and bolted the door again as fast as if he were barring the gates to hell. I suppose he was. I had never felt so glad to take three paces in my life. Back on the Master’s Side. And alive! I could have kissed the cobbles with relief.

The storm had passed as quickly as it had come, the sky a clear, bright blue, as if the rain had washed it clean. The cobbles were slippery and the whole prison smelled mossy and damp, but the air was fresher, the east wind bundling the Common Side stench away with it. For the first time in a long while I wished I had stayed safe in the country, leaping over silver puddles, mud spattering my stockings as I made my way home to the vicarage. A safe, quiet, peaceful world. My father’s world. And then a stray, traitorous thought – perhaps he had been right, all along. Perhaps I should never have left…