Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘So I’ll return on Monday,’ Jakes said again, waving a hand in front of my face. Tomorrow was Sunday. ‘Can you stay alive until then, do you think?’

I nodded absently and he left, unconvinced. Losing Jakes was like losing a blade or a full purse. I would miss his protection. But I could not expect him to stay locked up in gaol with me. He had his own life out in the Borough – a wife and two young daughters. He would never in his life have brought them into the Marshalsea. I wondered briefly what his girls looked like and had an image of two miniature Misses Jakes in skirts, with squashed noses, scarred brows and meaty arms.

I pulled out Fleet’s watch from a hidden pocket, marvelling that it hadn’t been plucked from me in the scrabble by the wall. Two o’clock. No wonder my stomach was rumbling – I hadn’t eaten all day. With Jakes gone, I decided to find Fleet and tell him everything in the hope we could puzzle it all out together. Preferably over dinner. It was a dangerous strategy, trusting him with the truth. Trusting him with anything. But I needed his help. I realised now that Fleet had suspected Gilbourne all along. He’d known Gilbourne would be dining at Acton’s when he dressed me up in Roberts’ clothes. And thinking back, I remembered he’d been interested in Gilbourne’s reaction in particular.

What else had he been keeping from me?

I was just about to start looking for him when I heard a commotion coming from the Lodge. Walk away, Tom. Not your business.

The Reverend Andrew Woodburn’s voice – sharp and shrill with fury. ‘Miserable, wicked boy! How could you? How could you?’

Oh well, maybe just a quick look? Before I had taken another step Benjamin Carter flew out of the Lodge door and into the Park, tripping and falling to his knees in his haste to escape. As he fell he dropped a couple of wooden boxes he’d been carrying under his arm. They clattered to the cobbles, landing at my feet. I picked one up, curious, and shook it. A handful of coins rattled and bounced against the sides. A few debtors gathered nearby turned my way, attracted by the music.

Ben was on his feet in a moment. ‘Give it back,’ he snarled, tearing it from my hands and hugging it to his chest. As he turned to pick up the second box Mr Woodburn rushed out into the yard, wheezing with the effort. Gilbert Hand sauntered behind, hands in his pockets.

‘Do leave the boy alone, Woodburn,’ he suggested, mildly.

The chaplain raised his ebony cane and for one astonishing moment I thought he might actually dash Hand’s brains out. But then he caught my eye, and collected himself. ‘Well, Mr Hawkins,’ he said, limping over to me. ‘Here is an evil business.’

‘But it is business ,’ Hand pointed out. ‘You can’t blame Benjamin for trying to earn an honest penny.’

‘ Honest? ’ Woodburn’s eyes bulged so hard I thought they might pop from his head and roll across the cobbles. ‘Stealing from a charity box? Honest? ’

‘Well now.’ Hand rocked back on his heels. ‘ Stealing is a strong word. What would you say, Hawkins? Young Mr Carter here,’ he squeezed the boy’s lean shoulder, ‘has paid the governor a shilling for the right to beg charity round the Borough. And for that honourable work he is allowed to keep one tenth of what he earns. Would you begrudge him that?’

Woodburn tapped his cane irritably. ‘And the rest, Mr Hand. Where does that go, pray?’

Hand affected an innocent look. ‘Why, it goes to the Common Side, of course.’

‘It does no such thing!’ Woodburn cried, outraged. ‘It goes straight into Acton’s purse. And yours too, Mr Hand,’ he added, jabbing a finger towards the ranger’s waistcoat pocket. ‘I know all about the deal you’ve made with him.’

‘That is quite an accusation,’ Hand observed. ‘Slanderous, I’d say. I wonder what Mr Acton would make of it?’

Woodburn grabbed Benjamin’s arm and wrenched him away from Hand’s side, as if he were hauling him back from the edge of a cliff. He bent down so he could stare right into the boy’s face. ‘I gave you that shilling for Jack. To release his body. Benjamin… he’s still lying there in the Strong Room with all the…’ He paused, shook his head, unable to say the words. ‘He’s still lying there because of you .’

A guilty shadow crossed Ben’s face. But then it passed. ‘Jack’s dead,’ he said in a flat, sullen voice. ‘I’m alive. I have to look after myself.’

‘Oh, Benjamin,’ Woodburn sighed. ‘The Lord will look after you, if you trust in Him.’

Ben scowled. ‘He didn’t look after Jack, did He? Didn’t look after my mother, neither. I won’t end up like them.’ He tore himself from the chaplain’s grasp and sped off back towards the Lodge.

Woodburn watched him go, then turned and rubbed the tears from his eyes.

‘You did your best, sir,’ I said, while Hand smirked at me.

Woodburn sighed and trudged away without a word, head bowed. He looked wretched, as if his house had collapsed about his ears.

‘Oh dear, oh dear. Poor Woodburn,’ Hand said, smiling broadly. ‘He will keep putting his faith in the wrong people.’ He gave me a sly look and wandered off.

Fleet was not on his bench by the Lodge so I headed upstairs to the Tap Room. Mary was at the bar with Mack and a few other admirers. The singing and laughter was as loud as ever, holding the room in a drunken bubble. No doubt or worry or regret allowed in here; not until later when the bubble burst and all that was left was the grubby truth, men crying into their last drink and wondering how they had lost money yet again to the warden and his wife. I smiled at Mary and she glared at me then whispered something in Mack’s ear. He slid off his chair and weaved his way towards the door.

‘Trouble, Hawkins,’ he murmured as he passed. ‘I’m sorry.’

My heart sank. Could I not get five minutes of peace in this damned place? How on earth had I managed to offend Mary? I’d danced with her, hadn’t I? At least I hadn’t trodden on her foot like Mack.

It took me a moment to find Fleet – he was not sitting at his usual seat by the window but huddled in a dark corner with a companion, who had his back turned to the room. Fleet was also fully dressed, and in clothes that fitted him for once. His journal was open on the table between them and they were deep in conversation; so deep I was only a couple of feet away when Fleet spied me. He closed the journal with a slam and signalled to the other man with his eyes.

‘Hawkins,’ he said. His gaze slid from me to the stranger, but he didn’t introduce us, and the man didn’t turn round or show his face.

‘Fleet. I must speak with you. I have news.’

He leaned back and smiled at me. ‘Of course you have news. You always have news. You are a veritable magnet of news. Have you dined? Let me finish my business with Mr… Smith here and I will join you at Bradshaw’s.’

‘I’m banned from Bradshaw’s because of you, sir. I am universally hated because of you. Mrs Bradshaw, Mrs Roberts, Mrs Acton… even Kitty Sparks has turned against me.’

‘Four queens!’ Fleet exclaimed. ‘Now there’s a hand. But I can’t take the credit for all of them.’ He tilted his head. ‘Is there a chance you may have upset Kitty all by yourself?’

‘I’ll wait for you in Belle Isle. It’s a most pressing matter, Mr Fleet.’

Fleet nodded, then shooed me away with a little flick of his hand. I gritted my teeth and turned to leave. As I walked away, I heard Fleet’s companion mutter, in a gruff tone, ‘That boy’s trouble, Sam.’