Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘I know,’ Fleet replied. He sounded pleased.

There was a sense of relief about the prisoners in the yard; people stood around laughing and chatting. It reminded me of the atmosphere at college after exams, or outside my father’s church after one of his more thunderous sermons; a sort of giddy joy at having survived, for now. The same could not be said of the men and women queueing on the stairs leading up into the Palace Court, most of whom stood with eyes fixed firmly to the ground, lost in melancholy thoughts. Husbands and wives clutched one another tight, shuffling together as the queue moved up the stairs. A man pulled out his coins and counted them over and over, as if hoping they might multiply in his hand.

‘The weekly rent,’ said a voice behind me.

I turned and dipped a short bow. ‘Mrs Roberts.’

She rolled back her veil. ‘John and I would stand in that queue together,’ she said quietly, her eyes on the slow march of debtors trudging their way into the Court. ‘He would hold my hand so tight. Even if we had the money, we were always afraid… Mr Grace is a demon at finding new fees, new debts, if Mr Acton demands it. There is so much fear in this place sometimes I think it has seeped into the walls.’ She put a gloved hand upon my arm. ‘I owe you an apology, sir. Mr Fleet told me it was his idea to put you in John’s clothes. He also said…’ she bit her lip ‘… you know the truth about the ghost.’ She put her hands to her face. ‘What must you think of me?’

‘Does my opinion matter to you, madam?’

She lowered her hands. ‘Very much,’ she whispered. ‘Would you walk with me, sir?’

‘If you wish.’

She slipped her arm through mine, leading me across the yard. ‘You are angry with me.’

‘You used me, Mrs Roberts. If you had come to me honestly, I would have been glad to help you.’

We passed Gilbert Hand, smoking a pipe by the lamppost. He grinned as we passed, and nodded his head.

‘You are right,’ she sighed, once we were beyond earshot. ‘But I was desperate and I have… I have lost the capacity to trust. It’s easy for people to dismiss Mr Jenings and Mrs Carey. And they could only catch a glimpse of the ghost – they both knew John too well to be fooled by… But if you saw it. If you saw his face and swore it looked just like his portrait… I think people might have listened.’

‘And what of Ben Carter? You scared the boy out of his wits.’

She blushed. ‘That was ill done of me, I know. But he is a sharp, clever lad; I knew he would recover. Oh!’ she cried, gripping my arm tight. ‘How to explain… just how desperate I have become? To discover the truth and be free of this place at last. To hold my son in my arms again. I believe I would do almost anything for that.’ She shivered.

We walked on for a while in silence, until we reached the tree by Acton’s lodgings. ‘This is where you slapped me,’ I said.

She stopped and touched a hand to the bark. ‘It is also where I saw you dressed in John’s clothes. I almost died of fright.’

‘What a strange muddle we have made of things.’

She laughed. ‘Perhaps we should begin again, Mr Hawkins.’

We turned and headed back towards Belle Isle. When we reached the entrance to the block she slid her arm from mine. ‘So. Are we friends?’

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She smiled, grey eyes sparkling with relief and pleasure. Yesterday it would have made my heart race; today I was wiser. If Acton or Gilbert Hand or anyone else learned that she had invented the ghost that had caused so much fear and unrest around the prison, she would be thrown out of the gate in disgrace. She needed my friendship more than she wanted it. In short, I was still being played, but I didn’t really mind. I understood her motives, even if her methods were a little naughty , as Moll might say. And who was I to judge anyone, after all?

‘One thing I don’t understand. How did your ghost slip out of the prison?’

She smiled. ‘Poor Mr Simmons. He’s an old gambling friend of John’s. I offered to pay his debts if he would help me. He’s an actor. Not a very good one, I’m afraid. But he knew how to play the part. The white face was his idea. Flour, I believe.’

‘But where did he go? We searched every corner of the gaol.’

‘Mr Fleet asked me the same thing. He was quite insistent.’ She pursed her lips. ‘ Must you share a room with him, Mr Hawkins? His reputation is very wild. Are you not afraid he will corrupt you?’

‘Mrs Roberts,’ I warned, sternly. ‘ Catherine. Tell me. How did Mr Simmons escape?’

‘Oh, very well,’ she said with a frown. ‘But you must promise not to breathe a word.’ She glanced about her to be sure no one was looking, then tapped her foot on the ground. ‘The store cellar.’

I pressed my toes against the wooden trap door at our feet. Acton kept all the Tap Room drinks in the cellar; it was packed to the ceiling with crates of wine and barrels of cheap ale that he sold for thrice their worth. ‘But we searched down there last night,’ I protested. ‘We didn’t find a soul.’ I didn’t tell her that Jenings had been so frightened he’d nearly dropped his torch and set the whole place alight. Or that I’d managed to smuggle out three bottles of wine beneath my coat.

‘There’s another door at the far end that leads out onto Axe and Bottle Yard. No one knows it’s there; it’s been sealed up for years. It’s so dark in the cellar, and no one has ever thought to look…’ She caught my expression and stopped. ‘Don’t ask me.’

‘I could escape. Tonight, if you’d help me.’

‘I don’t hold the key. And where would you go, Mr Hawkins? You know Acton would be held responsible for your debt if you escaped; he would hunt you down and…’ The tears sprang in her eyes. If she was acting, she was far better than Mr Simmons.

What would Moll pay for information like this, I wondered? She could find someone to pick that lock in a flash. Free, secret access in and out of the Marshalsea? Oh, that had to be worth a great deal.

‘Please,’ Catherine whispered. ‘Promise you won’t tell a soul. Swear it!’

‘Who loans you the key?’

She groaned. ‘If I tell you, will you swear?’

‘Very well.’

She leaned closer and put her lips to my ear. ‘Edward Gilbourne.’

She left me then, gathering her skirts and whisking away towards the Palace Court and her room in the Oak ward. The transaction was done after all – my silence for her information. Gilbourne . Of course. He was at the black heart of everything in this prison, perhaps more than Acton himself. He must have been handing her the cellar key when I spied them from the window yesterday. Thinking back, there had been something odd in Gilbourne’s expression when he talked to her. He looked at her the way I might look at a good hand at cards: possessive, secretive. Sly.

So: Roberts was intent on blackmailing Gilbourne. And Gilbourne had secret access to the prison, able to slip in and out any time he pleased. I blinked. There it was. Solved! And without Fleet’s help, damn him. Gilbourne murdered Roberts to silence him – and in the bargain made a widow of Catherine Roberts. Now he was slowly, assiduously wooing her, helping her with all this foolish nonsense with the ghost to earn her gratitude and place her in his debt. And all the while knowing that Mr Simmons would never scare the murderer into revealing himself. Because he was the killer.

There must have been a second man, of course; Gilbourne couldn’t have carried the captain’s dead weight across the Park and over to the Strong Room on his own. Someone with a key to the Common Side, I supposed. My money was on Joseph Cross. Well, they could press Gilbourne for that if need be. There were ways of squeezing the truth out of a man.