Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

I halted, and closed my eyes for a moment, every bone in my body aching. ‘Did you take the letter?’

Fleet looked away shiftily, then cleared his throat. ‘I confess I borrowed it. Madame Migault wanted to play a trick on you so I gave it to her to read. I thought it would be… diverting. I never dreamed the old witch would sell the letter to Acton.’

‘When I am well enough,’ I said, quietly, ‘I think I will kill you.’

He tilted his head, fixed his black eyes on mine. ‘You almost mean it,’ he said, fascinated. I began to turn away and he touched a hand to my chest, blocking my way. ‘I only read the first page. I swear, if I had known it was so dangerous…’ He frowned. ‘And really, Tom, what on earth were you thinking, leaving it in your pocket for anyone to take? If you’re to become a decent spy you really must learn to…’

I glared at him.

He stopped, and moved his hand from my chest to his own, placing it over his heart. He looked as serious as I had ever seen him. ‘Forgive me. It was badly played on my part. Are we friends again?’

I shook my head. ‘We were never friends, Mr Fleet.’

He dropped his hand. For a moment I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes – but then it passed. ‘Very well.’ He gave a short bow and turned to leave.

‘Hey there, you two!’ Chapman stamped towards us from the Lodge, swaggering with his own importance. On reaching us he thrust his thumbs into his pocket and planted his feet wide, glowering at us both. On Acton it would have been alarming. On Chapman it just seemed… a little silly.

‘Governor wants to see you. Right away.’

Acton was dining in the Crown, so we must go to him. I was free of the prison for the first time in three days, but I was too busy bracing myself for another confrontation with the governor to enjoy my few brief moments out on the street. I thought of all the things I might say to him – all the things I might do. Weak as I was, I reckoned I still might have the strength to throttle him for what he’d done to me. I would enjoy the look of shock and surprise on that broad, ruby face of his.

And what would it achieve? A moment’s satisfaction before I was pulled away by Chapman and thrown in chains again. Charles wouldn’t arrive in time to save me again – Acton would make sure of that. I would die in that Strong Room with the rats swarming about me.

The pavement shifted under my feet and I half-stumbled. I would have fallen to my knees if Fleet hadn’t leapt forward and grabbed hold of me. I bent double and retched, but my stomach was empty. I spat out a thin trail of bile into a clump of weeds.

‘Hurry up,’ Chapman growled. ‘The governor’s waiting.’

Fleet rounded on him. ‘He’s sick, for God’s sake.’

I pushed him away, wiped my mouth with a trembling hand. ‘I’m well enough.’ I didn’t want Samuel Fleet’s pity.

Acton was dining alone in the Crown, tucked away in a private room upstairs. Chapman stayed at the bar while the landlady, Mrs Speed, escorted us up the stairs, chattering about the weather. I trailed behind, stomach rolling with nausea.

The room was small and oppressive, the walls hung with hunting scenes and the cracked skull of an old stag with a broken antler. Acton sat in front of a large window, the sun dazzling like gold at his back. In front of him, the table was laden with rich, half-demolished dishes: a boiled leg of mutton and greens; a pigeon pie; cod with oysters and enough bread and cheese to feed the Common Side for a week. There was a bottle of claret, too, and raspberry brandy. A fire blazed in the stove, heating the room to boiling point.

‘Gentlemen.’ Acton slurped back an oyster, wiped a glittering slug trail along his sleeve. He beckoned for us to join him. Fleet sat down at once at Acton’s right hand, helping himself to a thick slice of the pie and a glass of claret. I remained in the doorway, the room tilting queasily beneath my feet.

Acton took a swig of brandy. ‘So, Hawkins, here you are, alive and well. No hard feelings, eh?’ His ice-blue eyes fixed on mine, daring me to contradict him.

‘What do you want of me, sir?’

He cut himself a slice of bread and built it high with cheese. ‘It seems Roberts was murdered after all,’ he said, lips smacking noisily. ‘Mitchell too, I hear. I won’t have prisoners murdered in my Castle.’

‘Not without your blessing, at least.’

Fleet froze, waiting for the explosion. But Acton just laughed, slapping his thigh as if I had made a fine joke. ‘Well, well. Has my Strong Room made a man out of you, Hawkins?’ He settled back in his seat and pulled out Charles’ letter, dropping it on the table. ‘Buckley spoke to me this morning. He says you suspect Gilbourne.’ He smiled. ‘I can live with that.’

‘He feels the same about you, Mr Acton.’

‘Does he indeed.’ The smile faded. ‘Fleet.’ He kicked him under the table. ‘What do you make of this?’

Fleet, who was busy reading Charles’ letter, frowned absently. ‘It was Gilbourne,’ he said, as if he were talking of spilt milk, not murder.

Acton grunted and rubbed his jaw, considering me for a moment. ‘Trouble on two legs, you are.’ He scowled at Fleet. ‘No wonder he likes you. The sooner you’re out of my gaol the better; in a coffin or a carriage – makes no difference to me.’ He struck the table with his palm. ‘Here’s my offer, sir. Pin this on Gilbourne and I’ll gladly march you out through the Lodge myself.’

I stood a little straighter. ‘That’s no offer, and you know it.’ I had lost my fear, I realised – left it somewhere in the dark last night. ‘Sir Philip has already promised to release me if I discover the killer.’

A flicker of respect in Acton’s eyes. ‘Well then, sir, what is it you want?’

‘No more beatings, no bullying. And keep your trusties on a leash. Especially Cross.’

He took another bite of bread and cheese. ‘Anything else?’

‘I must be allowed out of the gaol to investigate whenever necessary. Jakes will act as my guard,’ I added, before he could protest. ‘And the bodies in the Strong Room must be released for burial at once.’

Acton belched, set his shoulders. ‘No, no – not that. The families haven’t paid the fees.’

‘Then pay it from your own fat pocket, you greedy son of a cunt.’

‘ Tom. ..’ Fleet warned, softly.

I rounded on him. ‘There are five bodies turning green in there – enough to breed a plague. I heard the rats feasting on-’

‘Oh, very well!’ Acton interrupted irritably. He waved at Fleet, who was tucking into a custard tart, quite unmoved by my little speech. ‘You’ll have to help him. He’s not sharp enough to work it out on his own.’

I bristled. ‘I would rather work alone, sir.’

‘I don’t give a damn what you would rather, sir .’ He poured himself another glass of brandy.

‘And what if he killed Roberts? Half the prison thinks it.’

Acton slid his gaze over my roommate. ‘Well. That is a fair question,’ he conceded. ‘Did you kill the captain, you wretched little dog?’

Fleet put down his spoon and looked at Acton. The room fell silent, save for the flames crackling and popping in the stove.

‘Answer me, damn you,’ Acton snapped at last. ‘Or I’ll have the truth beaten out of you.’

Fleet smiled, very slowly. A chill ran down my spine, though I was standing several paces away with the door at my back. ‘I would not advise that,’ he said.

Acton leaned closer, pointed a finger hard in Fleet’s face. ‘Do not threaten me, sir. I will not have it. I don’t care how much you pay me.’

Fleet laughed in Acton’s face. ‘Very well, Governor. I will keep my five guineas a month and you can chain me to your Strong Room and have Cross beat me as he beat that poor boy over there. Let him break my neck for all I care – leave my corpse for the rats and have done. And when the men who threw me in gaol decide they have need of my skills again… do you think they will reward you for it?’ He tilted his head. ‘What will you tell them?’