Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘I am not afraid of them,’ Acton snarled. ‘I have my own connections-’

‘And then there is my brother,’ Fleet continued calmly, taking up his spoon again. ‘I’m not sure how he would react. He is only my half -brother, of course. Perhaps he would only cut out half your heart. He’s most precise with a blade.’

Acton had pulled back in shock. ‘He was transported,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘They said so in the papers.’

‘A remarkable ocean, the Atlantic,’ Fleet said, waving his spoon back and forth. ‘One can sail it both ways. Now – are we done with this tedious cock fight, Mr Acton?’

Acton seized the spoon from Fleet’s hand and flung it to the floor, where it gleamed dully in the firelight. ‘Your brother is in America,’ he decided, with a firm tone. ‘And he wouldn’t give a damn about you even if he were back. He’d spit on your grave like the rest of us. I want this business with Captain Roberts finished, Fleet – do you understand me? I’ve had enough of it. I’ll give you two days – after that I’ll swear blind you confessed to it yourself and have you hanged for it. And as for you, Hawkins, I’ll sling you back in the Strong Room faster than you can piss yourself. Now bugger off, the pair of you.’

We walked back without speaking, Chapman following behind with his face stuffed in a glass of ale he’d liberated from the tavern. The confrontation with Acton seemed to have pleased Fleet enormously and he hummed to himself all the way back to the gaol, pipe lodged between his teeth.

I cursed him silently, furious that Acton had forced us together again. I was still angry with Fleet for betraying me with Charles’ letter – and I was angry with myself for not having the wit to keep it away from his thieving fingers. Why had I not destroyed it? I’d been too busy scolding Fleet for dressing me in Roberts’ clothes, of course. The man was a trickster and a cheat, confusing and unsettling everyone around him for his own amusement and gain. Thank God I’d never met him at the gaming tables.

Another part of me knew I should swallow my pride and accept his help. For all his faults, Fleet was clever and cunning – and as it was now in his own interest to find the killer, he might just stop playing games long enough to uncover the truth. Acton had only granted us two days; I should not squander any of that time in sulking.

‘How long do you intend to punish me, Tom?’ Fleet enquired politely as we walked up the stairs to Belle Isle. He had an uncanny knack for reading my thoughts.

I ignored him and called down for a late dinner from Titty Doll’s. Fleet could damn well pay for it, after all the trouble he’d brought me. I waited for it by the window, while he lay on the bed and smoked another pipe. I could feel his eyes on my back, could hear the light tick tick tick of the silver watch in his pocket. How had he retrieved that from Cross? And where was his journal? I wondered, then cursed myself for caring. This was the way he drew you in, like a fisherman setting his bait then waiting patiently for a bite. Or impatiently, in Fleet’s case; I could tell from the sharp way he sucked on his pipe that I infuriated him as much by my silence as he had infuriated me by his thoughtless betrayal. Good , I thought, then shook my head. I had only known him three days and already we were like an old married couple.

A door creaked open in the building next door and Mr Woodburn emerged into the yard, round belly first. He patted his hat down upon his long wig and leaned upon his walking stick, surveying his flock. I called down to him, in the main because I knew it would annoy my roommate. The chaplain glanced up in surprise, holding a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun.

‘Mr Hawkins!’ he cried. ‘You are recovered!’

‘Of course he’s not, you old fool,’ Fleet muttered behind me from the bed.

‘Much recovered, sir, I thank you. I enjoyed your sermon this afternoon.’

A choking cough from the bed. ‘ Perjury! ’

Woodburn smiled and stood straighter, rocking back on his heels. ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ He craned his neck and called a little louder. ‘I’m sorry Mr Fleet was unable to attend service today. But then I’ve often observed that those who most need the Church’s instruction are the ones who most obstinately refuse it…’

‘Well, Mr Woodburn,’ I said, tilting my head and giving him my most pious look, ‘you will be pleased to learn that Mr Fleet owns a copy of one of your sermons…’

‘… which I use to wipe my arse…’

‘… which he reads each night for solace.’

‘Is that so?’ Woodburn’s face crinkled as he tried to take in this astonishing fact. ‘Well, well. I am glad to hear my words bring him some comfort.’ He stepped closer. ‘And what of the other matter , sir?’ he asked in a stage whisper. ‘Your investigation ? I suppose the governor has put a stop to it?’

‘No indeed, sir,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘He’s just now given us leave to continue our search.’

Woodburn looked taken aback. ‘Indeed? And you are working with Mr Fleet, you say?’

I was about to confirm this when Fleet leapt from the bed and slammed the window shut. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ he hissed. ‘Should I find you a trumpet to herald the news across the Borough?’

I rounded on him. ‘The whole prison already knows what I’m about, thanks to you. If you hadn’t stolen that letter my investigation would have remained a secret.’

‘Hah!’ He plucked the letter from his coat pocket and waved it in my face. ‘If you’d only confided in me I would have burned it before it fell into the wrong hands.’

‘Meaning yours ,’ I snarled, snatching it from him and tossing it on the fire. ‘I was going to tell you everything in the Tap Room yesterday, but you shooed me away like a dog. What was that business about, by the way? Who was that man you were speaking with?’

‘A family matter,’ Fleet said, airily. He paused. ‘We appear to be talking again.’

I folded my arms. ‘I haven’t forgiven you.’

‘Of course you have. You just haven’t noticed it yet.’ He held out his hand.

I knew I shouldn’t take it. I’d only be cursing him again tomorrow – if I lived that long. He was a devil – there was no question of it. I should have Mrs Bradshaw embroider ‘Do Not Trust Samuel Fleet’ upon my handkerchief and pin it to my chest. But the truth was, I needed him. And worse than that, the gambler in me was whispering intently in my ear. Take his hand. Take the risk. Because for all the dangers of his company, there were rewards to be had and not just silver watches and rent money. Life was – quite simply – more interesting. A good deal shorter too, no doubt – but interesting.

‘I suppose it is safer to be your friend than your enemy.’

‘Not necessarily.’

I took his hand.

‘Excellent!’ he cried, seizing it and shaking it vigorously, the sleeves of his banyan slipping down over his knuckles. ‘I was sure you would sulk for another hour at least. Let’s order a bowl of punch,’ he added hurriedly, catching my expression. ‘It will help us concentrate.’

I dined lightly on toasted bread and butter with poached eggs, though it was hard to eat much with my bruised and swollen throat. I was still out of sorts from the night before. I tried not to think of the putrid fumes I’d breathed into my lungs all night. The thought alone was enough to turn my stomach.

Fleet drank most of the punch.

When I’d finished we settled by the fire and smoked our pipes. The food and the tobacco had gone some way to restore my nerves, the horrors of my beating and imprisonment beginning to fade at last. I yawned and stretched, as much as I could bear with all my cuts and bruises.