Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

It took me a moment to realise he was answering the question I had asked him almost an hour earlier. ‘Kitty said her father was a doctor.’

‘Yes. He was an excellent physician. And very rich from it. All gone now, I’m afraid.’ He pulled up a handful of grass and scattered it to the wind.

‘What happened?’

He laughed, sourly. ‘Kitty’s mother, Emma. Quite pretty as a girl, and not without charm. But she needed Nathaniel to keep her steady. When he knew he was dying he made me promise to take care of her and Kitty.’ He paused, and bowed his head.

I’d never seen Fleet like this before; there was no play in him. This, I realised, was where it all stopped. I waited.

‘Nathaniel was the very best of men. Brave and loyal.’ He touched a small scar on his temple. ‘He would have been content to live quietly, especially once Kitty was born. But Emma wouldn’t leave London and I… I had to have him near me, you see. Selfish…’ he muttered at the ground. ‘I didn’t own the print shop back then. I was…’ He looked back to where Jakes was sitting under the tree.

‘You were a spy,’ I said. I’d gathered as much from his conversation with Acton, back in the Crown.

‘And worse,’ Fleet muttered. ‘And I loved it, Tom. It was a game – dangerous and exhilarating. If I died playing it, so be it. You understand.’

I nodded.

‘But I should never have taken Nathaniel down with me. He was not suited to it. I didn’t realise… no, that’s not true,’ he corrected himself. ‘I realised well enough. But I didn’t care . I was not prepared to give up the game and so I took him with me. And he died.’

He fell silent, staring hard out into the distance.

‘Grief will drag you to some dark places,’ he said at last. ‘But guilt is like a whip upon your back, urging you on. Nathaniel’s death was my fault and so I ran off in search of my own. By the time I returned to London five years had passed. The house was sold and mother and daughter had disappeared. I found Emma easily enough, though I barely recognised her, she was so altered. She was selling herself for gin in St Giles.’ He grimaced. ‘I paid her rent, bought her some food and clothes. Any money would have gone down her throat.’

‘And Kitty?’

‘Run away. Years before. Emma could barely remember her name, let alone where she’d last seen her. I spent months searching to no avail. Then last February I was thrown in gaol for safe-keeping – until the men who hired me decided whether to use me or kill me. And there she was, like a miracle, in Sarah Bradshaw’s coffeehouse. It was as if she’d been waiting for me all that time. And untouched – my God!’ He rubbed a hand across his scalp.

A sparrow flew down from a nearby fence. I threw it some crumbs and it hopped a little closer. ‘Perhaps her father’s spirit was watching over her.’

‘Bollocks.’

‘I only meant-’

‘You meant to excuse me for abandoning her. Well, don’t,’ he snarled. ‘I deserted her, Tom. She survived through her own wit and courage and nothing else. Don’t deny her the credit of it.’

The sparrow bounced across the grass and flew away. ‘Is she yours, Fleet?’ I asked, softly.

Fleet’s dark brows furrowed. ‘ Mine? ’

I flushed. ‘You talked of love, just now. I couldn’t help but wonder…’

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, black eyes wide with astonishment. ‘What the devil are you thinking? I held her in my arms when she was but a few hours old! No, no, no! She is not mine . She is not anybody’s .’

‘Then what did you mean, about being in love?’ I frowned in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’

Fleet stared at me sadly. ‘No matter.’ He glanced back at Jakes, still dozing beneath his tree, and lowered his voice. ‘Another time, perhaps. But I must tell you about Roberts and Gilbourne. Build yourself a pipe first. You’ll need it.’

‘Roberts was not a bad man,’ Fleet began, once I had lit my pipe. ‘A fine officer, by all accounts. Brave and not without honour.’

‘He saved Jakes’ life.’

‘Well. Let us not hold that against him.’ Fleet snatched up the second bottle of wine, pulled the cork out with his teeth. He took a swig then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘He was not a bad man, but he was a fool when it came to money. If he had two shillings in his pocket he’d speculate with three. He was quite certain that his fortune was waiting for him just around the corner, and then the next, and the next. Ridiculous, of course. The only things waiting round the corner for Captain Roberts were his creditors.’

The gambler’s desperate faith in providence. I knew that well enough.

‘It was the remorse I couldn’t bear,’ Fleet continued, rolling his eyes. ‘All those wasted hours spent sobbing into his pillow. Oh, what have I done, what have I done? Hours on his knees in the chapel, wailing to the heavens. Oh, forgive me, Lord! I swear I’ll change! Give me one last chance, I beg of you! Pffrr! I doubt the Lord in His infinite wisdom fancied the odds on that promise. I told him – Roberts, you have brought this upon yourself. Don’t bother God with your racket, you will only vex Him.’

‘That must have been a great comfort.’

Fleet chuckled. ‘He was no different from most, I suppose,’ he conceded. He jerked his thumb back towards the prison. ‘There are men locked away in there who’ve been waiting ten years for their fortunes to turn. I’ll win my case tomorrow. My debts will clear tomorrow. Tomorrow Great Uncle Whatsisname will die and leave me his fortune and I will be free at last! ’

I sighed the smoke from my lungs, remembering what Moll had said to me, the night before I was thrown in gaol. Always tomorrow with you, Tom .

‘Then tomorrow arrives, carrying nothing under its arm. Horror. Fury. Despair!’ Fleet threw up his hands. ‘After that, the poison. Hope, snaking its way into your veins. And so it begins all over again. It’s a prison men make for themselves. Gilbourne understands that. A predator knows its prey better than it knows itself.’

‘What did Gilbourne want with Roberts?’

‘His wife.’ He took another swig of wine. ‘I came back to Belle Isle one day to find Roberts collapsed on the floor with his head in his hands. Gilbourne had made him a proposition. He would pay Roberts ten guineas – enough to secure his release. In return Roberts would grant Gilbourne access to his wife. A guinea a time.’

‘My God,’ I whispered. The cunning and cruelty of Gilbourne’s offer took my breath away. Catherine could cry rape but without her husband’s support, who would believe her? And Roberts could only defend her honour by admitting his own guilt.

Fleet tilted his head. ‘I suppose it made perfect sense to Gilbourne. There he sits all day in his office, setting fees and making deals. A shilling for this, a guinea for that. Why not buy a man’s wife, if he’s willing?’

There was a long silence. Fleet was right: Gilbourne was used to buying his way through life. He would snatch the bread from a starving man’s hand if it kept him in fine clothes. But was there not more to it than that? He had toyed with me that night at Acton’s for his own amusement. All that flattery and feigned modesty, drawing me in. Oh yes, Mr Hawkins, all this is foolish nonsense, but we see through it, don’t we? Fleet had called Gilbourne a predator, but he hunted for sport, not appetite.

I had thought myself a man of the world, but this was too much. And Roberts wanted to blackmail Gilbourne for it? Was that all? Why not run him through with his blade, for God’s sake?