Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘Roberts asked me for guidance,’ Fleet said, stirring me from my murderous thoughts. He smiled grimly. ‘A sign of his desperation, I suppose. It was clever of Gilbourne, to use Catherine. Roberts blamed her for convincing him to give up their son. And that money from her father… just enough each month to pay the rent, no more, when he could afford to free them a thousand times over. Roberts was very good at blaming everyone but himself.’

‘But you stopped him.’

‘I told him he’d burn in hell. It seemed to work.’ Fleet shrugged. ‘He wasn’t a sophisticated man.’

‘And Catherine never learned the truth.’

Fleet shook his head. ‘A few days later he was dead. I presumed Gilbourne killed him out of spite. But if Roberts tried to blackmail him, that would give him a better motive, eh? Poor Roberts. He really was an idiot. I’ve met a lot of dangerous men – Gilbourne is among the worst of them.’ He paused, and I could see from his face that he was remembering old stories, narrow escapes. ‘We must be on guard. If he suspects we know the truth, our lives will be at risk. We know that he can come and go as he pleases, and that he has an accomplice, someone who works in the prison. We must-’

A discreet cough, a few paces away. Fleet jumped up with surprising speed, pulling the blade from my side and raising it high. ‘A pox on you, sir,’ he growled, ‘sneaking up like that.’

Jakes looked at the blade as though it was one of Mrs Bradshaw’s sewing needles. ‘I promised Cross I’d have you back by nightfall,’ he said calmly.

Fleet relaxed. ‘Well. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr Cross, would we? Lead on, sir.’

Walking back down Axe and Bottle Yard, I asked Fleet whether we should warn Mrs Roberts about Gilbourne. ‘I’ve tried,’ he said. ‘But it’s hard to make her understand without revealing the whole story. I don’t think she’s ready to hear anything bad about her poor, saintly husband.’

We agreed that our next step must be to gather more evidence on Gilbourne before confronting him. Fleet’s word would count for very little on its own. ‘We must talk to Gilbert Hand,’ he said. ‘Roberts asked him for advice, too. That’s why he told you to ask the ghost about the money.’

‘He confided in Gilbert Hand ?’ I marvelled. ‘It’s a wonder the story hasn’t reached the Americas by now.’

‘Gilbert knows when to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to be murdered in his bed like Roberts. And he was right, eh? Look at poor Mitchell.’ He frowned. ‘But he’ll tell the truth if Acton promises to protect him. We’ll have to pay him, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘And none of this will secure my freedom,’ he added, gloomily. He stole a glance at Jakes, who was walking a few paces ahead. ‘Perhaps I should just knock him on the head and run.’

‘You’re not tall enough to reach.’

‘You could lift me.’

‘You’d never see Kitty again.’

‘Ahh.’ Fleet put a hand to his heart. ‘That’s true. She still has so much to learn. History, philosophy, anatomy…’

‘… good manners?’

‘Fie!’ Fleet stuck out his tongue. ‘What use are they ? I’ve taught her how to curse in French; is that not manners enough?’

‘ Anatomy? ’

‘It’s my duty, Tom.’ He gave me his finest impression of sincerity. ‘All girls should be taught anatomy. We don’t send soldiers into battle without first teaching them how to fight.’

I laughed and shook my head. I couldn’t decide whether Fleet was the worst guardian in the kingdom or the best. Both, perhaps. We were still laughing when we turned out of the yard and on to the High Street.

We had only walked a few paces when Fleet stopped dead and gave a low curse.

A tall, well-dressed man was riding towards the gaol on a glossy black stallion. Gilbourne. My heart sank. How unsettling it was to see him again, now his true nature was revealed! He had not changed in appearance; he was the same handsome, elegant figure I had dined with two nights before. But my perception of him was so reversed that it was a wonder to me now that I had not seen through the amiable manner and fashionable clothes in a heartbeat. He was like a poorly counterfeit coin that you pull from your pocket in consternation, astonished that it could have fooled you for a moment.

As he reached the narrow entrance to the gaol he spied us and raised his hat.

‘ Bow …’ Fleet prompted, and somehow I persuaded my neck to bend. Gilbourne jumped down from his horse and approached me with his hand outstretched, friendship in his eyes. I shook his soft white hand with its perfectly shaped fingernails, feeling wretched.

‘My dear fellow,’ he said, his voice dripping with sincerity. ‘This is a most fortunate meeting. I wish to apologise for doubting you, sir.’ He glanced over my shoulder at Fleet. ‘But is this not the scoundrel who dressed you in Captain Roberts’ clothes?’

‘The very same, sir,’ Fleet acknowledged with a low bow.

Gilbourne gave Fleet a wary look, as if recognising a loathsome yet somehow worthy opponent. ‘You have forgiven him, Mr Hawkins? I’m not sure that is wise.’

‘I have, sir. Mr Fleet may act the rogue, but I believe his intentions are honourable.’

‘A generous assessment,’ Gilbourne murmured, narrowing his eyes.

‘Much too generous,’ Fleet agreed. ‘Call me shrewd or cunning and I’ll own it. But honourable? Honourable men die much too fast for my liking.’ He smiled at Gilbourne. ‘That’s why there’s so few of them, no doubt.’

We stepped between the two closed-up shops into the dead, dank alley that led to the Marshalsea. Gilbourne’s horse snorted and stamped its feet, forcing its master to pull hard upon the reins. I couldn’t blame the poor thing; I would have joined it if I could.

We had not quite reached the Lodge when the gate flew open and Ben Carter dashed out, followed closely by Gilbert Hand. They pushed past us, making Gilbourne’s horse rear and buck furiously. We pressed ourselves tight to the wall, afraid we might be kicked to death.

‘What the devil…!’ Gilbourne cried, fighting to calm the beast.

Gilbert Hand had already reached the mouth of the alley. ‘Fast as you can, boy!’ he shouted down the street. ‘His life depends on it!’

‘Whose life?’ Fleet asked quickly, still pinned to the wall. ‘Mr Hand! In God’s name, what’s happened?’

Hand flinched, as if seeing us for the first time. His face was white as chalk and his shirt was covered in blood. ‘Mr Woodburn. He’s been stabbed.’

The gaol was in uproar, turnkeys fighting to lock everyone back in their wards while the prisoners shouted their protest. Acton’s trusties arrived just as we did, wading into the chaos with whips and clubs, beating anyone unlucky or foolish enough to stand in their path. There were screams, and curses, and glasses being smashed in the Tap Room and beneath it all, the low, thunderous rumble of the Common Side rising up on the other side of the wall. Woodburn was one of the few men who spoke out for them. He smuggled in food and medicine from their secret benefactor. They’ll tear the wall down if Acton doesn’t stop them , I thought. I had a sudden urge to rush up to the Tap Room balcony and cheer them on, even took a few tentative steps across the yard. Jakes grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the safety of the Master’s wards.

Gilbourne took one sharp look about him and flung himself back on his horse, forcing prisoners and trusties alike to jump out of his way as he galloped out of the gaol. At the same moment Acton rushed into the yard and threw himself into the fray, seizing prisoners and slinging them about like carcasses. He would have stuck them on meat hooks too if he could, I’m sure.