Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

I grabbed his arm. ‘Sooner if you can, Mr Jakes. If I don’t have an answer for Acton by sunset he plans to arrest me for Fleet’s murder.’

‘No!’ Kitty cried in horror. ‘No – I won’t let him.’

‘The devil take him,’ Jakes muttered. ‘He would do it, too, I’m sure. But you’d never hang for it – the jury would see you’re an honest gentleman.’

Kitty slipped her hand in mine. ‘I’d speak up for you, Tom,’ she said softly. ‘We both would.’

Jakes nodded his agreement. I smiled at them, touched by their loyalty and their faith in me – but loyalty and faith would not save me now. Acton could fool the whole court if he chose. How simple it would be. Fleet murdered Captain Roberts and I murdered Fleet. He could line up his trusties one by one and they would say whatever he told them to say. I doubted Cross or Wills or Chapman would care about perjuring themselves. That is if I survived long enough to stand trial. It wasn’t hard to kill a man in gaol, poor old Mitchell was proof of that. Mitchell . I had almost forgotten about him. Easy to forget, over on this side of the wall. Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps there was something to be learned from his murder…

‘Tom?’ Kitty squeezed my hand, returning me to the world.

I blinked then rubbed my eyes. My head was spinning with questions about money and murder and motives. Jakes had left the room – I could hear his heavy boots stomping down the stairs. I should leave too; I had already wasted too much time here. I looked down at Kitty and she smiled, eyes bright. No, not wasted. I touched a stray lock of her bright red hair, then tucked it behind her ear.

‘I must go,’ I said. I’d be no good to her swinging from a rope at Tyburn.

She opened her mouth to protest then thought better of it. ‘But we will talk, later?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘Do you promise?’

Oh, yes… talking . The unfortunate penalty for kissing. ‘Of course. If you wish.’ If I’m still alive. I leaned down and touched her lips. And even with the threat of the noose I could have stayed just a little longer.

‘Go,’ she said, then giggled as I pulled her closer. ‘Go, for heaven’s sake, Tom. I’ll wait for you.’ She pushed me away. ‘Just this once.’

There is no easy way to tell a man you suspect him of murder. On another day and in a better state of mind I might have found a more gentlemanly way to raise the matter, but there it is.

‘God in heaven!’ Trim gasped, staring in alarm at the blade pressed to his heart. ‘Are you mad, sir?’

I shoved him hard against the wall. ‘I’m losing patience. Tell me. Did you kill Fleet?’

He shrank back. ‘ No! I swear it!’

I let the blade travel from heart to throat. ‘And Roberts…?’

‘No,’ he whimpered, holding very still. A bead of sweat slid down his face. ‘I swear…’

I held the dagger against his throat for a long, still moment. He was hiding something; I could see it in his eyes. I stepped back, lowered my blade. Ordered him to sit.

He did as he was commanded, stumbling over to the little table where we had eaten supper together on my first night in prison. ‘Mr Acton will know of this,’ he sniffed.

I ignored him and poured us both a glass of wine. ‘Who killed Roberts?’

He took the glass, cradling it in both hands as if it were a prayer book.

I stood over him. ‘Did you help carry his body to the Strong Room?’

‘Why do you ask me these questions?’ he asked, his light brown eyes filled with hurt. ‘I have only ever been kind and civil to you, sir.’

‘Which is why I have not slit your throat. Someone tampered with the punch last night. I saw you put something in the bowl.’

Trim’s mouth opened and closed in shock. ‘Cinnamon and nutmeg,’ he stammered, when he’d regained his voice. ‘A little sugar – we drank it together, Mr Hawkins! I was knocked out cold all night, the same as you! I’m still groggy from it, I think.’ He rubbed his forehead.

‘You bought a sleeping draught from Mr Siddall.’

‘To aid Mr Woodburn!’ he cried, exasperated. ‘Here, it must still be on my shelf. Let me show you.’ He jumped up and began searching along his medicine shelf, reaching on tiptoes to study the higher shelves. ‘I only gave him a spoonful,’ he called, back turned as he shuffled through his collection of glass and stone bottles.

Trim ran a neat, well-ordered business, with everything easily to hand. He should have found it at once. He continued searching frantically for a few moments, then cursed under his breath. ‘Someone must have stolen it.’

‘I doubt the governor will see it that way.’

He blanched. ‘What are you saying, sir?’

I motioned for him to sit down again. ‘You live one flight up from Belle Isle. You can make no account of the sleeping draught you bought from Mr Siddall.’ I paused. ‘And you knew Captain Roberts planned to sell his wife for ten guineas.’

He gave a jolt, tried to protest. I cut him dead.

‘The walls are thin here. Voices carry to other rooms.’ I tapped the floor with my foot. ‘Fleet said he used to hide up here with you when the captain and Mrs Roberts fought, but you could still hear them. Every word.’

‘Yes, that’s true enough,’ Trim nodded. ‘Fleet would shout down the scores, like a boxing match. Poor Fleet. I wish he were here.’ He scowled at me. ‘For all his faults, he was always a gentleman.’

I gestured to the bed at the other end of the room. ‘I heard Fleet arguing with Charles yesterday morning, when I was resting up here. I couldn’t make out every word, but then I was in the far corner.’ I walked over to the window, where a chair rested on an old rug; I moved them back to reveal the ancient, rotten floorboards hidden beneath. They were so ruined I could see down into Belle Isle through the cracks. ‘If I’d been standing here, I think I would have heard everything.’

I raised my boot and smashed it hard into the board, stamping down again and again as the wood splintered and cracked. Trim watched in dismay, but said nothing. I put all my rage into it, and when I was done there was a large, gaping hole – wide enough for a man to pass through. ‘There!’ I cried. ‘Is that not better? The next time a man is murdered in Belle Isle you will be able to see as well as hear it all.’

Trim groaned, and covered his face with his hands.

‘I am losing patience, sir,’ I warned. ‘What did you hear?’

‘I cannot say,’ he sobbed, his voice muffled by his hands.

‘Damn you!’ I cried, bearing down upon him. ‘I can break your head as easily as these boards.’ I shoved the table out of the way and pulled him to his feet, shaking him hard. ‘Fleet died because you said nothing! How many more deaths will your conscience carry?’ And with that I threw him to the floor in a fury.

He landed badly, crying out in pain and terror. He was close to confessing now, I could see it. Trim did not hoard secrets for profit. He’d kept quiet because he was afraid. I just had to make him believe it was more dangerous to say nothing.

‘Tell me. Or I will let Gilbert Hand know that you heard everything. It will fly round the prison by nightfall. How long will it take, do you think, before they come for you, like they came for Fleet?’

‘Very well,’ he sobbed. ‘Very well.’ He dragged himself to his feet, wincing as he put his weight on a twisted ankle. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine then hobbled slowly to the chair by the fire. He gave a long, weary sigh, and rubbed his eyes. ‘Has it never occurred to you that Captain Roberts deserved to die?’ He stared into the fire. ‘He sold his wife for ten guineas. Such a man should be hanged, wouldn’t you say?’