Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘I don’t give a damn about that.’ I paced the room, still clutching my dagger. ‘ What did you hear? ’

He scowled, and took a fortifying swig of wine. ‘They came for him at midnight,’ he said, at last. ‘I didn’t hear them enter the ward. They must have crossed the yard like ghosts, crept up the stairs and picked the lock. They pulled him from his bed to his knees – that’s what woke me. The thud as he hit the floor.’ He shuddered.

‘What next?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Coins, scattering and rolling across the boards. Lots of them. And then one of the men…’ He opened his eyes, took a deep breath. ‘One of them said, “D’you think this will save you?” The captain must have thrown the money at them – the five guineas Gilbourne had paid him in advance. But they hadn’t come for the money, Mr Hawkins.’

‘They’d come to punish him.’

‘No!’ Trim shook his head vigorously. ‘They’d come to save him.’

I frowned. ‘ Save him? By murdering him?’

‘Save his soul . Roberts had changed, in those last few weeks – after he lost his son. He went to chapel every day. Prayed in his room for hours. Perhaps he thought it would bring Matthew back, somehow.’ Tears sprang in his eyes. ‘It was my fault he died. I heard Gilbourne come up to Belle Isle and pay Roberts the money. The captain would have left the gaol the next day and Mrs Roberts… D’you know what Gilbourne said, when he gave Roberts the money? “ I’ll be doing you a favour, Roberts. She’ll be quiet and cringing as a mouse by the time I’ve done with her. ” I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand back and let that happen.’

‘Who did you tell?’ Though I could guess, now.

He swallowed hard. Leaned forward a little in his chair and whispered the name.

Woodburn .

Mid-afternoon and the shadows were growing longer in the Marshalsea yard. Another day was ending – leaving men with more debts to pay and less hope to live by. I felt like Captain Roberts’ ghost, drifting past the other prisoners. They looked at me as if I were a ghost too – as if I had the mark of death about me.

I hurried towards the chapel, left unlocked in all the chaos of the riot the day before. I lit the candles and sat down on a pew near the front, took my mother’s cross from my pocket and bowed my head. Fleet was dead; Charles had abandoned me; my family and friends were beyond my reach. When the sun set tonight I would be accused of murder. I closed my eyes, and asked for guidance, comfort – anything. A cold, bleak silence grew around me.

I opened my eyes. I was wasting time. I should act, before it was too late. But my head felt as if it were back in that damned skull cap, and I was feverish, my shirt slick with sweat, my body flushing hot then cold. The effects of the sleeping draught, perhaps – and all the other trials of the day. But thinking back, I realised I had felt out of sorts ever since Charles and Trim had dragged me from the Strong Room. Hardly surprising – the very air had been poison; and I had breathed it in all that night.

There was a small patch of Woodburn’s blood left unscrubbed by the altar. Trim had confirmed the strange truth that the chaplain had stabbed himself with Captain Roberts’ blade; he’d stumbled upon him in the act, and wrestled the knife away before Kitty arrived. Woodburn had never intended to kill himself, I was sure of it. Trim had agreed with me.

‘The wound was deep but it missed the heart. The shoulder is a good place to cut if you aim to recover. But still – to stab himself… what madness! I can scarce believe it, though I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘Not madness, Trim. Cunning. He wanted to deflect attention. Why would we suspect him, if he were a victim himself?’ Woodburn had dissembled from the beginning, offering to help me in my search for the truth while pointing me towards Acton, then Gilbourne, knowing all along that they were innocent of this one crime at least. I could see how he would have squared it with his conscience; they were cruel, wicked men, whereas he had been doing God’s work, saving Captain Roberts from committing an unforgivable sin. What was it Woodburn had said to me, when we first met? There’s so much good work to be done here. So many souls to save.

‘There are other ways to play the victim, without stabbing yourself,’ Trim remarked. ‘I fear his guilt is sending him mad. He was raving about ghosts when I found him. He’s convinced that Roberts is haunting him.’

‘The ghost wasn’t real.’

Trim tapped his head. ‘I think he’s conjured up his own spirit, Mr Hawkins.’

That was true enough. Woodburn had seemed half-mad this morning. It was his own conscience that had summoned up a ghost to plague him. ‘Well, I pray it haunts him to his grave.’ I paused. ‘Could he have killed Fleet?’

‘No, no. We gave him Siddall’s strongest sleeping draught. The same one we drank, I suppose. He only woke when I did. We heard you banging on the door and he said… He said, Oh, merciful God. He’s killed again. ’

And for all of this, I was still no closer to learning who ‘he’ was. Trim only heard Woodburn’s voice on the night of the murder – the beating must have taken place in the Strong Room as the men had only stayed in Belle Isle for a few minutes. After Woodburn stabbed himself, Trim begged him to confess everything but Woodburn had refused. He kept saying it was his fault, that he was to blame for it all, and that they had never meant to hurt Captain Roberts – just frighten him. But when Trim asked him who the other man was, Woodburn had looked frightened and said Harry Mitchell had died for knowing less. And so they both kept quiet – and Fleet had paid for their cowardice.

I slipped my mother’s cross back into my pocket. As I did so my fingers brushed against the silver crown I’d plucked from the dust in Belle Isle. I took it out and held it in my palm. Woodburn had swept up the money that night while his companion removed the body and now he was distributing it among the sick and starving of the Marshalsea Common Side. Five pounds. The missing crown would have made it five guineas. The only time Gilbourne had ever given his money to charity – albeit unwittingly.

If only I had managed to force the truth from Woodburn. Perhaps I could persuade Acton to come with me to interrogate him again. The sight of the governor might just frighten the chaplain into giving up the name. That is if he had not lost his wits entirely. But I doubted Acton would agree to it. There was no time, damn it. No time.

There was a soft rustle behind me, like feathers.

‘ Monsieur. ’

Madame Migault, in her old black silks, her white hair a nest for yellowing ivory combs and faded ribbons. I had not heard her come in.

‘ Madame. ’

She studied me with those beady eyes of hers, a smile playing across her thin, cracked lips. ‘You are sick.’ Triumphant – as though she had brewed the infection herself.

I tried to step past her but she blocked my path, clutching at my arm with gnarled fingers. ‘I know what you are,’ she hissed. ‘I’ve watched you from the shadows. Nothing but a boy in a man’s clothes.’

I remembered my first night in the gaol and the low, mocking laughter I’d heard in the darkness of the yard. I’d thought it was a ghost, back then. What a credulous fool I’d been. I pulled my arm free.

‘You cannot have her,’ she spat. ‘She is mine . She works for me now. Le diable est mort, et Kitty est à moi. ’

‘Kitty?’ Anger burned in my chest. ‘What do you want with her?’