Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘Who killed Harry Mitchell?’

Anderson closed his eyes for a moment and gave a short, dry laugh. ‘Suppose I knew. Why should I tell you?’

‘Acton has given me until sunset to discover the truth. He wants me to fail.’ I squatted down and looked him in the eye. ‘You could help me to disappoint him.’

He smiled briefly. He’d lost a tooth in the fight – the gum was raw and bloody. ‘What’ll he do to you? If you do fail?’

‘He’ll charge me with Fleet’s murder. And Fleet will be blamed for Roberts’ death.’

He grunted. ‘So it’s true, then? The old devil’s dead.’ His eyes flickered to the door. ‘I heard them shouting this morning but I didn’t believe it.’

‘Someone cut his throat. The same man who stabbed Mitchell through the heart.’

Anderson’s brows knotted. ‘No. We took care of Harry’s killer yesterday. Slipped a blade between his ribs.’ He shifted as much as he could beneath his chains, then sighed. ‘Riot’s a good distraction if you want to murder a man.’

‘But then…’ I stood up and rubbed the sweat from my face. I’d thought Mitchell’s death had been connected to my investigation. Had it been a coincidence after all? ‘Who was it?’

‘Fred Owen. Been on the ward with me for three years… Wasn’t a bad man, not really. Just desperate.’ He grimaced. ‘Someone slipped five shillings through the begging grate. Said if he killed Harry there’d be ten more. Owen had a daughter on the streets. Nine years old.’ Anderson fell silent.

‘Did he see who it was?’

‘It was dark. Can’t see much through the grates.’

‘And the voice? Did Owen tell you anything ?’

‘He was too busy dying, Mr Hawkins.’ He paused. ‘But I know why Mitchell was killed.’

I waited. ‘Well?’

‘What’s it worth?’

I cursed under my breath. I had no time for bargaining. ‘I have nothing left, sir. You’ll stop an innocent man from being sent to the gallows, is that not enough?’

‘Not really.’

I groaned, looking about me as if the damp, squalid hut might suddenly bring forth a treasure hoard or a dozen willing maids with dimples in their cheeks. And then I remembered how it had felt to be chained against the wall, the iron collar pressing hard against my throat. ‘I could loosen those screws,’ I said.

A desperate, eager look flashed in Anderson’s eyes before he could stop it. We had a deal, it seemed. I found an old piece of metal and got to work as Anderson talked. The metal was jagged and sharp and cut my hands but I hardly noticed.

‘Mitchell confessed everything to me the night before he died,’ Anderson said. ‘Said he was going to tell you – that you’d promised to get him out of here in exchange. He knew blabbing to you was dangerous so he thought someone on this side should know the truth. It was Harry that tipped the sleeping draught into Fleet’s punch the night Roberts got it. He was hired the same as Owen – someone came to the begging grate and paid him a few shillings. Harry thought they was going to rob Fleet, that’s all. Then the next morning they found the captain swinging from the beams up there.’ He glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Bad way to die. And now his soul’s trapped in here with all the corpses till judgement day.’

I shivered. ‘Did Mitchell recognise the man who came to the grate?’

‘No. Voice was muffled. But he said it was familiar somehow. He was sure it was someone from the gaol.’

I loosened the last of the screws. ‘Could it have been Woodburn?’

Anderson stretched his neck, then shot me a puzzled look. ‘Mr Woodburn? Nah, Harry would have known him at once, even in the shadows. He’s the only fat man in the gaol… But why would Woodburn…’ He trailed away, confused. ‘He’s the one swore it was murder not suicide.’

‘I think it was an accident.’ I gazed about me, at the old blood stains on the floor, the rats scrabbling over the rotting bodies heaped in a corner. ‘Roberts had agreed to something terrible – something damnable . They wanted to stop him so they brought him here where it was quiet and they tried to persuade him against it.’

‘With their fists. Two against one.’ Anderson looked savage. ‘Bloody cowards.’

‘Woodburn knew if the coroner called it suicide, Roberts would lose his right to a Christian burial. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Bad enough to kill a man, but to put his soul at risk…’

‘ Noble ,’ Anderson muttered sarcastically. ‘So why hang him up there in the first place?’

I rubbed my eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

And there was my trouble: I didn’t know. I didn’t know who the second man was. I didn’t know why he’d hanged Roberts up in the Strong Room. I didn’t know how he’d snuck into Belle Isle last night and slit Fleet’s throat. All I did know was that I needed to discover the answers before sunset – and that was just one hour away.

Somehow I was able to return to the Master’s Side without being seen. It helped that no one ever chose to look at the wall, so by the time I had stepped away from the door it appeared as though I was simply taking a turn about the yard.

I returned the key to Gilbert Hand and told him what I’d learned, saving the part about Owen’s murder. Captain Anderson was in enough trouble as it was. It was a good trade for Hand – he’d risked very little and now knew as much as I did about Roberts’ death. He patted his stomach as if I’d just fed him a feast, which I suppose I had, in a way.

‘Are you well, Mr Hawkins? You seem a little feverish.’

I was about to reply when the door to Acton’s lodgings swung open and the governor emerged. ‘Hawkins!’ he called across the yard, then beckoned me with the crook of his finger.

Hand, scenting trouble, melted away.

I trod slowly towards Acton, praying he would grant me more time. Even a day might be enough. A tall, slim figure slipped out of the governor’s lodgings to stand beside him. Gilbourne. He put his hands in his pockets and gave a wide, mocking smile as I approached.

‘Well, Hawkins?’ Acton looked me up and down. ‘Do you have a name for me?’

My mind whirled. Mitchell had thought he recognised the voice at the begging grate. It was someone who knew the gaol well and could come and go easily. Chapman? Cross? One of Hand’s boys, or Gilbert Hand himself, for that matter? Or one of the porters, perhaps? But it was no use – I did not have enough proof to accuse any one of them. ‘I do, sir.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Mr Woodburn.’

The two men started in surprise. Then Gilbourne let out a peal of laughter and clapped his hands together. ‘Oh! This is too rich, sir! The Reverend Andrew Woodburn, no less. The gentleman you say accused me of the same crime this morning? I suppose this is why… why he stabbed himself yesterday?’ He broke into a fit of giggles.

Acton slid his new ally a look of ill-disguised loathing. ‘This is all you have to say to me, Hawkins?’ He snorted. ‘No wonder you’re sweating like a hog. Well – no matter. We have another name for you, don’t we, Mr Gilbourne?’

Gilbourne stopped laughing and stood a little straighter. ‘We do indeed, sir. Fleet killed Roberts. He confessed it to me the day before he died. I’m afraid in all the confusion of the riot I quite put it from my mind.’

I glared at him. ‘That is a lie, sir.’

‘ Is it?’ Gilbourne grinned. ‘Well, sadly he’s not alive to defend himself, is he? It’s a shame you killed him.’

My heart lurched. ‘Mr Acton. Give me one more day. I beg you.’

‘No, no. I like this story better, I think,’ Acton replied. ‘Fleet killed Roberts and you killed Fleet. We’d best lock him up, eh, Gilbourne?’ He wrapped a hand about my arm and began dragging me towards the Lodge.