Antonia Hodgson - The Devil in the Marshalsea

‘No.’ I sat down heavily, clasping the arm of the chair. ‘I don’t believe you.’

He clasped his hands behind his back and crossed to the window, staring down upon the neatly landscaped garden below. The sun shone through the pane, casting his face half in light, half in shadow. ‘We all have masters, Tom. The only free men in this world are idiots and fools. It is Sir Philip’s duty to keep the prison running well. And it is my duty to aid him in that task. To be of value to him. No matter the personal cost.’ He bowed his head. ‘Catherine Roberts was drawing too much attention to the Marshalsea, with all her talk of ghosts and murder. Sir Philip wanted… needed things returned to normal. Acton refused to investigate, even with the gaol teetering upon the brink of revolt. In truth we half-suspected him of the murder. When I saw your name on the list I knew God had placed it there for a reason. Do you not see, Tom? You were already destined for gaol and we needed a man we could trust. What harm was there in that? You would help me. I would help Sir Philip. Sir Philip would help us both. This is the way the world works. Where would we be without it? Without Sir Philip’s patronage, what would I be? A poor country curate scrimping a living on a few pounds a year.’ He paused. ‘You know, he is very grateful to us both. Mrs Roberts is content and the gaol is running smoothly again. This could still go very well for you, Tom, if you could just… if you would only think straight for once.’

My hand squeezed tight about my purse, the edges of the coins digging into my palm. ‘I had enough money to save myself.’

He bit his lip. ‘Yes. And for that… for that I am sorry, Tom. But don’t you see? It was too late. I’d already promised Sir Philip that you would help us. I could not afford to let him down – I had vowed to resolve the matter for him before the coronation. Sir Philip is a kind and generous patron, but he does not take well to failure. I would have lost my position – and he would have made sure all of his friends and allies shunned me as well. I would have been ruined.’

‘So… You paid men to rob me.’

Charles turned from the window.‘I had to – don’t you see? I needed you in the gaol. I never thought you’d win at the gaming tables! I spent half the night pacing about outside, praying to God you’d lose.’ He gestured to the purse. ‘Half the money was mine to begin with. All I did was call upon a few cutpurses to get it back.’

‘They nearly killed me, Charles!’

‘No, no – I swear it! I would never… Their chief had worked for us before. He only struck you because you were damned foolish enough to fight back.’

‘This was my freedom!’ I shouted, clutching my purse tight. ‘And you stole it from me.’ I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears of bitterness and rage. ‘You wrote that damned note to Fletcher, didn’t you? Just to be sure. My God, Charles – are you not ashamed of yourself? Do you not feel any guilt for what you’ve done?’

He coloured. ‘How can I make you understand? Will you not try to see things from my side? You think because you don’t want this life it is not worth having! But I have worked damned hard these past years while you sat drinking in poxy taverns, squandering all the gifts God gave you. If there is any shame or guilt to be felt, it is on your side, not mine.’

I put my head in my hands. All the beatings I had endured, in St Giles and in the Marshalsea. Even the night in the Strong Room. Nothing had hurt me as much as this – nothing but Kitty’s death. ‘You’ve broken my heart,’ I said.

‘Oh, Tom ,’ Charles said, and laughed. He didn’t believe me – because he did not want to. He turned to leave, then paused. ‘It was only a matter of time before you were thrown in gaol. All I did was nudge you back on to a path you were always destined to follow. I looked after you well enough – did I not? Now you have a full purse and a chance to start your life afresh. How many men can say the same?’ He smiled down at me. ‘When you have calmed down and considered the facts, you will understand. In fact I think you’ll realise you would have done just the same in my position.’

Anger and bitterness surged inside of me. I rose to my feet. ‘No. I would not. I would never betray a friend.’

He rolled his eyes as if I were a naive child. ‘And that’s why I will be Bishop of London one day. Whereas you…’ He looked me up and down, and gave a little smirk. ‘What will you be, Tom?’

I considered this for a moment. And then I punched him hard in the face. He collapsed to his knees, eyes streaming, blood gushing from his nostrils all over his fine silk rug.

‘What will I be?’ I stared down at him in disgust, cradling my bloodied fist as he sobbed on the floor in pain and fury. ‘I’ll be the man who broke the Bishop of London’s nose.’

I never thought I would return to the Marshalsea, but here I was at the Lodge gate. I banged my fist against the door before I could change my mind. The grate slid open and a familiar pair of bloodshot eyes glared at me through the gap.

‘ Oh, for God’s …’ But he opened the door and let me pass.

My plan on fleeing Richmond had been to head straight for Moll’s, buy a pipe, a girl and a bowl of punch, and forget all about Charles and his betrayal. But the Thames had other ideas. The river was crammed with visitors pouring into the city for the coronation, with long queues to all the stairs on the north side. Fights were breaking out between the watermen and two boats had already capsized, flinging their passengers into the dark, filthy waters.

My boatman considered the chaos for a moment before steering us decisively towards the south bank. ‘I’ll drop you at Tooley stairs,’ he said. ‘Safer to walk back across the bridge today.’

The boat bumped up hard against the same worn, greasy steps I had taken with Jakes that first day, laden down with chains. I took it as a sign; one last visit to the place that had almost killed me, but this time as a free man.

The Park was packed with prisoners taking the air while they could. There were a few new debtors I didn’t recognise; a reminder that prison life rolled on and always would. A young whore was hard at work consoling an old, drunk gentleman on Fleet’s bench. She winked at me as I passed, one hand busy in his breeches while the other slipped into his pocket.

Acton and Gilbourne were nowhere to be seen, thank God. I would have turned on my heel and left if I’d seen them. I spied Mary Acton frowning down at me from the parlour window, Henry at her hip trying to eat her hair. I raised my hat and gave her a deep, theatrical bow. She pursed her lips and disappeared from view.

Gilbert Hand was in his usual spot by the lamppost. I nodded to him but didn’t stop; I didn’t have the time or the inclination to feed any wriggling worms of gossip into the Ranger’s eager beak.

I’d forgotten how badly the whole place stank; I’d grown accustomed to the fresh Richmond air and the contrast was almost unbearable. I bought a nosegay from a young gypsy girl in the yard to mask the stench, then dropped by the chandler’s shop where I bought tobacco, candles, a pound of butter and a few other little parcels. And then I crossed over to my old ward, up the familiar, worn-down stairs to Belle Isle – but Fleet’s empire of mischief and disorder had vanished. It was just a tatty old room with rotten floorboards and five new occupants crammed into two beds. Acton was getting his money’s worth, as ever.

But it was Trim I had come to see, and he was at home, brewing a pot of tea. I poked my head round the door and he leapt up in astonishment.