Antonia Hodgson - The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins

Stephen burst into the room holding his father’s sword, closely followed by Sam. Stephen’s courage fled the instant he saw me, a living spectre standing over his sister’s bed. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor. The sword clattered from his hand. ‘Oh, God!’ he cried, hands clasped in prayer. ‘Protect me from this devil.’

I kicked the sword over to Sam. ‘I am not a devil, Stephen.’ I pulled down my collar, so he might see the burns upon my throat.

Stephen stopped praying. He raised his eyes to mine. ‘The Lord spared you,’ he said, in a dazed wonder. ‘He heard my prayers and in His wisdom He spared you. Oh, praise God!’

I frowned at him. Why would Stephen pray for his father’s killer? Why was he so glad to find me alive? I remembered his empty room, the portrait of his sister stamped into the floor. I remembered he had hit Judith that first morning, after she had cried Murder! Not to calm her down, after all – but in anger. In shame.

‘You knew I was innocent.’

He began to weep.

Stephen had guessed his sister was guilty the moment he saw his father’s body. The rage of the attack had convinced him. He’d lived under the same roof in the days leading up to the murder, and had heard them fighting. Watched as his father beat Judith for speaking out. Heard her crying in her room, tears of hatred and frustration. He’d seen her face when Burden announced he would marry Alice, and banish Ned from the house. When Stephen walked into his father’s bedroom and saw the blood and the knife, he’d known . But then he’d pushed the truth from his mind. It was too painful, too horrifying to accept. ‘She’s my sister. I couldn’t…’

‘You let me hang for it.’

Stephen dropped his head. ‘The jury found you guilty.’

‘But you knew, Stephen. In your heart you knew it was Judith.’

He began to cry again, great gulps. ‘I prayed for you, sir. Over and over in my room. I swear it.’

Judith glared at him from the bed, disgusted. She pulled again at the rags about her wrists, struggling to free herself. ‘So. What now, Brother? Will you betray me? Will you let me burn ?’

A burning. The punishment for petty treason. The king rules his people, and a father rules his family. For a girl to murder her father was the same, in law, as murdering her king. She would be burned at the stake if she were caught. I had not considered this.

‘You killed our father, Judith!’ Stephen cried.

‘Well? What of it? How many times did we dream of it? How many times did we pray for it? Do you not remember, the last time he beat you for daring to speak against him? He would have killed you if Ned had not begged him to stop. I had to kill him, Stephen. I had to kill him because you were too weak.’

Stephen jumped up and ran from the room. Kitty ran after him. ‘He’ll wake Ned,’ she hissed.

‘Stay here,’ I ordered Sam. ‘Keep her quiet.’

Stephen had not run far – only back to his father’s room across the landing. He was crouched over a chamber pot, puking loudly. Kitty and I stared at one another helplessly. What now?

‘Where is Ned?’ I wondered. We had made enough noise to wake half the street. Surely he must have heard us by now.

‘He left us,’ Stephen sniffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Kitty crinkled her nose. The air now stank of fresh vomit, laced with the usual bedroom smells of a fifteen-year-old boy. ‘Where did he go?’

‘I don’t know. In search of work, I suppose. The business is in ruins. Father spent all the money.’ He hung his head. ‘There’s nothing left but debts.’

Kitty touched my arm. ‘Tom. That ’ s why Burden planned to marry Alice. The debts. ’

Of course. It had always puzzled me, why Burden would marry his housekeeper. Even more so once I’d heard Gabriela’s story. Now I understood. He had not loved Alice – of course not. But he knew his life was in danger. If he died, then all his debts would pass to his family – to Stephen and Judith. But if he married Alice and named her in his will, she would be forced to take on all the responsibility for repayment. Thank God he had died before Alice married him. She might have spent the rest of her life rotting in a debtors’ gaol.

‘We owe money to half the town.’ Stephen sobbed. ‘And my sister. My sister… What am I to do?’

I glanced at Kitty and could guess what she was thinking. Learn to fend for yourself , the same as every other wretched soul in this world . He had let me hang, after all. But I did not have the heart to hate him. He was a boy – older than Sam in years, but younger in so many ways. His father was dead, and all he’d inherited was debt. He might well be thrown in gaol now, instead of Alice.

So I said nothing, and the room fell very quiet. The whole house, indeed, was silent.

And then I thought of Sam and Judith, alone across the landing.

Something dark fluttered in my chest.

The door to Judith’s room had been closed. I stood outside it for a moment and prayed to God I was wrong. Then I turned the handle and stepped inside.

God had not listened to my prayers in a very long time.

‘Sam.’

Sam removed the pillow from Judith’s face and stepped back. Her wrists were still tied to the bed, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, empty of life.

‘No blood,’ he murmured. ‘I promised.’

Sorrow pressed against my throat, like a rope. I couldn’t speak.

He cradled her head and slipped the pillow back into place. Delicate. Gentle. Turned to face me.

‘Had to be done.’

No. No. Not in a thousand years.

He pulled a letter from his pocket. A confession, forged in Judith’s hand. He must have written it earlier, on Phoenix Street. He must have planned it all. And wasn’t that Sam’s way? He tucked it under the candlestick by the bed. Plucked a bottle of Felblade’s opiates from the table and poured the contents out of the window. Smooth and fluid as a dancer, well-trained in his art. ‘She couldn’t live with the guilt. Your death. Her father’s.’ He placed the empty bottle next to the note.

I said nothing. My heart was breaking.

Sam brushed a stray lock of hair from Judith’s face and stepped back. ‘Look. Is this not better? See how peaceful she is.’

I forced myself to look at her. Her dark lashes closed. Her lips tinged blue. The girl who just a few moments before had been so alive. Who had wanted so much to live. Poor Judith. Silenced for ever.

I spoke at last, the words heavy on my tongue. ‘Your father will be proud of you.’

He smiled up at me, black eyes shining. ‘I didn’t do it for him, Mr Hawkins.’

Dawn in London, but there will be no sun today. A carriage whisks its way through the rain-soaked streets, water hissing beneath the wheels. The windows are closed and covered with thick black curtains. The cushions are of black velvet, trimmed with gold.

And I too wear black; fitting clothes for a dead man. Kitty sits at my side, watching me in that new way she has. Careful. Concerned. I wish she would shout at me instead. I miss it.

Five days have passed since my hanging. The newspapers are filled with stories about Judith’s confession and her suicide. The town is horrified and fascinated and can speak of nothing else. Broadsheet writers indulge themselves with lurid fictions of her life and death. They tell of her final moments, imagine her weeping with guilt as she drinks the fatal draught of opium. There are fresh illustrations too, of Judith attacking her father, blade held high. Swooning at the trial. Attending my hanging with a secret smile upon her face.