The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [12]

He wasn’t ready to discuss business. This conversation would play at his pace, not mine. ‘So. What progress with my boy?’

‘Good. Save for the incessant chatter.’

He snorted back a laugh. ‘How long will it take?’

‘To turn him into a gentleman?’ I shrugged. A thousand years?

‘No, no, no. To pass as one. You turn my son into a real gent and I’ll wring your fucking neck.’

‘Ah, well. That’s the secret. There’s no such thing as a real gent.’ I was not speaking entirely in jest. If a man wore the right clothes and spoke in an easy, confident manner, there was a good chance he would be allowed into the court. The nobility was such a strange collection of eccentrics, fools, and fops that even the most unlikely fellow could pass.

Fleet waved his hand, dismissing the notion. This sort of subtle distinction bored him. ‘There are places I can’t go. Opportunities I can’t seize. Sam knows this world – my world. I need him to understand yours too.’

I thought of Sam, sullen and silent behind the shop counter. ‘I will do my best.’

Fleet held my gaze, just long enough for me to understand what would happen if my best did not meet his expectations. ‘Well then,’ he said, as the sweat trickled down my back, ‘can’t ask fairer than that.’

I took a sip of beer. ‘We had a visit from Mr Gonson today.’

‘Hah. Society of Fucking Manners.’

‘Our neighbour accused Sam of breaking into his house.’ I paused. ‘Is that possible?’

‘Anything stolen?’

‘No.’

‘Anyone murdered?’

‘Good God – no!’

Fleet settled back, satisfied. ‘Shall we discuss business?’

I had already decided as I climbed over the rooftops of St Giles that whatever James Fleet wanted of me, I must find a way to refuse.‘Mr Fleet,’ I assembled my most regretful expression, ‘I fear I may not be able to help on this occasion-’

He stopped me with his hand. ‘For pity’s sake, Hawkins – stop clenching your petticoat. A proposition, nothing more. Chance to make some money.’ He fixed me with a look. ‘Your own money.’

Oh, that stung, I admit. It was true I had been living off Kitty’s fortune these past few months. A fortune she had inherited from Fleet’s half-brother.

‘I’ve had word from an acquaintance at court. A gentlewoman has asked for my help. Needs to be done secret. Quiet. I want you to meet her tonight. Find out what she wants.’

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. That was all – truly? Nothing more? Perhaps I could, just this once… Best not to refuse Fleet over such a trifling request. And would it not be encouraging, to earn a little spare coin of my own? ‘How much?’

Fleet shrugged. ‘If I can help her I’ll pay you a tenth of the fee.’

‘Half.’

A hacking laugh. ‘One meeting with a fucking courtier? Let me consider.’ He scratched his jaw. ‘One-tenth.’

I took a slow pull on my pipe. This was Fleet’s world – he could slit my throat in here and never swing for it. But if I did not bargain with him now I would appear weak. ‘If it’s so easy, why not send one of your men? Why not go yourself?’

Fleet gritted his teeth, and said nothing.

I smiled at him through the smoke. ‘Because you need a real gent. Someone who can pass. Someone who won’t frighten the poor lady half to death.’ A thought struck me. ‘Your brother used to do this for you, didn’t he? Play the gentleman.’ A vision of my old cell mate, grizzle-cheeked and dressed in his shabby old nightgown, crossed my mind. Forgive me, Samuel, for calling you a gentleman. I meant no offence. ‘You must have been forced to turn down quite a few opportunities these past months. Perhaps your friend at court will lose patience? Try someone new?’

Fleet scowled. ‘Careful, Hawkins.’

‘Half.’

‘A quarter.’

‘Half.’

A long, long pause. The blood was pounding in my ears. What was I doing, bargaining with a man who could break my jaw with one swipe of his fist? But I couldn’t resist it; I was almost feverish with excitement. My God – I hadn’t felt this alive in months.

Fleet leaned forward until our knees were almost touching. He stared deep into my eyes. ‘Now here’s a man I can work with,’ he murmured. ‘A third.’

I held out my hand. By some miracle, it wasn’t shaking. ‘Agreed.’

Chapter Four

Kitty was closing the shop by the time Sam and I returned from St Giles and a hurried chophouse dinner. She hummed to herself as she tidied books back on to the shelves, tucked a sheaf of nude line drawings into a leather wallet. I loved her more than anything in these moments. They reminded me of the first time I’d seen her in the Marshalsea, making a pot of coffee, the simple grace as she moved back and forth, the quick and capable way she worked.

She saw me and her face lit up – the warm gleam of pleasure that I was home. A blink and it had vanished. Kitty would walk about our bedchamber without a stitch of clothing and not give a damn how hard I looked at her. But she kept her deepest feelings hidden from me as much as she could, as if they were a poor hand of cards I might play against her one day.

‘And are you staring at my arse now, Tom Hawkins?’

‘Always.’

She grinned and wrapped her arms about my neck. ‘Where have you been?’