The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [24]

With a rush of relief, I recognised him as the guard I’d saved in St James’s Park. These must be Henrietta Howard’s men.

I hurried downstairs, gathering my wig and hat from the floor. As I opened the door, the guard gave a short bow and beckoned me to the carriage.

I gestured inside. ‘I will leave a note for-’

‘-no time,’ he interrupted.

I hesitated, suddenly suspicious. ‘Where are we going?’

The guard signalled to the others. In a second they had seized me and slung me into the carriage. I tumbled to the floor, a pile of clothes and a jumble of limbs. I struggled up on to the bench while the guard settled back on the opposite seat and slammed the door tight. With a soft cry, the driver urged the horses forward and we raced away, down Drury Lane towards the Strand. I held on to my seat with my bruised hands, feeling somewhat dizzy from the swaying carriage and the speed of my capture.

The guard tapped his swollen jaw. ‘Yours is healing well. But you’re a young man.’ He grinned, revealing a fresh gap in his teeth. With his flattened nose and old smallpox scars, his face was a brutal sight, but he seemed friendly enough. ‘Budge,’ he said, holding out his hand.

I shook it. ‘Am I in trouble, Mr Budge?’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Up to your neck, Mr Hawkins.’

Chapter Seven

As we reached the entrance to St James’s Palace, Budge ordered me to lie on the floor and threw a coarse wool blanket over me. It stank of horse. There was a short exchange with the guards, and then the carriage rolled forward again, rattling across a large courtyard. The horses made a sharp turn and we rolled to a halt. I felt a tap on my shoulder. ‘Wait here.’ I began to sit up, but Budge pushed me back with a sharp prod.

I lay cramped in the dark, trying my best to prepare myself for my unexpected appointment with the king’s mistress. What in heaven was Mrs Howard thinking, to smuggle me into the palace in such a fashion? She must be quite desperate. The thought made me uneasy. She may not have the power to help Mr Gay find a suitable court position, but I had no doubt she could make my life uncomfortable if she chose. As if it were not uncomfortable enough, lying beneath a horse blanket in the freezing cold.

I shifted position, then winced as the hilt of my sword poked against my hip. Deep in my pocket, my silver fob watch ticked softly. It had been a gift from Samuel Fleet. What would my old cell mate make of all this business? Why, he’d be delighted of course – perfectly thrilled. Fleet had lived for trouble. Died for it too.

How late was it? How much time had passed? It was too dark to read my watch. I couldn’t risk waiting much longer – I must reach Kitty and flee the city with her tonight. Perhaps I should leave now, escape into the dark city streets. But how would I explain myself to the guards at the gate house? How would they react if they discovered me creeping through the king’s palace with a sword at my hip? Knowing my luck, they’d charge me with treason and burn me at the stake.

Footsteps. I shrank beneath my blanket, but it was only a groom, come to free the horses and lower the shafts. The carriage tilted and I slid along the floor, cracking my ankle bone against the seat. I uttered a low curse. The footsteps drew closer. A lantern flared at the window, flooding the carriage with light. I lay still, holding my breath for a long, tense minute. Then the carriage darkened and I was alone again.

Another hour passed before Budge returned. By now I was quite sober and my head was pounding. I threw off the blanket and stumbled from the carriage, stretching my aching limbs and back.

‘Too tall,’ Budge observed, as if I might want to rectify the problem. ‘Apologies for the wait. The king. Speechifying.’

We moved quickly through the stables, the horses stamping and snuffling in the dark. The courtyard beyond was lit with lanterns and torches, bright after my long vigil in the dark. I blinked up at the rambling maze of red brick buildings that formed the palace, marvelling at it all. In spite of my misgivings, I could not help but feel a flicker of excitement.

We crossed the yard, pausing in the shadows as a couple of footmen rushed by with lanterns. When all was still again we turned towards a discreet, unguarded side door. Budge unlocked it and beckoned me forward.

‘Quiet now,’ he breathed, though we had not spoken a word since I left the carriage.

The corridor beyond was very dark and we had no light, so we were forced to stretch out our hands and brush the walls with our fingertips to guide the way. The walls were smooth and dry. I’d heard St James’ was a crumbling, dank old place but it seemed solid enough to me.

My foot grazed against something in the dark and I scuffled forward, almost colliding with Budge. He gave a tiny hiss of annoyance. Sam would be silent down here, I thought. All this time I’d been giving him lessons – I should have asked him to teach me some of his own tricks. After a few moments I caught a dim light ahead. We had reached an old back staircase, bowed from the heavy tread of servants labouring up and down. Candles flickered low in their sconces.