The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [48]

Freedom for Judith, freedom for Stephen. In another world I would have walked away from the whole damned business – let God stand in judgement when all was done. But I had my own freedom to consider. My own precious neck.

I must press a confession from one of them, or at least discover some clear proof of guilt. The blade had been found with the corpse, but what of the killer’s ruined, bloody clothes? There would have been no chance to destroy them today, not with half the neighbourhood trailing through the house offering condolences. The clothes must still be hidden somewhere inside, and would remain there unless one of the children attempted to smuggle them out. One could hardly drop them upon the drawing-room fire.

I rolled my aching shoulders, glad to have found one small thread of hope. I would seek permission to search the house thoroughly tomorrow. In the meantime… A couple of tattered street boys stood outside the baker’s shop. Doubtless they might keep watch for a few halfpennies and a couple of Mrs Jenkins’s rolls. I crossed the street towards them, but they squealed as I approached, scampering away before I could explain myself. It was a melancholy moment. I was a monster now, was that it? And I felt a shiver in my soul, some pre-sentiment that more trouble lay ahead. Once a man was named a monster, the mob was rarely far behind.

Sam, at least, seemed pleased to see me returned safe from the lock-up – in his fashion. He clambered over the counter and took my hand, shaking it without a word. I showed him the order and his face took on an expression of awe. ‘The City Marshal’s hand,’ he murmured, brushing the paper as if it were the finest silk.

I plucked it back. He liked to practise different hands when it was quiet in the shop. ‘What’s the sentence for counterfeiting a Marshal’s note?’

Sam looped an imaginary rope about his neck and pretended to hang, swaying on the spot with his tongue hanging out. It was a little too convincing for comfort.

‘How many hangings have you seen, Sam?’

‘Hundreds. Saw Jack Sheppard nubbed. Stood beneath the cart.’

I’d seen Sheppard swing too – my first winter in London. The mob had loved him, pulling on his legs to help speed his passing. It had ended in a riot, his friends fighting to keep his body from the chirurgeons. Thousands upon thousands streaming through the streets, trampling everything in their path. I’d thought I would die in all that madness and had wished myself safe at home in Suffolk. When I survived, pulled clear by strangers into the nearest tavern, my shirt torn and my lip bloodied, I knew I never wanted to leave.

‘Thomas Hawkins. Oh, you wretch.’ The door slammed back upon its hinges. Kitty: face smudged, clothes damp with sweat despite the cold. ‘Look at you! Look at you here without a care in the world when I am half dead. I’ve trudged the streets all day searching for you. Every gaol, every lock-up. They laughed at me, Tom. They laughed and jeered and groped… How long have you been free? Oh! You cannot even guess how much I hate you, you thoughtless prick.’

‘I thought you were safe. Sam. You were supposed to take her to St Giles.’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘She weren’t inclined.’

‘She,’ Kitty said, whisking up and down the shop in a blind fury, ‘has just returned from Gonson’s house. That fucking guard who did this,’ she pointed at a bruise on her cheek. ‘He kept me waiting half an age, then said you were set free hours ago. Said you’d left with your black whore.’ She kicked over a stool. ‘He said you kissed her, in front of the whole world. Did you…? Oh, you villain – you did kiss her!’

‘Well, no, not precisely,’ I flustered. ‘She did somewhat rather…but she only kissed me to distraction. For distraction, that is. For distraction. A slip of the tongue.’

‘A slip of the tongue,’ Kitty mimicked nastily. ‘And I suppose your tongue just slipped into Betty’s mouth?’

‘Oh damn it, Kitty – it was an act, that is all. If you would let me explain…’ I reached for her, but she evaded my grasp, leaving the shop and running up the stairs.

I glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Well, Sam. I suppose I had better meet my fate.’

He grinned. Wrapped the rope around his neck and swung back and forth.

Kitty was lighting a fire in our room. She heard me enter and sit down upon the bed, but she didn’t turn around until the hearth was blazing. She took off her cap and unpinned her hair, tossing her head so the curls bounced down her back. She knew I loved that.

‘Am I forgiven?’ I took off my wig and slung it in a corner. I was too tired to argue. Too tired to move. My limbs ached from the lock-up, and my mind was distracted, bouncing from thought to thought like a racket ball.

‘Betty.’ She loosened the ribbons to her gown and pulled out the stomacher beneath, exposing the soft parting of her high, round breasts.

And suddenly, my mind was still.

‘D’you want her, Tom?’ She slipped off her shoes and balanced a foot upon my thigh. Slid it higher. Ahh…She rolled down her stocking. ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Like this.’ She parted her lips and stared down at me from lowered lids.