The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [60]
At some signal Fleet’s men gathered themselves and headed out again. Best not to think of the business they planned. One of them paused at my chair, shrugging on his coat. ‘She’s with Gabriela.’
I tumbled down the stairs, drunk with exhaustion, clinging to the walls as I searched each room. At last, I found her.
She was lying in a small cot, buried under several blankets, red hair wrapped in a velvet cap for warmth. A dark-haired woman was sitting by her side, singing softly in Portuguese. Gabriela, Fleet’s wife. Sam’s mother. There was beauty in her features, her smooth complexion, her black curls streaked with silver. A great, grave beauty – save for the long scar on her face. It curved from temple to jaw, puckering her cheek and dragging down the corner of her right eye.
She beckoned me forward. ‘For one moment.’
I stumbled to the bed. A lantern cast an amber light across the blankets, but Kitty’s skin was white as marble and her lips were tinged blue. I took her hand, pressed my face to hers to be sure she was still breathing. ‘She’s so cold.’
Gabriela put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You must rest.’
I shook my head, and the room spun around me. I had to stay awake and look after Kitty. But I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I lay down next to her. She didn’t move. It was as if I were lying next to a stone statue on a tomb.
Fleet entered the room and spoke quietly with Gabriela by the fire. They sounded worried.
Strong arms pulled me from the bed and lifted me away. I was too weak to protest. Another room, men asleep on the floor. A bed, warmed with a bed pan. Blankets thrown over my shaking body. In my fevered state I thought I was back in the river – that our escape had all been a dream. The blankets were waves and I was sinking down, the icy river closing above my head. The water roared in my ears. I reached for Kitty but I couldn’t find her. I was alone in an empty ocean. I slipped away beneath the waves, drowning in darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
A warm dry bed. Sunlight on my closed eyes. Shouts and drunken curses rising from the streets, the rumble of carts and the scrape of a fiddle. A dog barking. It had all been there at the edge of my senses, seeping into my dreams. I swallowed, mouth dry, and rolled over. Groaned as pain bounced about my skull.
‘Awake!’ a voice yelled, delighted. ‘Awake, awake, awake!’
I opened my eyes a crack. A tiny, dark-eyed child was leaning over me, her face inches from mine. Three more girls lined the bed, whispering and watching me with keen interest. Sam’s sisters, without question – all variations upon the same theme, with dark, clever eyes and raven hair, and all dressed in drab, faded gowns, restitched to fit. The oldest girl had tucked a wisp of gauze about her neck, bright scarlet flecked with gold. It burned in the morning sun like a jewel, or a warning. She lifted her baby sister from the bed and kissed her curls. ‘Run and tell Pa, Bia.’
I was desperate to leave the room and find Kitty, but a light shuffle beneath my blankets revealed that I was quite naked. Exposing myself in front of James Fleet’s daughters did not seem wise.
After some whispering and giggles, the eldest girl introduced herself as Eva. ‘Becky. Sofia,’ she added, indicating her sisters.
‘You snore,’ Becky informed me.
Eva hushed her. ‘You’re teaching Sam to be a gent.’
Becky and Sofia sniggered at the thought of such an impossible task. I sat up, as much as was decent, holding the blankets to my chest. ‘In a fashion…’
Eva touched her neckerchief. ‘Might I make a lady d’you think, sir? I should like to wear fine clothes and-’
‘Out. All of you. Damned hussies.’ Fleet stood in the doorway, holding Bia in the crook of one arm. From his hot, crabbed expression I guessed that he had not asked his daughters to stand sentinel over my bed. As they ran laughing from the room, he blocked Eva’s path. ‘What’s this?’ he snapped, tugging a handful of the scarlet gauze. ‘Take it off, child.’
‘I’m indoors, Pa,’ she wailed, clutching it back to her chest. ‘No one can see.’
As father and daughter argued, Bia struggled free and clambered back on to the bed. She scrunched her way up to my shoulder and put a dimpled hand to my face, dark eyes sombre. ‘Bad man gone?’
I thought of Howard, backing away into the shadows. ‘Yes, little one. All gone. Your papa chased him away.’ For ever, I hoped.
‘Bad man all gone,’ she said, satisfied, and traced a grubby finger down my cheek. Then she slid from the bed and toddled after her sisters.
Fleet watched her go, shaking his head. ‘Five girls. God help me. Sore head?’
I lowered my feet slowly to the ground, wrapping a blanket around my hips. The room tilted and I had to breathe hard to steady myself. ‘I’m well enough,’ I said, touching the back of my skull. There was a small bump, but not as bad as I’d feared. ‘Kitty?’
