The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [67]

’s rewarded. Dead at three and forty. I will have new clothes, new furniture, new everything. I want nothing of this place. Nothing. Let them tear it down. Burn it to the ground for all I care. Burn it all.

He began to weep.

‘And your sister?’ Kitty asked softly. ‘She approves this plan?’

‘Damn my sister. Damn her!’ Flecks of spit showered from his lips. ‘What do I care of Judith? She may starve in the street if she wishes. Or… let her marry Ned Weaver and ruin herself.’

Kitty rose to her feet, brushing dust from her gown. ‘Well, I’m sure your father would have approved.’ She smiled down at Stephen. ‘He was most fond of Ned, I hear.’

Stephen gave what he hoped was a scornful laugh, but it came out shrill and piping. ‘My father had promised to throw Ned out on to the street. Why does he stay here? I shall send him away.’

Kitty tightened the ribbons on her gown, tucked the lock of hair back beneath her cap. ‘But your father loved Ned, did he not? Much more than he loved you?’

‘No!’ Stephen cried. He leaped from his chair with his fist raised, but he was too drunk. He swung wide and slipped, crashing to the ground. ‘No…’ he sobbed. ‘It’s not true. It’s not true.’ He clutched the bottom of her gown.

Kitty pulled away and left the room. Stephen curled himself into a ball, tears streaming down his face. It was the drink in part, turning him maudlin. But there was grief, too. Kitty’s talk had struck his heart. I looked down at him, wondering what words of comfort I could give. ‘Your father loved you, Stephen.’

He glared up at me. ‘What business is it of yours?’ he snarled, hating my pity. ‘Get out! Get out of my house!’

Kitty waited for me on the landing, tucking her handkerchief back over her chest.

‘That was ill-done, Kitty.’

‘I wrung some truth from him, didn’t I? You could hang for this, Tom. If we cannot prove it was Judith or Stephen…’ She lowered her voice. ‘If they find the passage. We can be gentle and honourable if you wish. And you will die.’

We searched the rest of the house for another hour, breaking our nails as we dragged up floorboards and pulled at loose bricks. I found a few spatters of blood on the staircase leading up to the attic, but guessed that these had come from Alice’s flight back to her room after she found Burden’s body.

‘Why did you hire Alice, Kitty?’

We were in the abandoned attic room where Burden stored his wife’s old gowns. I had not seen the armoire in daylight – it was a huge, ugly thing, but it served its purpose. Kitty had thrown the contents to the floor, searching for any bloodstained clothes buried at the back. My God, so close to the hidden door… it made me sweat just to think of it. I was glad Ned had returned to his workshop sanctuary.

Kitty shook out an old gown and held it to the light. ‘I told you. We lost Jenny, and Alice needed somewhere safe to stay.’

Somewhere safe, right under our noses. ‘You’re keeping her prisoner.’

Kitty gave me a sly look. ‘She wants to work for us, Tom. And you must admit it’s rather clever, keeping her close by. And the house has never been so clean.’

Not for the first time, I thanked God Kitty fought on my side. ‘You would sacrifice her, if it came to it? You know she’s innocent.’

‘Do I?’ She rummaged through the rest of the late Mrs Burden’s dresses, black and heavy. The stiff material rustled as it fell to the floor. ‘She appeared in our house in the middle of the night, covered head to foot in blood. I am not saying she’s guilty, Tom. I am only stating the facts. It would be for a jury to decide.’

‘They would damn her in a second.’

‘Then we must discover the real killer.’

Ned, Stephen, or Judith. We had returned to that old conundrum. It must be one of them – and still we had no proof.

We finished the search with nothing. I couldn’t understand it. There should be something – some fragment to help us. We returned home in gloomy silence. Alice had laid out an excellent supper, which I picked at with my head in my hand, feeling sick with fear. I had been so sure of discovering something.

I know now why we failed in our search. It had all been based upon a false assumption.

Ned, Stephen, or Judith. Which was guilty?

The answer? None of them. They were innocent, every one.

Sitting here in my prison cell with the promise of a noose just a few days away, I could curse myself for my mistake. But I have been cursed enough these past weeks. I need all the luck left in the world. So I say nothing – just bow my head and pray.

Part Four

Saved. Thank God. His knees almost give way with the relief. Damn them to hell for torturing him all the way from Newgate to Tyburn. Bastards.

The Marshal breaks the seal and unscrolls the pardon, holding it above his head. The wind tugs at the paper, almost pulling it from his hand. ‘His Most Gracious Majesty George II has granted his royal pardon to one of those condemned here today.’ He pauses and the crowd cheers. This is better than the opera.

The Marshal smiles. ‘His Majesty pardons…’ Another pause.

Hawkins growls quietly between clenched teeth. He grips the edge of the cart, knuckles white with tension.