The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [70]

‘I only mean-’

‘Yes, yes. Don’t be dull.’

I paused before speaking again. It was not enough to be useful to Queen Caroline: one must be entertaining as well. I supposed this was to counteract the many hours she spent in the king’s tedious company. He had – I believe – only two topics of conversation: either detailed discussion of historic military campaigns or the wonders of his beloved Hanover and how it eclipsed England in every respect. So I must make up for her husband’s failings. Gratitude might do the trick. ‘I must thank you, ma’am, for securing my release from custody yesterday.’

The queen glanced at Budge, sweating by the fire. ‘Did I deign to do that, Budge?’

‘Either that or find a new recruit, ma’am. And that would have been diff-’

‘-tedious. And now here Mr Hawkins stands on his tolerable legs, expressing his gratitude. Mon dieu. We have indeed been generous. He might be languishing in gaol were it not for our generosity. He might be sentenced to hang.’ She wiggled her fingers over the teetering pile of confections and selected another macaroon, smiling in triumph when the rest stayed miraculously in place. ‘So I’m sure he has discovered something tremendously helpful about Mr Howard.’

‘Your Majesty. Forgive me, I-’

‘-You have heard, I’m sure that Howard caused a grave disturbance just two nights ago? Stood in the courtyard screaming that his wife is a whore and insisting that we give her up to him? His Majesty was furious – he cannot bear to have his sleep disturbed. Poor Mrs Howard must have been mortified.’

‘Your Majesty, could Mr Howard not be arrested, or at least-’

‘The law is with the husband, Mr Hawkins!’ the queen snapped, for a moment truly angry. ‘He has every right to claim his wife, and by force if he wishes. What – d’you think the king should have him arrested? And then I suppose you would like to see a public trial about the matter?’ Her blue eyes – so like her daughter’s – blazed so hard I feared I might be scorched by them. ‘You were released in order to resolve this matter. Was I too generous, Mr Hawkins? Perhaps you did murder your neighbour. Perhaps Mr Budge should speak again with the City Marshal.’

I placed my hands behind my back, planted my legs. I had suffered such cruel blackmail before, in prison. I would not buckle beneath her threats. ‘I am innocent, Your Majesty.’

‘That is hardly relevant. Tell me what happened last night and we shall see if we can sift something of value from the dirt together. As you are too dim-witted to discover it alone.’

I described how I met with Howard at the cockpit in Southwark, the disgraceful stories he had spewed up about his wife, and indeed the king – some treasonous. Might that help? The queen looked bored and contemptuous. So I continued with our trip along the Thames, Howard’s assault on me and his attempted rape of Kitty.

For the first time, the queen seemed interested. ‘She fought him off? Without your aid?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ I described how Howard had fired a pistol at us as we plunged into the river. Attempted murder – might that be of use? No, apparently it would not. I finished my story, from our freezing, desperate swim to the steps, to our escape through the city to St Giles and our rescue at the hands of James Fleet. I did not mention the poor chairman, his throat cut solely to encourage his master to run. And so my story ended, as it must, and we reached the part I had dreaded.

The queen rinsed her fingers in a pretty porcelain bowl. ‘Your little trull is a spirited creature, is she not? So. How do you propose we stop the brute?’

I had no answer. Howard was a nobleman, the heir to an earldom. There were different rules for such men. I knew it. The queen most certainly knew it. The whole world knew it. What did it matter if he threatened a young woman with no family and no reputation? Who the devil cared if he vowed to murder me? Who was I? A disgraced gentleman from an obscure family, living above a notorious print shop, translating whores’ dialogues for money.

‘Sir?’ the queen prompted, watching me twist and turn on her rope. Watching with a gleam of interest – encouragement, even. Another test for her new servant.

I must think of something. If I left this room without giving her what she needed, I might as well hang myself tonight and save everyone the trouble. I had been released from Gonson’s custody solely on this promise – that I would provide the queen with something she could use against Howard. But what?

I forced myself to think calmly. Howard held the winning hand, and I could not change that. What, then? When a man held all the cards, what could one do?

Let him win.

And there it was. So neat. So simple. Let him win. Blackmail would never have worked upon Howard – he was too powerful and too volatile. One did not back a wild animal into a corner. Coax him out. Bribe him. But with what? Not money. The king had refused his demands of three thousand a year. A title? I dismissed the thought – that would be more complicated and costly still.