The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [72]

‘It is a hard thing to lose a son,’ the queen said at length. Her gaze slid to mine.

She knew I must have heard the stories – the prince and princess banished from court in disgrace, their children held hostage. The King had given Caroline a devastating choice: stay at court with her children or leave with her husband. Her youngest boy had been just a few weeks old and very sick. He had died before the family had reconciled.

And then there was her oldest son, Frederick, raised alone at the court in Hanover – a stranger to the entire family, including his mother.

The queen understood the agony of losing a son – through death and through estrangement. Now she would inflict that torture upon Henrietta. It was pragmatic, necessary – and cruel. But who was I to judge her now?

‘Twelve hundred a year,’ she said. ‘The king will accept that. He will rail and kick his hat about the room for a few days. In a few weeks he will be pleased that we have saved him eighteen hundred pounds per annum. In a few months he will believe it was all his idea.’ She tapped her fingers playfully against the arm of the sofa. ‘Adequate, Mr Hawkins. Adequate. You will do.’

A clear dismissal. I was released – at least for one night – and at no great cost, save to my conscience. I bowed low, feeling ashamed and relieved in equal measure.

On a whim, she tugged the diamond ring from her finger and dropped it into my palm. ‘For your little trull. For her courage. I am glad she left a mark on the brute.’

Mrs Howard waited in the antechamber. If she were anxious she didn’t show it. Small wonder that her face was so smooth and unlined. An even temper made for an even countenance. Given all that she had endured, her equanimity was nothing short of miraculous. But maybe that was why she had survived for so long, through all those years of torture at her husband’s hands. And now she would suffer again, because of me.

‘You look pale, sir,’ she said. ‘Was Her Majesty not pleased with your news?’

I stared at my shoe. I had polished the silver buckle so hard that I could see my face in it, distorted. ‘She was satisfied, I believe.’

She drew closer, tilting her head so that she could look into my downcast eyes. ‘The queen lays her traps very well,’ she said, softly. ‘We only see them when they bite down upon us. Whatever you have done, whatever she has made you do… you must not blame yourself, sir.’

I couldn’t answer her. She meant to be kind, but her words shamed me. The truth was, I had seen the trap and I had thrown her upon it, to save myself. Little comfort that Howard would now retreat and leave her in peace. Henrietta would never see her son again.

I was saved by Budge. ‘My lady. Her Majesty wishes to speak with you.’

She curtsied and went to see her mistress. Now at last I could look at her; her straight back, her smooth, graceful step. Would the queen enjoy telling her husband’s mistress she had lost her son for ever? Or would she choose to be kind? And there lay her power. There lay the motive for all Queen Caroline’s plots and schemes. The power to choose.

Budge led me back through the winding passageways and on to Pall Mall. It was very cold and clear, and the sky was blazing with stars. I lit a pipe and found that my hands were trembling.

‘Her Majesty has an effect,’ Budge observed. He tucked a wad of tobacco into his cheek and began to chew. ‘How go your enquiries?’

‘Very ill.’

‘Unfortunate. I hear reports. The town’s against you, Hawkins.’

‘The town can fuck itself.’

He spat a thin stream of brown liquid onto the ground. ‘Joseph Burden was an arsehole by all accounts. But he lived in that house for twenty years without trouble. Then you arrive next door. Rumours of violence. Rumours of murder. Rumours you can’t seem to shake…’ He held up a hand, refusing my objections. ‘Burden says he has proof you killed a man. You threaten him. He dies the same night. I’m struggling to see this as a coincidence, Hawkins. And I like you.’

‘It’s not a coincidence, I’m sure. The whole street saw me fight with Burden – including the killer.’ I held out my arms. ‘I am the perfect scapegoat.’

‘That is,’ Budge said, ‘the problem with waggling a sword in a man’s face.’

‘True enough. But even had I not threatened Burden, everyone knew he planned to testify against me.’ I paused. ‘I have been thinking upon this matter a great deal.’

Budge rolled the tobacco around his cheek. ‘No doubt.’

‘You said it yourself, sir. Burden lived on Russell Street for twenty years without trouble. He ruled his house as if he were the keeper of a gaol, not the head of a family. Lectured them from the Bible each night. Punished every act of defiance, no matter how frivolous. No mother to soften the blows, to offer any warmth or kindness.’ I paused. Budge was watching me, curious. I wondered if he had guessed the truth – that my own childhood had not been so very different. Well, well. Nor ten thousand more, no doubt. ‘Judith and Stephen obeyed him all their lives. Ned lived under his yoke for seven years and never once rebelled.’