The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [87]

‘I’ve told no one,’ I said at last.

‘That’s why you’re still alive, Hawkins.’

I ignored him. ‘I will remain silent on one condition.’

‘Kitty,’ he guessed.

‘She knows nothing about Sam, or Gabriela. What happened at Aunt Doxie’s.’

He flinched and looked away for a moment. Still angry after all these years.

‘I will say nothing – to my lawyer, to the jury.’ I pushed myself from the wall and crossed to the bed, forcing myself to sit down next to him as if we were easy companions. ‘You know I would do anything to protect her, just as you protect Gabriela and your family. So let us be plain. As long as Kitty remains untouched, you have my silence.’

Fleet pulled the pipe from his lips and gazed at the tip of the stem. ‘Could just kill you.’

‘That is true.’ I had prepared for this. I’d been waiting three days for him to visit me and had used my time wisely, considering every possible reaction.

‘I have a man in here. One word and you’d find a knife between your ribs.’

‘You could arrange that,’ I agreed. ‘But it would seem suspicious. The coroner would investigate.’

‘Coroners can be bribed. And my man would die before giving up my name.’

‘He would hang for it, though. You’d like to avoid that, I think?’

He took a final draw of his pipe, the tobacco crackling in the bowl. The smoke curled above his head. ‘I have no wish to harm you, Hawkins. You’re useful to me. I only kill for profit or protection.’

And for revenge.

He tapped my arm. ‘Convince me.’

And so I made my case to a jury of one. I told him that I had broken all ties with Kitty – had not spoken or written to her since she’d visited with Alice’s dress. She knew nothing – he could be sure of it. If she had even suspected Sam she would have told the world by now. Fleet accepted the truth of this. Kitty was not one to stay quiet, even if her life were at risk.

‘I have sent a message to the queen. I have every hope she will arrange my pardon. When it comes, most likely I will be sent away on some service. Or transported, I suppose.’

‘Hmm.’ Fleet tilted his head from side to side, weighing these possibilities. ‘Or you will hang.’

I shifted uneasily. I’d heard no more from Budge or his mistress – but the note had counselled patience. ‘If I’m hanged then you will have no need to harm Kitty. You are fond of her, I think. Gabriela says you knew her as a baby.’

‘Enough,’ Fleet said, holding up a hand. ‘Enough. Let me think.’ He stared at the ground for a long, agonising pause. Then, with a sudden decisiveness, he tucked away his pipe and held out his hand. I shook it. He rose slowly, hands on his knees. He was getting old for a gang captain. He wouldn’t last much longer, surely. That would be my mission in life, should the pardon come – to outlive James Fleet.

He banged on the door to attract the guards’ attention. They were playing cards at the far end of the ward and it took a while to rouse them. Fleet, unconcerned, waited with his hands tucked in his pockets. ‘You’re treated well?’

‘Tolerably.’

‘Need anything?’

Not from you. Kitty was still paying Eliot’s fees and – I presumed – all the other debts I was accruing in here. I doubted my bill came to more than a couple of guineas. I had lost my appetite in the last few days.

‘Should have let the maid swing for it.’

‘She’s innocent.’

‘So are you. Can’t afford honour in this world, Hawkins. It’ll kill you faster than the plague.’

Chapter Twenty

After that the days dragged on inexorably to trial. Gonson helped prepare the case against me and found a long line of outraged citizens to speak against my character. Most of them paid subscription to the Society for the Reformation of Manners.

There was no clear proof that I had murdered Burden. There were no witnesses to the murder. But I had threatened to kill him in front of a dozen neighbours, many of whom were willing to testify against me. Meanwhile, who could I ask to defend my honour? My father was too weak to travel, and my sister must stay with him. They both sent letters to the court, devastated and sorrowful and speaking of my kind and gentle nature. But what else could be said of me? I was a rake and a gambler, thrown out of the Church because of my scandalous behaviour. Most of my respectable friends had abandoned me years ago, and my new ones had vanished the second Gonson slapped the iron cuffs about my wrists.

I had two old friends I might have called on, given more time. One was in Scotland, entangled in business he couldn’t leave. He wrote a letter in my defence – at the risk of his own reputation. The other – a friend from Oxford – was travelling on the continent. By the time the news reached him, my troubles would already be over, one way or the other.

And then there was my oldest friend, Charles – but we had not spoken since my time in the Marshalsea. Charles. I could not think of him. There was only misery and pain there – a black cloth thrown across our friendship for ever.

Kitty of course remained true, but I could not call upon her.

I was alone – and it did not suit me. I am a man who likes company, the noisier the better. Sitting alone in my cell day after day weakened my spirit and gnawed the hope from my bones. Yet I found I could not bring myself to speak with the other prisoners nor even venture into the press yard save to stretch my limbs. Buried in my narrow cell, I had become almost numb to my surroundings, as if hibernating from all my troubles. I had also lost my appetite, to the point that Mr Rewse grew concerned and sent a message to Eliot to pay me a visit. He looked tired – perhaps the new baby was keeping him awake. Dorothy had given birth the day after my arrest. More likely it was the strain of defending London’s most notorious villain.