The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [93]

The guards led me through the courthouse, men jeering at my back. I barely heard them, barely noticed as I was taken deeper into the gaol, back to my cell with its thick stone walls and tiny window. I thought of Kitty, weeping as she left the court, her head buried on Alice’s shoulder. I saw Fleet nod his approval as I was dragged away, our business concluded. And I thought of Charles Howard, smirking with satisfaction. Fleet and Howard… These are the men who prosper in our age.

I collapsed to the floor, dazed with shock. I had prepared for this moment and still it knocked me reeling. Guilty. Condemned for ever as a murderer. My heart felt like a brick lodged in my chest.

I sat unmoving as the day faded and the shadows lengthened. A cold wind blew through the window so I dragged the blanket from the bed and wrapped it about my shoulders, but it was thin and offered little comfort. At some point a voice asked if I wished for supper, but I could not bear the thought of food, not tonight. I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand, exhausted beyond all measure but unable to sleep.

My thoughts returned to Kitty, dressed in her emerald gown, her face drawn. She had seemed thinner too, her cheekbones sharp where before they had been soft and plump. She had stared at me, hoping to see beyond the mask of indifference I wore. I had forced myself to stare back, eyes cool, my true feelings buried far beyond reach.

I reached for them now, though. I clung to them in the dark. They were all I had left.

The next day I had a visitor – and she brought hope at last.

Betty appeared at my cell late in the evening, her face hidden beneath a dark riding hood. She must have bribed the turnkey on duty for his silence. He reached to grope her arse as she slipped through the door but his fingers grabbed thin air. Betty had worked at Moll’s for two years – she knew how to avoid a man’s grasp and make it appear an accident. That, indeed, was Betty’s great skill – twisting and turning and dancing out of harm’s way, without ever causing offence or bringing attention down upon her head.

The door clanged shut and we were alone. She lowered her hood but wrapped her cloak tightly about her. The air was cold and dank even in this gentlemen’s part of the gaol. She took in the limits of my cramped cell, and my ragged appearance, eyes ringed with shadow from another sleepless night. The man in the next cell had been raving all night in some feverish delirium, screaming that he was in hell and begging God to spare him. Then he was quiet. I had lain in the dark with no candle, the silence heavy and oppressive. It was so black and still that I conceived a strange fear that I was already dead and trapped inside my coffin. When dawn came, I felt a moment’s relief to know I was alive, before I remembered where I was.

Betty lowered the heavy basket she had brought with her and began to unpack it. Bread and cheese, a bottle of claret. Candles. Paper, quills and ink. A few books. A thick blanket. I snatched this eagerly. ‘Thank you.’

She winced and looked away, embarrassed to see me so desperate, but there was nowhere to rest her gaze. A narrow cell, a bed, a table and chair. Names scraped into the thick stone wall by other wretched souls.

VALENTINE CARRICK 1722

L. NUNNEY 20yrs GOD SPAREMY SOUL

ABRAHAM DEVAL – INNOCENT

All hanged.

I looked at Betty and she looked at me, just as we had done the night we’d first met. We had laughed at each other across that crowded room. Now we stood in an empty cell, in silence.

Betty worked long hours at Moll’s, but I had never seen her so tired as she was now. Her brown skin was dull and tinged almost grey, as if she had been ill, and her eyes were bloodshot. Had she been crying? For me?

She ran a finger beneath her cap, tidying her curls. ‘I have good news.’

This was unexpected. If the news were good, why did she seem so grave?

‘Mr Budge has spoken with the queen. You will be pardoned.’

It took me a moment to understand that I was saved. Then I gave a cry and dropped to my knees in joy and relief. I could not think or speak. Betty knelt down next to me, peering into my face. ‘Mr Hawkins?’

I clasped her to me, circling my arms about her waist. ‘I will live.’

She let me hold her for a time. ‘There is a cost.’

My heart dipped. She did not need to explain. The queen could ask anything of me now, and I must obey. And still the verdict would remain. Even with the pardon, I would be named a murderer for the rest of my life. I did not care, not then. I wouldn’t hang – and that was all that mattered. ‘I will live, Betty.’

She tilted her head as if to say, in a fashion. She had warned me that this day would come. I had not run when she had begged me to, and now my life was no longer my own. But it was a life. There would be a tomorrow and a tomorrow… And the chance to wriggle out of the queen’s grasp one day.

Betty returned to her basket and laid out a modest supper. She poured us both a glass of claret and we sat down together like an old married couple.