The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [96]

‘You swear, upon your soul?’

‘I swear, sir.’

I lowered my head, trying to think, but all was confusion. How could this be? It made no sense. It wasn’t possible. ‘But your mother told me… your father says you are guilty.’

He bit his lip. ‘I know. I told them I done it.’

I sprang to my feet and he leaped back. My God he was fast when he needed to be. There were ten paces between us before I could reach out and grab him. ‘Why?’ I cried. ‘Why in God’s name would you say such a thing?’

‘I was supposed to kill him. Pa told me I had to. And… I wanted to…’

‘For your mother.’

Tears glimmered in his eyes. ‘And for Pa. He was proud of me, when I told him. And the gang. They respect me now.’

I think if Fleet had walked into the yard at that moment I would have beaten the life out of him. ‘And what – you’re content to see me hang, boy? So you might strut about St Giles?’

‘No, sir!’ he cried. ‘Pa swore you’d be safe. He promised. Said he’d paid you fifty pounds to stand trial. He said he was going to help you escape tonight, that it was all planned. He said you was angry with me. That I mustn’t come here…’

‘That is not the deal we made, Sam. He threatened Kitty’s life.’

He flinched, as if struck.

‘That’s why I stood trial for murder. To keep Kitty safe.’

He covered his face with his hands. ‘No… he wouldn’t. Pa wouldn’t…’ But of course, he would – and Sam knew it. I reached out and he clung to me, weeping in my arms. ‘He lied,’ he sobbed. ‘He lied to me.’

‘This is good news, Sam. You are not a murderer.’

He broke free, wiping his eyes. ‘But it’s my fault you’re here.’

No, it is your father’s, I thought, but he seemed so dejected I held my tongue. I sat back down upon the bench and he joined me, elbows on his knees, head down.

‘If I’d done what I promised. If I’d took the pillow and…’

And smothered a man to death. ‘But Alice was there.’

He nodded, miserable. ‘Tried to practise on Jenny. See how much noise it took to wake a girl. You can get quite close, Mr Hawkins,’ he added conversationally, as if describing the best way to approach a nervous horse. ‘Tried again, but Alice woke. Sleeps light. Screamed the house down.’

There was more he wanted to say; I could see the struggle in him. I waited, letting him find his way through it. ‘Mr Hawkins,’ he confessed at last, in a whisper. ‘I’m glad Alice woke. I’m glad now, that I never killed Mr Burden.’

I squeezed his shoulder.

‘I think she done it,’ he added. ‘Alice.’

I froze. I had not even thought so far. I was still learning to accept the fact that Sam was innocent. But no, please God – not Alice, after all. Not Alice, sleeping under the same roof as Kitty. With her bloodstained gown dismissed as evidence by my own hand.

‘Sir,’ Sam said, tugging at my sleeve. ‘What now?’

What indeed.

‘I must tell Pa-’

‘No! No. Let me think, Sam.’ I shuffled the possibilities in my head. It was too late to accuse Alice. I had told Rewse that the dress was a counterfeit. That Alice’s appearance in our house on the night of the murder was a story, nothing more – told to cast doubt on my own guilt.

And how would I explain this sudden change in my confession, to Rewse, to Guthrie or Gonson – to the world? Ah, yes, sirs – I was led to believe that a young boy called Sam Fleet had murdered Mr Burden, at the request of his parents. I then struck a deal with the boy’s father – who is, by the way, a murderous gang captain – to stand trial for the murder. I was coerced into this agreement by Mr Fleet, who promised to kill the woman I love if I did not comply with his wishes. So you see – I am quite innocent and I trust you will now release me at once, although I have been convicted of murder and am set to be hanged on the morrow.

They would not believe a word of it. It would sound like the desperate ravings of a mad man. I would be mocked and dismissed as a coward and a lunatic. Nothing worse than a man who cannot go to his death with dignity. And could the queen risk sending a pardon under such circumstances? And of course, for my story to make even a hint of sense, I would have to betray Fleet to the authorities. Such a betrayal would bring swift retaliation.

Kitty.

No, there was nothing to be gained from telling the truth – and a great deal to be lost. I must stay silent, at least for now. But it gave me a glimmer of hope, that she would be safe after tomorrow. If I was hanged, the killer would have no reason to feel threatened by Kitty. If the pardon came, the sentence would still be placed upon my name. And as Sam was innocent, Fleet would have no need to fret about what Kitty might say on the matter.

‘You have trapped yourself, sir,’ Sam said, when I had explained it all.

‘I suppose I have.’

‘Love,’ he said, as if it were some exotic disease. ‘Dangerous.’

Yes, indeed. But hopefully not fatal.

From the corner of my eye I saw the turnkey step into the yard. My fellow prisoners edged out through the door, blinking at the sun.

‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered, guiding Sam from the yard. ‘I will not hang tomorrow.’

‘The queen?’

I halted. Was a man allowed