The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins (29 page)

I followed Kitty into the shop to hunt for paper. She was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, staring up at the shelves. She picked up a pamphlet, dropped it back on its neat pile. ‘Someone has been in here . . .’ she murmured. She ran through the shop to the barren printing press, walking around it and frowning.

‘Is anything stolen?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘Everything seems in order . . .’

‘
Perfectly
in order.’ She trailed a finger over the press, looking for dust. ‘I have never seen it so clean and tidy.’

‘Thank you, miss.’ Alice appeared from the back storeroom carrying a mop and bucket, her gown hoicked up to her knees. Her face was hot, and stuck with straggles of blonde hair that had escaped from her cap. She gave a jump when she saw me and quickly untucked her gown, swishing it back below her ankles. ‘I’ve cleaned the whole house, top to bottom. Walls, floors, windows . . . Jenny was a good girl, but I must say . . .’ she sniffed, not saying. ‘That . . .
boy
wouldn’t let me in his room.’ Her eyes flickered to the door, where Sam was leaning against the frame. ‘Not that I care. As if I have any interest in touching anything of
his
.’ She scrubbed the mop back and forth with some violence, though the floor was clean enough to host a ball.

Kitty stared about her in astonishment. ‘You must have worked all night.’

‘I work hard, miss,’ Alice said, pleased. ‘Always have. And it was either that or lie in bed and wait to be
murdered
by
someone
. So I lit some candles and, well. As you see.’

I asked Alice to heat a few buckets of water. Kitty had bathed back in St Giles, but I could still smell the river stink on my skin. I found a sheaf of paper and took it upstairs to my desk. Sam trailed after me like a shadow. He seemed confused.

‘Mr Hawkins. If I’d wanted to kill her . . .’

‘That is not a happy way to begin a sentence, Sam.’

‘Why would she feel safer washing the floor?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ I sighed, dipping my quill. ‘But we have a clean house for it, so my thanks for that.’

‘But . . .,’ Sam looked bewildered. ‘It would be
easier
,
with the mop and bucket. I could use them to wash the blood after and . . .’

I fixed him with a look.

‘There’s no
reason
to it,’ he muttered and slunk up to his room.

I wrote a note to Budge, explaining that my meeting with Howard had not gone as hoped. I must find some other way to defeat him, given I could no longer attempt to befriend the devil. My only consolation was that he had not guessed I was working on the queen’s behalf. I asked Budge to supply the names of Howard’s cronies and enemies, old neighbours and creditors. And then I sat back, despondent. Howard’s murderous attack on the barge should have been more than enough to hook the bastard, but he was a nobleman. He could not be shamed or blackmailed by such behaviour. A light skirmish with a disgraced gentleman and his whore, no doubt that is how he would describe the matter.The court would shrug its shoulders and return to its card game.

I closed my eyes, transported back to the cabin, Kitty’s torn sleeves and terrified expression. Howard’s eyes, cold and mocking. I could tear out his throat for it. At least she had fought free. Perhaps he would think twice before threatening a woman again; but I doubted it. It seemed to be his greatest pleasure in life.

I sealed the letter and called up to Sam to collect it. By the time I was done, Alice had filled the tub by the fire with steaming water, adding a few splashes of milk to soften it. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ I said, but she’d fled before I’d even loosened my cravat. It amused me for a moment, until I remembered what her last master had forced her to do.

I eased myself into the water and gave a soft moan of relief. My body ached from head to foot: my shoulders still stiff from Gonson’s chains, the bump on my head throbbing softly. I lay dozing in the water until it turned cool, then soaked the last of the filth from my skin. I would have scrubbed the entire night from my bones if I could.

After a hasty shave I reached for Samuel Fleet’s old banyan. Kitty had liberated the old red dressing gown from the Marshalsea, along with Fleet’s indecipherable papers and the poesy ring, which she wore always on a chain about her neck. The banyan had been too large for him; he’d had to wear the sleeves rolled. I didn’t have the heart to turn them back down to my wrists.

I built a pipe and trailed to the window, shivering in the cool air. Stephen Burden was walking up towards his home in his father’s suit, a sword dangling about his legs and tripping his ankles. No one had taught him to fix it well; it needed tightening. I thought of my own sword, lost on the river. I must buy a new one.

Once Stephen was inside I opened the window and called to the street boys watching the house. One hung back, still afraid, but his bolder brother ran through the dusty road and gazed up at me.

‘Did he take anything from the house?’

The boy shook his head. Chewed his lip. ‘D’you kill Mr Burden, sir?’

‘No.’

He shrugged, persuaded. I reached in my banyan pocket and threw down a penny. He caught it neatly and hurried back to his companion. A moment later the younger boy hastened over.

‘Sir! I don’t think you stabbed him neither.’

I rolled my eyes and threw down another penny for his cheek. All I needed was another six hundred thousand pennies and I could buy the rest of the town. I poured myself a glass of wine. There was nothing to be done now except think, and wait for Gonson to send an order for the house to be searched. He did not appear to be in a great hurry to help.

I heard footsteps and smiled. Kitty. She moved up behind me and tucked her chin on my shoulder.

‘Alice is cleaning the cellar. She says we need rat traps. Or a cat.’

‘We could have died last night.’

She stole my pipe and took a long draw. ‘I think I should speak with Judith, Tom. Alone. You are too soft-hearted when it comes to ladies in distress. Remember
poor
Mrs Roberts?’

I snatched back the pipe. ‘I am perfectly able to see past a woman’s trickery.’

‘Of
course
you are,’ she conceded, nuzzling the back of my neck. ‘But there’s no harm in my having a little try . . .’ She trailed her hand beneath my shirt. ‘Do you not think?’

‘I suppose not,’ I said, closing my eyes as her hand moved lower.

An hour later, Gonson’s man, Crowder, arrived with the order to search Burden’s house. I caught him leering at Kitty and had to will myself to uncurl my fists. After Howard’s attack on the river, any glance, any perceived insult, was enough to heat my blood.

Ned opened the door. He read the order several times over, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Mr Gonson wishes the family to know, this was not
his
choice,’ Crowder said slyly. ‘The
gentleman
has friends.’

Ned gave me a sour look. ‘Pray tell Mr Gonson he may send a dozen constables,’ he said, raising his voice so the whole street might hear. ‘
We
are innocent.’

I pushed my way past, losing patience. ‘We will begin with your workshop, Ned. And Miss Sparks wishes to speak with Miss Burden. Pray call her down.’

‘No, for pity’s sake!’ Ned cried in dismay. ‘She is still sick with grief.’

Kitty squeezed past him, her gown brushing against the wall with a soft rustle. ‘And so Mr Hawkins should hang, Ned? To spare Miss Burden’s nerves?’

‘Wait!’ Ned called, his hands spread wide in appeal. ‘Wait, Miss Sparks, I beg of you. I will send for her.’

It transpired that Judith was still abed and needed time to dress, so Kitty helped search the workshop. We opened cupboards, hunted beneath loose floorboards, tipped back furniture. All we found was a bloodstained bandage that had slipped behind a cabinet, but it was coated with dust and had clearly lain undisturbed for months. Given Ned’s battered hands, the blood could have come from any number of old injuries.

Ned seemed eager to join in the search, helping Crowder to move back the heavier furniture, and holding a lantern up to inspect the darker corners. I was surprised by this at first, until I noticed that he was most interested in the walls connecting the house with the Cocked Pistol.

‘He’s looking for a passageway,’ Kitty murmured, as Ned tapped the brickwork.

I nodded, anxious. Watching Ned rap his knuckles against the plaster, testing for hollow spots, I had to fight to seem unconcerned. It had taken Alice a week to find the hidden passage in the attic, but she could only search in secret, in stolen moments. Ned might spend all day hunting if he wished. If he discovered the door in the armoire, I was lost. My only defence rested upon the fact that the house had been barred and locked on the night of the murder.

We searched the parlour next, with no luck. The room was stark and cold, no fire lit in the hearth. The grandfather clock tocked its dull heartbeat. I opened the casing. The pendulum paced slowly back and forth. No time. No time. No time.

Kitty put a hand on my slumped shoulder. ‘We’ll find something.’

Crowder snorted.

The door opened and Judith entered with Mrs Jenkins, her black-gloved hands crossed solemnly in front of her. She was dressed in mourning clothes – a black crêpe mantua with a long train that picked up clumps of grey dust as it trailed along the floor. Her dark hair was swept into a tight bun. It made her face seem sharp and much older. A black lace shawl covered her head and fell across her shoulders to her waist, where it was pinned with an ebony brooch. The gown and the shawl were of an antique style not worn in years – she must have found them in her mother’s armoire. It was an unsettling thought, Judith searching through all those old gowns, so close to the hidden door.

Judith’s appearance was so eccentric that even Crowder seemed baffled, bowing to her as if she were some old dowager duchess and not an attractive young woman. She ignored him, her grey eyes fixed on Kitty.

‘Miss Sparks. You wished to speak with me.’ The wandering, dreamy voice she had used upon me had vanished. She was clipped, imperious.

Kitty stiffened, but held her temper. ‘Indeed, Miss Burden. Alone.’

‘Impossible!’ Mrs Jenkins cried. ‘Poor Miss Burden, as if she is not weighed down enough with grief and sorrow. It is not to be endured—’

‘—Oh
you
must stay, Mrs Jenkins,’ Kitty interrupted. ‘I insist. I meant only that the
gentlemen
must leave us in peace. We must be allowed to speak freely. As women.’ She gave a delicate cough that she must have learned at the theatre.

Mrs Jenkins bit back a smile of pure joy. She patted Burden’s chair – the only comfortable seat in the room. ‘Well, then. Come Judith, you must sit here. I insist. I shall be quite content on that charming . . . stool.’

‘This has always been my seat,’ Judith said, sitting straight-backed upon the wooden stool furthest from the fire. She gestured to Burden’s chair. ‘That was my father’s chair. I could not bear to sit on it.’

Mrs Jenkins gave the chair a nervous glance, as if Burden’s ghost might be sprawled there. Comfort won out. She settled herself down, fanning her skirts as Kitty pushed the men from the room.

We stood outside the firmly closed door, excluded.

‘What could Judith have to say in private?’ Ned asked, mystified.

Laughter drifted from the drawing room. ‘Oh, my dear!’ Mrs Jenkins chuckled. ‘Well, we cannot blame you for
that
!’ The three women burst into fits of giggles.

Ned flushed. They were speaking of him, of course.

‘They’re all whores beneath their frilly gowns,’ Crowder sneered.

Ned curled his fist. I put a restraining hand on his arm.
Let it be.
‘We’ll leave you to your work, Ned.’