Part 24 (1/2)

The Court asked if the Prisoner wished to call upon any witnesses to speak in his defence?

Hawkins. I regret that I have no witnesses to call, my Lord.

The Court observed that a Man with no Friends or Family to speak for him at such an Hour was a pitiable Wretch indeed and the Jury should consider this Fact when they came to Deliberate: that the Prisoner could not find one Soul in the whole Kingdom to speak for him.

And here the Prisoner rested his Defence.

The Court then proceeded to sum up the Evidence to the Jury with great Discernment and Observation. The Guilt or Innocence of the Prisoner was left to the Jury's Determination, who did not leave the Court but agreed after a brief time upon their Verdict, finding Thomas Hawkins Guilty of Murder; and the Verdict was so Recorded.

FINIS.

Chapter Twenty-One.

The jury found me guilty. Twelve gentlemen, who cared so little for my defence that they did not even deign to leave the courtroom to deliberate. A hurried discussion, curt nods, and it was done. I have sat with friends and agreed supper plans with more care and scrutiny.

Friends. The judge had spoken the truth what good was a man with no one to speak for him when his life hung in the balance? I had spied a few of my old companions in the crowds, watching me fight as if it were a game of skittles. No doubt they would be placing bets on how soon I would hang. These were the men I had called friends these past few years. Not one had spoken for me.

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 a.r.s.e 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 h.e.l.l and begging G.o.d 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed this eagerly. 'Thank you.'

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

VALENTINE CARRICK 1722.

L. NUNNEY 20yrs G.o.d SPARE MY 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 fas.h.i.+on. 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 gla.s.s of claret and we sat down together like an old married couple.

'When will the pardon come?'

'I don't know. Late, I think. Budge said you must be patient.'

I lowered my gla.s.s. 'I am sentenced to hang in ten days.'

Tears sparkled in her eyes. She seemed so anxious that I found myself trying to rea.s.sure her, acting in a more confident manner than I felt. I lit a pipe and told her of my plans to write a full confession of all that had happened to me, in the hope that one day it would help to clear my name. She did not ask why I did not speak out now and save myself Betty did not ask questions when she knew there could be no answers. She promised to find a way to smuggle the journal from my cell when it was done, and to keep it hidden. I trusted her to read it and to understand its secrets to know when it would be safe to pa.s.s it on to those who should know the truth.

I took Betty's hand, unable to speak for grat.i.tude. How many nights had she served me my punch and lit my pipe these past two years? Always quiet, always watching, antic.i.p.ating what I needed. A bowl of strong coffee, most days and a kick on the a.r.s.e. She had sent me home more times than I could remember, while I protested I was good for one more drink, one more card game, one more throw of the dice. Now here she was when all my friends had abandoned me.

She slipped her hand from mine.

'Don't leave,' I said, and my voice crumbled. 'Please.'

She hesitated. s.h.i.+fted closer. It was enough. I gathered her in my arms and held her as if she were a rock in the ocean, the only safe harbour for a thousand miles. Found her lips and kissed her, because I was lost and afraid. Because Kitty was so far beyond reach.

A key rattled in the door. 'Gate's closing,' the turnkey hissed.

Betty took my arm, whispered in my ear. 'If you find another way to escape, take it.'

I nodded, though we both knew the pardon was my only hope.

She raised her hood, masking her face from the turnkey. Her eyes were soft and sad. 'Fare well, Tom.'

I gave a low bow; lower than I would have given the queen. By the time I looked up, she was gone.

Tom. Only now, as I write down Betty's last words to me, do I notice it. She had never called me by my Christian name before. I was always sir, or Mr Hawkins. We might flirt and tease, but I was never Tom. I stare at my name on the page and I wonder about her visit. Was it truly a kindness? Or something more devious?

Well, Betty am I right to doubt you? Nine days I have waited for the king's pardon. Nine sleepless nights. When the waiting became unbearable, I began to write this account as a distraction, from the first moment I heard Alice Dunn scream Thief! until this moment here, remembering that final kiss and the look in your eye when you called me by my name. Fare well.

Now, on the eve of my hanging, you send word at last Be patient. Always the same message. Will the pardon come on the morrow, as they load me on the cart? Or is this merely a cunning way to keep me quiet until the hangman silences me for ever? Tell me if I smuggle these pages to you, will you truly keep them safe? Or will you burn them and all the queen's secrets with them?

I hope, my dear, that you have not betrayed me.