The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins (27 page)

Kitty stood up, swaying as the boat rode over a wave. Then she raised her heel and stamped down upon on his free hand, grinding it against a thick shard of glass. He screamed, still clutching himself with the other hand. Screamed until there was no breath left.

The chairman ran to help his master. I grabbed my blade, snatched Kitty’s hand and we lurched from the cabin out on to the deck. The Thames rolled black and deep, the moon shining on its surface. The oarsmen had brought us close to Somerset House on the north side of the river, but we were still a good twenty yards from shore.

The cabin door crashed open and Howard raged on to the deck, bent double in agony, his pistol raised in his bloody fist.

There was no time to think. I jumped from the boat, still holding Kitty’s hand.

I heard the crack of the pistol and then the river closed over my head, filthy and ice cold. I flailed to the surface, gasping in shock as the freezing water knifed my skin. A couple of watermen waiting for custom at the steps stood up in their boat and began to shout in alarm. I could hear Kitty floundering a few feet away, her gown dragging her down. I swam over to her, battling the pull of the water. As I grabbed her arm, a wave knocked me back and I slipped under, still holding her close.

I surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of rank river water – and saw the barge looming towards us. Howard stood at the prow, screaming at the oarsmen to row faster, his face twisted with fury. In a few moments, the boat would smash straight into us. I swam desperately towards the watermen, calling out for help as I held on to Kitty’s waist. The water was weighing us both down now, turning our clothes to lead. The watermen rowed out to meet us and we clung to the side in terror as they turned back to shore. When we reached the steps I dragged Kitty out to safety.

‘You there!’ Howard shouted at the watermen from the river. ‘Hold them both for me. I’ll pay you!’

Our rescuers discussed the offer as I pulled myself on to the steps, coughing up the foul-tasting water. I reached into my sodden clothes and threw a shower of coins at their feet. ‘Please,’ I said, crawling up the steps on my hands and knees.

One of the men held up a lantern, squinted at the barge. ‘Is that Charles Howard?’

‘Gah!’ The other one spat into the water. ‘I fucking hate that nob.’ He pulled me to my feet. ‘G’on with you. Run.’

I couldn’t run. I could barely walk. My skull was pounding from the blow to my head, and I was shaking from the cold. But somehow I staggered up the Somerset steps and found Kitty, collapsed at the top and shivering. She looked half dead. The sight of her brought me back to my senses. With my last strength I gathered her up and half-dragged, half-carried her away, heading back towards Covent Garden in a desperate, lurching run. I would have picked her up and slung her over my shoulder, but I had lost my strength that morning, chained to Gonson’s wall. Somehow, I must find a way to press on. I could still hear Howard shouting furiously as he reached the steps. We were not free of him yet.

I stumbled forward, trying not to panic. It was very late now, the streets dark and quiet. We could not go home, that much was certain. Howard was in such a state of fury I was afraid he would break down the door and murder us all.

I looked over my shoulder and spied him in the distance with one of his chairmen. I hurried on to Russell Street.

‘Home,’ Kitty mumbled, tottering against me. She felt bone cold.

‘We can’t go home,’ I whispered.

She slumped, knees sagging, senseless. And somehow, with the last of my strength, I picked her up and slid her over my shoulder. My muscles screamed, but I felt them only dimly through the fear and urgency. I lumbered on to Drury Lane, winning curious looks from the few street whores still out searching for business. I could hear Howard cursing my name as he followed, narrowing the gap between us. I turned left on to St Giles.

Now, Howard, you son of a bitch
–
follow us if you dare. For all your mad rage let
’
s see if you are a match for the rookeries of St Giles.
I took the first alley I could find and plunged in, the darkness swallowing us whole.

I could go no further. As I reached the end of the alley I sank to my knees, shuddering with the cold. I lowered Kitty to the ground and gazed up at the ropes and walkways high above our heads. Everything was still.

‘My name is Thomas Hawkins,’ I called up through numb, frozen lips. ‘I work for James Fleet. We need his help.’

Nothing.

Or the merest whisper of something on the wind. The softest creak of feet along a walkway.

I slumped in the mud, clutching Kitty for warmth, but she was cold as death. Why had I let her come with me tonight? Why had I not stopped her? ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I heard footsteps behind us. Howard was striding down the alleyway, clutching a bottle, his chairman holding a torch to light his way. My God, he was truly a lunatic to enter St Giles in the middle of the night. I rolled to my knees and raised my hand, panting heavily. ‘For pity’s sake, Howard.
Enough
.’ But he did not know the meaning of the word.

‘On the ground, in the filth. How fitting. D’you know, I think I shall piss on you both before I kill you.’ He took a swig from the bottle and began to pull at his breeches. Blood streamed from a wide gash in his hand, where Kitty had ground it into the broken glass.

I was shaking with the cold now, my wet clothes burning like ice in the winter night. My teeth began to chatter. I clamped my jaw shut. I didn’t want him to mistake me – to think I was afraid. I was far beyond fear now, or anger. All that mattered was to keep Kitty safe. I pulled myself to my feet. One last fight.

Howard leaped at my throat, pushing me hard against a brick wall. I tried to throw him off but I was too weak. I tore at his injured hand, scraping my nails into the wound. He howled in pain and let go. I barrelled into him, shoulder pressed into his stomach. He staggered but didn’t fall, wrapping his hands about my throat again. I choked as he pressed his thumbs into my windpipe, crumpling to my knees . . .

. . . and then I was free, gasping air into my lungs. I could sense a struggle around me, some brief fight. By the time I was recovered we were surrounded by a ring of men in plain, patched clothing. Plain but clean. One of them held a blade to Howard’s throat. Another held his chairman.

A short, powerful figure slipped noiselessly into the torchlight, hat worn low, his nose and mouth covered in a black cloth. James Fleet. He reached down and touched the pulse in Kitty’s neck. ‘Inside,’ he said to one of his men, who picked her up and carried her away. She didn’t even stir. Why was she not moving? I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t find my tongue. Everything had taken on a strange, muffled feeling, like a dream. My teeth were chattering again. Someone threw a cloak over my shoulders.

Howard turned to Fleet. He was a soldier once more – and he recognised a fellow captain. ‘I am Charles Howard, brother of the Earl of Suffolk. That man is mine.’

Fleet smiled. He gestured to his man to lower the blade away from Howard’s throat. ‘And how much is he worth to you, my lord?’

Howard grinned, stepping away from his captor. ‘A guinea.’

‘A
guinea
 . . .’ Fleet murmured. ‘D’you hear that Mr Hawkins? How much you are valued?’ His men laughed softly.

Howard scowled. The madness was returning, now he was free again. No one laughed at him, especially not a gang of low thieves.

‘No deal, Mr Howard,’ Fleet said. ‘Now leave.’

Howard’s eyes bulged in fury. ‘How dare you! How
dare
you bark orders as if I were some common footman! I will—’

Fleet tipped his chin – a silent command. A moment later Howard’s chairman fell to his knees, his throat cut. Blood gushed from the wound, spurting in a thick stream. He choked for a few seconds, then slumped to the ground, dead.

Fleet stepped back from the pool of blood spreading out into the dirt.

Howard gaped at the body. And then he ran.

I must have collapsed after that as I remember nothing more until we reached Fleet’s den. The blow to my head and the freezing cold of the river had left me dazed and tired to the marrow. As to what happened to the chairman, poor devil, I never learned. Every man pays a price for entering St Giles in the dead of night. His price was harsh indeed – and all the crueller when his master had escaped without a scratch. So the world turns – kill a nobleman and the rookery would be razed to the ground, the gang hunted down and hanged without mercy. Slit a chairman’s throat and no one would notice or care.

When I woke I was being carried up the stairs to the large room at the top of the house. Some of Fleet’s gang stood about, smoking and talking in soft voices. ‘Strip those wet duds off him, Connie,’ someone said, and an old woman hobbled over, her hair a wispy cloud of white beneath a quilted cap. She removed my clothes, batting my hands away when I tried to help, then wrapped me in a linen sheet and several thick blankets. I was so weak I had to lean on her as she led me to Fleet’s chair by the fire. ‘
Muito rápido
 . . .’ she scolded when I tried to pull it nearer the flames. She rapped her heart with her fist. ‘It stops.’ She pressed a bowl of hot chocolate into my hands and ordered me to drink. I tried to ask her about Kitty, but either she couldn’t understand or I had lost my wits with the cold – my words felt jumbled and heavy on my tongue, my thoughts slow and confused. I drank the chocolate through chattering teeth and slowly returned to my senses.

At some signal Fleet’s men gathered themselves and headed out again. Best not to think of the business they planned. One of them paused at my chair, shrugging on his coat. ‘She’s with Gabriela.’

I tumbled down the stairs, drunk with exhaustion, clinging to the walls as I searched each room. At last, I found her.

She was lying in a small cot, buried under several blankets, red hair wrapped in a velvet cap for warmth. A dark-haired woman was sitting by her side, singing softly in Portuguese. Gabriela, Fleet’s wife. Sam’s mother. There was beauty in her features, her smooth complexion, her black curls streaked with silver. A great, grave beauty – save for the long scar on her face. It curved from temple to jaw, puckering her cheek and dragging down the corner of her right eye.

She beckoned me forward. ‘For one moment.’

I stumbled to the bed. A lantern cast an amber light across the blankets, but Kitty’s skin was white as marble and her lips were tinged blue. I took her hand, pressed my face to hers to be sure she was still breathing. ‘She’s so cold.’

Gabriela put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You must rest.’

I shook my head, and the room spun around me. I had to stay awake and look after Kitty. But I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I lay down next to her. She didn’t move. It was as if I were lying next to a stone statue on a tomb.

Fleet entered the room and spoke quietly with Gabriela by the fire. They sounded worried.

Strong arms pulled me from the bed and lifted me away. I was too weak to protest. Another room, men asleep on the floor. A bed, warmed with a bed pan. Blankets thrown over my shaking body. In my fevered state I thought I was back in the river – that our escape had all been a dream. The blankets were waves and I was sinking down, the icy river closing above my head. The water roared in my ears. I reached for Kitty but I couldn’t find her. I was alone in an empty ocean. I slipped away beneath the waves, drowning in darkness.

Chapter Fifteen

A warm dry bed. Sunlight on my closed eyes. Shouts and drunken curses rising from the streets, the rumble of carts and the scrape of a fiddle. A dog barking. It had all been there at the edge of my senses, seeping into my dreams. I swallowed, mouth dry, and rolled over. Groaned as pain bounced about my skull.

‘
Awake!
’ a voice yelled, delighted. ‘
Awake, awake, awake!
’

I opened my eyes a crack. A tiny, dark-eyed child was leaning over me, her face inches from mine. Three more girls lined the bed, whispering and watching me with keen interest. Sam’s sisters, without question – all variations upon the same theme, with dark, clever eyes and raven hair, and all dressed in drab, faded gowns, restitched to fit. The oldest girl had tucked a wisp of gauze about her neck, bright scarlet flecked with gold. It burned in the morning sun like a jewel, or a warning. She lifted her baby sister from the bed and kissed her curls. ‘Run and tell Pa, Bia.’