The lawyers and clerks were drifting towards the Palace Court when a large, gilded carriage raced into the yard, followed closely by a gentleman in a black suit and hat, riding a chestnut colt. As the carriage rolled to a halt, liveried servants jumped down and opened the door, pulling the steps to the ground and clearing a path to the Court. Acton stood to one side, bowing deeply as a heavily wigged and powdered gentleman squeezed his way out, the carriage tilting with his weight as he stepped down. Flunkies hovered about him, ready to be flattened if he fell.
‘Sir Philip Meadows,’ Fleet intoned from the fireplace. ‘Knight’s Marshal.’ How he knew this without looking I couldn’t say. Perhaps he recognised the rattle of the carriage.
I was so preoccupied with Sir Philip’s grand entrance that I barely noticed the gentleman in the black suit as he swung down from his horse. It was only when he removed his hat and peered up at the prison windows that I realised who it was.
‘Charles!’ I cried, leaning out of the window.
He grinned when he saw me, and waved his hat, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. And then he paused, and I watched his smile vanish, as he remembered where we were. ‘One moment,’ he called, holding up a finger. ‘I will speak with the governor.’
I nodded, unable to speak. Charles was my friend and my brother. His good opinion mattered to me more than anyone else’s in the world. For him to see me like this, reduced to a common debtor, trapped in his patron’s gaol, was so shaming it was as if I had been grabbed by the throat and shaken.
Charles and I had taken different paths in life but until today I had considered us as equals. Indeed I had thought myself the luckier soul – living by my wits and free from the stultifying life of a curate. I could never be the man he was – I didn’t have his patience or his even temper – but I had always planned to turn my fortunes around one day. Well, planned is perhaps too strong a term. I had dreamed of turning my fortunes around. Talked of it. Swore I would do it. But planned it? That would have required time and concentration and work, God help me. It would have meant making a decision one day and keeping to it the next. How was that to be achieved? I couldn’t fathom it.
And so here I was, a prisoner in a debtors’ gaol – relying on the kindness of an old friend who had already given me all his savings. Savings I had lost and had little hope of returning. Standing at the cell window, watching as Charles pleaded with Acton to let me out into the yard, I understood at last how far I had fallen. How deeply I had failed.
‘Sir Philip’s curate,’ Fleet said, startling me. He had slipped behind me without making a sound. ‘You know him?’
Charles was gesturing up at the window while the warden shook his head and shrugged his apology. Even Sir Philip himself paused and frowned up in my direction for a moment, before lumbering away with a fat pout of disapproval on his face.
There was a dance of silver from Charles’ hand to Acton’s and suddenly the warden was nodding and smiling. ‘Mr Hawkins,’ he boomed, and beckoned me down.
I needed no further encouragement. I sprang from the window and gathered up my jacket.
Fleet nodded his consent. ‘Very well, run along. I shall interrogate the boy alone.’
I had almost forgotten Benjamin Carter and his ghost story. I was sure it would be diverting, but it could not compete with seeing Charles, and escaping my cell. I grabbed Fleet’s hand, suddenly grateful now that I was free to leave his company.
‘Don’t be too long,’ he warned. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a reminder of the debt I owed him. ‘This talk of Roberts coming back from the dead is foolish prattle. But someone is using it to play a game with us – and a clever one at that. Things are moving at last, Mr Hawkins, I can feel it. We shall stir this hornet’s nest together, you and I!’
I laughed and raced down the stairs towards Charles and freedom. It was only later that I questioned the wisdom of stirring a hornet’s nest. As for clever games, I should have guessed that Fleet was the master of those. But by the time I realised that, it was much too late.
Chapter Eight
When I reached the yard Charles threw his arms about me. ‘Tom. My God, what ill luck. I can scarce believe it. Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, though in truth I was bruised from head to foot, and the bump at the base of my skull still throbbed whenever I turned my head. ‘Thank you for these,’ I added, sweeping a hand over my black suit. ‘I look almost respectable.’
‘Almost,’ Charles smiled, but his eyes were sad. ‘Mr Acton.’ He turned to the warden and gave a polite incline of his head. ‘Would you permit me to take Mr Hawkins out into the Borough – perhaps to the George?’
Pleasure sparked in Acton’s cunning blue eyes, quickly dampened. Oh, to be asked a favour by a man of true standing and good reputation! To have the power of yea or nay over him! ‘My regrets, Mr Buckley.’ He widened his hands as if the decision were not of his choosing. ‘Mr Hawkins was only brought in yesterday and I don’t yet have his measure. I’m sure he’s an honest gentleman…’
Charles looked offended. ‘There is no doubt of it,’ he shot back, which was good of him under the circumstances, and not entirely accurate.
‘… but I can’t permit him to wander in and out of my Castle as he pleases, especially on court day. The other prisoners…’ Acton gestured at the men and women peering out from the windows above us. Many of them were indeed glowering in envy at my release into the yard. But this was not the real reason for Acton’s refusal. This was about exercising his control over Sir Philip’s man. Reminding everyone who was truly in charge of the Marshalsea.
Charles, however, seemed oblivious to this. ‘Would a donation to the prison reassure you, Mr Acton?’ he asked, pulling half a crown out of his purse. My fingers began to itch. ‘I will vouch for him.’
‘And will you vouch for his twenty pounds of debt, Buckley? If he runs?’ Acton tilted his head, genuinely interested.
Charles sighed – in truth his whole body seemed to sigh in upon itself, so that he appeared to shrink a good few inches before my eyes.
Acton bared his teeth, amused. ‘Perhaps not such great friends, after all…?’
I suppose it was too much to dream – to be allowed to walk out of the Lodge gate and back into the Borough on my first day in gaol. Trim had explained to me the night before that Acton allowed some of the more trusted prisoners out into the town – with a guard – so they could manage their affairs and keep enough money flowing into their pockets to pay him their rent. It made good sense in other ways – gave him a reputation for gentlemanlike behaviour to counter all those rumours in the Southwark bars of cruelty and sickness and worse. And it kept the prisoners on their best behaviour, on the Master’s Side at least. No one wanted to lose their privileges.
On the other hand, if a prisoner escaped from the Marshalsea then as governor Acton would be held responsible for their debts. And to be fair he was right to mistrust me. Now I had spent a night in his Castle I would have fled to the Mint or back to Moll’s… anywhere, given the chance. I was only one small stumble away from the Common Side. If Acton took against me. If Fleet grew tired of me. I had not forgotten those pitiful cries rising up into the sky last night – the screams of the damned. So yes, I would have run if Acton had let me out of the prison that morning. My God, I would have run and never looked back.