‘I’m afraid he remembers you. A little too well.’
I frowned in confusion. I was sure I had never spoken with Sir Philip in my life… And then I remembered – a warm spring morning a few months before. I’d been weaving my way home via Mayfair when I saw Charles from a distance, standing outside Sir Philip’s house with a boy of about sixteen, about to step into a fine carriage. I had spent the night drinking out on the river and it had seemed a tremendously good idea to shout his name down the street.
‘The Reverend Charles Matthew Buckley!’ I yelled heartily, just as Sir Philip puffed his way down the path.
Charles had turned, startled. I held up my hand, and a bottle, in greeting.
‘Oh, Lord,’ I said now, groaning at the memory. ‘What on earth did I say to him?’
‘Nothing,’ Charles sighed. ‘I rather foolishly introduced you to his son. He told you he would be attending Oxford shortly. You asked if I had furnished him with a list of the cleanest brothels.’
‘A practical question.’
Charles did not smile. ‘I bundled him into the carriage before you could do any more damage, but Sir Philip heard you. It took a long time to convince him I had never attended a brothel in my life.’
‘But you-’
‘That is not the point,’ he hissed. ‘I was a student then. A foolish boy.’ And then he chuckled, despite himself. ‘And you led me astray.’
‘Willingly, as I recall.’
‘But I could have lost my position, Tom,’ he added, softly. ‘D’you know, I swore I would have nothing more to do with you after that.’ He threw up his hands in mock despair. ‘Yet here I am.’
‘You’re a good friend, Charles.’
‘And you’re a wretched one,’ he said, then laughed and took a swig of wine. ‘But heaven help me, I’ve missed your company.’ He huddled closer. ‘So. What is to be done? How are you to pay your debts?’
‘I have plans…’ I replied, sounding vague even to myself. ‘They play backgammon under the porch here…’
‘No,’ Charles sighed, drawing the sound out until it transformed from a word into a low, exasperated moan. ‘No, no. That will not do, Tom. You cannot live in such a desperate, haphazard fashion – look where it has brought you!’
I looked about me and caught the eye of one of the turnkeys’ whores. She winked and raised her glass.
‘There is nothing else to be done,’ Charles was saying, oblivious. ‘You must write to your father.’
My eyes snapped back to his. ‘I will do no such thing.’
‘He would forgive you in a heartbeat…’
‘Would he indeed,’ I muttered, glaring at Charles across the table. ‘How generous. You have stayed in touch, I suppose? He always loved you best.’
‘For pity’s sake!’ Charles cried, exasperated. ‘Listen to my advice for once, I beg you! Don’t you understand? Your life is in danger! You are hanging by a thread.’ He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. ‘If we do not pull you to safety now you will fall so far and so fast you will be lost for ever.’ He swallowed hard, then continued, more quietly. ‘Write to your father. Apologise for your mistakes and I promise you, he will welcome you back with open arms.’
‘My mistakes?’ I pressed my hand to my chest. ‘Mine? And what of his mistakes? My mother was not cold in her grave when he brought that woman into our home and that wretched son of hers, that venomous snake in the grass…’
‘Yes, yes,’ Charles groaned. ‘I remember. But you are the one locked in prison, not your father. Forgive me, Tom – but you can’t afford to be proud.’
I scowled but said nothing. Charles should have known better than to mention my father. I fiddled grumpily with my pipe, packing the tobacco as he gave me his well-meaning advice. It took me a moment to realise he had stopped speaking. I glanced up to see him watching me, tears in his eyes.
‘I should not have abandoned you. You looked after me at school.’ He looked away. ‘I should look after you now.’
‘Nonsense,’ I shrugged, lighting my pipe. ‘You’re not my keeper. We chose different paths, that’s all; you mustn’t blame yourself for that.’
‘But I’m afraid for you, Tom. Men die so quickly in this place and you have a knack for trouble. You must watch yourself with Acton; he can turn like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Do you know what he was, before he came to the Marshalsea? A butcher! Fine training for a governor. You have no idea, the blood on that man’s hands.’
I poured myself another glass of wine and drained it quickly. ‘So why does your dear patron employ such a monster?’
A delicate flicker of shame crossed Charles’ face. ‘He keeps the peace.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘And makes a profit,’ he admitted, reluctantly. ‘More than you can imagine.’ He was about to say more when Mrs Mack arrived with a fresh bottle of claret. He waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. ‘Sir Philip did have one suggestion on that score.’ He bit his lip. ‘But are you sure you will not write to your father, Tom?’
I scowled at him through the pipe smoke.
‘Very well,’ he sighed. He looked about him and lowered his voice. ‘You have heard about Captain Roberts?’
‘I am sleeping in his bed, Charles.’
He shivered. ‘Yes, of course. Well. Sir Philip is under a great deal of pressure from his widow to look into the matter.’
‘The matter of his murder.’
Charles hushed me with a look. ‘It’s not wise to speak of this in here,’ he muttered. ‘But yes, he would like the business resolved. All this talk of ghosts and murder…’
‘Bad for profits?’ I suggested in a sour tone. ‘Poor Sir Philip.’
Charles blushed. ‘You’re right. I should not have mentioned it-’
‘No, no,’ I interrupted hurriedly. ‘If there is a deal to be made I’ll hear it. Tell me. What does he want of me?’
‘He… he wants you to unmask the killer.’
I blinked, surprised. ‘Unmask the killer? How in God’s heaven would I do that?’
‘I have no idea,’ Charles confessed. ‘But I would start with your roommate.’ He pursed his lips in disgust. ‘Of all the men to share a cell with…’
‘And if I succeed?’
Mrs Mack returned to the table again, this time with our dinner: a plate of oysters and a shoulder of lamb with cauliflowers. She must have noticed that we stopped talking whenever she appeared but she paid us no mind.
‘It’s no good speaking in here,’ Charles said, after she’d gone. ‘I will send a letter through Gilbert Hand tonight. Be sure the seal isn’t broken.’ He chewed unhappily on a bit of gristle then washed it down with a mouthful of claret. ‘I still think you should write to your father.’
‘I swear to God, Charles – if you mention my father again I will push your face in those oysters.’
We stayed in Titty Doll’s for another two hours, sharing a pint of sherry and recalling happier times as the clouds rolled past in the high chophouse windows. Then Charles reached for his hat and declared it was time he called for a chair. I had the sudden urge to grip his wrist and beg him to stay. The truth was, I was afraid of spending another night locked up in here, at the mercy of Fleet and Acton and Cross. Some men seemed able to navigate these dangers – men like Trim and Mack. But Charles was right; I had always had a knack for trouble. Still, I could not cower in Titty Doll’s for ever.
The court was still in session as we stepped outside and the yard was empty save for Jenings, the nightwatch, lighting the lamp in the twilight. The darkening sky reminded me of what Ben Carter had promised – that Captain Roberts’ ghost would visit me tonight at midnight under the Palace Court. A very punctual ghost, as Fleet had observed. I told Charles. ‘I do hope he’ll tell me who murdered him. That would be tremendously helpful.’