My father. I groaned aloud at the thought of him. Three years ago, at our last meeting, we had thrown cruel, bitter accusations at one another and I had vowed never to see him again. Then last autumn, after my release from the Marshalsea, he had astounded me with a letter filled with regret and forgiveness. It had made me wonder if the stern, unyielding man I remembered was just a phantom. I had even contemplated returning home and joining the clergy – but I had been weak from gaol fever at the time. London was my home. Kitty was my home.
And so I’d stayed, translating whores’ dialogues, drinking and gambling and growing bored with my cramped, narrow life. The same old traps into which I had fallen so many times. I’d written to my father once a week, telling him nothing of substance about my life. I would speak of the books I had read, or news from the court and the town. I would describe the streets and buildings growing up all around me, and the foreign travellers I met, passing through the city. My father would reply in a meandering scrawl I barely recognised, the effort clear in every line. That alone was enough to tell me what he never could put down upon the paper – that he loved me.
How I wished I could speak to him that long, cruel night! Not for counsel – I knew what I must do. Nor for his lectures, heaven help me – I’d heard enough of those over the years. What I yearned for was his comfort and reassurance. My father would understand and approve of my decision to save Alice, though it threatened my own life. And he would pray for me.
Kitty would neverunderstand. She would throw Alice to a pack of starving wolves if she thought it would save me. True, she did not know for certain, as I did, that Alice was innocent. But did I honestly think that would have made a difference to her? The fact that I could ask the question and not know the answer was disturbing.
Alone in my cell I faced the bare truth of the matter at last. I must renounce Kitty, for her own sake. She loved me with a ferocity that made her reckless. It was a dangerous love – one she had risked her life for. One she had killed for.
I could become the shadow crouched waiting at the door. I could walk out of Newgate tomorrow and take up my old life. And an innocent girl would hang.
It had never been a possibility. My old life was gone. It had only ever been a short dream between two prisons. I must awake from that dream and accept my fate. The shadow lifted and dissolved.
Light filtered through the barred window, brightening the room. I could hear the swish and scrape of a broom as a maid swept the floor outside my cell. Morning. Kitty would be hurrying through the streets, a dress covered in thick bloodstains rolled up in her basket. Hurrying to save me, not knowing it was my turn to save her this time – her life andher soul.
I took a deep breath and readied myself, practising the words I must say until they fell easily from my tongue. When the turnkey arrived, I was ready, straight-backed and cool, with a hollow space where my heart had been.
‘Are you turned mad?’ Kitty hissed. She grabbed the edges of my coat as if hoping to shake the sense back into me. ‘Tell him the truth, for God’s sake.’
We stood in Mr Rewse’s private room, a fire glowing in the hearth, tea and slices of pound cake upon the table as if we were visiting an old acquaintance. Kitty had unrolled Alice’s gown and thrown it, triumphant, across the desk. It lay there for the governor’s inspection, a nightmare of a thing mottled with rust-red stains. The heat of the fire had loosened the faint scent of stale blood into the air.
Rewse bowed over the dress, examining it with a mixture of revulsion and growing excitement. He scraped at a dried scab of blood, crumbling it between his fingers. He could charge visitors extra for this. ‘You say this dress belongs to your maid?’
‘Alice Dunn,’ Kitty said, releasing me. ‘We both saw her in it, the night Mr Burden was murdered. She escaped through the attic, holding the knife. Sir, this dress is proof that Mr Hawkins is innocent. You must summon Mr Gonson immediately. We will explain everything.’
She was holding on to his jacket now, pulling and twisting the material in her anguish. Stepping back out of the scene I could see her with the governor’s eyes. She looked frantic and desperate and very young. He tugged his coat free and turned to me, not sure what to make of the story. ‘Well, sir?’
I hesitated. Kitty began to shake. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Tom. Don’t.’
‘Mr Rewse, I wish this were true. But I cannot implicate a blameless young girl. I have never seen this dress before.’
Rewse inhaled sharply. ‘Mistress Sparks. This was a wicked act…’
‘The guilt is mine,’ I replied. ‘Miss Sparks is a foolish jade, easily duped. The dress was my idea. I grew afraid last night and in my fear I conjured up this story. But in the light of day…’ I glanced at Kitty. ‘I find I cannot throw the blame on to an innocent soul.’
Kitty stared at me, bewildered. ‘Why do you say these lies? They will hang you, Tom. Please. Please. I cannot bear it.’
‘You see, sir,’ I said, forcing myself to ignore her. ‘A pretty, empty-headed bauble. I fear she would do anything to protect me. Indeed I’m sure she would confess to the murder herself if she thought she might save me.’
‘I suppose…’ I could see him pondering his choices. Creating false evidence was a serious matter, but I had owned to it. He did not seem inclined to punish Kitty as well.
I drew him to one side. ‘She believes herself in love, poor wretch. Makes fools of us all, does it not?’
His eyes softened. He gave a rueful nod.
I lowered my voice further. ‘I would be most grateful if you could dismiss the entire matter.’
He sucked his bottom lip, hiding a smile. He had not missed the implicit bribe. Gratitude meant one thing in prison. Payment.
We shook hands – two men of reason who understood the frantic foolishness of young, heartsick girls. It was how Rewse saw the world, and I played upon it. One more lie and then I was done.
Kitty’s face was very pale. She knew what I was about – she would have done the same for me if she could. ‘I am not a fool. I am not empty-headed. I am telling the truth. I have another witness-’
‘-Enough,’ I snapped. ‘Enough, Kitty. Go home. And do not come here again.’ I glanced at Rewse. ‘I would be most obliged if you could escort Miss Sparks from the prison. I do not wish to see her again.’
I left the room without another word. Kitty gave a low, hollow moan of grief that echoed off the prison walls. Then silence. I asked the turnkey waiting outside to return me to my cell.
As we walked deeper into the prison, the walls began to press in upon me. I stopped and reached out a hand to steady myself, the stone cool and damp beneath my fingers. I had just destroyed my best – perhaps only – chance of release, but I knew I had made the right decision. If I had confirmed Kitty’s story, Alice would have been found guilty. She would hang for it, without question. And then I really would be guilty of murder.
There was a cost, of course there was. That is the secret the priests and bishops never preach from the pulpit. They speak of the cost of sin with great relish, but they never admit there is a cost for virtue, just as painful to bear. I had lost my freedom and I had lost my love. I might even lose my life. And what had I gained in return? The right to look myself in the eye and say, ‘I am Thomas Hawkins. I remain myself.’
Only two people could help me now. Queen Caroline was my best hope. She could not prevent the trial from going ahead but she might persuade her husband to grant a king’s pardon – if she were so minded. I would not walk free – not from a sentence of death – but it could be commuted to seven years’ transportation.