The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins (14 page)

‘It is a great pity Fleet died in gaol.’ Her lips tightened at the inconvenience. ‘He must be replaced. His brother believes you might serve.’

Fuck James Fleet to hell – I should have guessed this was his doing. ‘Your Majesty, I fear I would be a grave disappointment—’

‘—Come now, sir. I cannot abide false modesty. You discovered Mr Fleet’s killer, did you not? And you fought off Mr Howard unaided. Have you not realised you were being tested that night? Well. Perhaps that
is
disappointing.’

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty . . .’ I fell silent, gathering my thoughts. Mrs Howard had not arranged the meeting? No – of course not. It had been a bold move to engage James Fleet and organise a secret assignation in the middle of the night. Mrs Howard was not a bold woman. The queen, on the other hand . . .

She smiled. ‘I was curious to see if Mr Howard’s threats were genuine. So we fixed his wife to a hook and dangled her in front of him. Fleet’s brother ensured that Howard learned of the meeting. I must say we did not expect events to turn quite so violent. Poor Budge lost a tooth. And he had such a charming face.’

Budge gave a lopsided grin.

‘I have grown tired of Mr Howard’s insolence. Samuel Fleet would have resolved the matter in a heartbeat.’

I thought of the deal I’d made with James Fleet – his promise of one simple meeting, a chance to earn my own money. He had known all along that Charles Howard would attack Henrietta’s carriage. Had known too that I was being tested to replace his late brother as the queen’s private spy.

‘I am not Samuel Fleet, Your Majesty.’

‘No indeed,’ she laughed. ‘Let us be kind and call Mr Fleet an
eccentric
.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘And a little
too
clever. You, Mr Hawkins, are just clever enough.’

It was not the finest compliment I had ever received. But under the circumstances, I had to agree with her. If anything, she was being generous.

The queen picked up a sheet of paper. ‘Mr Howard must be stopped. Here is a list of his favourite taverns. Gaming houses. Brothels.’ She handed the list to Budge, who handed it to me.

A hollow feeling grew in my chest. ‘Your Majesty. I cannot . . . I am not an assassin . . .’

The queen looked astonished. ‘For
shame,
sir! I am not asking you to murder the man – what an extraordinary notion. He’s the brother of the Earl of
Suffolk
. You must befriend
him, Mr Hawkins.’

Befriend him?
I thought of Howard tearing at my throat, snarling in fury. Upon reflection, perhaps murdering him was preferable.

‘Once you are on friendly terms, he may let down his guard. You must learn his secrets. Some weakness we might use against him. Seek him out, Mr Hawkins. Apologise for your encounter in the park. Earn his trust. Encourage him in his most bestial behaviour. He knows you are a violent man – he’ll appreciate that.’

‘Your Majesty, I am not in the least violent.’

She plucked another letter from the pile. ‘From Sir Philip Meadows. You stayed at his lodge last autumn, I believe. He says you were a charming guest . . . until you broke a man’s nose.’

I gritted my teeth. ‘I was provoked, Your Majesty.’

The queen’s eyes glittered. ‘And were you provoked when you shot a man dead, out in Snows Fields?’

She held my gaze. There was a dark, almost eager smile on her lips. The smile of a woman who has just slid a blade between a man’s ribs – softly and with great precision.

‘That . . . I was forced to defend myself.’

‘The first shot saved your life, of course. But the second?’ She tapped the spot between her brows. Where Kitty had aimed and fired. ‘What do you think, Budge?’

‘He must have stood over him, Your Majesty. Reloaded his pistol. Shot him right between the eyes.’

‘Murder, then.’

Budge threw me an apologetic glance. ‘Your Majesty.’

The blood was pounding in my ears. I stayed silent, breathing hard. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. Any word could be a betrayal.

The queen leaned forward. ‘Do you deny this story? That you shot and killed a man last autumn, out on Snows Fields?’ Her voice was soft – almost tender.

I swallowed, mouth dry. The fire crackled and sparked. On the mantelpiece, a gilded clock struck the quarter hour. ‘No, Your Majesty. I do not deny it.’

There was a long, heavy pause. And then she smiled. Somehow – miraculously – I had given the right answer. The queen studied me closely, as if I were some new addition to the royal zoo. Then she lifted a final paper from the pile – a short note clearly written in haste. ‘Budge has been gathering information on you for some time. This message came to us two hours ago. There is a warrant planned for your arrest at dawn tomorrow, for murder. There is a witness. A disreputable one,’ she conceded. ‘But your neighbour swears he heard you confess to it.’

Burden.
‘Damn him!’ I cried, forgetting myself. ‘That is a
lie
!’

‘I should hope so,’ the queen replied, amused by my outburst. ‘I should hope you are a good deal more discreet than that, Mr Hawkins. We shall send word to the magistrate to destroy the warrant; Budge will arrange that tonight.’

I bowed deeply. ‘Your Majesty. I am in your debt.’

‘You are
indeed
.’ The queen pinched her lips. ‘Be sure to repay it, Mr Hawkins. His Majesty is vexed by this tiresome business. And when my husband is vexed we all suffer. You will find something for us, to stop Mr Howard’s threats. Within the week.’

I bowed again in understanding. She did not say it, but the implication was perfectly clear. If I did not solve the king’s
vexing
problem in the next few days, I could expect no further protection from Gonson and his arrest warrants. There was just one thing I couldn’t fathom. I hesitated, afraid I would cause offense. ‘Your Majesty. Mrs Howard . . .’

‘You wish to know why I go to this trouble to protect her? Why not let her vile husband drag her from the palace by her fine chestnut hair, hmm?’ She looked away towards the fire. In profile she was suddenly more striking, with her long neck and strong features. I could see it now, how beautiful she had once been. ‘I have grown accustomed . . .’ she began. Paused. ‘It is a
comfortable
arrangement. Howard is discreet. Modest. And as I say – quite without influence.’ A small, satisfied smile.

I remembered what Eliot had said about Mrs Howard – how friends such as John Gay had hoped for preferment when the king came to power last autumn. And how it had transpired that she had no sway with her lover at all – after all those years of
service
. It must have been a humiliating blow. And a triumph for her rival. How many hours had the queen devoted to securing such a complete victory?

The queen was a pragmatic woman. If her husband must take a mistress, let it be someone as passive and powerless as Henrietta Howard. She was beautiful, yes, and charming. But the king would never turn to her for advice, and that suited the queen very well.

‘It would be tiresome to train a new servant.’

The queen agreed, pleased by the careful dance we had taken about the subject. She gathered up all the papers she had collected on me and handed them to Budge, who threw them on the fire. She rose slowly to her feet and held out her hand. I knelt and kissed it. She bent down, closer to my ear. ‘I know it was your little trull who fired the pistol,’ she murmured. ‘You must love her very much, to take the blame for murder.
To lie to your queen
.’

I kept my head down. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘I believe you would do anything to protect her.’ She paused – smiled as I met her gaze. ‘I am glad you have come to my attention, Mr Hawkins. I think you will be a most loyal servant.’

She waved her hand. I was dismissed.

Chapter Eight

Home. I locked the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes with relief. Here in the dark I untied my cravat and slipped a hand beneath my shirt, reaching for my mother’s cross. I was safe – for now. No need to fear a visit from Gonson. No need for a moonlight dash from the city. But for how long – and at what cost?

‘Tom . . .?’ Kitty stood at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in an emerald wrapping gown embroidered with silver thread that twinkled softly in the candlelight. ‘You went out at last,’ she cheered, skipping lightly down the stairs. ‘I’m so glad! Have you been drinking at Moll’s all evening? You must—’

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, long and deep. A moment’s surprise and then she flung her arms about my neck. I pushed her gently against the wall and kissed her throat, her jaw. ‘Angel,’ I murmured, cupping her face as I kissed her again.

She snatched off my wig, my coat, unbuttoned my waistcoat. Drew me closer. My sword clattered to the floor. I ran a hand under her gown to find her naked beneath. Felt myself grow hard. I moved my hand higher and she moaned softly, guiding me. There. No.
There.
‘Tonight,’ she whispered, biting my ear. ‘Tonight, Tom.’

Yes, yes, tonight – why not, damn it? After all that had happened, why wait another moment? I was tempted to take her there in the hallway, but I wanted her in bed, the first time. I gathered her up and carried her to our room, while she giggled with surprise. Dropped her down on the bed and knelt over her, unwrapped the gown so she lay naked beneath me. Just her necklace, with Fleet’s gold poesy ring hung upon it. I paused, just for a moment. Then I pulled off my shirt and lowered myself over her. I traced my tongue across her breasts and then lower, lower. She shuddered and arched her back, gasping with pleasure. She was mine, she was mine – and no one would ever take her from me.

She pulled me back up the bed, eyes heavy with desire. Slid her fingers down and unbuttoned my breeches. Hesitated. ‘My hands are cold,’ she said, blowing on them.

I took them between mine and chafed them together roughly. ‘There.’

She stared down at my knuckles, bruised and bloodied from pummelling Burden’s door. I had almost forgotten. And I had told the queen I was not a violent man. Kitty sat up slowly. ‘What’s this? You were in another fight?’

‘With a door.’ I reached to kiss her.

She pushed me away.

‘Sweetheart . . . it means nothing. Come here.’

She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold chill of disappointment seeped over the bed. Again.

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I sighed. ‘I drank too much punch and scraped my knuckles, that is all. There’s no need to make such a damnable
fuss
.’

Kitty, it is fair to say, did not agree with this assertion.

Exile, then. Cast out of my own warm bed. Most certainly
not
tonight, Tom. I stamped upstairs, shirt and blanket under my arm, scowling to myself as if I were the injured party. As if I had not in fact kicked and beaten at our neighbour’s door and waved my sword in his face in front of the entire street. Damn Kitty. Damn her stubbornness and her temper. Damn the world and everyone in it.

At least there was a spare bed at the top of the house, in Jenny’s old room. I placed the candle on the chair by the bed, threw on my shirt and huddled beneath the covers, seething to myself. There had been no fire lit in this room for days and the walls felt damp to the touch. A crack in the window let in a thin draught, sharp as a blade. Even with an extra blanket, I couldn’t stop myself from shivering.

Anger boiled through me. I should leave – storm from the house to the nearest bagnio. Find myself a wench who wouldn’t ask anything of me, wouldn’t
expect
anything of me save a coin or two. A merry, easy jade who would be grateful to share a bed, skin against skin in the night.