The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins (16 page)

‘No one on this floor,’ Sam whispered. There was almost no breath behind the words and yet somehow they were clear enough to understand. Another trick he’d learned from his father, no doubt.

We crept down the stairs to the second floor, my heart thumping so hard I feared it would wake the whole house. If we were discovered now, all was lost. I could hear the deep
tick tock
of a grandfather clock from the drawing room below, the steady snores of someone sleeping well and deeply. Stephen, I guessed, dreaming happily while his father lay murdered across the landing.

Sam cracked open a door, muffling the sound of the latch beneath a handkerchief. The door swung silently on its hinges; Burden must have oiled them so Alice could slip in at night without being heard. All that talk of sin and he was fucking a young girl against her will. Was his spirit watching us now, mute and helpless in the dark? Was he in heaven? In hell?

I took a slow, steadying breath and crossed the threshold, the dagger in my hand. It must be discovered with the body. If it were missing, everyone would assume that the murderer had crept into the house and taken it with him when he left. And who would everyone suspect . . .?

The bed was hidden beneath thick, red velvet drapes. Sam waited until I’d closed the door then drew them back in one fluid movement.

Burden lay naked on his back, his eyes open and turned to the ceiling. His flabby white chest had been butchered; flesh ripped open, flaps of skin hanging loose. I shuddered. He looked more flayed than stabbed. The violence of it made my stomach turn. His face was frozen, mouth contorted in a final grimace of shock. The bed linen was soaked in blood and smelled of piss and shit. I put a hand to my mouth.

Sam skirted to the other side of the bed, careful to keep the blood from smearing on his clothes. He placed a hand on Burden’s cheek. ‘Cold.’

I forced myself to look closer. Burden’s lips were blue. The blood had begun to dry on the sheets. He could have been killed hours ago. And then his murderer had walked calmly from the room and continued about his business.
Ned, Judith, or Stephen.
The names rose unbidden in my mind. If Alice hadn’t killed Burden, it must be one of them. I narrowed my eyes, looking for any trace of a clue, but there was nothing except for the blood and the blade. Reason told me Ned was the most likely suspect – he had the strength and the grievance – but reason had no place here. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe any of it. ‘Strange,’ I whispered. ‘To think of them all sleeping soundly so close by.’

‘All but one,’ Sam replied, moving the candle down Burden’s body.

I placed the dagger at the end of the bed.

Sam glanced at it. Raised an eyebrow. Pointed at the wound in Burden’s chest.

I gave a low groan. He was right. To protect Alice, to protect
ourselves
, we had to put it back where she had found it. Right back in the heart wound. I picked up the dagger. It was a handsome thing, save for the blood. I hesitated. Could I do this? Push a blade into a dead man’s heart?

Sam plucked it from my grasp and with a quick turn of the wrist plunged the steel blade back into the wound. It made a vile, slurping sound as it travelled deep into Burden’s chest. I turned away. When I looked back, Sam was examining the rest of the stab wounds.

‘Sam. Enough. Come away.’ The ground was tilting beneath my feet. I could taste blood in the air – a heavy iron tang. I still couldn’t believe that Burden was truly dead. I half expected his corpse to sit up of a sudden and laugh, as if this were all some macabre jest at my expense.

Ned, Judith, Stephen . . . There was one other possibility of course. ‘Did you do this, Sam?’

He did not seem in the least put out by the question. Had seemed more offended, in fact, when I had accused him of thieving. ‘Why would I kill him?’ he asked, putting a hand to Burden’s ruined chest.

‘That’s not an answer . . . Oh, good God!
Stop that
.’

He ignored me, probing each wound with deft fingers. ‘Not gentlemanly?’

‘This is not a
game,
Sam.’

He gave a soft, secret smile, as if this were the best game in the world. ‘Nine stab wounds.’

I stared at the savage gouges in his chest, the glistening clots of blood.
Nine stab wounds
. This was not the work of a cool-tempered assassin. Whoever murdered Joseph Burden had acted in a frenzy of hate and fury. He would have been covered head to foot in blood when he was done.

Who had more reason to hate Burden than Alice? And I had left her alone next door while Kitty slept downstairs, with no warning or protection.

It was time to leave.

I took one last look at Burden’s bloody and butchered corpse. He’d wanted me dead – had been prepared to lie on oath to see me hang. My enemy in life – and he still had the power to destroy me in death. God damn it. I would not hang for this. Wherever Burden was now – heaven or hell – I would not give him the satisfaction.

Chapter Nine

I need not have worried about Kitty. When Sam and I returned to his room, she was standing over Alice – with a pistol in her hand.

‘And when did you plan to explain
this
, Tom?’ Kitty asked, tilting the barrel towards Alice’s bloodstained clothes. ‘Is it true? Is the old bastard dead?’

‘Stabbed through the heart.’

Kitty tapped Alice’s shoulder with the pistol. ‘D’you kill him? If that bloated hog tried to force himself on me, reckon I’d stab him.’

‘I never
touched
him.’

I closed the door between the attic rooms. Sam slid the hanging back in place.

‘He was stabbed many times,’ I said.

‘Nine,’ Sam clarified.

‘Whoever killed him would be covered in blood . . .’

We all looked at Alice.

‘I told you, it was dark. I didn’t see the blood until . . .’ She put her face in her hands and rocked softly. Kitty gritted her teeth, frustrated, while Sam watched them both, unblinking. No doubt he would sketch this, later. The maidservant drenched in her master’s blood and the girl with a pistol in her hand.

‘You must see, Alice, how this seems. You have the very best reason for wanting Burden dead.’

Alice dropped her hands. ‘Save for
you,
sir.’

There was a short, cold silence. And then a sharp
click,
as Kitty cocked the pistol. ‘Look at yourself, Alice! Tell me why we should not drag you at once to the magistrate?’

‘
I didn
’
t do it
!
’
Alice howled, desperate. ‘You must believe me! There’d be no sense in it.’

‘Why not?’

Her shoulders slumped. ‘He was going to marry me.’

We stared at each other in consternation.

‘He announced it while I was serving dinner yesterday. Didn’t bother to ask me first. No warning. No argument. Judith ran outside and puked in the yard. Imagine. Her maid was now her
mother
.’

Kitty lowered the pistol. ‘You consented?’

‘What choice did I have?’ Alice looked utterly exhausted. ‘At least I’d have some protection. Why – do you think I wanted his rough hands all over me? His fat, sweating belly pressing down so I could scarce breathe? He made me
sick.
I fought him off the first time. But he said he’d tell the world I’d thieved from him. Who would hire me after that? I’d be on the street and on my
back
for every pox-ridden bastard with a halfpenny to spend. Mr Hawkins, sir – you know he’d have done it. He told all those lies about you in church.’

‘What’s this?’ Kitty asked sharply.

I frowned, but there was no value in shielding her any more. ‘He was spreading rumours about me. He said that I killed a man, down in Southwark . . .’

‘He swore an oath to Mr Gonson,’ Alice said. ‘Said he heard you through the wall, confessing to it. He was lying, I know. He hated you both. Because you was happy, I think. Happy and young.’ She paused. ‘I’m glad he’s dead. Bastard. I’d have liked to marry him first, though, just for the money. And the look on Judith’s face. She’ll throw me out on the street now . . ..’

Kitty paid her no mind. She was staring at me from across the room with a stunned expression, as if the house had collapsed around her. ‘Why did you not tell me? What possessed you . . .’ She trailed away, staring at the pistol in her hand. ‘Oh,
Tom
 . . .’

I couldn’t explain my actions in front of Sam and Alice, but I didn’t need to. Kitty understood. If she had known that Burden planned to testify against me, she would have confessed to the murder in a flash, in order to protect me. Just as I had lied to the queen to protect her. The difference was that Kitty had indeed pulled the trigger. One bullet for defence. The other for revenge.

She crossed the room and put her arms around me, her head pressed hard against my chest. I drew her close and held her for a long, perfect moment. There. I was forgiven. And all I’d had to do was prove myself willing to die for her. How simple and charming love is.

She stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to my ear. ‘I would never let you hang on my account,’ she whispered. ‘
Never
. Do you understand?’

It was almost dawn. We needed to send Alice back before the household woke and somebody discovered Burden’s corpse. Kitty took Alice downstairs to dress her in a clean gown. We would have to take her innocence on trust – and a fair degree of common sense. Alice clearly had little to gain from Burden’s death, save for a moment’s revenge. Yesterday she had been set to become his wife and share his fortune. Today she had nothing. Who would hire a servant whose previous master had been murdered in his bed?

Whoever had killed Burden had been perfectly content to let Alice take the blame. Ned, Stephen, Judith – they all knew of Alice’s nightly visits to Burden’s bed. Alice had screamed like a banshee when she caught Sam in the room that night. Burden’s killer must have counted upon her screaming again, when she found the body. The household would have rushed to her aid . . . and discovered her upon the bed, crouched over the corpse. Covered in his blood.

A brutal murder, fuelled by a burning rage. But this attempt to turn suspicion upon Alice had been cold and clever.

Ned. Stephen. Or Judith.

Impossible.

I told myself it was none of my business who killed Burden. Gonson might suspect me, but as long as he did not discover the attic door I was safe enough. And yet . . . and yet . . . It was not a comfortable thought, knowing I was the most obvious suspect. It would be better to learn the truth – in case I needed to prove my innocence.

Sam drew a candle over his bed. Pinched his lips. ‘She’s left blood on the sheets.’

‘If Alice had married Burden, she might easily have borne a child. Several, in fact. How old is Alice? Nineteen? Twenty?’

Sam dipped a neck cloth in a jug of water and began to scrub hard. ‘Five and twenty,’ he suggested, with a fair degree of malice.

If Alice had a child, Stephen might lose his inheritance, or at least part of it. And then there was Judith, sickened by the idea of Alice becoming her stepmother. Loss of money, loss of pride. Either could have led to murder. But then . . . surely they would have killed
Alice
, not their father?

Ned Weaver was angry with Burden, but angry enough to plunge a blade into his heart? If I were forced to gamble on it, I supposed I would bet on Burden’s apprentice – cheated and betrayed. He had the strength for it – but not the heart, surely. Truth was, I would not risk money on any of them. ‘Are you sure you didn’t kill him, Sam?’