I was still angry with Catherine for tricking me, but I was half-asleep and the thought of her alone in her bed in the Oak sent my thoughts rolling far away from my investigation…
I was in a state of some disarray when there was a knock at the door. I had barely enough time to cover myself and turn to the wall before Kitty entered to clean the room, slopping water from her bucket.
‘Mr Hawkins,’ she hissed. ‘Are you awake?’
I feigned sleep, silently cursing the interruption. Was there no privacy in this damned place?
‘Lazy dog,’ Kitty grumbled to herself and began to work about me. Once I had settled, I turned quietly as if in my sleep and watched her through half-closed eyes as she folded Fleet’s clothes and sorted his papers, creating order from his chaos. I was struck again by the quick, capable way she went about things. I couldn’t say why it appealed to me quite so much, only that I was happy to lie there as she whirled about the room. Catherine was right. She would make an excellent lady’s maid, if she could learn to curb that tongue of hers. Perhaps Charles could find a position for her in Sir Philip’s household. I would speak with him about it. Better that than staying Fleet’s ward – hardly a suitable reference.
Kitty began to sweep the grate, sending a cloud of dust into the air. I made a show of coughing and yawning as if freshly wakened then pulled on my breeches and slipped a waistcoat over my shirt. The floor was almost clear of Fleet’s clutter, his books and papers, clothes and curios stacked in neat piles against the walls. It would be scattered again by nightfall, but still, it was an impressive feat. ‘You’ve done a fine job there, Kitty.’
She froze, back stiffening at the compliment, then carried on with her work. ‘Will you need a fire, sir?’ she said, without turning round.
‘No, thank you. I’ll take breakfast at Bradshaw’s.’
‘Very good, sir.’ She knocked ash from her brush, smacking it hard against the grate. Clack, clack, clack.
I paused, frowning at her back. She seemed ill-tempered this morning, even for her. ‘Is something wrong, Kitty?’
She dropped her brush with a loud clatter, wiped the ash from her hands. Then she rose and looked me up and down. ‘And what is that to you, sir?’
‘Well, indeed! Your welfare is of no consequence to me, I’m sure,’ I snapped, irritated. ‘And you should mind your tongue when you’re speaking with a gentleman.’ Oh, good God in heaven. Why did I say that? I sounded like my father.
Kitty pressed her lips together, swallowing the words she so clearly wished to say. She looked me straight in the eye, chin high. ‘I beg your pardon, sir.’
It was such a churlish apology, so lacking in conviction, that I burst out laughing. ‘An elegant apology, Miss Sparks. You are forgiven.’ I bowed and left the room before she could answer. When I reached the stairs I glanced back and saw that she was staring after me, brows furrowed in confusion. I gave her a wink and was on my way.
A tempting smell of coffee, fried bacon and fresh-baked rolls wafted from the doorway at Mrs Bradshaw’s but as I reached the threshold she hauled herself from her chair and laid siege to the room, arms folded across her wide bosom. ‘There’s no room,’ she sniffed. ‘Try upstairs at Titty Doll’s.’
I peered past her to the empty chairs and tables and raised an eyebrow. ‘Have I offended you, madam?’
‘Oh! As if you didn’t know! You should be ashamed of yourself! Poor Mrs Roberts, she was in agonies last night,’ she scolded, looking pleased at the memory. ‘She thought the captain had come back from the grave, God rest his soul. I had to give her a sleeping draught just to calm her nerves. How could you, sir? Dressing up in the clothes he was hanged in. Well. I am vastly disappointed, Mr Hawkins. I thought better of you, I really did. But I should have known. A friend of Moll’s.’ She shooed me out of the door and slammed it behind me.
I was about to try my luck upstairs with Mrs Mack when I caught sight of Jakes striding across the yard beneath heavy black storm clouds. I’d forgotten Charles’ promise to send him over this morning. I stepped outside and met him beneath the Court porch.
‘Mr Jakes,’ I said, clutching a large paw. ‘I’m glad to see you.’
‘Mr Hawkins.’ He grinned. ‘Busy night, I hear.’
‘Oh. I suppose it’s all around the prison.’ Was that why Fleet rushed out this morning?
Jakes shrugged. ‘Mr Buckley says you have a talent for trouble. Asked me to give you this. You’ll need to keep it tucked away or the turnkeys will take it.’ He pulled a bundle from a bag at his side and handed it to me.
I unwrapped the cloth to find a short dagger, plain but well-made. I slipped it beneath my waistcoat. ‘It’s good of you to help me, Mr Jakes. I hope Charles is paying you for your time.’
‘Glad to help, sir. Captain Roberts was a loyal friend. I owe him my life.’ He looked down at the ground. Then he looked up and smiled again, eyes twinkling. ‘And yes, Mr Buckley is paying me for my time.’
‘From what I hear of Captain Roberts, he would approve of you making a profit.’
Jakes laughed. ‘Aye, true enough.’
‘So,’ I said, clapping my hands together. ‘Where shall we begin our enquiries? Is the Tap Room open?’
‘You won’t find answers there. I have a better idea.’ He glanced over his shoulder, a soldier’s instinct. ‘You had breakfast?’
‘Not yet.’
He fixed me with a sombre look. ‘Good.’
Jakes was adamant. If we wanted to learn anything about Roberts’ death, we must visit the Common Side. ‘That’s where he was found. That’s where the secrets are kept. If someone knows something, we’ll find him over the wall.’ He gripped his club. ‘You’ll be safe with me, sir.’
I frowned. ‘Acton’s not a fool. If he hears I’ve been asking questions over there he’ll suspect something.’
‘Ah.’ Jakes jerked his chin towards the Lodge gate. ‘I’ve thought of that.’
To my dismay Woodburn bumbled into view, hand clamped to his hat against the blustering wind.
Jakes took one look at my expression and burst out laughing. ‘His heart’s in the right place, sir. And he can help us without knowing it.’ Woodburn, it transpired, visited the Common Side regularly to comfort the sick, lead the prisoners in prayer and hand out food bought with donations from the parish. ‘But keep that to yourself,’ Jakes muttered. ‘Or Acton will take it in a flash.’
‘Mr Hawkins!’ Woodburn limped over, breathless and gouty. ‘My dear fellow. Jakes tells me you wish to help me in God’s work this morning?’
I glanced at Jakes. He widened his eyes and nodded slowly. ‘Ah… yes. Indeed.’
‘Mr Hawkins was too shy to write to you in person,’ Jakes explained. ‘But he’s most eager to join you on your visit.’ He turned to me, face perfectly composed. ‘You were inspired by the good reverend’s example, isn’t that right, sir?’
‘Inspired, yes…’ I echoed, as Woodburn’s face puffed out with pride. ‘I thought I might ease their suffering in some small way…’
‘Through prayer,’ Jakes added.
‘Through prayer,’ I agreed, miserably.
‘Praise the Lord,’ Woodburn beamed.
Joseph Cross sauntered over, twirling his ring of keys. ‘So, Hawkins, I hear the governor had sport with you last night.’ He sniggered. ‘Says you almost shat yourself.’
Jakes crunched one heavy step towards him. ‘You’ll get your neck wrung for good one of these days, Joseph.’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen…’ Woodburn cautioned.