‘That he is, Hawkins,’ Howard interrupted. He dragged the boy to a seated position, leaning him against the bench. The boy’s head rolled back. ‘He’s my son. Henry – wake up, damn you.’
Henry Howard. Henrietta’s son – her only child. I stared at the young rake sprawled in a drunken heap, a sloppy string of drool sliding down his chin. Then thought of his mother, gracious and composed, her face cool and still as a portrait. And yet the resemblance was there, beneath the debauchery. He shared Henrietta’s high forehead and clear complexion, and the contours of his face were remarkably similar. I saw little of Howard in him, save for the drunkenness, of course.
Henry hiccoughed, then spewed a thin stream of vomit at our feet.
‘Gah . . .’ Howard cursed. At his signal, one of the chairmen threw the boy over his shoulder, pushing his way through the crowds. Hopefully the fresh air would revive him. ‘Can’t take his liquor,’ Howard scowled after them both. ‘It’s his mother’s fault, damn her.’
I smiled, playing my part. I couldn’t risk the night ending here, although I wanted it to with all my heart. Howard could tell a good story at the start of an evening, before the liquor scoured away the thin veneer of charm. There were old war stories, and wicked court scandals from his years attending the old king. He had lived a free, rakish life, and there must have been a time, long ago, when he had been entertaining company. But now he was an old, ruined man, on the turn like spoiled milk, sour and sickening.
Worst of all was his hatred of his wife, a poison running through his veins. He had spent much of the night regaling me with sordid tales of his marriage, before Henrietta had found sanctuary at court. I sensed that he told these stories often, to anyone who might listen. He took the part of the villain with a strange sort of glee, as if his life’s great purpose had been to torture and degrade his wife in every conceivable fashion. He’d squandered her inheritance, roaming the town while she starved in filthy lodgings. And when he did come home, he brought back whores to torment her, fucking them in front of her.
‘One son, that’s all she gave me,’ he sneered, as Henry was carried lifeless through the tavern. ‘What use is a wife if she can’t keep a baby in her belly?’
Somehow, I kept my composure. How would it serve Henrietta if I punched Howard, or stormed away in disgust? I must find something useful to bring back to the queen. ‘You are separated now, I believe?’
‘Not in law,’ he snapped. ‘She is still mine – and always will be. She can hide in her rooms, but I’m still here, in her head.’ He tapped his temple with his fingers. ‘For ever.’ And then he started upon another loathsome story, of some small rebellion punished with a savage beating. How it had left her deaf in one ear and why that was not his fault. How she should thank him now, as it spared her from listening to the king’s tedious conversation.
It was not the first time I’d heard a man speak of beating his wife of course, nor would it be the last. Take a walk through the Garden and there are plenty of women with black eyes and split lips. But Howard spoke of it with a boastful pride I had never heard before, as if it were his duty and his pleasure.
It made me all the more determined to find something to stop him, for Henrietta’s sake as well as my own. But what could I tell the queen that she did not already know? The gambling, the drinking, the whoring, the debts, the violence, the cruelty. What news could ever be enough, given Howard’s position? Ned Weaver resented me because I was the son of a gentleman, and so favoured by the law. Charles Howard was a nobleman. If his brother died without an heir, he would become Earl of Suffolk . . .
. . .Unless someone ran him through with a blade first. I confess, the thought did cross my mind. One quick stab in the back, in some dark alleyway. If I were a different man, how easily I could resolve the matter. If I were Samuel Fleet, in fact – the man the queen expected me to replace.
‘You hold your drink well,’ Howard said, slapping my back.
I took the compliment, but in fact I had only sipped at my wine. It had been easy enough to pass my bottle on to one of Howard’s companions, or spill a few glugs upon the floor. Kitty had spent most of the night at the ring, betting on the fights without drinking. We had both kept our wits sharp.
Howard leaned closer. ‘I’ve hired a boat,’ he shouted, his breath hot and wet in my ear. ‘You must join me. Both of you. Plenty of drinking hours before dawn.’
I nodded and told him I would find Kitty, though I had no intention of bringing her with me. I took a slow circuit about the tavern, and found her at last at the door, talking to Jed. I drew her to a shadowed spot beyond the reach of the torchlight and explained about the boat trip.
‘You must go home now,’ I whispered, reaching for her hand in the gloom. ‘Would Jed escort you home, d’you think – for a fee? Or that Irish girl, perhaps?’
‘Neala. She left some time ago.’
‘It won’t be safe on the boat, Kitty. There’s nowhere to escape on the river, and I can’t protect you from six men, even if they’re half-dead with drink.’
She squeezed my hand. ‘He doesn’t remember you, Tom. And you need something to give to the queen.’
The cockfighting was over and the tavern was emptying, men streaming out into the chill air. Some of the winning cocks were being carried through in wooden cages, squawking and crowing and flapping furiously. I called over to Jed and asked if he would guide Kitty home for a fee. ‘I have business with Charles Howard.’
‘Howard? Keep away from that bastard. Take her home yourself.’
Kitty prodded me in the ribs. ‘I am not a sack of potatoes to be carted about the city. I shall go where I please.’
‘Kitty . . .’
‘Now, now – what’s this?’ Howard cried, clapping his hands as he stepped into the night. ‘A lovers’ quarrel?’
‘Miss Sparks is a little tired. I’m arranging a safe passage home.’
‘Home? What the devil are you mewling about, Hawkins? No, no – I will not part with my new friends. You must come with me.’ He put his arms around our shoulders and dragged us away. ‘I insist.’
The boat was waiting for us at St Saviour’s Dock, bobbing and swaying against its mooring. It was a barge fit for a nobleman, with a broad cabin in the stern and a smaller one at the bow. How this particular nobleman had paid for the trip I could only guess – he had lost a fortune in the tavern, and yet he tipped the head oarsman a crown as we boarded. His son must have deep pockets. Henry was still with us – in a manner of speaking. He had puked several times along the way and had to be carried on to the barge by Howard’s chairmen. The rest of our party we had lost to another tavern behind the cathedral. Praise the Lord.
As the boat pushed off I cautioned myself to remain calm. Howard had invited us as his guests. He had no memory of our fight and no reason to believe our meeting had been anything but pure chance. I had my sword at my side and was more sober than I’d been in years. And still . . . it wouldn’t be wise to trust him. While he headed to the stern in search of more wine, I slipped a coin into the head oarsman’s pocket. ‘If I tap your shoulder, row us to the nearest steps,’ I murmured.
The Thames was quiet, with only a handful of boats upon the water. And no surprise – it was late, and the air was biting. A gang of revellers called out cheerfully as we passed, and Kitty waved at them. A hard wind blew across the water and she shivered. ‘Let’s go inside. I think there’s supper laid out.’
I touched her hand. ‘Stay close to me.’
Howard emerged from the cabin with a fur blanket under his arm. ‘Here you are, my dear,’ he said, draping the blanket over Kitty’s shoulders. She smiled and wrapped it tighter against the wind. A touching moment, if he had not spent the evening counseling me to beat her into obedience. He balanced his way over to his son, who was slumped at the edge of the boat, heaving bile into the water.
Howard knelt down next to him. ‘You drink like a woman, Henry. It’s a damned disgrace. Your mother has ruined you.�
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‘My mother is a whore,’ Henry slurred into his father’s face. They were the only words he’d spoken all evening.
Howard patted his shoulder. ‘Good lad.’
Henry swivelled around and vomited into the river.
‘Shall we go inside, Mr Howard?’ Kitty said.
He smiled.
The world seemed to slow. Howard, smiling. The oars slicing the water. And Kitty, heading for the cabin. Out of my reach. I knew we were in danger, knew with that one smile that the evening had turned upside down. I touched the oarsman’s shoulder. He kept on rowing. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, from the corner of his mouth.
‘They’re in my pay, not yours,’ Howard said, pulling his pistol from his coat. He laughed, and tapped the cut on his brow as I stumbled back. ‘Did you think I’d forgotten you, Sir Nobody? My wife’s champion?’
He had known all along. Lured me here to the river with Kitty.
‘Mr Howard,’ I said, keeping my voice steady. ‘Turn this boat to shore.’
‘Did you plan to kill me? Did she pay you?’
‘Mr Howard—’
I heard a scuffle and a soft cry behind me. Howard’s chairmen were dragging Kitty into the cabin, a blade at her throat. One of them whispered something in her ear and her eyes widened in fright. No, no, no. I ran after them, reaching for my sword.
A sharp crack on the back of my skull. Then nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
I came to in an empty cabin, lying on the floor. My hands were bound roughly with rope and my sword was gone. I lay in the dark, half-senseless. Then I remembered. Kitty. I staggered to my feet, shaking my head to clear it. Pain stabbed my skull.
I’d been thrown in the small cabin at the bow. I lurched to the door, but it was barred from the outside. I threw my weight against it, but it wouldn’t give. I pounded with my fists, screaming for help. She was alone with Howard. I’d let him take her. That monster. I kicked and yelled, but the door stood firm.
Then suddenly there was a heavy thud as the bar was raised and dropped to the ground. I pushed open the door and almost fell into Henry.
‘What the deuce . . .?’ he slurred, with a lopsided grin. ‘A game?’
I held up my wrists. ‘Aye, aye, a game. Untie me, Henry.’
But he was too foolish with drink, giggling and stumbling over the knots. I cursed and pushed him away, wheeling around to the head oarsman.
‘For pity’s sake help me.’
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, doubt in his eyes.
‘On your conscience, sir. Say the boy freed me. Please.’
He leaned across and untied the knot. ‘Stern. Hurry. I’ll row closer to shore.’
They had taken my sword, but my dagger was still tucked somewhere in my coat. I searched for it in a panic until my hands caught the hilt. I seized Henry by the scruff of his neck and pushed him towards the stern.
He flailed in a panic. ‘What’s this? What’s happening?’
I pressed the blade against his throat and he held still, sober enough at last to realise that this was no game. I kicked open the door to the larger cabin.
Kitty was crouched on a bench at the far end of the room, a broken bottle in her hand. There were scratches on her face and her sleeves were torn. How long had I been unconscious – a few minutes? She had fought off three men in the meantime – three men staggering with drink perhaps, but still, it was a miracle. One of the chairmen lay unmoving under the table, and the other was holding a handkerchief to a deep cut on his forehead.
Howard dragged the table to one side to reach Kitty, his hat and wig knocked free in the fight.
‘Let her go!’ I cried.
Howard turned and cursed. His soldier’s training held him still while he assessed the odds. ‘You are not a killer,’ he decided.
‘I am for her.’ I pressed the point deeper into his son’s neck. A trickle of blood spilled over the blade.
Howard reached into his jacket and took out his pistol. He aimed it at Kitty, who shrank back. ‘Why, did you think you were winning this little scrape?’ He laughed at her. ‘It was a game, no more.’
My head whirled. Howard was mad enough to shoot her and powerful enough to get away with it. The risk was too high. I lowered the blade and Howard’s chairman snatched it from my hand. He pushed Henry out of the way and wrapped an arm about my throat.
‘Now then, Kitty,’ Howard said. Her name on his foul lips. I couldn’t bear it. ‘Put down the bottle.’
She hesitated.
He cocked the pistol.
Kitty dashed the bottle to the ground, the glass smashing into a dozen sharp pieces.
Howard began to unbutton his breeches, one-handed. ‘Are you fucking my wife, Hawkins?’ He glanced at me. ‘Well, sir?’
I shook my head.
‘Liar. Why else would you fight for her?’
My heart was burning in my chest. What could I say to him? How could I talk of honour to such a man? He planned to rape Kitty in front of me, in front of his son. I would not let that happen. I must not.
Howard put a hand in Kitty’s hair and pulled sharply. He called out to Henry. ‘D’you see now, boy? This is how you train the wild ones. Let them play. Let them think they’re strong. And then you—’
Kitty flung herself back at him, tumbling them both to the ground. As they fell she turned and drew her knee up, forcing it hard between his legs. Howard screamed and dropped the pistol; it span away beneath the bench as he curled into a tight ball, rolling in agony in the broken glass. It spiked his skin, bloodstains blooming on his white shirt. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he whimpered. ‘I will kill you.’
Kitty stood up, swaying as the boat rode over a wave. Then she raised her heel and stamped down upon on his free hand, grinding it against a thick shard of glass. He screamed, still clutching himself with the other hand. Screamed until there was no breath left.
The chairman ran to help his master. I grabbed my blade, snatched Kitty’s hand and we lurched from the cabin out on to the deck. The Thames rolled black and deep, the moon shining on its surface. The oarsmen had brought us close to Somerset House on the north side of the river, but we were still a good twenty yards from shore.
The cabin door crashed open and Howard raged on to the deck, bent double in agony, his pistol raised in his bloody fist.
There was no time to think. I jumped from the boat, still holding Kitty’s hand.
I heard the crack of the pistol and then the river closed over my head, filthy and ice cold. I flailed to the surface, gasping in shock as the freezing water knifed my skin. A couple of watermen waiting for custom at the steps stood up in their boat and began to shout in alarm. I could hear Kitty floundering a few feet away, her gown dragging her down. I swam over to her, battling the pull of the water. As I grabbed her arm, a wave knocked me back and I slipped under, still holding her close.
I surfaced, spitting out a mouthful of rank river water – and saw the barge looming towards us. Howard stood at the prow, screaming at the oarsmen to row faster, his face twisted with fury. In a few moments, the boat would smash straight into us. I swam desperately towards the watermen, calling out for help as I held on to Kitty’s waist. The water was weighing us both down now, turning our clothes to lead. The watermen rowed out to meet us and we clung to the side in terror as they turned back to shore. When we reached the steps I dragged Kitty out to safety.
‘You there!’ Howard shouted at the watermen from the river. ‘Hold them both for me. I’ll pay you!’
Our rescuers discussed the offer as I pulled myself on to the steps, coughing up the foul-tasting water. I reached into my sodden clothes and threw a shower of coins at their feet. ‘Please,’ I said, crawling up the steps on my hands and knees.
One of the men held up a lantern, squinted at the barge. ‘Is that Charles Howard?’
‘Gah!’ The other one spat into the water. ‘I fucking hate that nob.’ He pulled me to my feet. ‘G’on with you. Run.’
I stumbled forward, trying not to panic. It was very late now, the streets dark and quiet. We could not go home, that much was certain. Howard was in such a state of fury I was afraid he would break down the door and murder us all.
I looked over my shoulder and spied him in the distance with one of his chairmen. I hurried on to Russell Street.
‘Home,’ Kitty mumbled, tottering against me. She felt bone cold.
‘We can’t go home,’ I whispered.
She slumped, knees sagging, senseless. And somehow, with the last of my strength, I picked her up and slid her over my shoulder. My muscles screamed, but I felt them only dimly through the fear and urgency. I lumbered on to Drury Lane, winning curious looks from the few street whores still out searching for business. I could hear Howard cursing my name as he followed, narrowing the gap between us. I turned left on to St Giles.
Now, Howard, you son of a bitch – follow us if you dare. For all your mad rage let’s see if you are a match for the rookeries of St Giles. I took the first alley I could find and plunged in, the darkness swallowing us whole.
I could go no further. As I reached the end of the alley I sank to my knees, shuddering with the cold. I lowered Kitty to the ground and gazed up at the ropes and walkways high above our heads. Everything was still.
The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins Page 17
