The Last Confession Of Thomas Hawkins Part 18

Budge had sent a note in response to my request for more information on Howard. 'No time. Mtng tonight. Await carriage.'

I paced the floor alone for a few minutes, longing for a pipe. It was not satisfactory, pacing a floor so heavily covered with thick silk rugs. I wanted to hear the stamp of my feet, to feel the jolt of it through my body. I would suffocate in this warm, quiet room with its tapestries and terracotta busts and marble furniture. I should pick up a gold-legged footstool and throw it through a window. At least the cold air would help me to think.

d.a.m.nation, I needed that pipe.

What was I supposed to tell the queen? My encounter with Howard had ended in disaster. Perhaps she would dismiss me and find another poor fool to resolve the matter. Yes, yes and perhaps she would knight me and shower me with diamonds.

'Mr Hawkins. How pleased I am to see you, sir.' Henrietta Howard glided into the room in a dove-coloured damask gown, embroidered with a burst of silver flowers. The gown creaked a little as she moved, stiffened beneath with glue to push out the skirts. Her expression was serene, her lips parted in a half-smile of welcome. What did it cost to bury one's feelings so deep? Was she not afraid she might lose them one day? Treasure sinking slowly to the ocean floor and nothing left but the surface, becalmed for ever. 'You met my husband last night.'

I bowed my head.

'He spoke of me.' A statement, not a question. She must know the foul stories he spread about her around the town.

'Nothing of consequence.'

She did not believe the lie, but seemed grateful for it. She paused, then added, 'My son?' Somehow she made the question sound quite casual, though no doubt she longed for news of Henry.

I bowed again, thinking of the young rake spewing vomit into the Thames. His dumb astonishment when I put a blade to his throat. 'A good-natured young gentleman.'

She smiled. This she chose to believe. 'He was always a merry child and quite devoted to me. It infuriated Charles. He would abandon us for months in our tiny hovel. Henry and I muddled along together well enough, I suppose. It's strange I thought myself quite wretched, then. But perhaps I was happy.' Her brow furrowed, as if trying to remember an old acquaintance.

'It is very cruel of Mr Howard to keep your son from you.'

'He is a cruel man,' she agreed with a shrug. 'D'you know, Mr Hawkins, I have not seen Henry since he was ten years old.'

I stared at her, aghast.

'We were separated when the two courts split. I was forced to make a decision to remain with Her Majesty, under her protection or return to live with my husband. I couldn't . . .' she trailed away. 'I had to leave Henry behind, with Charles. I couldn't save him.'

And Howard had spent the next eleven years poisoning the boy against his mother. He had shaped Henry in his own image: a drunken brat with a fathomless, sprawling hatred of Henrietta.

'I've always hoped that one day Henry would understand why I had to leave him,' she added. 'Surely reason would prevail and he would be released from his father's spell. Even now I still hope. But the reports I receive of him, his wild behaviour . . . I fear Charles has taught him too well.'

'He's just a boy one and twenty. I'm sure I was just as wicked at his age.'

'And now?'

'Oh much worse.'

'I do not doubt it.' She laughed, and I caught a glimpse of how she might look stripped of all her burdens light and happy. A soul made for suns.h.i.+ne but lost in shadow.

There was a soft clunk as the door to the queen's chamber opened. Budge peeped through the narrow gap, like Mr Punch peering around the curtain. He beckoned me with a crook of his finger, then opened the door wider.

I stepped back to allow Mrs Howard through first, but Budge stopped her with a subtle shake of the head.

'I am not required?' Four words, laced with meaning. This meeting was of great significance to Henrietta. For weeks she had been held under siege, a prisoner in the palace all because of the man who had tormented her for more than twenty years. Was she not ent.i.tled to hear my report on the matter? But no she was not required. The queen and her games of power and revenge, played out in small denials, countless cruelties, day after day.

The room was stifling; thick, ta.s.selled drapes sealing in the heat from the fire. Behind them the windows rattled in their cas.e.m.e.nts, under attack from a violent rain storm. The queen sat at her desk, dressed in a loose green velvet gown a curtain in human form. She dropped her quill as I entered and pushed herself slowly to her feet. I bowed and she held out a gloved hand to kiss.

She settled down on her sofa, lifting her feet onto an ottoman. She picked up an ivory fan pocked with jewels and flapped it about her bosom in a gay fas.h.i.+on. I'd heard the queen described as a grave, devout woman, but in private she and Budge shared a mischievous, pantomime humour. It sat strangely upon them both tonight a merry jig played over a battle scene. An enormous plate of confectionery rested just within her grasp a jumble of sugar biscuits, macaroons and candied ginger too large even for her prodigious appet.i.te. Presented for comical effect again, I was sure a parody of her own gluttony emphasised to grotesque proportions. A joke only she was ent.i.tled to make.

A pretty girl of about seventeen was playing a game of chess against herself at a small table. One of the queen's daughters Princess Caroline or Amelia I guessed, from her age. Her blonde hair was powdered white and decorated with silk flowers, her lithe figure robed in a lavender gown fringed with pearls. She bore a close resemblance to her mother a beguiling hint of Caroline's own youth, when her beauty matched her wit. But, whereas the queen's expression settled naturally into bright interest and amus.e.m.e.nt, her daughter appeared sullen, slapping the chess pieces down upon the board as if she might like to crush them beneath her fingers. She caught my glance and frowned at the impertinence. I took a hurried interest in the ceiling.

'He is not at all handsome, Mama,' she complained, as if she had been sold a ruined bolt of silk. 'I do not like his arms, and his feet are too big. His legs are tolerable.'

The queen chuckled. 'Emily, ma cherie, opinions are vulgar. You must be more like Mrs Howard. She has said nothing of consequence since . . .' she fluttered her fan, considering, ' . . .1715?'

'I would rather die than be like Mrs Howard.'

'Of course you would. Life is wretched. The world is hateful. How uncharitable of G.o.d to make you a princess.'

Princess Amelia rolled her eyes. 'He should have made me a prince.'

The queen grunted in agreement. 'And poor Fritzy a princess. Laissez-nous maintenant, cherie. I must speak with Mr Hawkins about something of tremendous interest.'

'Oh!' the princess exclaimed, sweeping the chess pieces to the floor. 'Order him to tell me something interesting, Mama. Or I swear I shall die of boredom, right here on this horrid rug.'

The queen's lips twitched. 'Well, Mr Hawkins. Something interesting for the princess. Not too interesting,' she added hastily.

I thought for a moment, then smiled. 'Has Her Royal Highness ever heard of a female gladiator?'

Princess Amelia had not. I described Neala and her fight at the c.o.c.kpit, how she had used her strength and stamina to defeat her opponent in very few clothes. The princess sat with her large blue eyes fixed on mine, enraptured.

'I should like to meet this Irish woman,' she said, when I was finished.

The queen removed her glove and reached for a bonbon. 'And you never shall,' she promised. She dismissed her daughter with a wave, but then called her back and kissed her on both cheeks. When Amelia had left, she turned her gaze on me. 'A shrewd choice of story, Mr Hawkins. Rather too shrewd, I think. And now you have one for me, I believe.'

'Your Majesty,' I said, and began to describe my meeting with Mr Howard. She stopped me mid-breath. 'No, no. I wish to hear first about your neighbour. Mr . . .' she pretended to reach for the name. 'Beadle? Boodle?'

'Burden, ma'am.' She remembered the name well enough. Teasing again. I told her as much as I could, given that I could not mention Alice's bloodstained arrival through the wall, or Sam's midnight prowl around the house. Burden was murdered and I was suspected that was the crux of the matter.

'You threatened him with a sword? In front of witnesses? A little rash, sir.'

'It won't happen again, Your Majesty.'

'Clearly. No need to threaten a dead man.'

'I only mean-'

'Yes, yes. Don't be dull.'

I paused before speaking again. It was not enough to be useful to Queen Caroline: one must be entertaining as well. I supposed this was to counteract the many hours she spent in the king's tedious company. He had I believe only two topics of conversation: either detailed discussion of historic military campaigns or the wonders of his beloved Hanover and how it eclipsed England in every respect. So I must make up for her husband's failings. Grat.i.tude might do the trick. 'I must thank you, ma'am, for securing my release from custody yesterday.'

The queen glanced at Budge, sweating by the fire. 'Did I deign to do that, Budge?'

'Either that or find a new recruit, ma'am. And that would have been diff-'

'-tedious. And now here Mr Hawkins stands on his tolerable legs, expressing his grat.i.tude. Mon dieu. We have indeed been generous. He might be languis.h.i.+ng in gaol were it not for our generosity. He might be sentenced to hang.' She wiggled her fingers over the teetering pile of confections and selected another macaroon, smiling in triumph when the rest stayed miraculously in place. 'So I'm sure he has discovered something tremendously helpful about Mr Howard.'

'Your Majesty. Forgive me, I-'

'-You have heard, I'm sure that Howard caused a grave disturbance just two nights ago? Stood in the courtyard screaming that his wife is a wh.o.r.e and insisting that we give her up to him? His Majesty was furious he cannot bear to have his sleep disturbed. Poor Mrs Howard must have been mortified.'

'Your Majesty, could Mr Howard not be arrested, or at least-'

'The law is with the husband, Mr Hawkins!' the queen snapped, for a moment truly angry. 'He has every right to claim his wife, and by force if he wishes. What d'you think the king should have him arrested? And then I suppose you would like to see a public trial about the matter?' Her blue eyes so like her daughter's blazed so hard I feared I might be scorched by them. 'You were released in order to resolve this matter. Was I too generous, Mr Hawkins? Perhaps you did murder your neighbour. Perhaps Mr Budge should speak again with the City Marshal.'

I placed my hands behind my back, planted my legs. I had suffered such cruel blackmail before, in prison. I would not buckle beneath her threats. 'I am innocent, Your Majesty.'

'That is hardly relevant. Tell me what happened last night and we shall see if we can sift something of value from the dirt together. As you are too dim-witted to discover it alone.'

I described how I met with Howard at the c.o.c.kpit in Southwark, the disgraceful stories he had spewed up about his wife, and indeed the king some treasonous. Might that help? The queen looked bored and contemptuous. So I continued with our trip along the Thames, Howard's a.s.sault on me and his attempted rape of Kitty.

For the first time, the queen seemed interested. 'She fought him off? Without your aid?'

'Yes, Your Majesty.' I described how Howard had fired a pistol at us as we plunged into the river. Attempted murder might that be of use? No, apparently it would not. I finished my story, from our freezing, desperate swim to the steps, to our escape through the city to St Giles and our rescue at the hands of James Fleet. I did not mention the poor chairman, his throat cut solely to encourage his master to run. And so my story ended, as it must, and we reached the part I had dreaded.

The queen rinsed her fingers in a pretty porcelain bowl. 'Your little trull is a spirited creature, is she not? So. How do you propose we stop the brute?'

I had no answer. Howard was a n.o.bleman, the heir to an earldom. There were different rules for such men. I knew it. The queen most certainly knew it. The whole world knew it. What did it matter if he threatened a young woman with no family and no reputation? Who the devil cared if he vowed to murder me? Who was I? A disgraced gentleman from an obscure family, living above a notorious print shop, translating wh.o.r.es' dialogues for money.

'Sir?' the queen prompted, watching me twist and turn on her rope. Watching with a gleam of interest encouragement, even. Another test for her new servant.

I must think of something. If I left this room without giving her what she needed, I might as well hang myself tonight and save everyone the trouble. I had been released from Gonson's custody solely on this promise that I would provide the queen with something she could use against Howard. But what?

I forced myself to think calmly. Howard held the winning hand, and I could not change that. What, then? When a man held all the cards, what could one do?

Let him win.

And there it was. So neat. So simple. Let him win. Blackmail would never have worked upon Howard he was too powerful and too volatile. One did not back a wild animal into a corner. Coax him out. Bribe him. But with what? Not money. The king had refused his demands of three thousand a year. A t.i.tle? I dismissed the thought that would be more complicated and costly still.

The room was silent. I could feel the queen and Budge watching, waiting. Concentrate. What did Howard want? Henrietta. No that I would not do. And he didn't want her, not really. He just wanted to make her life as wretched as possible. He wanted to torture her for making that one terrible mistake of loving him, a very long time ago.

And then I knew the answer. There was one very simple way to satisfy Howard. It would cost the queen nothing. But poor Henrietta . . . It would cost her everything.

I wouldn't say it. I wouldn't ruin a woman's life solely to save my own. I would conjure something better. Something kinder.

'His son.' The words slid from my tongue and the betrayal was done.

A look of puzzlement crossed the queen's plump face. And then she understood. Already her clever mind was turning, turning.

'Henry Howard was on the boat last night.'

She grunted. 'Henry. I remember the child. A sweet, foolish thing. What age is he now, Budge? Fourteen? Fifteen?'

'Twenty-one, ma'am,' Budge replied softly. His expression was sombre, all the play and mischief drained from his face.

'Twenty-one.' And now she too seemed to have caught the melancholy mood. She reached for a sugared almond.

'He was very drunk,' I said. 'Asleep under the table most of the night, and vomiting the rest of it. Forgive me, ma'am . . .'

She waved away the apology.

' . . .Howard takes great pleasure in corrupting the boy. Henry doesn't have his father's cruelty-'

'-Not yet. Hard liquor makes a hard man.'

True enough in most cases. But I had to believe Henry had enough of Henrietta's sweet temperament to counteract Howard's influence. There must be hope in all this. After all, I had spent the last few years drinking and whoring and gaming like a fiend, and my own heart had emerged intact. Hadn't it?

'Howard is determined to turn Henry against his mother. He has convinced Henry that she's a wh.o.r.e.'

'That must have taken considerable effort,' the queen said, rattling the sugared almond against her teeth.

'He wants revenge upon Mrs Howard. He wants her to suffer. More than anything. He would not refuse three thousand pounds a year, of course . . . but it is his hatred of his wife that propels him.' I stopped, unwilling to speak further.

The queen continued to suck her confection, snick, snick, snick against the top of her mouth. She glanced at Budge, raised an eyebrow. 'Mr Hawkins has dragged a sacrificial calf into the room. But he does not have the courage to slit her throat.' She played with a diamond ring on her little finger. 'Why, Mr Hawkins would you have me wield the knife for you? Are you afraid to look in the poor, trembling calf's eyes? Are you worried her blood will spoil your clothes . . .?'

My mouth was dry. The queen spoke the truth, and I was sickened by it. I had condemned both Henry and his mother tonight in this room. I had ruined both their lives to save my own. Not to say the words now, at the end, was mere cowardice. 'Mrs Howard must write to her son. In detail. She must tell Henry that everything his father claims of her is true.'

The queen slid her gaze from mine, thinking. 'Yes,' she said at last. 'Howard will like that. He always enjoyed humiliating his wife.' And to her credit, she looked disgusted. 'Is it enough? No,' she answered herself. 'Continue, sir.'

Somehow, I forced the words from my lips. 'She must promise never to contact her son to relinquish all claims upon him.'

'Your Majesty,' Budge interrupted. 'I doubt she will agree to that. She fights a case at present in secret. She is seeking a legal separation from Howard.'

My heart sank. The Howards had lived apart for many years, but to pursue an official, legally binding separation it was almost unprecedented. For a judge even to consider the case, there must have been the most devastating evidence of Howard's cruelty. And here I was, delivering Henry into that monster's hands for ever.

The queen was looking away into the fire with a soft expression. 'We will give him his son. And the letter. And twelve hundred a year. Control, humiliation and a fat fee. It will suffice. In return he will not fight the separation. Yes. I believe this will work. Blackmail would have enraged Howard. He might have lashed out in spite. This way, he will believe he has won. He will like that.' Her lips pressed into a tight line. 'Men do.'

Aye, he will believe he's won. Because he has. I cleared my throat. 'Should we not consult with Mrs Howard, ma'am?'

'With Mistress Switzerland?' The queen fanned herself slowly. 'What might she possibly contribute to the matter? She is neutral in all things.'

'Not on this matter, surely, Your Majesty?' I pressed. I owed Henrietta this much at least. 'Not over her only child? She might prefer to leave the court? Should she not be granted the choice . . .' I stopped abruptly. The queen's cheeks had tinged bright pink.

'Choice? No indeed, Mr Hawkins. Howard is my servant. She will do precisely as she is told.'

There was a long, angry silence. There was something deeper here old wounds of betrayal. Henrietta had been the queen's servant long before she became the king's mistress. They had been allies and confidantes once, when they were young women. When the queen was still the Princess of Wales, just a few years married. Still beautiful and still adored, by all accounts.

'It is a hard thing to lose a son,' the queen said at length. Her gaze slid to mine.

She knew I must have heard the stories the prince and princess banished from court in disgrace, their children held hostage. The King had given Caroline a devastating choice: stay at court with her children or leave with her husband. Her youngest boy had been just a few weeks old and very sick. He had died before the family had reconciled.

And then there was her oldest son, Frederick, raised alone at the court in Hanover a stranger to the entire family, including his mother.

The queen understood the agony of losing a son through death and through estrangement. Now she would inflict that torture upon Henrietta. It was pragmatic, necessary and cruel. But who was I to judge her now?

'Twelve hundred a year,' she said. 'The king will accept that. He will rail and kick his hat about the room for a few days. In a few weeks he will be pleased that we have saved him eighteen hundred pounds per annum. In a few months he will believe it was all his idea.' She tapped her fingers playfully against the arm of the sofa. 'Adequate, Mr Hawkins. Adequate. You will do.'