The Last Confession Of Thomas Hawkins Part 7

'Sixteen,' the queen snuffed, as if that were quite old enough to know better. She skewered me with her gaze. 'You are not married, sir.'

'No, Your Majesty.'

'No, Your Majesty,' she mimicked, with surprising skill. 'G.o.d forbid, Your Majesty. Why should I marry my red-haired trull when she opens her legs and her pocket for free?' She caught my look of dismay. 'You are surprised I know of this? I surprise myself, sir. I soil my petticoat walking through your sordid little life, hmm?' She lifted the hem of her gown as if in disgust, revealing a pair of exquisite red-heeled slippers, her plump feet bulging over the top.

There followed a short pause, while everyone pretended not to be mesmerised by the queen's feet. And then she dropped her gown, and turned quite serious. 'Well, Howard. Tell Mr Hawkins of your troubles.'

Mrs Howard folded her hands. 'I humbly beg Her Majesty to first permit me to acknowledge the many kindnesses she has bestowed upon her most grateful servant? My pleasing suite of rooms, my position at court, the happy and contented life I lead here full of diverse entertainments and friends.h.i.+ps these are blessings indeed and I am most grateful for Her Majesty's generosity.'

The words were spoken with a grave sincerity and fell from Mrs Howard's tongue with such fluency I was sure she must have spoken them a thousand times before. To my eye, Mrs Howard did not seem happy nor content, but sometimes words such as these must be spoken, by rote and ritual, to appease those with power over us.

The queen's eyes were hooded. 'You are indeed most fortunate, Howard,' she acknowledged, 'in your diverse friends.h.i.+ps.' She waved at her most grateful servant to continue.

'My husband and I are estranged,' Mrs Howard began.

'Estranged! Aye, as a wolf is estranged from a rabbit,' the queen interrupted. 'You must know of course, sir, that Mr Howard was servant to the late king.'

I nodded. And how extraordinary this was, that such a turbulent, ill-tempered man should fawn about the court when it served him. I knew also as the whole world knew that the old king had fallen out violently with his son some years ago and the two courts had been torn in half as a consequence. Some had remained loyal to the king, others had followed the Prince of Wales into exile a short stroll away in Leicester Fields. Mrs Howard had been an integral part of that secondary court. Had it been loyalty on her part to leave the old court behind? Or had she simply seized the chance to escape her husband?

'Now he serves no one save himself,' the queen said. 'And has no income of his own. He has squandered it all all of his inheritance, and his wife's too. Every last penny.' She dropped a macaroon in her mouth and bit down, closing her eyes in pleasure. Waved again at Mrs Howard to return to her story.

'Mr Howard has made certain demands of His Majesty. And violent threats against me.'

The queen swallowed the confection, sucking the sugar from her teeth. 'Demands and threats! Insolent rogue he is abominable. D'you know, Mr Hawkins, when Mrs Howard was a young woman he abandoned her in some hovel in . . . I fear I cannot even p.r.o.nounce it. Holl-born?'

'Holborn, Your Majesty,' Mrs Howard offered.

The queen threw me a mock-baffled look, as if Holborn might be somewhere upon the moon. 'Abandoned her to starve along with their baby son, while he rollicked about the town with wh.o.r.es and scoundrels. Mrs Howard grew so desperate she even thought to sell her own hair. But you could not get a fair price for it, could you, Howard?' She leaned forward, conspiratorial. 'Mrs Howard is quite famed for her fine chestnut hair.'

I could not think what to say to this and so said nothing, glancing instead towards Mrs Howard in the hope I might offer some silent expression of sympathy. But her head was tilted in mild contemplation, her eyes cast softly to her feet as if she were listening to a piece of light chamber music and not the horror that was her marriage.

And still I wondered: what did the queen want of me? I was beginning to suspect it involved Charles Howard his certain demands and violent threats. In fact, I seemed to have blundered into a rather devious trap. Easy to miss in such a room, with its velvet curtains, its fine old portraits of grave old men covering the walls. The blazing fire and towering heaps of confectionery.

'The truth is,' the queen said, 'I am concerned for my poor Howard. Her husband has always loathed her with a demonic pa.s.sion but he has kept his temper and his distance for years I never could fathom why. Now it transpires he was harbouring certain expectations, following His Majesty's coronation. A position. An income. He has been disappointed in those expectations.'

'He blames Mrs Howard for this,' I guessed.

The queen bridled. 'No, sir fie! I should think not! Mr Howard knows full well as the world knows full well that his wife has no influence upon His Majesty. Not this much!' She pinched her finger and thumb together, allowing no s.p.a.ce between them.

I gave a hurried bow of understanding.

'Mr Howard is determined to create scandal and disruption. He demands that his wife is returned to his . . . shall we say into his custody?' She nodded grimly to herself. Custody. That seemed a fitting word for it.

'But, forgive me he cannot crave such a reunion.'

The queen slid her gaze towards Mrs Howard, and I thought I caught a flicker of fellow feeling. 'No indeed. Mr Howard is more cunning than he seems. He was a soldier for many years, and a good soldier relies upon strategy more than brute strength. Mr Howard does not want his wife, but in law he may insist that she is returned to him. He has persuaded the Archbishop of Canterbury to write in support of his suit.' She gave a sour look that made me very glad, in that moment, that I was not the Archbishop of Canterbury. 'It is all a game, naturally: to cause his wife distress and to force the king's hand.'

She paused, quite furious. Half the world knew that Henrietta Howard was the king's mistress but it was an unspoken fact that could be ignored by the court and parliament. Charles Howard's threats to expose the affair in such a public and sordid manner, and to involve the Church, could not be dismissed lightly. At the very least the king would appear ridiculous, at worst, weak and vulnerable. Not a favourable situation, barely six months into his reign.

The queen, meanwhile, seemed to have recovered herself. 'Now. I shall tell you a fine tale, sir. It will shock you. A few weeks ago I was working alone, there at my desk, when the door was flung open boof! and Mr Howard burst in, snarling and snapping like a rabid dog. Raving drunk of course the man is seldom sober. He must have his wife back. He insists upon it. If I do not give her up at once he will drag her from my carriage by her hair the next time we venture out. "Well, sir," I said. "Do it if you dare."' She squared her shoulders at the memory. 'He stormed up and down, comme a,' she pointed with her finger, whisking it back and forth, 'raving and cursing and threatening to throw me out of the window if I did not oblige him. Well. I informed him that he should do no such thing. But he is in truth so brutal, as well as a little mad, and always so very drunk. And the sash was open. I did half expect to find myself sailing out of the window at any moment.' She crinkled her lips, amused by the thought.

'Your Majesty! Was he not arrested?'

She shrugged. This was a private matter. 'I said, "Why, Mr Howard, we are both rational beings." I flattered him there, did I not? "Mrs Howard is a loyal and obedient servant and I could not bear to part with her. Let us settle this as reasonable people, sir. Tell me what you desire and be plain about it." Well, once he had recovered from being called rational and reasonable he presented his demands.' She took another candied fruit. 'Three thousand pounds per annum to compensate for his prodigious loss. Else he will seize his wife at the first opportunity and in a most violent and outrageous fas.h.i.+on.' There was a pause while she ate. 'The King is not inclined to pay.'

So much for gallantry. Mrs Howard had been the king's mistress for ten years. Three thousand pounds was a great fortune but the king could afford to pay it if he wished. Instead he was prepared to let her live in constant terror, trapped in the palace. I'd heard the king was a miserly man but this was cruel.

'Poor Swiss has not left her rooms for weeks,' the queen added, unmoved. 'And His Majesty is quite furious. He describes his fury to me at great length, every evening. It is an intolerable situation.' She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared directly into mine with a fierce, unblinking gaze. 'You will resolve it for us, Mr Hawkins.'

'Your Majesty . . .?' Sweat trickled down my back as the room closed in on me.

'Come now, sir I did not summon you here to admire your calves, handsome as they are.' She gave Henrietta a sidelong glance. 'My dear Howard, you have entertained us with your celebrated wit long enough. Pray leave us.' She flicked her hand to the door.

Mrs Howard gave a low curtsey, then two more, and backed from the room without a murmur of protest. I had to struggle not to run after her flee the room, the palace, the city, without turning my head once. I knew what this audience had become an interview for a position I did not want and could not refuse.

'You are a trifle pale, Mr Hawkins,' the queen said. 'Is it your mother's Scots complexion, or are you palpitating in my glorious presence?'

'Both, Your Majesty.'

She smirked. 'A gla.s.s of claret for the boy, Mr Budge.'

Budge brought me the claret in a crystal gla.s.s that sparkled in the candlelight. I drank it gratefully.

'You were a friend of Samuel Fleet,' the queen said.

'He was my cell mate.'

'He was my servant. Odious, treacherous little man. I was quite fond of him. He resolved a few trifling situations on my behalf.'

My heart thudded hard against my chest. Fleet had confessed to me shortly before he died that he had been a spy and an a.s.sa.s.sin for many years. He'd also told me that he had collected too many secrets along the way that he had thus become too useful to kill and too dangerous to keep alive. So he had been thrown in gaol to rot. I'd guessed his master was powerful, that much had been plain. I'd never suspected his master was the queen.

'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.'

f.u.c.k James Fleet to h.e.l.l 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 a.s.signation 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 a.s.sa.s.sin . . .'

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 b.e.s.t.i.a.l 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. 'd.a.m.n 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 pa.s.sive 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 s.h.i.+rt, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed off my wig, my coat, unb.u.t.toned 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, d.a.m.n 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 s.h.i.+rt and lowered myself over her. I traced my tongue across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 unb.u.t.toned 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.'