The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins

Начало книги

No one thought Tom Hawkins would hang. Not until the last moment.

Gentlemen don’t hang; not even ones found guilty of murder. Hawkins wasn’t much of a gentleman, that was true, but he came from a good family. A good family with good connections. The pardon would come. Sometimes the Marshal kept it hidden deep in his pocket, only to pull it out with a flourish when the procession reached the gallows. A bit of drama for the mob. A lesson, too: an act of mercy is always a lesson.

This is what Hawkins tells himself as his cart rolls slowly out of Newgate Prison. The pardon will come. I’ve kept my side of the bargain. I’ve held my tongue. But Hawkins has a gambler’s instinct, and he can feel the odds rising with each turn of the wheel.

He should have been freed hours ago. If he could only catch someone’s eye… but the Marshal is riding up at the head of the procession, followed by a band of constables armed with staves. Their boots pound hard against the cobbles as they march up Snow Hill. He can’t see them. He is a condemned man, and condemned men must ride backwards to their hanging, on carts swagged in black crêpe. He sits with his back to the carthorse, chained in iron, long legs stretched out in front of him. He sees only what he has already passed: the muddy road beneath him, the houses, the crowds of people.

Читать дальше →