Ah. So there it was. I reminded Mrs Roberts of her husband – and not just because of my looks. How had Jakes described him? A rake, a gambler and a drunk. Still, she’d married him all the same. I rubbed my jaw. Perhaps it was not so bad to be mistaken for Captain Roberts after all… except that someone in here had murdered him. Both Jakes and Mrs Roberts had been moved to help me because I reminded them of a dead man – a man who had been killed here within the prison grounds. I gazed about the Pound, at the thumbscrews and skull caps and iron collars hanging from the wall. And then I turned and left, as fast as I could.
I was grateful there was no one to see me enter the prison yard for the first time. As I stepped out of the Lodge my father’s last words came to me unbidden; the Reverend Thomas Hawkins’ final sermon to his prodigal son. Three years ago he had summoned me to his study and forced me to stand there, waiting like a child, while he sat gazing into the fire.
‘The path you have chosen leads but one way,’ he said, eventually.
‘At least I have chosen it, sir,’ I replied, frowning at the familiar lecture. We had been locked in this same argument for years – ever since I had first dared to challenge him.
He propped his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead. ‘Foolish boy,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘This is not your choice. It is the devil guides you now; you have let him into your soul, with your drinking and gambling and debauchery. With your lies. I thought… I thought you had changed. You deceived us all, Thomas.’ He turned from the fire at last. He looked exhausted, his face gaunt and grey. For a moment I felt sorry for him – and ashamed for what I’d done. If I could just explain. If he would only listen.
‘Father…’
‘I thank God your mother is not alive to see this day.’
My mother. He should have known not to mention her. I don’t know how I stopped myself from striking him. We fought with words instead; accusations that left no chance for forgiveness, no possibility of return. I was a selfish, wilful child, set upon a one-way path to damnation. He was a cold-hearted hypocrite who dared to lecture me when he had married his own mistress. And worse. We both said much worse. The accusation that had always lurked in the shadows of every conversation, brought into the light at last. Which one of us was responsible. Which one of us had broken my mother’s heart.
