Excerpt from The Devil in the Marshalsea by Antonia Hodgson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

But if I chose the wrong card . . . I would lose everything. Charles appeared at my shoulder, whispered in my ear. 'Tom, for God's sake, come away.' He reached for the five pounds and began drawing it across the table. 'You will need every last penny of this in gaol.'

I stopped his hand, slid the coins across the table. 'One last turn. Five pounds for the queen. God bless her.'

The dealer smiled. Charles covered his face. 'You'll lose it all, he groaned.'

'Or double it,' I said. 'Have faith, Mr Buckley.'

The other players placed their bets. The dealer touched a finger to the pile and slid two cards free. My heart hammered against my chest. My God, how I loved this – the thrilling sensation of hope and fear bound together in one single moment.

Waiting for the revelation, good or ill. The dealer turned the first, losing card. The five of hearts. The gambler sitting next to me gave a low curse.

And now for the winning card. I held my breath. The dealer flipped the card over on the table.

The queen of diamonds. I breathed out, then laughed in relief. I was saved.


Betty returned with our coffee and behind her came our good hostess Moll King herself, carrying a small bowl of punch. The sign carved above the door said this was Tom King's coffeehouse, but it was Moll who ran the place. She supplied the girls, fenced the goods, sold the secrets and even – once in a while – poured the coffee.

She waved Betty away then settled herself close to me on the bench, kissing my cheek as her thief's fingers slid up my thigh. Charles, sitting across the table, watched her open-mouthed. With her wide, square face, long nose and sallow complexion, Moll was not a great beauty, and at thirty her jawline had begun to soften and sag. But she had a sharp wit and clever, dark eyes that could read a man's thoughts in a heartbeat. I loved her – when I could afford to.

'I hear you won at cards tonight,' she murmured. 'Let me help you spend it . . .'

Another night I might have played along, but not tonight. I needed the money in that purse. I pulled away, with some reluctance. Moll's hand was back above the bench in a flash. 'And who's this?' she asked, tipping her chin across the table.

'This,' I said with a flourish, 'is the Reverend Charles Buckley.'

'Honoured,' Moll said, taking in his well-tailored black coat and crisp white cravat. An empty pocket, though – I could have told her that. 'Tom often speaks of you.'

Charles lowered his bowl of coffee in surprise. 'Indeed?' He smiled at me. 'What does he say?'

Moll poured herself a glass of punch. 'He says, "Thank God Charles isn't here to see me doing this."' She raised her glass, chinking it with mine.

The coffeehouse was full tonight and boisterous with it. As it was every night. 'Fights, fucking and fine coffee' – that's how Moll described it, like a proud merchant listing his wares. What happened in the darkest corners of most coffeehouses was on full display here: plots hatched, purses snatched and breeches unbuttoned. God knows what happened in the dark corners at Moll's – what was left? In a little while the men would stagger home or head out across the piazza to a discreet bagnio if they wanted company. The girls would go back to work – in a rented room close by if they were lucky, or back to the dark, stinking passages off the Strand if they were not.

'Tom,' Charles said in a low voice as Moll pulled a pipe from her pocket. 'We should leave.'

He was right. Sitting here with ten pounds in my purse was reckless. 'We should finish the punch first.' There was still half a bowl left and it was high time I learned not to waste my money.

Excerpted from The Devil in the Marshalsea by Antonia Hodgson. Copyright © 2014 by Antonia Hodgson. Excerpted by permission of Mariner Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.