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

Charles rose and took his hat down from its hook on the wall.

'Well, I must go. Sir Philip locks the house at midnight.'

Moll flashed him a smile as she lit her pipe. 'Oh, there's men here can help you with locks, sir—'

'Thank you, Charles,' I interrupted hurriedly. I stood up and grasped his hand. 'I will pay back the money I owe you. I swear it.'

He put a hand on my shoulder and looked deep into my eyes. 'God has given you a sign, Tom. He saved you from gaol today. You have a chance to start your life afresh. Come to the house tomorrow morning. I will talk with Sir Philip, see if we can find you a position . . .'

'Tomorrow.'

He beamed at me, then bowed to Moll and left. I watched him weave his way through the chairs and tables and had the sudden urge to leave with him as he'd asked. All my life Charles had given me good advice. For some reason I could not fathom, I never took it.

'Tomorrow,' Moll said. I frowned at her absently.

'Always tomorrow with you, Tom.' She studied me closely, her chin propped in her hand. I was one of her favourites, I knew; I was handsome enough, I suppose, and a good customer when I had the funds. And when I didn't, I could still pick up a wealth of information at the gaming tables, sitting between lords and thieves and politicians. Idle gossip in the main, but Moll knew how to sift it for gold. 'I'm glad you've escaped gaol,' she said. 'The Marshalsea most of all. The warden's a monster . . .'

There was a loud crash, then louder jeers from the next bench as a large bowl was sent flying, smashing into a hundred pieces and spilling punch across the floor in a red, sticky pool. A gang of apprentices, stockings splattered and ruined, shouted at one of the girls for knocking it over. 'You silly slut, you'll pay for that,' one of them sneered, grabbing her by the hair.

'Gentlemen.' Moll rose from her seat. There were fights here most nights, but they never lasted long; Moll had men she could call and a vicious long blade tucked under her skirts. I'd cut my hand upon it once, reaching for something softer. The apprentices bowed their apologies and ordered another bowl.

'You can't work for a nob like Sir Philip,' Moll declared, settling back down. She took a long pull on her pipe. 'Come and see me tomorrow. I'll find you an occupation.'

'What did you have in mind?'

Moll had plenty of suggestions, most of which could get me transported or hanged. Still, I had to admit that I had been drifting for too long, relying on charm and luck in the main. Perhaps I should work for Moll. For all the day's troubles, I had enjoyed having a purpose for once. Life or death, on the turn of a card; irresistible stakes for a gambling man.

'I'll think on it tomorrow,' I said. 'With the new king there will be new opportunities, new patrons . . . I thought I might try my hand at writing.'

She stared at me, alarmed. 'There's no need to panic, sweetheart.'

I finished my punch and rose to leave. Moll came with me, flinging her spent pipe on to the table. It bounced and clattered to the floor. 'I need a lungful of clean air,' she said, and we both laughed. There was nothing clean about Covent Garden, especially at this late hour.

At the door, she leaned her back against the frame and gazed out across the piazza; a queen surveying her hunting grounds. There was a kind of alchemy to Moll, I thought, watching her. Her coffeehouse was not much more than a tumbledown shack. But when you were inside, and Moll was holding court, it felt like the centre of the world.

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.