by Rebecca King
“Let’s go and see him then,” Charlie suggested. He grabbed hold of Hetty’s hand, and felt the fine tremors in her fingers. “I have to do this Hetty. I need to know that you will be safe,” he murmured.
Hetty was too choked to speak. It all felt so surreal that she was certain that she was going to wake up at any moment.
She looked at Wally, who was sombre and thoughtful.
Simon looked stunned, and a little confused.
“You stay here for a minute. I will go and speak to Gembleby, and see what he wants to do,” the jailer said before he ambled off.
Wally took a moment to hand another jailer some money to pay for the prisoner’s food and keep for the next couple of days, but Hetty couldn’t draw her attention away from Charlie.
He wished that he had the rest of his lifetime to share with her. That he could talk to her unhindered by strictures, circumstance, or anything else. That they had the opportunity to explore this invisible bond that had crept up, so very quickly, on them both. But it was too late now.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hetty asked. She had never even considered being married before, and wasn’t quite sure what to make of Charlie’s suggestion.
If only they had been given the time to get to know each other, she knew that they would have gotten on well. Now, it was evident that they were to be denied a chance at happiness. She still couldn’t quite believe that marriage was even being considered, and waited with trepidation for the jailer to reappear.
When he did, her world turned upside down once again.
“Gembleby is not here, but the vicar is. He has given last rights to a dying prisoner. He can do it now, if you are ready,” the jailer declared.
“What about the paperwork?” Hetty whispered. She looked at Charlie with something akin to stunned disbelief in her eyes.
He gave her hand a squeeze and sighed in relief. “The vicar will make sure that is completed, I have no doubt,” he said quietly.
“Let’s get this over with then, shall we?” Wally muttered.
He placed a hand in the small of Hetty’s back, and propelled her firmly toward the door.
Simon followed silently. When one of the jailers moved to stop him, he glared at them. “She is my sister. They are going to need witnesses.”
The jailer reluctantly stepped back and allowed the small party to go inside to meet the vicar.
CHAPTER FIVE
Two days later, Hetty jostled her way through the crowd in an attempt to get near to the front. People were jammed into the narrow cobbled streets, jostling to get a good view of the gallows. She knew that many of them had travelled from miles away to see the spectacle that was due to take place within the hour.
It was disgusting really. She had no hesitation in elbowing and pushing her way through them, because she hated each one for taking pleasure out of something that was so macabre.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to stay calm. For the millionth time in the last two days, her fingers ran over the narrow gold band that now encircled her finger. She was married - to Charlie. The ring she now wore had been his. He had worn it on his little finger, and had used it when they had been married in Gembleby’s office because there had been nothing else available. It was too big for her narrow finger really but she refused to remove it. Just having it against her skin made her feel a little closer to him.
In a desperate attempt to get her mind off what she was there for, she turned her thoughts to the day when she had committed her life to Charlie’s. The kiss he had given her when the vicar had announced to the small group of people that they were now man and wife, had seared her right down to her soul. She had still been trembling when Wally had led her out of the jail, and driven her home.
She was married. To one of the men who were about to be hung this morning.
The sheer frustration of being denied a future with her new husband almost overwhelmed her. She wanted to rant and rave at Meldrew for his callous disregard for human life but, of course, she couldn’t.
She sucked in a deep breath, and squared her shoulders defiantly.
Lives depended on her now. She couldn’t afford to let fear stand in her way.
Thankfully, the backs of several large people blocked her view of the scaffold and, at first she had to content herself with looking at the ground beneath her feet. However, when a raucous cheer went up, she instinctively glanced up and her eyes landed on the huge wooden structure, in spite of her best efforts not to do so.
The world began to swim alarmingly as she looked at the five macabre nooses swinging silently in the breeze, visible over everyone’s heads.
Not for the first time since she had left the house just before dawn, she sent a silent prayer heavenward, and asked for the fortitude to get through this morning. She had to remain strong, for Charlie and Simon’s sake.
Her thoughts reluctantly turned to the reason why she was there. Charlie’s handsome image loomed before her like a beacon of strength in a world full of horror and fear. She clung on to it while she tried to gather her wits about her. He had risked everything to keep her safe; and had even married her to ensure she was protected in the event that Meldrew hung him. It was humbling to think that someone like Charlie would go to such lengths just for her and, now that he was her husband, it was down to her to do what she could to help him in his last desperate hour.
“Keep calm, Hetty,” she whispered quietly. “Keep calm.”
“Eh?” an elderly man in front of her grunted as he peered over his shoulder.
Hetty threw him a blank look and didn’t bother to answer him. She hadn’t thought that anyone would be able to hear her over the noise of the exuberant crowd. A quick glance around her assured her that only the old man had because he was standing directly in front of her.
She began to push her way forward and to the left a little more, and shouldered her way around the old man in front of her. As she passed, he jostled her. Her apology locked in her throat when she looked at him. There was something deuced odd about him only she couldn’t quite make her mind up what it was. Before she could speak to him, he looked her square in the eye and ever so slowly winked. Hetty opened her mouth and closed it again with a snap when she realised that she was staring into eyes that were considerably younger than the seventy or so years the man purported to be.
Confusion warred with disbelief. Who was he? What did he want? Was he one of Meldrew’s men? He certainly wasn’t anyone she knew; was he? She wondered if he was something to do with Sir Hugo’s men, but then discounted that as ridiculous. There wasn’t enough time for anyone to get to Derby from London.
He certainly wasn’t one of the regulars from the Dog and Ferret who were in the crowd to help.
She studied him a little more closely but, before she could get any further than his rather mundane clothing, he moved. Her eyes snapped back up to his. She watched in amazement as he nodded slowly at her once, just once, as though he knew her. He then turned around and, far too agilely than was normal for someone in his late seventies, ambled off into the crowd. Surely she was mistaken; wasn’t she?
What on earth? She mused as she watched him go.
She knew that there was nothing so strange as folk, but really? Given what she was about to do, she studied the crowd suspiciously. As far as she could tell, there was nothing untoward about anyone else. Nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention. She began to wonder whether she was looking at shadows where there were none, but couldn’t discount the notion that the old man was strikingly unusual.
She tried to find him again in the sea of faces, but he had vanished.
Where had he come from? More importantly, where had he disappeared to?
Whoever it was, thinking about him had certainly helped calm her nerves because she was now more concerned about him rather than what was going to happen in the next few minutes.
Keep your mind on what you are here for. Simon and Charlie need you, she silently reminded her
self.
Her thoughts turned to her new husband once more. Fuelled with renewed determination to do what she ought, Hetty threw one last look at the gallows before she resolved never to look at it again.
She refused, absolutely refused, to think about her youngest brother, Simon, and Charlie, ending up at the end of those nooses. While she had life left in her, they were not going to meet the fate that Meldrew had in store for them.
She clutched the pouches in her pocket, and felt a little more confident that what she was about to do was possible.
Both Charlie and Simon were innocent men. That much she knew with absolute certainty, especially now that Charlie had told them about his connections with the War Office. Nobody would put a life like that at risk to murder a random man they didn’t know, in woods in the middle of nowhere, for no reason whatsoever. She knew that Charlie was innocent and, as far as she was concerned, that made what she was about to do quite justifiable.
When a loud blast of ribald laughter broke into her revere, Hetty gave herself a stern mental shake and turned her attention back to her surroundings. This was not the time to get lost in musings. This was the time to stand firm against the lies and misdemeanours of one of the county’s worst blackguards. It was imperative that she set aside her fears and worries, and just get on with what she needed to do. She had to keep that in mind if she had any chance of getting through the next hour. All thoughts of possible ramifications for everyone involved if she failed simply could not be considered.
I can’t get this wrong she whispered. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the baying of the crowd. Her ears hummed from the cacophonous onslaught. She desperately wished she could open her mouth and scream at them all to just shut up, but she couldn’t.
In a desperate attempt to keep her gaze away from the macabre sight of the wooden scaffold, she looked down at the groove that had been worn into the stone pavement to show the carpenters where to construct the deathly frame. It seemed to be the embodiment of evil to have something so blatant on the roadside where everybody could see it. The fact that it was there at all seemed to emphasise just how blaze the populace had become to the regular public demonstration of putting someone to death.
“Everything ready?” Wally suddenly growled in her ear.
Hetty jumped, startled. She hadn’t realised he was there. She nodded jerkily, and nodded at the warning in Wally’s eyes.
“Keep your head down and your mind on why we are here. If all goes to plan, we need to move quickly.”
He didn’t have to tell her of the dire consequences for them both if she failed at this. The heavy weight of responsibility for someone else’s life settled uncomfortably on her narrow shoulders and, in spite of her bravado, now that the hour was nigh, she began to waver ever so slightly.
If you think what you are going through is bad, think about what Charlie is going through inside, she reminded herself.
“Are they there?” she asked, aware that Wally had spoken to several of the men in the tavern who had offered to help get Simon and Charlie away from the area.
If anything went wrong, they would hang on the men’s feet so their deaths were swift.
“I am ready,” Hetty replied firmly. “I will do my part.”
“Good. Have you seen him?” Wally whispered.
Hetty shook her head. She knew who he referred to; Meldrew. “You?”
“He is here. I saw him a while ago, over by the pub,” he nodded to a two-storey white building over to the left of the scaffold. “Try to stay out of sight.”
He looked at her bright red hair, and nodded. Hetty carefully drew her shawl up over her shoulders, and tugged the end over her hair. Although she had tied her hair back into a tight bun, several strands still broke free and stood out like a beacon amongst the general populace of darker heads.
Not for the first time in her life, she cursed her red hair. The family’s distinctive red locks were a throw-back from their Celtic ancestry, but not a good one at that as far as Hetty was concerned. Why couldn’t she have been blessed with black hair, or even dark brown? Anything would have been better than the veritable halo of red that sat atop her head like a crimson flame.
She looked at her eldest brother. “If it goes wrong -”
Wally lifted his hand and slowly shook his head. “Now, don’t you be thinking like that, do you hear? Just do your bit. Leave the rest to us.”
“If something goes wrong and they get me,” Hetty whispered.
Her eyes met and held Wally’s meaningfully. She didn’t quite know what to say or how to say it. She watched a dark frown settle over his face.
“We won’t let this happen to you either. Now, forget about all of that. It is not going to happen. Do you hear me Hetty Jones? Just do what we agreed.”
She knew that ‘us’ referred to the numerous good friends and associates of the family who had fallen fowl of Cedric Meldrew at some point or another during his time as magistrate. Whether there were enough of them though was anyone’s guess.
“Does he have many men with him?” Hetty whispered.
“Five or six. The usual thugs, I think,” Wally replied as he scanned the crowd around them. “I am going to take up my post.”
Hetty nodded, and was about to turn away when her gaze was captured by someone in the crowd. It wasn’t that he was any different to the other people around her. It was just the rather too intent way he was staring at her. It was far too probing; as though he knew who she was. But, just like the old man, she was positive she had never seen him before in her life. He was older than Charlie by a good five years, and had a rather rough street-fighter type look about him that warned her that he wasn’t a man to be crossed.
A strange shiver of unease swept down her spine. She was fairly certain that he wasn’t one of Meldrew’s men either. Nor did he look anything like the old man who had nodded and winked at her.
What on earth was going on? She mused with a scowl.
Whatever it was, she was positive now that something was amiss. She gave him one last searching look before she quite pointedly turned her back. She moved several feet to one side in an attempt to break his stare. When she did eventually glance back at the spot where he had been standing, he too had vanished, just like the old man.
She looked toward the wall of people Wally had disappeared into, and now wished that she had told him about the old man. It was too late now though because there wasn’t the time to look for him.
She jumped when the church bell began to chime. The early morning mist had only just started to lift, and gave the town of Derby a somewhat haunted atmosphere which, to her, seemed to fit the occasion they had gathered for.
The crowd quietened down and counted the chimes.
The seventh hour was upon them.
Hetty’s fists clenched. She took a moment to look around her. For all intents and purposes, it could have been a fayre, or something equally banal. The scattered buildings of Derby lay all around them, and were packed to the rafters with people sipping ale. Traders were selling penny dreadfuls. Artists were drawing pictures to capture a record this particularly gruesome day, some of which would appear in the broadsheets tomorrow. It seemed macabre to think that all of this was to mark the fateful day when several unfortunate souls were to be put to death.
“No,” she snapped to a man who offered her a penny dreadful.
She glared balefully at another trader who offered her roast chestnuts, and curled her lip at a man who waved a broadsheet in front of her face.
Thoroughly sick of people trying to make a profit from such an occasion, she pushed roughly through the crowd and moved the final three feet to get to where she needed to be, and suddenly wished she hadn’t.
The sight of the wooden platform only a few feet away made her head swim but, what was worse, was the sight of the grimy faces pressed to the bars of the huge jail, which now sat right beside her.
She knew that if she didn’t step back a little, she was not
going to be able to do what she needed to do to save even herself. She was too close, but the crowd had closed the space behind her, and now blocked her exit.
A jailer stood a few feet away and studied her with a scowl. Their eyes met for several moments before Hetty turned her gaze away. She tried not to look guilty, she really did but, unless she was mistaken, that jailer knew why she was there.
Don’t be absurd, she sighed to herself. How can he possibly know?
She wanted to dismiss the notion as ridiculous but, when she turned around to look at him again, he had vanished. There had been something in his face that had warned her that he knew who she was, and why she was there.
Were some of Meldrew’s men in the crowd? The thought made her knees shake.
She closed her eyes on a silent prayer that he didn’t. She quickly shook off the growing sense of disquiet and studied her new position a bit more carefully. She now had a perfect view of the path the condemned would walk on their way to the gallows. It was by far the very worst place to be but, right now, she desperately needed to make eye contact with Charlie and Simon when they came out. If only so she could let them know that she was there; and they were not alone in this.
She hadn’t been allowed to see her husband this morning. Their brief visit yesterday hadn’t been long enough. The few precious moments they had been spared had left them both bereft, and more frustrated than ever. There was so much she wanted to say to him; so much she wanted to know about her husband, but Fate always seemed to deny them. It was so unfair that she had been beyond crying, and had left the jail numb with the weight of emotion that battered her.
Thankfully, the condemned had been allowed to see their families without chains. The feel of Charlie’s strong arms around her had been difficult to step away from, even when she had turned into her brother’s embrace.
When a pang of longing swept through her, Hetty turned her attention back to her current surroundings and drew in a deep breath.
