The Hanging of Margaret Dickson

by Alison Butler

  An explosion of stars burst beneath her eyelids as William pushes his body violently against her. Maggie bangs her head against the cellar door, and her knees buckle beneath her. Just before she hits the floor, a long limb pushes between her legs to prop her up against the door. Maggie throws her head backwards, almost biting her tongue… she’s scared and yet excited at his savage onslaught. With firm hands, he stretches her arms apart so that she’s pinioned against the door.

  ‘I warned you, but you would not listen to me.’

  As William’s lips graze her ear, his groans drive her insane. His need is great and there’s urgency to his passion as he tears at her clothes. The sound of spent desire echoes in her ears as he claws off her stays and bites her shoulders, breasts and neck. Beneath her many petticoats, his hands caress and slide, exploring her, inside and out. His tongue finds her own as his fingers dig into her round buttocks to lift her feet from the ground. Maggie wraps her warm thighs around his waist; he adjusts his underclothes and allows his large manhood to spring hot against her thighs. Maggie groans with delight. She’s never wanted a man like this in her whole life. She almost screams and begs for him to take her there and then, but there is no need; his desperation surpasses even her own. Without warning, William pushes between Maggie’s thighs. He’s not gentle, and his want is so fierce he enters her quickly and with a force that startles her. His manhood’s huge, and with every thrust she feels a stabbing pain, crying out so loud, he places a hand across her face to muffle her cries. The ache that sears through her stomach is unbearable, but as his thrusts became slower and not as deep, she finds herself pushing against him with her own desire.

  ‘Do you want more?’ he teases and stops moving inside her. ‘Beg me. You love it don’t you, you little witch. I’m going to give it to you hard.’

  ‘I beg you,’ she sobs over and over.

  Still inside her, he carries her into the cellar and lowers her to the floor. He plunges deeper and deeper. A shiver runs through her as he presses his mouth to her ear and groans out loud.

  ‘You can’t get enough of me, can you? You want me to push harder, don’t you, witch? Don’t you?’ His hand covers her mouth again as he forces himself deep inside her, and just when she thinks it will never end, his hot seed spills inside her.

  ‘Holy Mother of God,’ she cries, and sinks her fingernails into William’s back.

  When at last their ecstasies are over, Maggie places a hand over her stomach and winces. Her insides feel like they’ve been torn apart, but her lips curl upwards with blissful joy. William turns on his side to face her; he traces a thumb over her swollen lips, provoking in Maggie a passionate longing for him to take her again.

  ‘Look at me,’ he demands, cradling her face in his hands. His fair hair is ruffled and dishevelled; his scent is of sex. She cannot shake the feeling that she’s been here with him before, like she’s known him all her life. He moves closer to kiss her and then rests his golden head between the peaks of her breasts.

  ‘We have to go,’ his hot breath tickles her skin. ‘Before I want you again, and you’re such a noisy one, Maggie. We’ll be heard for sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Because if I stay here with you, you little witch, this will never go down.’ William points to his swollen manhood. ‘Damn, it’s so hard, it’s smarting. Get dressed. We’ve been fortunate so far. No one’s heard us. Now let’s part, lass – while all is well.’

  Maggie closes her eyes. She can’t bear to watch him dress and then just walk away as though nothing has passed between them. So in a state of anxiety she says: ‘If I’m quiet, can we do it again?’

  He laughs and throws her clothes at her. ‘Most lassies are too sore for another bout. You’re a randy one, Maggie. Get dressed.’ He ascends the steps.

  ‘William,’ she calls to him, trying to mask the desperation in her voice.

  ‘What?’ he stops midway up the cellar steps.

  ‘Don’t go. When will I see you again?’

  ‘I’ve had my fill of you, Maggie – and from the look of you, you’ve got more than you bargained for.’

  Maggie’s mouth twists, her voice is harsh and angry. ‘Damn you, William. Damn you to hell.’

  ***

  The month of May passes quickly. When June arrives there is fine weather and summer flowers. Along with the village girls, Maggie holds a banquet to lay up the Johnmas flowers. As is the tradition, the village lassies search the countryside for the ribwort plant, collecting two flowers, one bigger than the other (these are supposed to represent the girl and her sweetheart) before removing the florets and rolling them into a dock leaf to be buried in the ground. The following morning, if the florets reappear on any one of them, it’s a sign of happiness.

  The following day, Maggie rises early to dig up her Johnmas flowers. Fingers clawing at the soft earth to retrieve her pale flowers, but to her dismay they have no florets, and so she throws them to the ground and stomps all over them, cursing out loud.

  ***

  Nearly a year has passed since Maggie dropped her children at the widows, along with the pig and the goat. To her mind it feels like much longer. Maggie wrings her hands and shudders inside, it no longer matters how much time’s passed. Since that day in the cellar, Maggie’s in a state of distress, miserable and wretched in love. We should be bed fellows by now, she thinks, so why doesn’t he come to me?

  ‘You are slow in seeking me out – come to me,’ she whispers into the night.

  ***

  Adam needs new tallow candles and torches but he can’t find them anywhere. The rush lights are useless. They burn for a mere ten to fifteen minutes, and to make matters worse if they’re not placed at the right angle they burn for even less.

  ‘Maggie,’ Adam calls to her. ‘I want you to go to the chandlers and the tailor’s shop on a few errands.’

  Maggie shakes her head. ‘Can’t Helen do it? I’m busy.’

  ‘And what the hell are you doing? It’s quiet.’

  ‘I told Margaret I’d clean out the chicken coop.’

  ‘She can do it herself, the lazy mare.’

  Adam’s eyes are swollen and bloodshot. He’s not slept a wink of sleep and his head’s aching all over. He frowns and peers into Maggie’s face, taking her chin in his hands and turning it left and then right. Next, he takes his neck chief and spits onto one corner of the fabric before furiously wiping her face. ‘Is that rouge?’

  ‘Rouge?’

  ‘You know the stuff whores wear. Red paint.’

  ‘No, my cheeks are hot. I’m not feeling well.’

  ‘Have you a fever?’

  ‘Nae.’

  ‘Well, a bit of fresh air will do you good.’ Adam rummages beneath the bar, tossing objects into the air and creating a right mess. ‘Where is my money? I know I put it here somewhere. Hah!’ He hands her a few coins.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘Buy some candles and torches from the chandlers, we are all out.’

  She nods curtly. ‘I thought you wanted me to go to the tailor’s?’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well in that case I am glad you reminded me. It completely slipped my mind. I need you to tell William that I need his help. It’s me back, see. I hurt it the other day.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  ***

  Maggie peers into the reflection of the milky glass window, adjusting her hair. A face stares out at her, the face of an older woman. She hardly recognises herself. Maggie wonders if she’s still bonny as she stares at her thick lashes. There are fine creases at the corners of her eyes, laughter lines her father calls them. She turns from the window and takes a deep breath.

  The shop consists of one long narrow room, and there’s a smaller room at the rear. A large wooden table dominates the floor; an assortment of fabric is scattered upon it, surrounded by scissors, ribbons and pins. Except for herself and William, the shop is vacant; he sits cross-legged up
on the floor mending a shirt. For a while she observes him with needle and thread, intent in his work, the outline of his spine visible through his leine as he bends over.

  ‘William, it is I, Maggie.’

  ‘What brings you here?’ His manner is distracted.

  ‘Your father sent me. He needs help shifting barrels. It’s his back; I think he’s hurt it. He’s getting older, you know…’

  William throws down the shirt, tugging furiously at his apron. ‘Don’t you think I know that, Maggie? He knows that I’m busy, aren’t we all? I’m working flat out here and there is just the two of us. But still he persists in badgering me to do one job after the other. Can’t he ask Patrick Murray of Cherry Trees?’

  Maggie pulls her plaid around her; she looks nervously at her shoes. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure he can manage without you.’

  ‘Aw – tell him I’ll be round later.’ He picks up his scissors and sets to work.

  ‘I’ll be off then.’

  Suddenly William’s on his feet, his scissors and material dropping to the floor behind him. Maggie’s heart leaps, but there’s awkwardness between them, and for the longest time they just stand there at a loss for what to say.

  ‘About that day, Maggie. What can I say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Maggie’s head sags. She can no longer conceal her irritation, disappointment and frustration. ‘I expect nothing from you.’

  ‘Likewise. Perhaps you should run back to your husband. I’m sure he’s more a man than I.’

  ‘You are cruel. I’ve told you how I feel – but you continue to insult me.’

  William leans towards her, his hand cupping her face. ‘You have no idea how I feel. I curse you, woman. I’ve not slept a wink from the time when… you know, or been with any other lasses since. I don’t want to feel this way about you, Maggie, but I just can’t stop thinking of you. I want you out of my mind; you’re a damn affliction.’

  William’s hands are hurting her now; his fingers scraping against her cheeks. But Maggie’s oblivious to the pain. ‘I’ll never stop wanting you, William.’

  ‘No,’ he shakes his head.

  ‘Why must you treat me this way?’ Maggie beats him with her hands. ‘Why not give us a chance? I love you.’

  ‘Because I am you – can’t you see that? I am you. You and I are one and the same. We’re utterly selfish, the pair of us, unwilling to sacrifice our desires for the sake of another – it would never work.’

  ‘It would, it would,’ Maggie sobs. ‘I’d sacrifice everything for you. Haven’t I already? I’ve left my children, my husband…’

  ‘The reason you left has nothing to do with me, Maggie. Now I’ve said my piece. You must forget about this now and…’

  ‘Please, William, you’re breaking my heart,’ she pleads, her hands sagging to her side.

  ‘No.’

  Maggie turns and faces the window. She closes her eyes and thinks back to the first time she saw him in the tavern, staring into his beguiling blue eyes. But it’s no use her trying to persuade him; she knows he’s made up his mind.

  ‘Very well,’ she mumbles, a thousand miseries in her damp eyes.

  He nods and folds his arms across his body. ‘Tis wise to be prudent, Maggie – you don’t want to end up on the cutty stool, do you?’

  ‘Course not. But that’s not the reason you won’t see me again, is it? It’s because I mean nothing to you.’

  Her heart thumps as Williams’s hands caress her face and neck; his fingers linger at the base of her throat before he pulls away. ‘I haven’t any time for this nonsense, Maggie. Accept it’s over. It never really began.’

  ‘You’re an animal,’ she steps backwards, edging towards the door. ‘You’ve used me just like you have other lasses. You treat all women the same.’

  William strides past her, blocking the exit. ‘I gave you what you wanted. You practically begged me, woman.’

  Her eyes are sad, like the dark pools of a peat bog. She’s no fight left in her and there’s a sickening feeling in her muscles and bones.

  ‘I must go. I don’t want to quarrel.’

  William’s eyes soften; he fumbles for a moment with his jacket, unclipping a small pin from the cloth. ‘Take this – go on, take it as a token of my affection.’

  Maggie stares at the silver brooch; it feels cold in her palm. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A luckenbooth. This was pinned to my shawl when I was a wee bairn. I want you to have it.’

  She lifts her eyes from the brooch, lifting her head in hope. ‘So you’ll see me again?’

  ‘No,’ he groans.

  A look of disgust crosses Maggie’s face. ‘Well I curse the day I met you, William Bell. I will plague your thoughts now and forever and never forget it.’ She runs from the shop, tears rolling down her face.

  She leans against the tailor’s door. A mother bird feeds her chicks on a rooftop, their high pitched cries soaring over faded grey tiles. Nearby, a wood pigeon competes with the racket, puffing its breast in and out, adding to the din. Maggie sighs and takes a deep breath – she has to go back in, but her throat’s so tight she feels sure to choke. She pushes open the door.

  ‘Now Maggie…’

  ‘Shush,’ she stands on her tip-toes and places a finger to his lips. And then she walks to his work bench, reaches for his cutting scissors and snips off a lock of her hair. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘a fairing to add to your other conquests.’

  William shrugs and ties the lock of hair with a scrap of scarlet material, and then places it inside a leather pouch. ‘Tell Father I’ll come by at dusk. Goodbye, Maggie.’

  She swallows a lump from her throat. ‘I love you, William. I knew it the moment I first saw you.’

  Every step she takes towards the door, she yearns for him to reciprocate her love, but he remains rooted to the spot and says nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MAGGIE CONCEALS HER SHAME

  The sour girl Helen is a nightmare to work with. No matter what Maggie does, Helen will not smile or be civil. It’s as though a strange entity had climbed within Helen’s body and sucked all the goodness out of her. Evil, that’s what she is, decides Maggie. The lass thrives on misery and maliciousness.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Helen pushes past her.

  ‘I’m not in your way, you feckless idiot.’ Maggie ignores her, having had quite enough.

  ‘I’ll go to the Master and tell him you’ve been cavorting with his son,’ she hisses.

  ‘What’s there to tell,’ says Maggie. ‘He’s not set foot in this inn for days.’

  ***

  Isobel glances at the two lasses from across the room, shaking her head as she runs a smooth cloth over the bar. There’s trouble brewing, of that she’s sure. She only has to look on the faces of the lassies to see that. Helen in particular looks ready to roll up her fists and do battle, and so she tugs on her husband’s sleeve.

  ‘Adam. Will you look at those two? There’s going to be trouble, I’m warning you now.’

  ‘I’ll not get involved in women’s quarrels, so leave me be, Isobel. They’re just having an argument; you know what lasses are like. They’re not happy unless they’re quarrelling like cats.’

  ‘I disagree. Maggie’s a placid girl. It’s our Betty’s girl, Helen, that’s the trouble…’

  ‘I know, I know, but she’s kin, so my hands are tied.’ He scratches his beard and places a hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Helen’s an awkward girl no doubt, but she’s got the stamina of a carthorse, and besides – if we interfere we’ll probably just make it worse.’

  Then, to Isobel’s surprise, her husband stops talking and squints ahead, his whole concentration suddenly focused on the two girls.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Nae,’ says Isobel. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Be quiet, woman. I just heard them mention William’s name. Let me listen to what they say.’

  ***

  The two women stand toe to toe, finger poi
nting and prodding one another. For every step Maggie takes backwards, Helen inches forward, spewing her venomous bile. With her fists clenched by her side, Maggie stands her ground.

  ‘Leave me be, Helen. You’re just jealous.’

  ‘Hah! Jealous of you? You’re nothing but a whore. You should go back to where you came from and find that illusive husband of yours. If you’ve still got one, that is!’ Helen sniggers.

  ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready. And I stand by my word, you are jealous. You’re sweet on the Master’s son, but he’s no interest in you whatsoever.’

  ‘And I suppose you think he likes you? He’s diddled every lassie in this tavern, except his mother, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s been there as well.’

  ***

  Adam and Isobel overhear the whole conversation.

  ‘Helen. Come here, at once,’ Adam bellows.

  ‘She made me to say it – she’s caused nothing but trouble since the…’ cries Helen.

  ‘Pack your things and get out.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Out!’ Adam shouts, his eyes flashing with anger.

  Maggie has no pity for the lass. After all is said and done, Helen has no one to blame but herself. To be honest, she can’t wait to see the back of her. For the sake of Adam and Isobel, though, Maggie tries to muster up some understanding and compassion.

  ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to badger her. No matter what I did she wouldn’t take to me. That must have been hard for you, her being kin and all.’