“Yes.”
“Prove it. Tell me what it is?”
“It’s a cup, but not just any cup, right? The carpenter’s cup. The golden chalice. The Holy Grail!”
Da Vine looked shocked. “How do you know about the Grail?”
“I may be a fool, ma’am, but I’m no’ an idiot. Mr. Black mentioned the Templars in his sleep one night. He also mentioned the death of the carpenter. When Billy and I found the golden cup cradled in the arms of a Templar Knight I put it all together. The blood of Jesus was supposedly collected in a golden cup, and the Templars are the protectors of the Grail so what else could it be?”
“Oh you’re a smart one, William. At least you think you are. One question though. Who’s Mr. Black?”
William knew he’d slipped up by mentioning the sculptor but what did it matter now? Things couldn’t get much worse than they already were. “Ambrosious Black. He rents a room off Maggie and me. He’s looking for the Grail too.”
“Ahh…and what does this Mr. Black look like?”
“He’s an old man but strong as a bull. White hair, white beard. Hell, even white eyes on the bugger. For a while Billy and I were afraid of him and his beastly white owl.”
“As you should be,” Da Vine said. “He’s a dangerous man. I knew it! I just knew he was here. So that’s what he’s calling himself these days, huh? Interesting.”
“You know him?”
“Trust me, Mr...Black and I go back a long ways together. Never mind him, though. Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
The smile was back on the actress’ face, but the hunger in her eyes had never burned brighter. In a hushed voice she said, “Don’t toy with me, boy. My patience is at an end. Where’s the Carpenter’s Cup?”
“Hidden somewhere you’ll never find. Get me out of here and it’s yours. My life for your precious Grail…deal?”
The raven-haired actress looked William up and down, trying to determine if there was any way he was lying to her. Satisfied he had to be telling the truth, she walked back to the table and sat down.
“Deal. Okay…a lawyer is coming to see you later today. He works for the crown but he’ll be on our side. He’ll say they don’t have the evidence to pin the murders on both of you so he’s coming to make you an offer: Freedom in exchange for your testimony in court saying that Billy Burke was the mastermind behind all these crimes. You provide King’s evidence against your mate in exchange for a full pardon. It’ll take a few weeks before the hearings and the trial but you’ll manage. Billy hangs…you walk away. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Perfectly.”
The actress began to laugh. “You’re a right cold bastard, William.”
“Coming from you, Miss Da Vine…I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Chapter
15
January 28, 1829.
An icy rain had fallen from the black, stormy sky for most of the night, soaking the members of the gathering crowd who were angry enough—or perhaps foolish enough—to brave the wintery chill in order to get the best available viewing spots in the market square. Naturally, the very best seats were indoors, watching from the dozens of windows in the neighbouring buildings, but those warm and dry vantage points were reserved for upper-class people with money to spend, and had been reserved weeks in advance. The commoners on street level had to make do as best they could: huddled together, hands tucked deep into pockets, collars raised, shoulders hunched, displaying that most famous of British traits—unwavering stubbornness.
As morning arrived, the rain began to taper off, eventually stopping altogether around 7:00 a.m., the sun trying to break through the low-lying clouds but not having much success. The temperature rose a few precious degrees, but whatever heat the enduring crowd gained was quickly lost in the escalating winds that whipped through the square. It was a terrible morning to be outside in the elements.
But it was a grand day for an execution.
Most of the run-of-the-mill hangings were done right inside Edinburgh Prison, with no fanfare or thought put into it other than carrying out the Lord Advocate’s orders according to the law of the land. The execution of William Burke was far from run-of-the-mill though, and there was such a huge public outcry about the well-publicized Westport Murders that the Crown had no choice but to make the hanging public. To accommodate as many people as possible, some who would even rumored to be travelling from other cities to attend, the authorities chose a site known as Libberton Wynd.
Libberton Wynd Lawn Market was a continuation of Edinburgh’s High Street, lying between the head of the West Bow Municipal Buildings and the impressive crown-shaped spire of St. Giles Cathedral. The market square was basically a large grassy park within the city. But seeing as it was normally filled with row upon row of street merchants’ and food vendors’ tents, selling their wares to the public, there were no trees or bushes to get in the way. The massive wooden gallows had been constructed at the east end of the square, near the front entrance of the cathedral. Workers from all over the city had donated their time and labor to help build the structure, more than happy to be a part of this highly anticipated killing.
By 8:30 a.m. the market square was teeming with people: young and old, rich and poor, ranging in ages from toddlers riding on their father’s shoulders all the way up to elderly men and women limping along High Street with crutches to support their frail legs. Everyone and anyone in the city wanted to be here to bear witness to the execution, either to see justice carried out on a heinous criminal, or simply to say that they were there to see the poor bugger die—it mattered not—as long as they were there. With the rain having stopped, and the icy wind settling down somewhat, the mood in the crowd was boisterous and loud. Despite the hour and the supposedly serious occasion, there were people singing and dancing and drinking, having themselves a tremendous time.
The only thing this party was missing was the star of the show.
* * *
Billy Burke could hear the raucous crowd of what he considered ghoulish people outside in the square, but he was in no hurry to meet any of them. He’d been brought from the prison the day before, and had spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening listening to the construction workers endlessly banging their nails into the scaffolding and platform he’d soon be walking out onto. It hadn’t made for a relaxing or peaceful last night on earth but there was nothing he could do about it. Billy had long since made peace with God and with his imminent death but with the situation as it was he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods as they came to collect him.
“You ready for this?” the burly guard named McDaniel asked.
“Go on and fuck yourself, mate,” Billy said, not even opening his eyes.
“Aye, and I might do just that once I’m done dealing with the likes of you. On your feet, scum. It’s time to meet your maker.”
When Billy opened his eyes, he saw that there were four men standing at the door of his makeshift cell, each looking as tall and wide as a Clydesdale horse. The sight of the huge men nervously guarding the room’s only exit, as if he might try and make a break for it, made Billy sit up from his cot and laugh.
“Bloody Hell…you sure you don’t need to get a few more blokes to walk me out? I’m a dangerous man, you know. Haven’t you been reading the papers?”
“Think we’ll manage,” McDaniel said, with no hint of a smile. “Let’s go!”
Billy sighed, but reluctantly did as he was told. Once in the hallway, he was joined by a thin-faced Catholic priest dressed in a brown cassock, who walked along beside him in case Billy wanted to speak. He didn’t. He’d met with this same priest last night and had said everything he’d wanted to say to the man (and to the man’s boss upstairs) already. This morning he just wanted a little peace and quiet. The sooner they got this over and done with, the better.
Billy exited out into the market square through a side doo
r in the municipal office and was greeted with a rapturous chorus of cheers, jeers, screams, and whistles as he was led slowly across High Street and walked toward the gallows. He’d known there was going to be a big crowd waiting outside, but wasn’t quite prepared for what he was seeing. The gathered throng of people was enormous, as if every man, woman, and child in Edinburgh had shown up to see him hang. It wasn’t far off the truth, either.
Fear took a hard and sudden bite out of Billy’s bravado and his legs involuntarily stopped moving. He’d thought he’d prepared himself for what was about to happen but obviously he’d been wrong. One second the idea of dying and moving on to the next life had been a peaceful, almost comforting thought, but faced with the cold, stark reality of the moment was too much for Billy and he refused to walk another step. Unfortunately, the quartet of beefy guards escorting him was ready for just such a development. He was quickly grabbed and forcibly dragged the rest of the way.
“Now, now, Billy,” McDaniel said in his ear as they walked, shouting above the din of the bloodthirsty horde. “Keep a stiff upper lip, hear? Rumor has it even Sir Walter Scott is here to see you off. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him now, would you?”
“Bugger Sir Walter…and bugger everyone else!” he screamed, his heart racing the closer he was dragged to the steps of the scaffold.
Billy didn’t give a damn about Sir Walter Scott, or anyone else for that matter—famous or not. Even if King George and the entire Royal Family had camped out in the front row he’d still tell them all to go straight to Hell. He maybe owed the families of his victims his life, and the devil his soul, but as far as he was concerned he owed the vermin gathered here to watch him die absolutely nothing!
Don’t let them see your fear, he thought. Don’t give the bastards the satisfaction!
Easier said than done, of course, but Billy tried his best to rein in the terror gripping his body; trying his best to at least exit this world with his self-respect intact. Up the scaffold steps they went, Billy being dragged up two steps for every one he managed on his own. At the top, Billy finally got a good look at the rope and noose awaiting him, and for some reason it made him feel a tiny bit better. He was frightened, sure, but he was also exhausted from the trials and the written confession and the days and nights freezing his arse off in the damp, moldy prison. Part of him—no matter how scared he felt inside—was ready to get this over with. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Billy walked the final ten feet to the noose all on his own.
The trap door beneath his feet creaked loudly with his weight, but held. He was just wondering what would have happened if he’d have fallen through the board and broken his legs in the fall—would they have to go down to the ground and carry him back up here?—when McDaniel was beside him slipping the noose over his head and yanking the knot tight.
“Say hi to Satan for me, mate!” the burly guard said, a smile on his face as he walked away without waiting for a response. That was good; Billy had none for him.
A fancily dressed officer from the Magistrate’s Office climbed the stairs and walked over to introduce himself to Billy and the clergyman, who was still standing by in case he was needed. Billy couldn’t make out the man’s name over the roar of the crowd, not that he cared. The tall, feminine-looking man turned and shouted for the noisy audience to calm down. It took a moment but soon he had everyone’s undivided attention.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I can understand your anger and vindictive attitude for the condemned man in front of you but I must insist you act with the decorum such a solemn event deserves. After all…a man’s life is about to be forfeit for his crimes. The least you can do is show the man, if not respect…then at least a shred of decency.”
The crowd started to boo and shout even louder, such was their bloodlust and bitter contempt for the Westport Killer. In a different time and place, Billy would have found the situation hilarious and made fun of the silly toff himself, but as it was he just stood there trying not to shake, and waited for the man to proceed.
“Have it your way, then,” the officer continued, removing a paper scroll from his jacket pocket. “William Burke, it is by order of the Lord Advocate of Edinburgh, operating under direct authority of King George IV, that you have been found guilty in the murders of Mary Patterson, James Wilson, and Mary Docherty. Today, in the presence of God and in front of these witnesses, you are to be hung by the neck until declared dead. Do you have anything to say for yourself before the sentence is carried out?”
Billy had been waiting for this moment, preparing all those long, lonely nights in prison to come out here and tell the world how he had his share in all the terrible things that had happened, but that he certainly wasn’t the only one who should be blamed. He intended to tell them—whether they’d listen or not—about his mate William, Ambrosious Black, and Magenta Da Vine. Surely they’d all played their part in this, and for the life of him Billy couldn’t understand how the Crown could possibly lay all the blame at his feet. As much as he truly didn’t harbor any ill will against William for saving his own skin when he’d been offered the chance (he’d have done the same), that still didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
Billy opened his mouth to speak…
…and then he spotted something huge flying over his head, slowly circling the market square. It was the owl—Black’s beast—silently watching everything on the ground below. Just the sight of its razor-sharp beak and talons stole Billy’s breath for a moment, making him lose his train of thought. He watched the bird of prey circle once more then land on an exposed wooden beam beneath an open window on High Street. Inside the room, a tall man with white hair and a white beard stood looking over at him.
Mr. Black! Billy thought, a sliver of fear entering his heart, even under the circumstances. Why would he be here?
The mysterious sculptor stared back at Billy, and then raised a single finger to his lips, motioning him to be quiet.
Screw you, mate, Billy thought. I’ll do nothing of the sort.
Billy opened his mouth to speak…but nothing happened. His voice was suddenly and inexplicably gone. He tried again, but nothing more than a tiny squeak escaped his lips. What’s happening? Why can’t I talk?
“Suit yourself,” the officer from the Magistrate’s Office said. “Perhaps in this case, silence is for the best. And for what it’s worth…may God have mercy on your soul. Gentlemen, you may proceed.”
No! Billy thought, trying his best to shout, to scream, to holler out any words at all at this point, but no matter how hard he tried, he could produce no sounds from his throat. I’ve been hexed, I have! Bloody well cursed!
Billy’s eyes returned to the open window across the street where the sculptor was still watching him intently. It was difficult to tell, what with the man’s beard in the way, but Black appeared to be smiling. The last thing Billy saw before someone behind him pulled a black bag over his head was the massive owl spreading its wings and launching high into the dreary morning sky. Moments later, without warning, Billy was flying too; although his journey would last but a few short seconds and the only place he was headed was straight down.
Chapter
16
Although Billy Burke admitted to taking part in many murders—even he hadn’t been sure of the exact number—he had only died on the gallows officially charged with killing three. His hanging at the Libberton Wynd Lawn Market had drawn the biggest crowd ever to witness a single execution in Scottish history. And in what many agreed was a perfectly ironic twist of fate, as the law of the land dictated, his deceased body was immediately turned over to the local surgeons for anatomical study and dissection.
For better or worse, Billy’s suffering was over.
William Hare wasn’t about to get off quite so easily.
Not that he’d likely have gone even if he’d been allowed; William wasn’t in attendance to witness his friend’s death. He was still locked in his cell at the prison; technically a free m
an after completing his duties as King’s informant, but unfortunately for him, his life still in grave danger. While it was true the crown had legally forgiven him with a full pardon, the vengeful citizens of Edinburgh were a different story altogether and had no intention of letting the murdering Irishman off the hook for what he’d done.
Vigilante mobs lined the street day and night outside the prison, waiting for their chance to get their hands on Hare, so for his safety he was kept incarcerated for an extra week until some of the heat began to die down. William was finally released at one o’clock in the morning through a seldom used side entranceway. He was still worried about the mobs spotting him, but his fear of a crowd of angry men was nothing compared to what he felt when he saw the four-wheeled Hackney cab waiting for him at the first crossroad.
And the familiar, long-legged beauty standing beside it.
“Move your arse,” Magenta Da Vine said. “Get in before you’re spotted.”
William did as he was told, nodding to Big Josh, the huge smiling man who was steering the horses, and soon the cab dashed off into the quiet night, its wheels making far more racket on the cobblestones than he would have liked. In truth, he would have preferred to just walk, and had secretly hoped he might have had time to sneak home, pack a bag, and disappear out of the city before anyone knew he’d been released. He should have known he’d never be that lucky. He had a debt owing, and come Hell or high water the actress intended on making him pay.
“Evening, Mr. Hare,” Da Vine said. “I trust you’re pleased to see me and looking forward to completing our little arrangement, yes?”
“Certainly, ma’am. Be glad to have a’ this over and done with, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Couldn’t agree more. Where we headed?”
Despite the chill of the February night, William was starting to sweat. He’d played this moment over and over in his head this past week, and no matter how he thought things through he couldn’t come up with a scenario that would guarantee his long-term survival. They were alone for now, sure, but once the actress had her hands on the Carpenter’s Cup, what would stop her from having her baldheaded goon driving the cab get rid of the only living witness?
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