by Rebecca King
“It would be wrong if Simon and Charlie died because I didn’t do anything, and Meldrew succeeded in hanging innocent men,” she whispered too herself. “I need to be there for them. I have to do this.”
“What?” the man beside her grunted.
“Nothing,” Hetty sighed.
An expectant silence settled over the crowd as they waited. When the minutes ticked by, and the jail door remained closed, conversations gradually resumed until the din started to reach fever pitch. The traders began to shout their wares again, women chatted, children laughed and played as everyone settled back to wait. To them, it didn’t matter how long this took; there was a spectacle to be watched and they weren’t going anywhere while food, drink and games were available to pass the time until the final moment.
“Sorry,” she muttered to an old lady who protested when they bumped into each other.
“It’s alright dearie,” the old woman cackled.
Hetty looked up and almost slumped with relief at the sight of her good friend, Mabel.
“Won’t be long now,” Mabel assured her, as though she was thoroughly enjoying the day out.
“I know,” Hetty sighed. “I can’t wait until it is over.”
“Me either,” Mabel agreed with a nod.
“Good day we are having,” she declared loudly.
“Up until now, it’s been miserable,” Mabel muttered. “Not long now.”
Hetty swallowed and remained quiet.
Charles ‘Charlie’ Ryder watched the irons fall off his wrists and stared blankly at his hands. He barely had the time to assess the red marks around his wrists before they were suddenly yanked behind his back, and tied with coarse rope that bit cruelly into his already bruised flesh.
“Move on,” the jailer growled.
Although his face remained impassive, Charlie’s heart began to pound as he shuffled ever closer to the door.
Until now, he had thought that everything that had happened over the last several days had been a horrible joke, and that someone – anyone – was going to step forward and tell him it was a huge mistake before he was shown the door.
He glanced around the jail, and cursed bitterly at the unfamiliar faces of the jailers.
Time had run out. Help was not possible, he knew that now. His only consolation was the knowledge that his imminent death would not be in vain; and that Hetty was going to be protected from any of Meldrew’s future schemes.
Once Sir Hugo got men to the area, they would leave no stone unturned in avenging his death, and Meldrew would see his own day in court, and Hetty would be free to live her life as a considerably wealthy widow.
He turned and watched Simon’s chains fall to the floor. Their eyes met and held for several moments before the jailer ordered them to turn around and move forward again.
The only sign of the fierce anger that surged through Charlie was the muscle that ticked steadily in his jaw. He didn’t even bother to spare the jailer a look, and stared resolutely at the door that would take him to his death.
In all of his years with the Star Elite, he had never expected to meet his death this way. Shot by an attacker, or knifed in a brawl maybe; or even drowned by smugglers. Being hung by the neck for a crime he didn’t commit was something he had never thought could happen to someone like him.
The crowds outside sounded loud, even through the thick stone walls of the prison. He hoped and prayed that Hetty wouldn’t be outside amongst the melee. The thought of her having to witness the last few moments of his demise was awful.
Hetty. Although he had only met her a few times, he felt a greater connection to her than he had ever had with anyone else before. The thought that she was now his wife made him inordinately proud, and bitter, about the life that Fate had denied him.
The mental image of her had become his guiding light over the last few days, and had helped him through the darkest hours he thought never to endure. That glorious mane of bright red hair accompanied by her piercing beautiful blue eyes had stirred his soul, and shaken him to the point that he had not been able to get her out of his mind, but then he hadn’t wanted to.
The stark memory of the last time he had held her in his arms gave him the strength he needed to be able to get through the next few minutes. She had felt so slight; so delicate in his arms that he was certain that a good gust of wind would carry her away. It had been a good enough reason to hold her tighter.
“God, they are actually baying,” Simon whispered in horror.
Charlie couldn’t bring himself to say anything. His stomach began to churn and, for one brief moment, he wondered if he was going to lose the contents of his last meal all over the floor. The man in the line in front of him began to sob quietly as the realisation of his fate dawned on him.
The sound of chains being dragged across the stone floor was loud in the tense silence of the hallway. Charlie turned and looked at the ironmonger dragging the last of the shackles across the floor. Now that all of the prisoners were free, the priest began to issue last rights. The jailers moved to the door. All of them were heavily armed, and ready to lead the condemned to the waiting gallows outside.
There was no way out.
“This is a travesty,” Simon whispered morosely. “A bloody travesty. That’s what this is.”
Charlie had to agree and, in that moment, hated Cedric Meldrew with every fibre of his being.
It was probably better this way he mused silently. If he had been found innocent at that pathetic pantomime of a court, then he would have dedicated his life to ensuring that Cedric Meldrew was put in a position where he could never hurt anyone again. If he had to kill the bastard to render him useless then that is what he would do, but he would have inevitably ended up at the end of a hangman’s noose for doing so.
“Look on the bright side,” Charlie snorted without humour. “At least we can haunt the bastard.”
He threw a look at Simon, who shook his head and heaved a sigh. There was no humour in this situation. Nothing about the injustice and inhumanity of Meldrew’s every action was even remotely funny.
Suddenly, the door at the end of the hallway opened, and everyone was immediately bathed in the hazy early morning. The cacophony outside assaulted them at the same time that everything within the jail went still and watchful.
“Move on,” the jailer ordered.
The condemned were nudged toward the door. Before they were allowed to leave the building, their legs were tied with ropes to stop them running away, but there was enough leeway for them to walk themselves to their deaths.
As soon as the first prisoner appeared in the open air, raucous cries and shouts of dismay began. The once jovial atmosphere of the crowd now turned watchful. People remained still and silent as they watched the convicts being pushed through the door, out into the open air.
People jostled for a better position so they could get a good look at the prisoners. Family members of the two of the convicts began to sob and call out endearments as their loved ones passed them.
Charlie was glad that his family had no idea what was going on. If they did, he knew that his brothers would be there to help him but, unfortunately, none of them would ever be aware of the fate that would befall their youngest brother until Sir Hugo was able to visit to tell them.
There were so many things he wanted to say to them, but would never get the chance now. He wanted them to meet Hetty. He wanted to be the one to introduce them, and explain how important she was to him, but couldn’t. Not now.
It was unnerving to stumble through the crowd on the way to his death. Charlie’s gaze was caught by the sinister sight of the long ropes that awaited him and his fellow convicts, and he closed his eyes on a silent prayer for clemency.
“’Ere, get back!”
The jailer’s order forced him to open his eyes. At first, fear stopped him from recognising the man who locked gazes with him. He opened his mouth to speak, but was shoved forward by a jailer before he could utter a word. By
the time he looked back again, the man had gone.
Had he just dreamt that he had seen his good friend and colleague, Barnaby Stevenson in the crowd?
No, you are just imagining it, Charlie snorted. Barnaby couldn’t be there. How? There hadn’t been enough time for him to travel here all the way from London?
A wild thrill of hope swept through him but, when Charlie scanned the crowd, the man had vanished. He glanced around frantically, desperate to find at least one of his colleagues nearby, but didn’t recognise anybody.
To his stunned disbelief though, there, only a few feet in front of him, was Hetty. She looked radiant in the morning sunshine, even shrouded by a thick, woollen shawl. His heart flipped at the sight of her standing tall and proud amongst the throng. He wanted to guide her to safety; he wanted to protect her and spend at least five of his last precious moments with her, and only her.
Suddenly, as he was pushed forward, she was right beside him, only he couldn’t remember moving. His eyes met and held hers. He saw the tears shimmering on her lashes; and read the fear and despair in her eyes. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he slammed his lips onto hers with a force that shook them both. He was wrenched away by the jailer before he could say anything.
By the time he looked back, she too had been swallowed up by the crowd.
Had he imagined it? He wasn’t sure if he was going quietly out of his mind, but the taste of her on his lips was heaven-sent.
He climbed the steps and looked at the hangman, whose dark garb seemed to befit the ordeal that lay ahead. Although he wasn’t a religious man, he began to pray.
Suddenly, a woman appeared out of the crowd and threw herself at Simon.
“Tell Hetty everything will be alright,” Simon gasped in a choked voice before the woman was suddenly wrenched off him and tugged back into the crowd.
Charlie looked back at Simon.
“A friend,” he explained obliquely.
He tried to warn himself not to, but he scanned the crowd for her anyway. He didn’t want her there, and began to pray that she had gone; that she wouldn’t stay to witness his execution. He had no idea why he didn’t want here there. It wasn’t that anything had happened between them. She was his wife in name only. He just felt an invisible connection; a deep, intense attraction toward her that he now knew he would have explored further if circumstances had been different.
Unfortunately, that ephemeral link he had felt with her the first moment he had seen her seemed to still be there because he could practically feel her nearby. Somehow he knew, even before he looked up, that she was there.
His gaze was drawn toward her like a moth to a flame and, although her hair had been carefully covered by a thick woollen scarf, he would recognise that beautiful face anywhere. His heart lurched at the fear in her eyes as their gazes met. He tried to smile at her, to reassure her that everything would be alright, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. Neither his mouth, nor his brain, seemed to be able to function at all. All of his senses were locked on her, to the point that the crowd began to dim, and he was only vaguely aware of the executioner pushing him into place above the trap door.
She was like a guiding angel; there to escort him to the afterlife. She didn’t move, blink, or look away. Her steady gaze was full of horror, but was also intriguingly calm; as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him; or the entire situation.
He wanted to apologise, but he had nothing to say sorry for. He wanted to assure her that he wasn’t the murderer he had been branded him as, but it was too late now. He had wanted to write to her last night; his final night alive, but had known that it was far too late to tell her the things that he should have told her face-to-face. He had been blind to everything but his own ego. Now, he would never get the chance to tell her that he loved her. It was ridiculous really given that he didn’t really know her but he knew, with absolute certainty, deep inside, that Hetty was the ‘one’. That special someone; his soul-mate; whom he had spent his whole life waiting for. She meant the world to him, and he should have taken steps to secure their future together long before they were so cruelly torn apart.
If only things were different.
Regrets pummelled him as he became aware that Simon was pushed onto the gallows beside him, but he still couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. He wanted her to be the last thing he saw.
Hetty was held transfixed by the stoicism in his eyes as he stared back at her. She felt branded by that look. It was enough to give her the strength to do what she needed to.
Time was of the essence. If she got this wrong, she was going to be single-handedly responsible for not only her brother’s death, but Charlie’s, and two other people’s lives too.
She sent a silent prayer of help heavenward and watched as the hoods were placed over the prisoner’s heads. The nooses were ready, but she couldn’t risk them actually being around the prisoner’s necks.
“God save me,” Hetty whispered.
She opened her mouth and, without thinking about what she was doing, or the possible repercussions, screamed. She kept one hand on the shawl over her head, and lifted her hand off her side, which was now liberally smattered with the pig’s blood that had burst out of the pouch she carried.
Women around her suddenly screamed, as someone else shouted.
“There he is. He has stabbed her. Get him,” Mabel screamed loudly.
Hetty screamed again, and tightened her grip on the second pouch of pig’s blood, which added to the rapidly growing stain on her dress.
“It was him,” she screamed, and began to stagger dramatically. She pointed in a random direction through the crowd, toward the side of the gallows where the jailers stood.
The already frenzied crowd bayed and shouted at one of the jailers, who stared around him in confused panic. The crowd surged and began to jostle each other as they tried to get a better view, and escape the threat of danger. People looked at Hetty, and exclaimed loudly at the sight of her blood soaked dress.
“Murderer on the loose,” a man shouted frantically. “He is over there.”
Hetty screamed again and looked down at her blood soaked hands. Now that she had started, all of the fear, worry, and sheer terror that had dogged her every footstep over the last few days suddenly surged forward. It felt exhilarating to be able to release the chaotic emotions that had swamped her of late, and she screamed again with such angst that the crowd began to run.
She glanced at the hooded figures of Simon and Charlie, and the nooses that hung threateningly behind them, and screamed louder. Hatred for Cedric Meldrew suddenly bubbled forward and she began to look at people around her.
“It was him,” she screamed, and pointed to an empty spot beside one of the jailers with a hand that dripped blood.
“Why are the jailers not doing anything?” someone cried.
“There is a killer on the loose. A killer is on the loose,” she screamed over and over again.
“Catch that killer,” an old man beside her shouted.
People screamed and panicked, and began to run in all directions. Men tried to help women and children out of the crowd, but were wrenched aside by blood soaked people who were splattered by the rest of the pouches Wally and Mabel carried and shook everywhere.
Two of the jailers nearest to the scaffold were swept along by the veritable tide of people who surged toward them. A huge swathe of people suddenly pushed toward the scaffold. The hangman vanished within seconds, along with the rest of the jailers.
Hetty screamed over and over, and wished now that she had brought more pig’s blood. The weight of the people around her was suffocating, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the condemned, who were completely unable to see what was happening. Everything within her was locked onto the sight of them.
Inwardly, she was silently begging for the nooses not to be put around their necks. Thankfully, there was no sign of the jailers, or executioner but, to her growing horror; the prisoners were s
till standing on the trap doors – waiting.
She glanced around frantically for someone she recognised.
Why the hell nobody was getting them down?
She was helpless to do anything except be carried along by the tide of panicked humanity that swarmed around her. For a brief moment she thought she caught sight of Mabel, but she was gone so swiftly that Hetty couldn’t be sure it had really been her friend.
As she was carried down the road, her gaze locked on the sight of Charlie still waiting for death to call, and began to pray.
Charlie could see nothing because of the hood that covered his head. He was blind to everything other than panicked screams, and wondered if the first of the convicts had been dropped. He swallowed and began to pray aloud as he waited for the inevitable tightening around his neck. He could only hope that Wally would be true to his word, and had actually arranged for someone to hang off his ankles like he had requested.
The quicker the next few moments were over now the better as far as he was concerned.
He began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, and could hear Simon also praying quietly beside him.
When hands suddenly grabbed him around the waist, he jerked and gasped but, to his shock, he was yanked backward, clean off his feet. He couldn’t kick his legs out because they had been tied together and was helpless to do anything except be carried away – somewhere. He tried not to panic, but it was difficult as he was pummelled in all directions and completely helpless to the unseen hands that carried him.
Was he being taken through the crowd, or back to jail?
“What the hell is going on?” He growled as he tried to quell his own panic.
If only someone would take the hood off so he could see, he would feel considerably better. The noise of the people around him was incredible. He suspected that the men carrying him couldn’t hear him because nobody bothered to answer. They held him so tightly that he couldn’t move.
Had Sir Hugo arrived in time after all? Had his colleagues been waiting in the crowd to rescue him?
He opened his mouth to call out to tell them about Simon, but then closed it again with a snap when a heavy weight was draped over him and stifled everything but the shallowest of breath.