What will it be like tomorrow? They have told me what will happen. I am not a queen to merit a swift execution. Instead, they will lead me out to the gibbet. You will die kicking and choking on the gibbet. I have told Gabriel not to come. I cannot bear to see his pain, but saying goodbye to him this afternoon was the most painful moment of my life. My heart was torn asunder. Knowing that I will never see him again, never again wake with his warmth beside me, never be able to roll over and press my face into his bare shoulder and breathe in the scent of his skin. The scent of safety.
I can picture the chamber so clearly. If I close my eyes, I can imagine myself there, convince myself that I lie on soft beds and sheets scented with lavender. That if I open my eyes again, I will see the rich bed curtains, the tapestries on the wall, the ornately carved chair with its embroidered cushions. And on the chest, the shell that Jacopo gave me, and Peg. Peg who has been with me all my life but who now sits alone. Who cried painted tears when I turned to go. I have asked Gabriel to give her to Cecily, to watch over her.
And now it is morning, and I am ready to die. I have taken off all my jewellery, all my finery, and am simply dressed in a petticoat and kirtle. It’s cold. I am shivering, so much that I almost wish that it was over, but after the rush and blur of the last few months, everything has slowed down and seems to be happening with exaggerated slowness: the gaoler unlocking the cell, the walk outside as if he and I are lifting every foot through deep mud. I blink at the air. In the distance, I can see a tree over the wall, and a bird darting in the sky. It is all extraordinarily detailed, as if I have never seen anything before. As if I have never appreciated how beautiful life is. The gaoler is whistling through his gappy teeth. I know the tune. It is the tune that has followed me my whole life, since Jack the carter whistled it on my journey to Steeple Tew: Oh, John, come kiss me now, now, now.
My whole life has been leading up to this moment, to now, now, now. There is no future for me, only this endless now. I climb up onto the platform. A crowd has gathered, jostling and jeering, laughing and gossiping. Someone is selling hot pies. I can smell them. There are some people for whom death is an entertainment, as good as the players. My eyes drift over the crowd. I see a few familiar faces, neighbours come out of curiosity, and they avert their eyes from mine, until I see one who does not avert his eyes but looks steadily back at me. Gabriel has come after all, to be with me so that I am not alone.
They tie my hands behind my back and drop the noose over my neck. It feels familiar, as if it has always been there. But then they drop a hood over me, and just like that, life is blacked out, gone. Only now (now, now) does terror rise in me. There is so much that I need to say. I want to change my mind, to shout that I am innocent, to make them take off the hood and the noose, and let me go home with Gabriel.
But I can hear boots on the boards, the murmur of a priest. A rope creaks, and then the world drops away beneath me. I hurtle down and the noose grabs my neck, throttling me. I gurgle and twitch. I have forgotten everything except the pain and the terror which has blotted out the world.
I thought that I was ready but I am not. I am not.
Epilogue
Cecily
Pappa comes home from the hanging and says not a word of comfort to me. Not one word! He shuts himself in his chamber and does not come out for a day. John taps on the door to try and get him to eat, but Pappa sends him away. He does not want to talk to anyone.
Everything is awful. How could Mamma have done this to me? It is all her fault for inviting that Cat into the house. Nothing has been the same since. You would have thought she would have been glad when Cat died. I know that she hated her as much as I did. But no, she must invite in the coroner and accept responsibility. Now our neighbours look at me askance, and our reputation is in ruins. Who will marry me now, the daughter of a murderess? When we go to church, as Pappa insists we must, everyone falls silent when we walk in. I hate it.
Everything has changed. Pappa is silent, and although he has said nothing, I have caught him looking at me sometimes with a strange expression, and when I went to embrace him the other day, because I needed comfort, I am sure that he flinched. And John, too, is sad. I thought he loved me. I thought that once Cat was gone, we could go back to how we were, but he has no time for me now. ‘We must look after our father,’ he says. What about me? Who will look after me?
Pappa gave me Mamma’s jewellery. He said that she wanted Sarah and Amy to have something, but I do not see why I should give servants jewels. I am sure she must have meant money, and Pappa will do that. He says we may move away to where nobody knows us, and I cannot decide if that will be a good thing or bad. Sarah and Amy might not come with us, so why should they have a ring or a necklace?
I am pleased with the jewels, but not with that horrible wooden baby that Mamma used to love so much. Pappa said she wanted me to have it too. Peg, she called it. It has always made me shudder. When he brought Peg to me, her expression was sly: every time I looked at her, she seemed to be accusing me. But it was not my fault that Mamma said that she killed Cat. She should have said nothing. Mr Parker would never have been able to prove anything.
In the end, I throw Peg away on the midden, and the feeling of relief with her out of the house is intense. For a day, I relax and let myself think that everything will be all right, but when I go to bed, and set the candle on the chest, there is Peg, smiling at me.
‘I found her,’ Sarah says, as if waiting for me to be grateful. ‘I know how much she meant to the mistress. I don’t know how she came to be outside.’
Stupid girl.
So I take Peg and throw her in the river. There!
That night, Peg is back, and everyone denies even knowing that she was gone. I almost scream as her painted eyes meet mine with triumph and hatred in the candlelight. My hands shake as I turn her to face the wall, but in the morning when I wake up, she has turned round again and is facing me, smiling her sinister smile, and for a moment I think I see a thread of green silk trailing from her mouth. I understand then that I will never be free of her. No matter what I do, she will always be there, an unwelcome conscience, to remind me of my mother, to remind me of what I did and who I am.
The Cursed Wife
Pamela Hartshorne is a historian as well as an award-winning romance writer. She lives in York, and continues to draw inspiration from her PhD research to write about the sixteenth century, in fact and in fiction. Time’s Echo, her first novel written under her real name, was shortlisted for awards on both sides of the Atlantic.
By the same author
Time’s Echo
The Memory of Midnight
The Edge of Dark
House of Shadows
First published in 2018 Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2018 by Pan Books
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ISBN 978-1-5098-5931-3
Copyright © Pamela Hartshorne 2018
Cover images: Figure © Susan Fox/Arcangel Images;
Arch © Jill Battaglia/Arcangel Images
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