“No.”

“So how did she come by it?”

“I know nothing of this.”

Sir John leaned back in his chair and eyed me gravely. “I do not know what you are trying to accomplish, sir. It is clear to me that you are lying to protect this creature and it is a serious business to deflect justice from its true path. I beg you to think more carefully, and stop acting in this foolish fashion.”

“But it is true; it is all true.”

“It is not. It cannot be so. You cannot explain away the evidence proving her guilt, and those facts you cite to demonstrate her innocence are in no way convincing.”

“You will not help me?”

“What do you want? She has been before the grand jury, and a case was found. If you persist in this nonsense, I cannot stop you from rising in court, and saying your piece there. Although if you do so, I tell you it will make no difference, and the judge may well see fit to punish you as well.”

So i went to Dr. Wallis, hoping to persuade him to use his secret influence on the girl’s behalf, not knowing he had already determined on her death. And I told my story a second time and for a second time it seemed I was not believed.

“I owe you no favors, Mr. Wood,” he said, “and can in any case do nothing for you. It is for the judge and the jury to decide the girl’s fate. I know you have heard stories of my works for the government, but they are exaggerated. I can no more stop her trial than I can start it.”

“Do you at least believe me?”

We were in his room, and the interview was a strange one—there was a weariness about the man that I had not noticed before. I did not know, of course, how much this matter was plucking at his conscience, and how aware he was of the wrong he was doing. He had convinced himself that he was acting nobly, and when a man does this to assuage his soul, it is a rash person indeed who seeks to persuade him otherwise.

“I do not. I believe this tale comes from your selfishness. I think you would rather have your pleasure with this girl than see justice served. I know more about her than you think, and I am convinced that if she hangs then no great injustice will be done.”

“She did not do this.”

Wallis took a step toward me, overwhelming me with his bulk, and the sheer power and malice of his personality.

“That whore you like so much, Mr. Wood, is helping a conspirator, a subversive and an atheist. She is helping the most dangerous man in the country commit a monstrous crime, and that man has already slaughtered my servant. I will have my revenge, and that man will die. If Sarah Blundy’s death helps me to my revenge, then so be it. I care not whether she is innocent or guilty. Do you understand me now, Mr. Wood?”

“Then you are the greatest of sinners,” I said, my voice shaking in shock at what I heard. “You are no priest and are not fit to hold the bread in your hands. You are not…”

Wallis was a big man, powerfully built and very much taller than me. Without any more words he stood up and grabbed me by my collar, and began dragging me to the door. I tried to protest, and say this was no behavior for a priest, but when I began to speak he shook me like some dog, and pushed me hard against the wall before opening the door onto the street.

“Do not meddle, sir,” he said coldly. “I care nothing for your concerns, and have no time for your whining. Leave me in peace and say no more, or you will pay heavily for it.”

Then he pushed me out of the door, and kicked me hard with his foot, so that I tripped down the stone steps into a cold, muddy puddle, which splashed up all over my clothes.

As I knelt there, with the water seeping into my shoes and breeches, I knew I had failed. Even if I shouted from the rooftops, it seemed, people would stop their ears and refuse to acknowledge what was so obviously the truth. I do not know whether it would have been different had I spoken earlier, but it was certainly too late now, and the realization made me sink my head into that puddle and weep with anguish as the rain spattered more mud onto me. It was as though heaven itself had intervened, and made me like some lunatic in the street, shouting out to all the world but finding people averting their eyes and pretending not to notice. In the deepest rage, I beat my fist on the muddy earth and cried in despair at God’s cruelty and, for my reward and solace, heard two passers-by laugh with disgust at the raving drunkard they saw on his knees before them.

11

The start of Sarah’s trial began the most ANguishing, wonderful two days of my life, in which I felt with full force both the power of God’s punishment, and the sweet grace of His forgiveness. Again, Cola has described the proceedings, and does so with perspicacity. I will not repeat his account, but rather must add to it, for he has quite naturally omitted certain events which he could not know.

Sarah had commanded me not to interfere, and I had already done so, but could not bring myself to disobey in her presence. This will seem weakness on my part, but I do not care if it does—I speak the truth and say that no man who knew her as I did would have acted differently. I was hoping someone else would speak for her, or present evidence of her innocence, yet they did not. Sarah herself said nothing except to admit her guilt so that her body could go to Lower and her mother receive treatment, and when she uttered that word, “guilty,” so quietly and with such resignation, my heart broke, and I determined that I would try for the third time to persuade people of the truth. Then I heard the judge say those words, “Does anyone have anything to add? For if there is one who will speak for the defendant, then he must do so now.”

“My Lord,” I said. I was going to cry out to the whole room that this poor girl was as innocent as Christ himself, that she had no hand in Grove’s death, and that I was responsible for his end. I was going to demonstrate the truth of my assertions with every scrap of evidence and eloquence I had, and was confident that while the latter might let me down, the former would carry conviction. I was going to save her.

And I hesitated, tongue-tied in my anguish and my indecision, and in that moment, the opportunity was lost. I know many in the town, even in the university, hold me in contempt, and ridicule me behind my back, and I have always taken care not to allow the opportunities for humiliation to be created. This time I disregarded all thought of my dignity, and in my brief pause, some fellow made a ribald remark, and others laughed, and this encouraged still more. For the court as a sentence of death is to be passed becomes a solemn place full of apprehension and dread; men leap eagerly at anything which will break that atmosphere, and render it less awful. Within seconds, the court erupted in jeers and, even had I shouted at the top of my voice, I would not have been heard. Red-faced with embarrassment, and consumed by shame at my failure, I felt Locke pull me down, hoping as I resumed my plea the judge would restore order, and call on me once more to say my piece.

He did not. Rather, with a supercilious smirk on his face, he thanked me for my eloquent words, and deliberately encouraged more laughter. Then he sentenced Sarah Blundy to die.

When I heard those words, I ran out of the courtroom to avoid further misery, and took myself to my room where I locked myself in and prayed for guidance. I had no idea what I should do, and I stayed, in mute immobility, until my mother put her head around the door and told me there was a visitor who would not take no for an answer. She had told him to go away, and he had refused absolutely to budge until he had seen me.

And, a few moments later, in marched Jack Prestcott, as cheerful as he was insane. He frightened me greatly, for his deterioration since I had last seen him was very great indeed, and the look in his eyes, to my mind, suggested a man who could fall into violence at any moment should he be crossed or contradicted.