“Thank you for your eloquence,” said the judge, playing shamelessly to the crowd and unable to resist piling on further humiliation. “And I will take your words into account.”

Then he pulled out the black felt cap and put it on his head; as he did so, there was an expectant rustling from the crowd, whose mood had changed from sympathy to the greatest malice. “Hang her,” cried one voice from the back.

“Quiet,” said the judge, but it was too late. Thus encouraged, more of the crowd joined in, then more, and within seconds, the whole room was full of the sound of that lust for blood which comes over soldiers in battle, or huntsmen as they near their quarry. “Hang her, kill her”; again and again in a rhythmic chanting, with much stamping of feet and whistling. It took the judge several minutes before he successfully restored order.

“I will have no more of this,” he said sternly. “Now, is she recovered? Can she hear me?’’ he asked the court clerk, who had given up his seat that she might be placed on it.

“I believe so, my lord,” the clerk said, even though he was bodily holding her upright and had slapped her several times to bring her round.

“Good. Sarah Blundy, listen to me carefully now. You have committed a most horrendous crime, and the sentence the law insists upon for a woman who murders so treasonably is unavoidable. You will be taken to a pyre and burned.”

He paused to look around at the courtroom to see how this went down. It was not well received; necessary though it seemed to be, the English did not derive much satisfaction from the pyre, and a subdued mood settled over the room.

“However,” the judge continued, “as you have pleaded guilty, and spared the court a great deal of trouble, we intend to be merciful. You will be given the grace of being hanged before your body is consumed, to lessen the suffering you will have to endure. That is your sentence, and may God have mercy on your soul.”

He stood up and dismissed the court, grateful for having had such a short and satisfactory afternoon. The audience sighed as though it was waking from an exciting dream, shook itself and began to leave while two bailiffs carried the now insensible Sarah out of the room and back to the castle. The whole trial had lasted less than an hour.

18

My mood of despondency increased markedly when I saw Mrs. Blundy a few hours later, for the battle was being waged and lost as I watched.

“I’m so sorry, doctor.” Her voice was fainter even than before, almost a whimper, so sharply did the pain cut into her. But she was brave, and did her best not to let it show, lest it be taken as a criticism of my efforts.

“It is I who should apologize,” I said, once I had examined her and realized how bad it all was. “You should never have been left alone for so long.”

“How is Sarah?” she asked, and it was the question I was dreading. I had decided in advance to avoid telling her the truth that not only had she been found guilty, but that she had admitted the deed as well.

“She is well,” I said. “As well as can be expected.”

“And when is the trial?”

I breathed a sigh of relief at that; she had lost her sense of time and had forgotten what day it was; it made my task a good deal easier.

“Soon,” I said. “I am sure that it will go well. Concentrate on your own troubles; that is the best help you can give her, because she must be free of distractions if she is to keep her wits about her.”

She was content with that, at least, and I felt for the first time in my life that sometimes it is better to lie than to tell the truth. Like all people, I suppose, I had had it beaten into me from an early age that respect for the truth was the most basic attribute of the gentleman; but it is not correct. Sometimes it is our duty to lie, whatever the consequences for ourselves. My falsehood contented her; truth would have made her last hours the purest anguish. I am proud that I spared her.

As no one else was around, I had to do everything myself; I simply hoped as I worked that Lower would come soon, so we could perform the task ahead of us. He was already late, and I was concerned. Grim and miserable work it is, cleaning and wiping and feeding, knowing that it is all for show, to give comfort while the inevitable beckons. The daughter’s spirit, a stronger force in all ways, was dragging the mother down with her. Her face was livid, she had pains in her joints, as well as acute gripes in the guts; she trembled, and flushed hot and cold rapidly.

When I had finished, a shivering fit came over her, and she curled up in the bed, her teeth chattering, even though I had built a fire and it was, for the first time, almost warm in the room.

What was I to do? I tried to leave to search for Lower and remind him of his obligations, but this produced the first real movement in her since I had arrived. She grabbed my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, and refused to let go.

“Please don’t go,” she whispered through the shivers, “I’m frightened. I don’t want to die alone.”

I didn’t have the heart to leave, although I had no enthusiasm for staying, and my presence would make not one jot of difference without Lower there. However good my experiment, whatever hope it held for the future, he and the daughter had ruined it, and she was now going to bear the responsibility for one more life.

And so I stayed, fighting back the thought, growing now into certainty, that Lower was going to fail me when his aid was most needed. I built up the fire once more, burning more wood in a night than the Blundys had used in the previous six months, and sat wrapped in my cloak on the floor, as she slowly drifted in and out of a delirium.

And what madness she talked when she was sensible, about her husband and her daughter. Reminiscence, blasphemy, piety and lies were all mixed together so I could scarcely tell one from the other. I tried not to listen, and did my best to avoid condemning her words, for I knew that at times like these the devils which attend all of us in our lives see their chance, and speak with our mouths, uttering words we would never own to were we in full control of ourselves. This is why we give the last rites, to cleanse the soul of those demons so that it leaves the body pure, and this is why the Protestant religion is so cruel, that it denies man that final kindness.

And I still could not understand mother or daughter, as such sweetness and perversity I had never met in combination before or since. Nor could I understand it still when, exhausted by her ravings, first the old woman, and then myself, fell asleep in the hot, airless room. I dreamed of my friend, and occasionally in the night a sound or noise disturbed me, and I awoke thinking that he had come. But each time I realized it was only an owl, or some animal, or the cracking of a log as it burst in the fire.

Itwas still dark when I awoke; I guessed about six, certainly not later. The fire had all but gone out, and the room was chilly once more. I rekindled it as best I could and the exercise helped loosen my joints, which were stiff from sleep. Only then did I examine my patient. She seemed little changed, perhaps even slightly better, but I knew she was in no state to withstand any new strain.

Even though my trust for him had diminished, I wished Lower was there to help and advise. But even I could no longer disguise the fact that he had failed me—I was on my own, and had little time to act. I don’t know how long I stood there in indecision, hoping that my one alternative would not prove necessary. I hesitated too long; my mind cannot have been working properly, because I stared blankly at my patient until I was brought back by a distant murmur of sound coming from the outside. I shook myself into action when I realized what it was. The sound of voices, massed voices, growing in volume.