Then, exactly as the first light dawned, a little door opened, and Sarah Blundy, heavily chained and shivering in a thin cotton shift, her hair pulled back, was brought out. The crowd, he said, grew very quiet at the sight, for she was a pretty girl, and it was hard to believe anyone of her delicate appearance could possibly deserve such a punishment.

Then Lower pushed himself forward and muttered a few words to the hangman, and bowed ceremoniously to the girl as she was led forward.

“Did she say anything?” I asked. “Did she admit her guilt once more?” Strangely, it was important to me at that moment to hear that she was truly guilty. Her admission in the courtroom had reassured me greatly, for it was the final information I required—no one confesses to a crime of that magnitude unless they are certainly guilty, for to do so is to abandon hope of life. It is no less than suicide, the greatest of sins.

“I do not think so,” he said. “But I couldn’t hear it all. She spoke very softly, and even though I was close by, I missed much of it. But she owned herself one of the worst sinners in the world, and said that she prayed for forgiveness, even though she knew she did not deserve it. It was a short speech, and was very well received. Then a minister offered to pray with her, and she turned him down, saying she needed no prayers from him. He is one of the new men put in by the king, and very far from the views of Sarah and her sort. That, of course, caused more of a stir. Some of the crowd looked displeased, but a fair number—mainly the rougher folk—approved of her courage.”

This, he told me, was nothing too much out of the ordinary. It was the task of the church to impose itself at such moments and it was naturally open to the condemned—who had little to lose, after all—to make a last gesture of defiance, if they felt so inclined. Sarah prayed alone, on her knees in the mud and with a quietness and decorum that elicited a sympathetic murmur from the crowd. Then she stood up, and nodded to the hangman. Her hands were bound, and she was helped up the ladder until her neck was level with the rope.

There the hangman stopped her, and began tying the noose.

She moved her head to make herself as comfortable as possible, and then all was ready. She had refused to have her head bound or covered in any way, and the crowd fell silent as they saw her eyes close and her lips move so the name of God would be the last sound to pass her lips. The drummers began their roll, and at the end, the hangman leaned forward, and simply pushed her off the ladder.

Then the thunderstorm started, and within minutes all was awash with muddy water, the torrents so heavy it was hard even to see what was going on.

Wood paused here to take another drink. “I hate hangings,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I go and see them, of course, but I do hate them. I don’t know anybody who thinks otherwise, or could do once they have seen one. The way the face contorts and the tongue protrudes is so hideous that you understand why normally they insist on the head being covered. And the smell as well, and the way the arms and legs twist and jerk.” He shuddered. “Let me talk of that no more. For it didn’t last long, and when it was done Lower staked his claim. Did you know he’d bought the body, and come to some sort of arrangement with the judge so that he might have it, and not the professor?”

I nodded. I thought he must have done so.

“It was done in the worst possible way, because the university had heard and the Regius professor thought his prerogatives were being infringed. So he came along as well, to claim his right. There was a brawl in the mud. Can you believe it? Two proctors fighting for the body, held off by half a dozen friends of Lower, who got Locke to help him pick it up and carry it out of the yard. I don’t think many knew exactly what was going on, but those who realized were furious and began throwing stones. There was very nearly a riot, and would have been had not the rain persuaded many to leave.”

I think this was the last straw for my friendship with Lower. I know what he would say, that a body is a body, but there was a callousness about his action which distressed me greatly. I believe it was because he had abandoned me in order to advance his own career, that given a choice between assisting me in treating the mother, and gaining the daughter for dissection, he had chosen the latter. He would now have his book on the brain, I thought grimly. Much may it profit him.

“So Lower has his way?”

“Not exactly. He took the body to Boyle’s and is virtually under siege there. The proctors complained to the magistrate and said that if they can’t have the corpse, no one should have it. So the magistrate has now changed his mind, and is demanding it back. Lower, so far, has refused to give it up.”

“Why?”

“I suppose because he is doing as much work on the corpse as he can in the time allowed.”

“And what about Mr. Boyle?”

“Fortunately, he is in London. He would be appalled to be involuntarily dragged into such an affair.” He stood up. “I am going home. If you will excuse me…”

I wrapped myself up as well as I could and braved the rainfall to walk along the High Street to the apothecary’s. I found Mr. Crosse along with the boy he employed to mix ingredients guarding the door, firmly making sure that no one entered unless Lower gave permission. Including myself. I could not believe it when he held his hand against my chest and shook his head. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Cola,” he said. “But Lower is adamant. Neither you, nor any of these other gentlemen here, are to be allowed to interrupt him while he is working.”

“That is absurd,” I cried. “What is going on?”

Crosse shrugged. “I believe that Mr. Lower has agreed to hand the body back to the hangman, so that it can be burned as ordered. Until that gentleman comes, he sees no reason why he should not conduct such investigations as he sees fit. He has little enough time, hence his insistence on not being disturbed. I’m sure he would be glad of your participation under ordinary circumstances.” He added that he was saddened by what he had heard of our argument, and counted himself still my friend. It was kindly done.

And so, like any common citizen, I had to stand and wait for Lower’s pleasure, although Crosse at least did me the favor of allowing me to wait indoors, rather than having to stamp my feet outside, until the hangman arrived to claim his booty.

Then Lower came down, looking tired and worn, his hands and apron still bloody from his labors. The sight of him inside the building caused a small tremor to run through the crowd.

“Are you prepared to submit to the magistrate’s orders?” the hangman asked.

Lower nodded, then caught the hangman by the sleeve as he was preparing to take his assistants upstairs.

“I have taken the liberty of ordering a box for the body,” he said. “It would not do for her to be carried out as she now is. It will be here shortly, and it would be best to wait.”

The hangman assured him that he had seen many gruesome sights in his time, and this would not bother him. “I was thinking of the crowd,” Lower said as he disappeared up the stairs. He followed, and, as there was no one to stop me, I followed Lower.

One glance, and the hangman changed his mind; indeed, he turned ashen white at the sight. For Lower had abandoned the delicate workmanship which normally characterized his dissections. In his haste to take the organs he wanted for his work, he had quartered the body, and ripped it open with savagery; removed the head, and sawn it open to take the brain, tearing off the face in his haste, and then tossed the pieces on an oilcloth on the floor. Those fine, beautiful eyes, which had so captivated me the first time I saw her, had been torn from their sockets; tendons and muscles hung from the arms as though savaged by a wild beast. Bloody knives and saws lay all around, along with the piles of the long, dark, lustrous hair which he had hacked off to attack the skull. There was blood everywhere, and the stink of blood filled the room. A large bucketful which he had drained from her stood in another corner, next to glass jars full of his trophies. And the smell was indescribable. In a corner, in a small pile, was the cotton shift she had worn, stained and soiled from her last ordeal.