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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.
