Deadlight-Hall(76)

As for gossip – I do not, myself, listen to it, but it is not always possible to avoid it, and the word is that this woman came from a good, but impoverished family, and that the marriage to Mr Breadspear was arranged to mend the family fortunes.

So the prisoner whom Maria had been summoned to care for had been Augustus Breadspear’s wife. Michael had not expected this; there had been no mention in any of the letters of Breadspear having a wife – although that was probably not surprising, if she had been hanged for murder.

But the murder of whom? He continued reading.

The pimpled man remained outside the cell, but he did not close the door completely, and he watched as I gave Esther Breadspear the draught Mr Porringer had mixed. A tincture of opium it was, as detailed in the Poison Book kept at Mr Porringer’s shop. Mr Porringer had added a spoonful of honey to sweeten it a little. Myself, I should not have bothered with such a refinement (and honey so expensive), but he was ever susceptible to a soft manner and a doe-eyed prettiness. If I did not keep a firm eye on Mr Porringer, he would certainly be handing out credit to all and sundry, and plunging us into poverty.

7.30 p.m.

Supper in governor’s private dining room. He has rooms adjoining the gaol, and he is an unmarried man which is a pity, although I suppose there are very few women who would care to have their home within prison walls. Perhaps, though, he will have more conventional quarters in the new gaol building. And as it is, he seems well served by his household.

The prison chaplain was there, and Mr Porringer had thought that the hangman himself might also be present, which was not something I viewed with equanimity. To sit at table with the hangman cannot be regarded as a comfortable situation for anyone. Also, Mr Porringer is apt to suffer from acidity if he is upset, and if dining with the Queen’s executioner is not upsetting I do not know what is. (I discovered shortly before supper that Mr Porringer had not brought his bismuth mixture. I was not best pleased, for I had reminded him of it before leaving, but it is typical of him to forget despite the reminder.)

However, the hangman did not appear and the chaplain murmured something about there being a tradition of him, along with his assistant, taking his supper at some local pub.

The meal was most agreeable, with linen table napkins, and four courses – soup, roast chicken, a dessert of syllabub, and sardines on toast for the savoury. Mr Porringer, after a warning frown from me, declined the syllabub, but partook of everything else.

9.00 p.m.

I am about to go along to the condemned cell, where I am to spend the greater part of the night.

I am unhappy about Esther Breadspear’s behaviour in the coming hours, but I cannot think I shall have to deal with any actual violence – she can have no animosity towards me personally. When I put this point to Mr Glaister, he said that condemned prisoners generally have animosity towards the whole world in their final hours, and I must be prepared for all eventualities.

However, the pimpled man will be immediately outside the door, the chaplain will be nearby, and I have more of Mr Porringer’s opium draught if needed.

It will be difficult to fill the hours until the morning. Sleep is clearly impossible, except perhaps in short snatches. The chaplain will visit us during the night, and has promised to leave a Bible with us. I feel, though, that we should not read any of that, for it will be read aloud in the morning, as the woman is taken to the execution shed. There is a door from this part of the prison leading on to a small courtyard, in which is situated the execution shed.

I had thought I might take in my needlework, but of course needles or anything sharp cannot be allowed. However, I believe we are permitted to play simple games – backgammon and perhaps piquet.

I shall also take writing paper with me, in case the woman wishes to record any last thoughts. A pen and inkstand will not be allowed, but several charcoal sticks, of the kind used by artists for sketching, have been brought, which will do perfectly well, and I shall make some entries in this book.

10.00 p.m.

I should like to record that everywhere is quiet and calm, but it is not. As I write this there is a kind of uneasy murmuring – almost as the very stones and bricks are humming with anger and resentment at what lies ahead.

They have kept the oil lights burning in the passage outside – a very low light it is, and it casts strange shadows everywhere.

Mr Glaister told me earlier that the other prisoners will know of the forthcoming hanging – they try to keep executions a secret, but the information always leaks out.

‘They become restless on the night beforehand,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they begin banging on their cell walls, or chanting protests. Occasionally prayers or hymns. It is accepted by anyone who has worked in this kind of gaol that the night before a hanging is always a strange one. And it may be particularly so tonight, since this is probably the last hanging that will take place here.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I cannot explain it to you, that strangeness, but it is a feeling of dark suffocation.’