The Hankie
Another letter from a bitch.
From The Honourable Lady Emily Brackenden
My dearest Sarah,
I
have had the most interesting few days my dear. For once I really feel that I
have done something of lasting value. My work as a prison inspector is
important, as I am sure you will agree, but so much of it is routine. It's not
often one has the opportunity to demonstrate one's intellect. On this occasion
however such an opportunity did present itself while I was at Wyegate, and indeed I felt it was an honour to play my part
in upholding the security of our beloved country in the face of unbridled
anarchy. It was my dear nothing less than that.
I
will be back with you very soon my little pussy. Now that I have finished at Wyegate I have only one more inspection to carry out on
this tour of duty, and as that is at the Lessington
Priory there should be no delays. I will be there in another day or two. The
Prioress there keeps a very strict prison and so there should be no reason for
a protracted visit. I pity any poor woman who is sent there. Oh dear, listen to
me. I really am becoming far too soft hearted for this role.
In
the mean time however I thought I would write you a little letter to cheer you
up as I am sure you must be missing me, and also to tell you that I love you
all the more each day that I am away from you. And furthermore I thought you
might like to hear my news. I only hope the mail coach leaves on time or it
will miss the connection at
But
I digress. I am writing this at Sir Addingshore-Culbert's
lovely house Brinton Manor near Lydham.
I told you I would be staying here while I carried out my inspection at Wyegate because it's quite near and the Wyegate
Priory is not the most comfortable priory in which to stay. Anyway, when I got
to Wyegate everything was more or less as I'd
expected. Good enough for the types they get there, but what do you think? When
I arrived I found they were holding a heresy trial. No one important, just a
local woman, but this stupid sister Delia, the new prioress there, had allowed those interfering
sisters from the
This
is that bird brained bunch of socialists from that
Apparently
they got into a trial over at Henshaw recently and
not only got a man off the charge of stealing one of his master's chickens but
they also persuaded the magistrate not to flog him. They said he was too simple
to know what he was doing. I bet he wasn't too simple to enjoy his feast when
he damn well ate it. These socialists
make my blood boil. That's why I don't like village trials held by councilors or even magistrates, had he been a woman or a
pretty girl they would probably have given him another bird. And who'd pay?
Who'd pay for it? The poor landowner that's who.
Anyway,
I sat in that confounded main hall at Wyegate, which
is among the draughtiest that I know of, and watched those stupid nuns talking
themselves into a right old tangle. There was the defendant standing looking
like something the cat had brought in, and there was a very dim looking Wyegate sister prosecuting and trying to argue the toss
with one of those
She
was nice looking, to give her credit I suppose, although perhaps more handsome
than just pretty. She was very calm, and well spoken, quite serene. In fact she
was a right prig of an upstart. You know the type, one who speaks like a Lady
but obviously has never had two groats to rub
together. All these nuns started out in the gutter.
Anyway
this woman who was being tried was obviously guilty. She hadn't been to church
for nearly six months apparently. She said she had a sick mother to look after
who couldn't be left and all that sort of rubbish, and then she had the cheek
to say the good Lord was always at her side. As if the good Lord would trouble
himself with a lazy slag like her. Then, when she did appear in church it was
late at night and she stole the alter cross. I mean to say, how stupid can you
get. It's gold of course but who would dare melt it down for her?
She
thought the blacksmith would do it but he took it to the Bishop. He doesn't
suffer thieves lightly, and he completely lost his temper with her when she was
brought before the congregation the following Sunday and said the Lord had
given her the strength to steal it. She claimed she and her mother were
starving, yet there's a soup kitchen every other day in that village so there's no excuse. So when she started
spouting about the Lord condoning theft from the church of all places she was
charged with heresy and dispatched for a priory trial. Wyegate
was the nearest so that's where she was sent.
If
the prioress had been sensible it would have been over and done with before I
even arrived, but no this stupid sister Delia had let everyone know they were
holding a heresy trial and in walked that interfering bunch from Riverside. I
told her she didn't even have to let them through the door, they can only
attend a trial if they're invited, but they were already there when I arrived,
so I sat and watched with mounting irritation.
The
one I mentioned, who was going on and on about sinners always deserving at
least one chance to redeem themselves, was a sister Clair, and although she
appeared to be nice and calm, she kept twisting a little hanky around her
fingers which showed, to anyone as astute as me anyway, that she was actually
struggling. She was quite young but she was trying to look so mature, although
she was anything but mature. She was barely into her twenties by my reckoning.
Thank
the Lord however, in spite of all her pleadings, the nuns on the bench pulled themselves
together at last and eventually acted like a proper tribunal and found the
woman guilty. The sentence of course was burning and do you know what? That
silly young fool who'd been trying to defend her burst into tears. If she can't
take being beaten then she shouldn't contest a trial. She and her types are just
a waste of space.
Now
at this point sweetie I must tell you that as everyone left the hall this
stupid sister Clair dropped the hanky she'd been fiddling with and I picked it
up. I was going to get a serving nun to give it back to her, but I thought 'No you
stupid girl, you're not having it back', so I put it in my pocket. Well I was
hardly going to run after her was I? She
and her cohorts were staying at the priory over night so they could say prayers
with the woman before she was executed in the yard next day, but I was off to
the Addingshore-Culbert's for the night. But now dear, you must remember this hankie
because it is important.
As
I said, I had arranged to stay with the Addingshore-Culbert's
and over dinner I was telling Maud all about it. Do you remember her, she and
her husband Sir Cuthbert Addingshore-Culbert came to
a charity concert I put on a couple of years ago. Do you remember? She decided
to sing, unfortunately. That was when poor old Sir Leslie started with his
tinnitus. It never went away you know, but anyway, she was most perturbed about
the goings on at Wyegate. She, like the rest of us, is vehemently of
the opinion that this social reform nonsense has got to be stopped. Her husband
was away on a stag hunt somewhere for a few of days, so we talked well into the
late hours, but what do you think? This is incredible dear.
I
didn't actually have to go back to Wyegate at all
next day, I'd finished their inspection
before looking in on the trial, but as I didn't need to be at Lessington until later in the week I thought I might as
well go back and see the execution. I wanted to see they were doing it
properly, but when my coachmen drove me through the gates I witnessed a very
strange sight. I could see some of the nuns slowly walking with pitch forks
through the reeds down by the river, and what do you think? The woman, the
heretic, had escaped and they'd been looking for her since dawn. I was furious.
I stormed into the prison block and demanded to know what had happened. No-one
escapes from a prison I've just inspected without heads rolling.
The
wardress nuns were of course petrified, almost on their knees to me, but in no
time the prioress was at my side. That woman creeps around like a damned ghost.
What she told me made my blood boil. She said it was clearly the work of
someone who had crept into the prison to grab a set of keys while the duty
sister was in the toilet. That 'someone' had then unlocked the woman's cell and
unlocked another door at the back of the building for the escape. And when the
duty sister returned from the toilet the fool didn't even notice any of the
keys were missing.
I
couldn't believe anyone could fail to see a set of keys had gone from the
board, and said that blasted sister with the clapped out bladder must have been
involved. I was told she was far too dedicated to have been part of such a
crime but I insisted she was put to the test. “And no half measures,” I added.
I was furious, but then what might they expect? My responsibilities do take
into account security after all. I'm not just some woman who comes to see if
the straw has been changed.
With
no prisoner there was no trial, obviously, but they went on searching over a
widening area all day, and although I
had no further business there I decided to stay on because I wanted to see this
issue settled. As it turned out it was indeed settled, but certainly not in the
way one might have expected.
The
wretched woman wasn't found. She'd got clean away or she'd gone down in a bog,
but a squad of the nuns went with the village constable to her home and found
only her old mother. They planned of
course to check on the dwelling every now and then to see if she turned up, but
I think she probably went down in a bog. The place is surrounded by them
apparently, and at a few priory prisons they do occasionally deal with
unfaithful wives that way. They have their hands tied behind their back and
stood in a bog. I saw it on one occasion in Norfolk. They stood on a board walk
round her and said prayers while she went down. It didn't take long. It was
quite effective really, her going back to nature like that.
But
where was I? Oh yes, those useless coachmen of mine had trouble with one of the
axles, or so they said, and it was such a tedious journey back to the Addingshore-Culbert's. However, over dinner Maud and I were
discussing the case, or rather the lack of a case now the damned heretic had
gone, and as our chat turned from her to the meddling Riverside nuns and that
sister Clair in particular, I took out her little hankie.
“This
is her hankie,” I said, “And damn her she's not having it back.” and I told
Maud I was going to have it boiled and made nice with some Rose Essence, and
that might have been the end of it, except that Maud was asking again about the
woman's disappearance. “Who could have got her out? Could it have been one of
her relatives who might have climbed over the wall?” she asked.
Maud
does go on a bit, but I said “They've no idea, they've found nothing, not a
single clue,” and she said “Could those sisters from Riverside have had
anything to do with it?” and I said “No they wouldn't dare do a thing like
that. They wouldn't commit an offence like that. It's a serious offence to free
a prisoner who's been condemned for heresy. They'd never live it down.”
The
word's had hardly left my mouth when it hit me. It came to me like a flash of
lightening, but you know how quick I can be.
I had been struck with an inspiration that was so audacious that for a
few moments I couldn't speak. I was, for a second or two, struck quite dumb by
what had flashed into my mind. You won't have had such an experience, but I can
only say at times like this I can see everything like a 'vision'. It comes from
above of course.
When
I was ready I composed myself and then I spoke slowly and clearly. “Maud,” I
said, “If this little hankie was to be found in the prison block, and some of
the Wyegate nuns were to recognise it as belonging to
that Sister Clair, she might get the blame and Riverside would never recover
from the scandal.”
Maud
gasped and held her napkin up to her mouth. She looked startled, but was
nevertheless very impressed. At first
though she tried to put me off. You know, trying to play safe and find fault
with it, but in the end we could find very little fault with it. Except that it
would have to be done very carefully. It took a little time naturally but I
worked it out. It was all going to depended on whether a certain sister Iris
had had enough. She was pivotal, as you will come to understand.
Before
going to sleep that night I lay thinking it over, and although I am not a
vindictive woman as you know, I must admit I was finding it all rather
pleasing. That sister Clair was such a young prig and it would be so satisfying
to see her in the dock. As you will understand, heresy is a very serious
offence and the law says that if you assist a condemned heretic to escape you
are then charged in his or her place, and if found guilty you inherit the
sentence. And so if they found that sweet and charming sister Clair guilty her
life would have to come suddenly, and oh so tragically, to an end, with two or
three of steps up onto a nicely laid out stack of faggots.
Once
back at Wyegate next morning I had a little talk with
this sister Iris. This was the nun with the bladder problem who'd been on duty
when the keys went missing and, as I expected, sister Iris was not a happy
bunny. The prioress had locked her in a cell and she was being starved to
encourage her come clean about that fateful night, just in case she knew more
than she was admitting to. The deal she'd been given by the prioress was simple enough for her to understand. Come
up with something useful or stay in there and rot. But on the other hand I had a much better
deal for her. First though it meant ascertaining when the next bout of floor
mopping was to take place. A morsel of information she was able to give me very
easily.
Sister
Iris was a plump old bird and as predicted she was by now getting somewhat
peckish. The prospect of slowly starving to death was not going down too well.
So, being of a generous nature I offered her the chance to live. I've always
found it's the sort of opportunity few people can resist, and after no more
than a small amount of soul searching, when she realised it would incriminate a
nun from Riverside, she decided she quite liked my proposition. By and large it
was clear there wasn't a great deal of love between the sisterhoods, but that
is what I had anticipated.
There
had to be a safe-guard naturally, but it was nothing complicated. I reminded
her that as an official of the Crown I had protection against malicious
accusation, and anyway if she blabbed and mentioned my name in any way shape or
form no one would believe the delirious rantings of a
starving woman. And furthermore, if no-one else could be found to shoulder the
blame it wouldn't be so very difficult to promote her to the unenviable
position of suspect number one. “After all you had access to the keys,” I said,
“ This was an act of heresy and we all know what the sentence is.”
Within
the hour I was having lunch with the prioress, a simple affair of eel cutlets
and crayfish tails lightly fried in butter and white wine followed by a
strawberry and red current syllabub, which was all very disappointing. However,
news of the hankie arrived in good time. A serving nun came to say the prioress
was being called to the prison block, and after a little more white wine we
went to see what had been happening.
As
soon as we entered the building a nun
handed the prioress a small hankie explaining that it had been found behind the
mop buckets by the back door. This wasn't at all surprising to me, seeing as
I'd dropped it there earlier, and soon the woman was pointing out that it
didn't belong to any of the wardresses or any of the prisoners either.
It
took a while but sister 'dithering' Delia at last began to see the point. And I
said “Well, well. Do you mean this hankie could have been dropped by whoever
freed that woman?” The wardress nodded. “That is exactly what we are wondering,”
she said, and at long last the Prioress said, “Perhaps we should try and find
out who it belongs to.”
Back
in her apartment she called her senior nuns and, displaying the hankie, she
asked if anyone recognised it. I was worried in case it drew a blank, and I
wouldn't have been surprised if it had, they're all pretty thick at Wyegate. However, after looking at it closely one of them
said, “It looks like the hankie Sister Clair was twisting round her fingers
during the trial, you know, when she was pleading for that woman's life.”
It
was perfect. I sprang to my feet and said “My word yes. My word I do believe it
is hers. I remember she was twisting it
around her fingers, yes that's it,” and they all agreed. They were getting
quite excited so I next asked, very solemnly, “Do we need to look further for
the person who crept into the prison block and then crept out with the
heretic?”
It's
a good job I'd taken an interest in classical drama when I was a girl. I made
my point with exactly the right amount of emphasis and everyone went absolutely
silent. Then the prioress said “Someone go and bring her.”
Although
the woman hadn't been recaptured Sister Clair and the others from Riverside was
still there at Wyegate in case she was found, and so
it was the task of just a few minutes for her to be brought before us. And what
a dramatic moment it was too. Holding up the little hankie by one corner the
prioress asked “Is this yours sister Clair?” She looked surprised, then looking
at it closely declared that it was hers. That was all that was needed. Sister Delia turned to her senior wardress
and said “Take her away.”
Looking
from the window some minutes later it was very satisfying seeing her being led
away between a squad of wardresses, still looking surprised, and hurriedly
followed by her Riverside companions with their cloaks flapping and chattering
fussily among themselves like a flock of black birds.
Sister
Delia needed a bit of prodding but I told her she needed to get rid of them. I
said if they weren't sent back to Riverside they would only create problems,
and this business needed to be dealt with as soon as possible or it might reach
the ears of the Lord Justice. This I said with a good deal of emphasis, and I
said “It's not every day of the week that a priory loses a convicted heretic,
so you need to show people in high places that, at least, you caught the
culprit who let her out.”
She saw the point of course and then, out of
the blue, I had another of my brain waves. I honestly don't know how I do it. I
can hardly believe we didn't think of it when I was originally discussing the
plan with Maud that evening. It was just perfect. It was just what was needed
to round the whole thing off and maximise the result.
“That
Riverside bunch,” I said, “They really do need showing up. They are so
deceitful, and it's all political you know.” She frowned and I quickly carried
on. “They say they are pressing for social reform and they claim to be good
Christians, but the people need to see what a scheming and distrustful bunch of
liars they are.” And then I came to my point. “That sister Clair should be
exhibited to the people.”
For
once I could see she was soon cottoning onto what I was leading up to and I
pressed on. “I usually prefer female offenders to be dealt with within the
confines of a priory,” I told her. “Well away from distraught lovers and such
like, but on this occasion I think you should offer her to the provost to deal
with in the market place so they can hear the charge read out, and see what
sort of misfit she is. What do you think?”
It's
wonderful what a few well chosen words will do. She called for one of her staff
and sent her off immediately to get the form for a public execution from the
provost who resided in the local village. I sat back then, feeling more than
pleased with myself. Mind you, there was
still some reluctance with her. She reminded me that the hapless sister Clair
hadn't yet been found guilty. My answer to that was simple. “My dear sister
Delia, if you don't deal with her quickly and efficiently this case will rumble
on for a very long time. For your own good and that of your priory see to it
that it doesn't.”
I
then made a request. It was a reasonable request I thought, seeing as I was having
to help her avoid the awkward questions that might otherwise come from high
places, but for now I will say no more. You will soon see.
I
returned straight away then to Brinton manor with the
news for Maude, which of course delighted her, and I stayed on for a couple of
days while they set up the trial. I'd done all I could so it just meant being
patient now and hoping for a guilty verdict. Then with a favourable result Maud
and I would have a little excursion.
Upon
my return for the trial the Prioress was soon doing her best to give the
accused a reasonable defence, but thank God her nuns were in no mood for
wasting time. Especially once the, by now, very hungry sister Iris was helped
into the hall to say that sister Clair had been to the prison block that
fateful night to have a prayer she'd written handed to the accused. That caused
a stir as you might expect, but it was no more than I'd told her to say. She'd
learnt her part very well, and as arranged she went on to say that sister Clair
could well have hidden in another cell or somewhere until she went to the
toilet and saw the chance to steal the keys.
She
finished her performance very well indeed. She fell to her knees and begged
them to understand she didn't want to incriminate a fellow sister of such an
offence without proof, because she couldn't believe a holy sister could be so
wicked as to free a heretic. “But,” she wailed “I can see now I was wrong,” and
with that she collapsed completely, and I'm pleased to say she was later shown
a measure of mercy and got off with a whipping.
Sister
sweetie Clair was very honest. Again she admitted the hankie was hers, but
repeatedly claimed that she hadn't been anywhere near the prison block that
night. Without the others from Riverside being present however she had no-one
to back up her claim, and for one awful moment I thought the Prioress might
postpone the trial and call them as witnesses, but fortunately she didn't. I
don't think it would really have made a lot of difference though, judging by the
attitude of that Wyegate gang, and she probably
realised that. The girl herself seemed to be resigned to her fate. She kept
saying the Lord God Almighty is my judge, and in the end they came to their
decision in well
under
the hour. But then that hall is very draughty, even at this time of the year.
The
senior sister of the tribunal stood up then and told her she'd been found
guilty. She stood with her eyes closed, stretching her long thin arms down in
front of her and clutching her hands together. She stood stock still and when
asked if she had anything to say she was silent for a while. Then she opened
her eyes and said in a very weak little voice, “I have spoken the truth. But if
the good Lord has called upon my name, then I can do nothing but accept your
judgement with obedience.” Oh dear, what an act. She almost had that idiot
sister Delia in tears.
And
so at last the day came, and it was awful. I have never seen such an ill
mannered crowd. They were disgraceful. But that's the trouble with public
executions, although it was done quite well I suppose. The market sales
had finished. Most of the beasts had
gone, which was a good thing because a fire gets them upset, especially cattle,
they'd be bellowing all the time. But the whole place stank to high heaven. The
place was like a tip. I really think it could have been tidied up. The market
stalls had only been half cleared away, kids were climbing up on them for a
good view, there were filthy vegetables strewn around, and piles of dung were
everywhere of course, and the crowd was so rowdy. It was like one of those
awful drunken village carnivals, and of course the ale and pie sellers were
doing a great trade, although how anyone can eat such disgusting muck I cannot
imagine, let alone swill so much ale.
All
round there were people watching from open windows, like the tavern of course,
and suddenly a woman on the top floor was shouting “She's coming, she's
coming,” and so she was. They brought her to the market place on a farm cart
with her wrists tied to the rail, and the crowd was so unruly that as she
stepped down the provost and his constables had quite a job on their hands
getting her to the stake, they were pressing in on them so much. Sister Delia
had insisted that her own wardresses from the priory deal with her, and it was
a good thing that Maud and I were standing with them or they would have
overwhelmed us.
It
was just so noisy, and so very unpleasant for titled ladies to witness, but at
least it was having the desired effect. The notices of the execution, that had
been nailed up around the district naming her as a 'heretic and an enemy of the
people', had certainly brought a good crowd, and dear me didn't they hate her.
But there's nothing worse than someone who preaches obedience and devotion to
the Lord and behind your back completely disregards the good Lord.
As
they pushed through the crowd she was having all manner of things thrown at
her, and yet she seemed determined to keep her head up and take it all, almost
without flinching. Dear God she was so
self righteous.
At
the base of the faggots the wardresses took over and made her take her sandals
off, which she did, taking the arm of one of them to steady herself, and then
the crowd went wild as she stood with bare feet and legs. Not as you usually
see a nun. And then, with even more uproar they removed her hood, and that
silly white cap they wear, and by doing so let a surprising head of blond hair
spill onto her shoulders. This really excited them. It wasn't like pure gold,
nothing like yours my dear, but their
excitement seeing her hair was nothing compared with what followed when they
removed her habit.
They
were disgusting, men and women shouting the most filthy things. But of course
it was a novelty wasn't it, seeing a nun standing before them in absolutely
nothing but a thin little silky slip. It was very flimsy, the sort that just
hangs from the shoulders by a couple of ribbons. I must say I'd never seen a
nun undressed like this, but underneath it all they're only human, nothing
more. And it must have been a terrible ordeal for her standing there almost
naked with the crowd wanting to see more. I won't repeat what they were
shouting at her. It was disgusting.
Then, once the senior wardress had folded her
habit and handed it over to one of the others, she read out the sentence to the
crowd. This explained that she had been condemned for defying God's holy laws
by aiding an enemy of the church to escape justice as a heretic, a crime that
the law recognised as a heresy in itself. As she got to the end there was a
great cheer when she uttered the words “And accordingly she was was sentence to death by burning.”
By then it was time. The senior wardress took
her by the arm and with the crowd still cheering she took her up the steps onto
the pyre, and what do you think she did?
Standing now on the faggots the stupid girl was allowed to place her
hands at either side of the stake, put her lips to it and gently kiss it. This
of course brought howls of derision from the crowd, and she calmly turned around
then, stood herself back against it, closed her eyes, and held her arms right
back behind it ready to be secured.
I
heard that stupid Maud murmur, “Oh, poor dear,” but Maud was always too soft,
and then of course they set to work securing her. First her wrists were shackled tightly
together, which made her wince, and then a chain was brought up to girdle her
twice around her waist, with another shackled loosely across her throat to keep
her head up and another across her thighs. Then her ankles were also shackled
to the post, and she was ready.
She
was staring straight ahead with eyes shining as bright as a brand new bride,
but her breasts were rising and falling quickly now, and in spite of all the
pretence of being brave, you could see that actually she was far from brave.
Then my dear sweetie, It was my turn. Yes my turn. I told you I had made a
request and this was it.
I
stepped up onto the faggots and had her all to myself for a couple of minutes.
I checked her chains of course. I ran my hands over them, which was a nice
feeling, and it was just so satisfying to stand there knowing that I had got
her there. I stood right up against her then, and looking deep into her nice
blue eyes, I was thinking how nice it would have been for you and I to have had
her for a little while, but never mind, and I asked her “Do you have any idea
my poor dear how terribly you are going to suffer?” She looked down and said,
in no more than a whisper, “I do,” and I said, “That's good,” and with a little
kiss on her cheek I left her.
It
was very nice having the last word with her, and now the crowd was getting even
noisier. They hadn't stopped since she'd been stripped but now they were even
rowdier. One of the nuns had taken a flaming torch from a brazier on the other
side of the pyre and she was handing it to the senior wardress. This was it.
This was the moment.
Maud
gripped my arm and we looked up at the girl who was now gazing up to heaven
and speaking aloud a prayer. She was
still trying her very best to look like a martyr as we stepped back a little
for the woman with the torch. She pushed past us and carefully lit the
brushwood all round the pyre. It didn't take her long, and the fire very soon
started to take hold, rushing up noisily through the faggots, and still her
prisoner went on reciting aloud her prayer, hardly pausing even when swirling
smoke momentarily obliterated her from view. But each time it cleared she was
looking a little more distressed, and I just knew her resolve would break
before long.
Every
now and then a breeze stirred up the flames and gradually it was becoming a
real blaze, with the fire spreading eagerly through the larger bundles of wood
and causing us to step back again. In the course of just a few minutes you
could see the change. It was fascinating but inevitable. It was a struggle for
the girl to recite her prayers now, and as another surge of flames rose through
the faggots she was losing her composure rapidly. So scared was she that the
struggle to complete her prayers was becoming desperate. “It won't be long
now,” I said to Maud.
For
a few more minutes she went on struggling with her prayers, but she was nothing
like as brave as she had been. She was really feeling the heat of the fire now,
and soon her face was wet with perspiration and she was choking back her tears
more than she was praying. With the fire starting to roar I couldn't quite be
sure, but I think she was now reduced to begging, pleading like a beggar with
the good Lord to take her quickly. But the good Lord was in no hurry.
At
last, with each fresh rush of fire surging up through the great bundles of
wood, you could see panic was setting in, and shouting to Maud I said “Look at
her, she's starting to panic. I knew she would.” And sure enough, although she
had gone to the stake saying she accepted it as God's will, she was trying now
to wriggle free, and soon she was becoming absolutely desperate. Her face was a picture of terror but there
was nothing she could do of course, she was chained to stay right there, and
stay there she would.
I've
seen lots of burnings but this one was definitely more interesting than most.
We were watching all her nice holier than thou lady-like veneer fall away with
every passing minute, and it was so very satisfying. Bit by bit she was looking
exactly what she was, just a simple lower order girl trapped in a fire, and
with nothing like the decorum needed to face her end with dignity. And
eventually the wretch was scorching. Twisting first one way then the other she
was at her wits end, but of course it was getting worse all the time. And very
soon we could see the roaring flames were now into the faggots under her feet,
and in no time she was at last screaming.
Her feet were burning.
With
the distortion of the flames and the swirling smoke it was sometimes hard to
see her clearly, but she was screaming like mad. Having to shout, I said to
Maud “You see dear, you can be as pious as you wish, but there's no enduring a
fire.”
As
I said, the good Lord was in no hurry, and soon, as she repeatedly wrenched
herself wildly from side to side in her chains, the fire intensified, and as
the surging flames grew higher, forcing us to move back even further, her nice
silky slip caught fire. It went up very quickly, with burning embers of it drifting
up in the smoke, and for a while her body could be seen naked, slowly scorching
red. At last she was roasting, roasting alive, her body gradually becoming red
raw.
The
crowd was loving it of course. They also were shrieking, but with delight,
especially when her hair caught fire. It was spectacular as usual. But
honestly, that crowd was disgraceful. I don't mind the masses witnessing
justice being carried out, even enjoying the experience, and you would expect
men to be somewhat boisterous perhaps, but the women were just as bad, with
hands stuffed down trousers and skirts alike. It was disgusting, and there was
even a couple doing it against a barn door. I did my best to shield it all from
Maud, but I don't know if I managed. She didn't complain anyway. But that's
what you get when you allow the lower class
to participate in something serious. They've got no self respect. No
self control.
As
for our pious young nun, she didn't have long to go by the time they'd started
on each other. You could see she was just about alive, although there was a
little too much smoke on this occasion to see clearly all the time. As time
went by though her insane cries gradually died away and she slowly became
nothing more than a blackened shape, writhing only slowly and barely visible in
the blurred distortion of what was now a roaring inferno.
As
usual it was hard to say quite when the end came for her, but she'd had long
enough, and suffice it to say we made a hasty departure once she appeared to
have gone. Another minute was a minute too long to tarry with that crowd of
hooligans. How they can behave like that I don't know. But my dear, that Maud
is so silly. As we settled in our carriage and we started on our way she turned
to me suddenly and said, “So how did that woman escape from her cell?”
We
had spent a good half hour watching a nice looking young woman slowly burn to
death and she was still trying to solve a mystery. She's not normal. Never
mind. I'll be home very soon my dearest little kitten, and soon you will be
locked up in my arms. You are one naughty little lady who is never going to
escape.
Your
loving, and ever caring,
Emily.