Alys felt every bit of strength drain from her body as she lay in the wagon bed, sobbing. This was it. She wasn’t going home. A verdict had been passed, and nothing she said would make a difference. Would no one speak in her defense? Would it even make a difference? They’d probably get Nell to testify, to say Alys had knowledge of herbs and had kept herself healthy while everyone else was ill. Not that she had been healthy, but Nell would say that, if only out of spite. And Will and Bess? Would anyone listen to them? Of course not. Not even the vicar would contradict the lord and lady of the manor. Why would he? And she’d asked Old Maude for the pennyroyal. That alone was probably enough to condemn her. She had been willing to use a potion to rid herself of a child conceived in sin.
Strong hands pulled her up once they finally reached the manor house. Alys couldn’t stand on her own, and the buzzing in her ears prevented her from hearing what was said. The ground seemed to sway, as if she were at sea, her innards twisting themselves into knots, her body expelling bile that tasted sour and burned her gullet. She wiped her mouth with her bound hands, and someone held a cup of ale to her lips. It was Millie. She looked horrified but averted her eyes when Alys tried to meet her gaze. The constables dragged her into the house by the back door and down the stairs to the cellar. They didn’t bother to untie her hands before leaving her down there in the dark.
For a brief moment, Alys thought she was having a terrible nightmare and would wake up any minute. Everything had seemed distorted, unreal, the magistrate’s voice unnaturally loud and the words garbled and foreign as the constables dragged her to the wagon after the sentence had been pronounced. But the cold stone beneath her was solid enough, and the thudding of her heart told her it was no dream. They would leave her down here until it was time and then hang her like a common criminal, her final thought the memory of Jeremy’s betrayal. But no, she wouldn’t think of Jeremy. Never again. He had forsaken her, much as God had. She would think of Jamie and hope that he’d forget her and have a happy life. And if Jeremy had even one decent bone in his body, he would look after his son and make sure he was well cared for.
And now the day of her execution had dawned, and there were no more tears, no more recriminations, and no more hope of a last-minute reprieve. Alys blinked as blood-red rays streaked the sky, the sun rising on a day she wouldn’t see out. She wished she could have seen Jamie one last time, held him and told him how much she cherished him, but it was probably better this way. Seeing Jamie would have completely undone her. As seeing Jeremy would have done. She’d thought he’d come, but he hadn’t. Too much of a coward to face her after what he’d done.
A dark-clad shape moved behind the window—Lady Marjorie watching to make sure the sentence was carried out. Shivering with cold and fear, her knees knocking together in terror, Alys was pulled toward the tree, where a noose had already been fashioned. There were only three people in the clearing: Reverend Gilcrest, Walter Lockwood, and Matthew, who stood, head bowed, next to the cart containing a pine box Alys would shortly occupy. A cry tore from her chest, but no one paid her much mind. She was pulled closer to the tree, where Walter Lockwood pushed the noose over her head.
Reverend Gilcrest was praying, but Alys couldn’t hear a word he said over the roaring in her ears. She had never been so terrified in her life. She tried to focus on Matthew, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze, his head bowed so low she could only see the top of his hat. Alys was surprised when Walter Lockwood offered her a flask that smelled strongly of spirits.
“Take a sip. It’ll go easier for you,” he said gruffly.
Alys obediently took a sip of brandy, then another. It did little to calm her. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, I don’t want to die.”
“Should have thought of that before you seduced my brother,” Walter Lockwood said. “He sends his regards, by the by.”
Whatever fight Alys had left in her was doused by Lord Lockwood’s words, her spirit put out like a fire with a bucket of cold water. The noose tightened around her neck, and then her feet were leaving the ground, the breath choked out as her body swayed in the early morning breeze. Alys felt her eyes bugging out of her head as she struggled for breath, her throat burning with the lack of air. When darkness descended, she gave in to it, glad her suffering was almost at an end.
Journal Entry
Despite what she’s done, I prayed for Alys Bailey’s Salvation. I hope she renounced the Devil and embraced the Lord in her final moments. My Husband, Coward that He is, refused to watch his lover die. He’s locked himself in his study, no doubt drinking himself into oblivion.
The witch is dead. God be Praised.
Chapter 66
Nicole
I hadn’t expected to feel as emotional as I did, but Kyle’s words were like barbed wire wrapping around my heart. That poor girl was hanged knowing she’d been betrayed by the man she loved and by the decree of a law that catered to the wealthy and helped them rid
