dies for her?'
'Meg,' Sandman tried to plead with her.
'Get your bleeding paws off me!'
'Dear God,' Viscount Sidmouth said in a pained voice, and backed towards the door. 'Witherspoon,' he said, 'we are wasting our time.'
'Got ever such big wasps in Australia,' Sally said, 'begging your lordship's pardon.'
Even Viscount Sidmouth with his thin, barren lawyer's mind was not oblivious of Sally's charms. In the dark room she was like a ray of sunlight and he actually smiled at her, even though he did not understand her meaning. 'I beg your pardon?' he said to her.
'Ever such big wasps in Australia,' Sally said, 'and that's where this mollisher's going on account that she didn't give her testimony at Charlie's trial. She should have done, but she didn't. Protecting her man, see? And you're going to transport her, aren't you, my lord?' Sally reinforced this rhetorical question with a graceful curtsey.
The Home Secretary frowned. 'Transportation? It is for the courts, my dear, not me to decide on who should be…' His voice suddenly tailed away for he was staring with astonishment at Meg, who was shivering with fear.
'Very large wasps in Australia,' Sandman said, 'famously so.'
'No!' Meg cried.
'Big ones,' Sally said with extraordinary relish, 'with stingers like hatpins.'
'He didn't do it!' Meg said, 'and I don't want to go to Australia!'
Sidmouth was looking at her much as the audience must have gazed on the pig faced lady at the Lyceum. 'Are you saying,' he asked in a very cold voice, 'that Charles Corday did not commit the murder?'
'The Marquess didn't! He didn't!'
'The Marquess didn't?' Sidmouth asked, utterly mystified now.
'The Marquess of Skavadale, my lord,' Sandman explained, 'in whose house she was given shelter.'
'He came after the murder,' Meg, terrified of the mythical wasps, was desperate to explain now. 'The Marquess came after she was dead. He often called on the house. And he was still there!'
'Who was still there?' Sidmouth enquired.
'He was there!'
'Corday was?'
'No!' Meg said, frowning. 'Him!' She paused, looked at Sandman then back to the Home Secretary whose face still showed puzzlement. 'Her stepson,' she said, 'him what had been ploughing his father's field for half a year.'
Sidmouth grimaced with distaste. 'Her stepson?'
'Lord Christopher Carne, my lord,' Sandman explained, 'stepson to the Countess and heir to the Earldom.'
'I saw him with the knife,' Meg snarled, 'and so did the Marquess. He was crying, he was. Lord Christopher! He hated her, see, but he couldn't keep his scrawny paws off her neither. Oh, he killed her! It wasn't that feeble painter!'
There was a second's pause in which a score of questions came to Sandman's mind, but then Lord Sidmouth snapped at Witherspoon. 'My compliments to the police office in Queen Square,' that office was only a short walk away, 'and I shall be obliged if they will provide four officers and six saddle horses instantly. But give me a pen first, Witherspoon, a pen and paper and wax and seal.' He turned and looked at a clock on the mantel. 'And let us hurry, man.' His voice was sour as though he resented this extra work, but Sandman could not fault him. He was doing the right thing and doing it quickly. 'Let us hurry,' the Home Secretary said again. And hurry they did.
===OO=OOO=OO===
'Foot on the block, boy! Don't dally!' the turnkey snapped at Charles Corday who gave a gulp, then put his right foot on the wooden block. The turnkey put the punch over the first rivet then hammered it out. Corday gasped with each blow, then whimpered when the manacle dropped away. Lord Alexander saw that the boy's ankle was a welt of sores.
'Other foot, boy,' the turnkey ordered.
The two bells tolled on and neither would stop now until both bodies were cut down. The Keeper's guests were silent, just watching the prisoners' faces as though some clue to the secrets of eternity might lie in those eyes that so soon would be seeing the other side.
'Right, lad, go and see the hangman!' the turnkey said, and Charles Corday gave a small cry of surprise as he took his first steps without leg irons. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself on a table.
'I do not know,' Lord Christopher Carne said, then stopped abruptly.
'What, Kit?' Lord Alexander asked considerately.
Lord Christopher gave a start, unaware that he had even spoken, but then collected himself. 'You say there are doubts about his guilt?' he asked.
'Oh indeed, yes, indeed.' Lord Alexander paused to light a pipe. 'Sandman was quite sure of the boy's innocence, but I suppose it can't be proven. Alas, alas.'
'But if the real k-killer were to be found,' Lord Christopher asked, his eyes fixed on Corday who was quivering as he stood before the hangman, 'could that man then be convicted of the crime if Corday has already been found g-guilty of it and been hanged?'
'A very nice question!' Lord Alexander said enthusiastically. 'And one to which I confess I do not know the answer. But I should imagine, would you not agree, that if the real killer is apprehended then a posthumous pardon must be granted to Corday and one can only hope that such a pardon will be recognised in heaven and the poor boy will be fetched up from the nether regions.'
'Stand still, boy,' Jemmy Botting growled at Corday. 'Drink that if you want to. It helps.' He pointed to a mug of brandy, but Corday shook his head. 'Your choice, lad, your choice,' Botting said, then he took one of the four cords and used it to lash Corday's elbows, pulling them hard behind his back so that Corday was forced to throw out his chest.
'Not too tight, Botting,' the Keeper remonstrated.
'In the old days,' Botting grumbled, 'the hangman had an assistant to do this. There was the Yeoman of the Halter and pinioning was his job. It ain't mine.' He had not been tipped anything by Corday, hence had made the first pinion so painful, but now he relaxed the cord's tension a little before lashing Corday's wrists in front of his body.
'That's for both of us,' Reginald Venables, the second prisoner, big and bearded, slapped a coin on the table. 'So slacken my friend's lashings.'
Botting looked at the coin, was impressed by the generosity, and so loosened Corday's two cords before placing one of the noosed ropes round his neck. Corday flinched from the sisal's touch and the Reverend Cotton stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'God is our refuge and strength, young man,' the Ordinary said, 'and a very present help in times of trouble. Call on the Lord and He will hear you. Do you repent of your foul sins, boy?'
'I did nothing!' Corday wailed.
'Quiet, my son, quiet,' Cotton urged him, 'and reflect on your sins in decent silence.'
'I did nothing!' Corday screamed.
'Charlie! Don't give 'em the pleasure,' Venables said. 'Remember what I told you, go like a man!' Venables sank a mug of brandy, then turned his back so that Botting could lash his elbows.
'But surely,' Lord Christopher said to Lord Alexander, 'the very fact that a man already stands c-convicted and has been p-punished, would make the authorities most reluctant to reopen the case?'
'Justice must be served,' Lord Alexander said vaguely, 'but I suppose you make a valid point. No one likes to admit that they were mistaken, least of all a politician, so doubtless the real murderer can feel a good deal safer once Corday is dead. Poor boy, poor boy. He is a sacrifice to our judicial incompetence, eh?'
Botting placed the second rope about Venables's shoulders, then the Reverend Cotton took a step back from the prisoners and let his prayer book fall open at the burial service. ''I am the resurrection and the life,'' he intoned, ''he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.''
