Lady of Lincoln (12 page)

I
t was late that afternoon when Dr Boyle called round to see her. His face was serious and his manner grave and sensible so she knew that he had come to see her on a professional matter.

‘Kennedy has been condemned to death,’ he told her.

‘Oh no,’ she exclaimed, more in distress than in surprise. Rob Kennedy had always been an unreliable man, weak and easily influenced by others. Lately rumour had it that he had been spending too much time with a gang of men involved in all kinds of underhand activity. Several of them had broken into an empty house in order to steal property while the owner was away. The others had escaped, but Kennedy had been cornered by two grooms who had been sleeping above the stables. In his panic, he had killed one of them. Given his previous bad
character
, execution was inevitable.

‘Although it was expected, I fear that Madge Kennedy will be much shocked,’ the doctor said.

‘Has she been told?’ Emily asked.

The doctor nodded. ‘The priest went straight round to see her from the prison. My fear is that such news will cause the baby to come too quickly. I am on my way to see her now, and would be grateful if you would come with me.’

‘Yes, of course, I will do so,’ replied Emily. ‘Just give me ten minutes to collect my bonnet and find something for the family
from the kitchens.’

They took the long, winding route down the hill, going through Pottergate and down New Road, for the more direct route, down Steep Hill, was far too precipitous to be attempted in a carriage. Of course, gentlemen had negotiated the hill from time to time as part of a wager, but the doctor would never do such a thing. She was conscious of a feeling almost of regret. She had often walked down Steep Hill, and made the
challenging
return journey as well and she had sometimes wondered what it would be like to make the descent at speed. Certainly they would never do such a thing in the doctor’s modest gig!

The family that they were visiting lived in a mean dwelling in the lower town, not far from the Stonebow.

‘When is the execution to be?’ Emily asked the doctor as he helped her down from her seat.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Boyle replied. ‘Would you—’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emily replied, without a second thought. Then a moment later, she felt guilty for being relieved that her pastoral duties would not mean that she would have to miss the outing to Gainsborough.

Mrs Kennedy was pathetically glad to see them, and fell onto Emily’s neck in gratitude. ‘Oh, Miss Whittaker, I’m that glad to see you! Oh, my poor Rob! My poor fatherless children! Oh dear, oh dear!’ Supported by Emily, she sat down in one of the only two chairs that the room contained and throwing her apron over her head, gave way to noisy grief.

Emily crouched down next to her, saying nothing for a time, but simply allowing the woman to feel that she was not alone. When her sobs had subsided a little the doctor, who had been talking quietly to the three children, (who looked confused and not a little frightened), said to Emily, ‘Would you be so good as to make a cup of tea for Mrs Kennedy, whilst I take her into the next room and examine her?’

Emily had taken the precaution of bringing some tea with her, knowing that only thus would Mrs Kennedy be assured of
a comforting brew. The Kennedys’ own tea, as she knew from experience, tasted very much as if the leaves had been swept from the factory floor, and probably brewed once or twice already.

She had also put some bread, butter, and bacon in her basket, together with a few other items which she knew the family would not be able to afford. She now got these out, together with a bottle of claret, which she showed to the oldest girl, who was about eight years old. ‘Jessie, you must give your mother a small glass of this every day. Put the cork back carefully each time, and do not have any yourself.’

‘Why not, miss?’ the little girl asked. The children were simply, even poorly dressed, but looked quite clean. Mrs Kennedy was evidently doing her best, although how long she would be able to do so, given this fresh blow, Emily did not like to guess.

‘Because it tastes horrid,’ Emily replied seriously. ‘At least, you will think so.’

Dr Boyle soon came back into the room, and eyed Emily’s preparations with approval. ‘That tea will do her good,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take some in to Mrs Kennedy, and I’ll cut some bread for the children.’

As she picked up two cups of tea, one for Mrs Kennedy and one for herself, she marvelled again at how much more
attractive
the doctor became when he was being professional. He ought to marry a nurse, she thought to herself, then his wife would see the best side of him all the time.

Mrs Kennedy was much calmer when Emily took her the tea, and she was soon willing to talk. ‘I knew it would come to this, miss,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I knew it would; but would he listen? Hundreds of times I’ve tried to tell him, over and over, not to have anything to do with them scoundrels, but he always thought he was too cunning to be caught. Well, now, he’s been proved wrong.’ Emily was silent. After a few moments, Mrs Kennedy spoke again. ‘No doubt you’ll think me unfeeling,
miss, but I’m not. I shall weep on the morrow, just as I’ve wept today, but it will be for the man he was, and not the man he is now. The lad I married disappeared long since.’

‘Is there anyone you wish me to inform of this sad business?’ Emily asked her. ‘A friend or relative, perhaps?’

Mrs Kennedy opened a small box which stood on a rough chest next to the bed. ‘This is where my sister lives,’ she said, handing Emily a piece of paper with an address written on it. ‘She married a man who works on the land out through Newport Gate and on a bit that way. She might help me.’

‘Would you like me to write to her for you?’ Emily asked, looking at the address.

‘Yes, if you would, miss. I can write a bit, but I can’t seem to get my head to it at the moment.’

A short time after this, one of Mrs Kennedy’s neighbours came to sit with her, and Emily and the doctor departed. ‘I am glad that the poor woman does not want to attend the
execution
,’ said Boyle as they began the return journey. ‘I do not think that that would have been at all wise. Would you like me to bring you down here in the gig?’

‘No, thank you, there is no need,’ Emily replied. ‘I will walk. In any case, you will be needed at the execution, no doubt.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, I fear that it is my turn,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s not a duty that I relish at all, but someone has to be there.’

It had not been so hard after all, Emily reflected as she toiled up Steep Hill the following day. Unlike yesterday, Mrs Kennedy had been calm, and she had already told the children that their father had gone to Heaven. ‘Not that I suppose he has really, miss,’ she said confidentially when, after saying the Lord’s Prayer with their mother and listening to a passage from the Bible read by Emily, they had gone outside to play for a few minutes. ‘Oh, my poor Rob! What would his mother have said, God rest her soul? Thank heaven she’s not alive to see this day!’ She did shed a few tears then, and gladly drank the cup of tea
that Emily made for her.

Before leaving, Emily pressed a small purse of money into her hands. ‘It’s just a little from the church poor fund,’ she said. ‘It’s not much, but perhaps you will hear from your sister soon. I sent the letter as soon as I got home.’

‘God bless you, miss,’ said Mrs Kennedy, waving her off at the door.

No, it could have been much worse; like the time when a woman whose son was being executed had insisted on going to the hanging. Emily had felt obliged to go with her and had had to restrain her from climbing onto the cart with him.

Thoughts of the morning’s events, together with other sombre memories occupied her mind while she walked, so that she was surprised to discover that she was entering Castle Square already. She looked at the castle. It had been around the back of it, just to the right of the north gate, that Rob Kennedy had so recently been hanged. She could not repress a shudder.

‘Why, Miss Whittaker!’ exclaimed an affected society voice. ‘How very energetic you are!’ Emily looked around blankly to see Mrs Hughes, exquisitely dressed in powder blue with a white parasol trimmed with blue ribbons. One daintily gloved hand was resting on Sir Gareth’s sleeve and a frivolous bonnet framed her face and contrasted charmingly with her dark curls.

‘Good day, Miss Whittaker,’ said the baronet, touching his hat politely. She looked weary, he thought, and not just because she had climbed the hill. She seemed inflicted with a weariness that had somehow seeped into her bones.

‘Good day,’ she replied, sounding as if her heart was not in it.

‘Are you going to the prison again?’ Mrs Hughes asked, eyeing Emily’s dove-grey gown with barely veiled contempt. ‘You certainly look dressed for it.’

At this, Emily’s shoulders straightened and her eyes flashed fire. ‘No, I am just returning from visiting a woman whose husband has been executed today. She was very distressed, as I
am sure even you can imagine, Mrs Hughes. I need to go home and change, if you will excuse me.’

Without waiting for a response, she hurried away from them towards the Exchequer gate and the cathedral beyond, ignoring Sir Gareth calling after her.

‘Well, really!’ declared Mrs Hughes. ‘Such provincial manners!’

At this point, Miss Wayne, who had been walking a little behind them, drew closer.

‘Forgive me, my dear Annis,’ said the baronet, his courteous tone at variance with the cold expression in his eyes. ‘I have recalled an urgent errand that must be performed immediately.’

‘Why, what upon earth can it be?’

‘Do not concern yourself with it,’ he replied smoothly, with a slight bow. ‘It’s just a provincial matter.’

After he had left Mrs Hughes, he went through the Exchequer gate and walked around the south side of the cathedral, heading for the Whittakers’ residence in Priorygate. He was half expecting to discover that she had gone to the cathedral, but she had said that she was going home to change, and he did not think that Emily would deliberately tell lies.

‘Yes, sir, she is in,’ said Mary, dimpling up at him. ‘I think she went into the drawing-room.’

Mary was opening the door, when they heard an enormous clatter from inside. They were just in time to see Emily picking up a cushion. She looked around at them, a guilty expression on her face. The fire irons were strewn at her feet.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Sir Gareth firmly, looking at the maid. ‘Perhaps you could bring us some wine.’

‘Yes, sir, at once,’ replied Mary with a curtsy, before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

‘I suppose you have come to upbraid me because I was rude,’ said Emily, still clutching the cushion. ‘But I am afraid that I have no time for your silly society chit-chat.’

‘Miss Whittaker—’ Sir Gareth began, but Emily would not allow him to finish.

‘I am sure that you both looked very fine this morning, just as I know that I look exceedingly dowdy. I do not need Mrs Hughes’s affected remarks or your admirable guidance on good taste to tell me so.’

‘Ma’am—’ the baronet began again; but once more Emily interrupted him.

‘But,’ she said emphatically, ‘I cannot see that a gown like Mrs Hughes’s would have fared very well had she had to go where I have been. I am equally certain that Mrs Kennedy did not care two straws what I was wearing.’

At this, she did pause to draw breath, and Sir Gareth took advantage of this by simply remarking, ‘Quite right. I agree with you entirely.’

This was such a surprise to Emily that all she could do was stare at him open-mouthed. At that moment, the door opened and Mary came in with a tray bearing the wine that the baronet had asked for. ‘Thank you, I will pour,’ he told her. Then when Mary had gone, he said, ‘A glass of this will do you good after your ordeal.’

At this, Emily put down the cushion and busied herself with setting the fire irons to rights, her face aflame. She had spoken hastily and emotionally; now she was remembering the
infelicitous
nature of some of the things that she had said and her
criticisms
of the baronet in particular. But, because he had startled her so much, she said, whilst still looking down at the fire irons, ‘You agree with me?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he answered. ‘I won’t pretend that I’ve visited people in prison as often as you have, but I have made such visits at times, and would never wear my best clothes for those errands.’

‘You have visited people in prison?’ she echoed in surprise.

‘Certainly,’ he responded, giving her a glass of wine, which she accepted. ‘Sometimes members of tenant families or
relatives 
of servants get themselves into trouble and I find myself obliged to try to sort things out. On one or two occasions I have been to see someone in the condemned cell. On both of those occasions it fell to my lot to break the news to some family members.’ He paused briefly, allowing this information to
penetrate
her mind. Then he smiled and said, in a tone of gentle reproof, ‘You really shouldn’t tar all of us with the same brush, you know. May we sit down? I cannot unless you do so as well.’

Emily looked at him blankly for a moment or two then said breathlessly, ‘Oh yes; yes, of course.’ No sooner had she done so, however, than she sprang to her feet again. ‘Sir Gareth, I must ask your pardon.’

‘For what?’ he asked teasingly. ‘For making me bob up and down like a jack-in-the-box?’ He, too, had risen.

She had to smile at his words. ‘For that as well,’ she agreed. ‘But my apology is chiefly for the terse way in which I spoke to you in the street, and then my incivility to you when you came here just now.’

They sat down again. ‘Your attitude was understandable,’ said the baronet. ‘You had just come from a scene of grief and hardship, and were confronted with two society people out enjoying themselves, who had no idea what your feelings might have been.’ He paused briefly. ‘You will have to excuse Annis. I fear she is not very sensitive.’