'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."'
'I did nothing!' Corday shouted, and turned left and right as though he could see some way of escape.
'Quiet, Charlie,' Venables said softly, 'quiet.'
The Sheriff and Under-Sheriff, both in robes and both wearing chains of office and both carrying silver-tipped staves, and both evidently satisfied that the prisoners were properly prepared, went to the Keeper, who formally bowed to them before presenting the Sheriff with a sheet of paper. The Sheriff glanced at the paper, nodded in satisfaction and thrust it into a pocket of his fur-trimmed robe. Until now the two prisoners had been in the care of the Keeper of Newgate, but now they belonged to the Sheriff and he, in turn, would deliver them into the keeping of the devil. The Sheriff pulled aside his robe to find the watch in his fob pocket. He snapped open the lid and peered at the face. 'It lacks a quarter of eight,' he said, then turned to Botting. 'Are you ready?'
'Quite ready, your honour, and at your service,' Botting said. He pulled on his hat, scooped up the two white cotton bags and thrust them into a pocket.
The Sheriff closed his watch, let his robe fall and headed for the Press Yard. 'We have an appointment at eight, gentlemen,' he announced, 'so let us go.'
'Devilled kidneys!' Lord Alexander said. 'Dear God, I can smell them. Come, Kit!'
They joined the procession.
And the bells tolled on.
===OO=OOO=OO===
It was not far. A quarter-mile up Whitehall, right into the Strand and three quarters of a mile to Temple Bar, and after that it was scarcely a third of a mile down Fleet Street, across the ditch and up Ludgate Hill before the left turn into Old Bailey. No distance at all, really, and certainly not after the police office in Queen Square had brought some patrol officers' horses. Sandman and Berrigan were both mounted, the Sergeant on a mare that a constable swore was placid and Sandman on a walleyed gelding that had more spirit. Witherspoon brought the reprieve out of the house and handed it up to Sandman. The wax of the seal was still warm. 'God speed you, Captain,' Witherspoon said. 'See you in the 'sheaf, Sal!' Berrigan shouted, then lurched back as his mare followed Sandman's gelding towards Whitehall. Three patrolmen rode ahead, one blowing a whistle and the other two with drawn truncheons to clear a path through the carts, wagons and carriages. A crossing sweeper leapt out of the way with a shrill curse. Sandman thrust the precious document into his pocket and turned to see Berrigan making heavy weather of his mare. 'Heels down, Sergeant! Heels down! Don't snatch on the reins, just let her run! She'll look after you!'
They passed the royal stables, then took to the pavement in the Strand. They rode past Kidman's the Apothecary, driving two pedestrians into its deep doorway, then past Carrington's, a cutlery store where Sandman had purchased his first sword. It had broken, he remembered, in the assault on Badajoz. It had been nothing heroic, merely frustration at the army's apparent failure to get into the French fortress and in his anger he had slashed the sword at a marooned ammunition cart and snapped the blade off at the hilt. Then they galloped past Sans Pareil, the theatre where Celia Collet, actress, had entranced the Earl of Avebury. An old fool marrying a sharp young greed and, when their undying love proved to be no more than unmatched lust, and after they had fallen out, she moved back to London where, to keep herself in the luxury she felt her due, she took back her old theatre servant, Margaret Hargood, to be her procuress. Thus had the Countess snared her men, she had blackmailed them and she had thrived, but then the fattest fly of all came to her web. Lord Christopher Carne, innocent and naive, fell for his stepmother and she had seduced him and amazed him, she had made him moan and shudder, and then she had threatened to tell the trustees of the entailed estate, his father and the whole world if he did not pay her still more money from his generous allowance, and Lord Christopher, knowing that when he inherited the estate his stepmother would demand more and more until there would be nothing left but a husk, had killed her.
All this Sandman had learnt as the Viscount Sidmouth scribbled the reprieve in his own handwriting. 'The proper thing,' the Home Secretary had said, 'is for the Privy Council to issue this document.'
'Hardly time, my lord,' Sandman had pointed out.
'I am aware of that, Captain,' Sidmouth said acidly. The steel nib scratched and spattered tiny droplets of ink as he scrawled his signature. 'You will present this,' he said, sprinkling sand on the wet ink, 'with my compliments, to the Sheriff of London or to one of his Under-Sheriffs, one of whom will certainly be upon the scaffold. They may enquire why such an order was not signed in council and then forwarded to them by the Recorder of London and you will explain that there was no time for the proper procedures to be followed. You will also be so kind as to pass me that candle and the stick of sealing wax?'