‘Get her down,’ I said, trying to get free of the small hands that still held me. ‘For pity’s sake get her down.’ The words she is innocent hovered on my lips, but I did not say them.
‘Damn you, woman, I’m trying,’ said Hurst, and added another oath. ‘You,’ he said to one of the boys, ‘drag that table across so I can stand on it and reach her. Quickly.’
The boy, with a scared glance at me, did as he was bidden, and Hurst climbed on to the table. Precious minutes ticked past, and Esther’s struggles grew weaker.
Hurst reached up for the rope, and fought to free it from the beam. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said. ‘And the knot’s too tight round her neck … Hell and damnation.’ The fury and frustration in his voice was plain. ‘How long has she been like this?’ he said sharply.
‘Since midnight,’ said Douglas Wilger. He was trying to remain rebellious, but most of the defiance had drained away.
‘And it’s now …?’
‘A quarter past,’ I said.
‘Dear God, she’s slowly strangling to death. We’ll have to cut her down. Get a knife, someone.’
I turned to the children, who would certainly be faster than I would. ‘A good stout knife from the kitchens,’ I said. ‘A large bread knife – quick as you can.’
‘Take one of the oil lamps,’ said Hurst. ‘You’ll see your way better.’
One of the girls grabbed the nearer of the two lamps and scurried away.
With the loss of one of the lamps, the candle flames threw even more grotesque shapes across the attics. As they flickered, Esther gave a last convulsive jerk, knocking over one of the candles. A thin line of flame ran across the floor, and licked at the window. The wisp of curtain I had hung there to give the room a less cell-like appearance, flared up, lighting the attic to vivid life, but before I could get to it, Rosie Mabbley snatched the cloth from Esther’s small table, and smothered the fire with it. One of the other girls stamped the tiny flames out on the floor. There was a smell of burnt cloth, and there were scorch marks across the floor, but nothing more.
It was then that Hurst said, ‘I think it’s too late,’ and as he spoke, a wet bubbling sound came from Esther Breadspear’s throat.
‘Death rattle,’ said Hurst, half to himself. ‘But we’ll keep trying.’
The girl who had run downstairs returned then, proffering two knives, both with sharp edges.
But again valuable minutes ticked away as John Hurst sawed at the thick tough rope constricting her neck. The strands parted reluctantly, but Esther was limp and still by that time.
‘She’s gone,’ said Hurst, briefly. ‘God have mercy on her soul.’
He caught her as she fell from the cut rope, and laid her on the ground, covering her with his own coat. Only then did he turn to the children.
Most of the mutinous anger had drained away, but when Hurst said, ‘Between you, you have just committed murder. And I think at least two of you might be judged old enough to hang for it,’ a spark of rebellion flared in one or two faces.
‘We executed a murderer,’ said Douglas Wilger, and again I had to fight not to speak out. ‘And we shan’t hang,’ he said, thrusting out his lower lip stubbornly.
‘The Silent Minute won’t protect you, stupid boy!’ said Hurst. ‘It’s nothing but a superstition, fit for credulous old women!’
‘Not that. We shan’t hang because you’ll never tell anyone what happened here tonight.’
For a bad moment I thought the children were about to launch an attack on Hurst – and perhaps then turn on me – but they remained where they were.
‘You had better explain that,’ said Hurst. ‘And you can do it here, within a few feet of that woman’s body. I have no intention of shielding you from the ugliness – the brutality – of what you’ve done.’
‘Yes, you will shield us,’ said Douglas.
‘Mind your manners,’ I said at once, but Wilger was still looking at John Hurst.