FullReads

‘To speak to you a minute.’

The candle-light, such as it was, fell upon her imploring, pale, upturned face, and Davies (as the hangman was called) backed down the ladder. ‘I was just going to bed,’ he said; ‘”Early to bed and early to rise,” but I don’t mind stopping a minute for such a one as you. Come into house.’ He reopened the door, and preceded her to the room within.

The implements of his daily work, which was that of a jobbing gardener, stood in a corner, and seeing probably that she looked rural, he said, ‘If you want me to undertake country work I can’t come, for I never leave Casterbridge for gentle nor simple–not I. My real calling is officer of justice,’ he added formally.

‘Yes, yes! That’s it. To-morrow!’

‘Ah! I thought so. Well, what’s the matter about that? ‘Tis no use to come here about the knot–folks do come continually, but I tell ’em one knot is as merciful as another if ye keep it under the ear. Is the unfortunate man a relation; or, I should say, perhaps’ (looking at her dress) ‘a person who’s been in your employ?’

‘No. What time is the execution?’

‘The same as usual–twelve o’clock, or as soon after as the London mail- coach gets in. We always wait for that, in case of a reprieve.’

‘O–a reprieve–I hope not!’ she said involuntarily,

‘Well,–hee, hee!–as a matter of business, so do I! But still, if ever a young fellow deserved to be let off, this one does; only just turned eighteen, and only present by chance when the rick was fired. Howsomever, there’s not much risk of it, as they are obliged to make an example of him, there having been so much destruction of property that way lately.’

‘I mean,’ she explained, ‘that I want to touch him for a charm, a cure of an affliction, by the advice of a man who has proved the virtue of the remedy.’

‘O yes, miss! Now I understand. I’ve had such people come in past years. But it didn’t strike me that you looked of a sort to require blood-turning. What’s the complaint? The wrong kind for this, I’ll be bound.’

‘My arm.’ She reluctantly showed the withered skin.

‘Ah–’tis all a-scram!’ said the hangman, examining it.

‘Yes,’ said she.

‘Well,’ he continued, with interest, ‘that is the class o’ subject, I’m bound to admit! I like the look of the place; it is truly as suitable for the cure as any I ever saw. ‘Twas a knowing-man that sent ‘ee, whoever he was.’

‘You can contrive for me all that’s necessary?’ she said breathlessly.

‘You should really have gone to the governor of the jail, and your doctor with ‘ee, and given your name and address–that’s how it used to be done, if I recollect. Still, perhaps, I can manage it for a trifling fee.’

‘O, thank you! I would rather do it this way, as I should like it kept private.’

‘Lover not to know, eh?’

‘No–husband.’

‘Aha! Very well. I’ll get ee’ a touch of the corpse.’

‘Where is it now?’ she said, shuddering.

‘It?–he, you mean; he’s living yet. Just inside that little small winder up there in the glum.’ He signified the jail on the cliff above.

She thought of her husband and her friends. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said; ‘and how am I to proceed?’

He took her to the door. ‘Now, do you be waiting at the little wicket in the wall, that you’ll find up there in the lane, not later than one o’clock. I will open it from the inside, as I shan’t come home to dinner till he’s cut down. Good-night. Be punctual; and if you don’t want anybody to know ‘ee, wear a veil. Ah–once I had such a daughter as you!’