The Hanging of Margaret Dickson (31 page)

‘Oh, I almost forgot.' She climbs on the cart and lifts up a blanket. ‘This is my father.' She points at a man snoring on his back, a flask of whisky nestled within his arms. ‘He'll be our best customer.'

***

It was the right decision. The children flourish and Patrick's happy, despite the ruffians he has to mix with (he's met rougher men at sea). Maggie, because of her previous experience in Kelso, is a dab hand regarding tavern work. Trade picks up and much to Maggie's irritation, folk still come from afar to see the miraculous Half-Hangit Maggie. But in short, their custom is most welcome.

With the passing of time, Maggie becomes acquainted with Joseph's wife, Bessie. One day, as they brew ale together, curiosity gets the better of Bessie and she asks Maggie a question. ‘What was it like, Maggie?' she whispers.

‘What?'

‘The hanging, of course – what else would I be asking you? What did it feel like?'

‘Funny, no one's asked me about that for a while.' Her hands move to her scarred neck. Maggie no longer wears a scarf.

Bessie places a hand on Maggie's shoulder. ‘Do you mind me asking? Sorry, lass.'

‘It's fine. Well, what can I say? It hurt and I couldn't get my breath – it was like being strangled or choked. Once he pushed me off the ladder the rope jolted and my hands became untied. I managed to get them under the rope, but then the hangman hit me with a stick until I let go. After that everything is a blank, Bessie – I really can't remember. The next thing I recall is waking in the coffin.'

‘But they say the hangman pulled down on your legs and that you were suspended from the rope for over an hour. Can't you remember any of that?'

‘No – none of it, Bessie. But would you want to remember?'

‘No, lass. What a nightmare. I know I shouldn't say this, and don't let Joseph know I've told you, mind – William Bell sent word.'

‘William. My William? What did he say?' Maggie chokes.

‘He wants you to come to him. He says he wants to take you somewhere else to live – far from here.'

Maggie's face turns pallid. Her legs tremble beneath her. She stretches out a hand to lean on a chair to lighten her weight. With her pulse racing, she inhales deeply and places one hand over her pounding heart.

‘Will you send him a message?' Maggie asks.

‘Of course,' Bessie stares at her with huge eyes.

‘Tell him that I have a husband and children, and that I am loyal to them. I've put them through enough hell already. I just can't, Bessie. I love him still, but I just can't.'

Bessie pats her hand. ‘I'll let him know. And you've made the right decision, lass. And I hope you are content now. After all, what does a passionate heart bring but trouble and turmoil.'

‘Aye,' Maggie answers. ‘I suppose I am content now, Bessie. Since Patrick and I have reconciled, well, he's been different like – how can I say? He's become more masterful, and as a young woman I resisted such control. A woman will try to dominate a man, but really inside herself she wants to be dominated. And if that man softens and bends to her will, well, need I say more?'

‘Wise words, lass. I'm glad you've found peace.'

‘Well, I don't know about that,' Maggie replies, a twinkle in her eye.

***

Maggie walks over to the sleeping child. As her eyes gaze upon him, her heart sinks as she remembers the one she left at the river's edge – and the man she will forever hold in her heart.

‘Sleep well, little one,' she whispers.

***

Maggie Dickson lived in Berwick for many years, and presented her husband with several more children, all credibly born. And Maggie, in spite of her narrow escape, was not reformed, but lived and died again, in profligacy. To her dying day, she constantly denied that she was guilty of her alleged crime. And she was living as late as the year 1753.

William Bell's life was short and painful. His profession as a tailor rendered him bandy-legged and arthritic as a result of sitting cross-legged hour by hour, for many years. The cloth particles he continually inhaled gave him respiratory problems and, in addition, he suffered chronic back pain. William never married, nor had children, and it was said that he died tragically before he reached the age of forty, and that he died alone. When they found his corpse, clutched in his hand was a lock of dark silky hair tied with scarlet material, and in the other a silver luckenbooth.