(London Times Evening Edition ~ It is just past eight in the morning on a grey, dreary October 27th, the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and ninety. A crowd has gathered outside the walls of Newgate Prison awaiting the raising of the black flag, indicating that another wretch has met their fate upon the rope. The crowd is rather larger than usual, however, and more possessed of passions and even damnable, disgraceful excitement, for this morning it is a young woman who is to hang. The case of twenty-three-year-old Irishwoman Deirdre Quinn has both fascinated and horrified the nation these six weeks past. The wife of Arthur Quinn, dock laborer, stands convicted of his most vile murder. She took to him a cleaver whilst he slept, utterly defenseless against the violent onslaught. Twenty-seven strikes later Arthur Quinn hardly resembled a man at all, yet Mrs Quinn maintained that she, not he, was the true victim! Upon her appearance in the Old Bailey before The Honorable Justice George Denman, Deirdre Quinn and her shameless barrister made no effort to contest that she was her husband’s killer. Instead, the two conspired to defame the departed as a violent drunk and rogue, detailing in an open court such foulness as is not fit for reprint in this paper. The prosecution, led by Mr. Forrest Fulton, gruesomely detailed the crime and pointed to Mrs. Quinn’s total lack of remorse at the slaying of her husband. When asked by Mr. Fulton why she displayed so little emotion at her husband’s demise, she replied that she should be sorry had he been a decent man. Deirdre Quinn was convicted on the third day of the trial, and when asked by the right Honorable Justice Denman if she had anything to say why the Court should not give her judgement of death in accordance with the law, Mrs. Quinn replied that if neither he nor the court had been swayed by anything she’d said prior, then there was truly nothing left to say and he’d better just get on with it. Unmoved indeed, Mr. Justice Denman donned the black cap and duly sentenced Deirdre Quinn to hang by the neck until she was dead. Returning now to the scene at hand, I check my watch and find it is almost quarter past. The crowd anxiously awaits any news when the hushed murmurs are shattered by the clanging of the bell of St. Sepulchre's Church. Much excited, all eyes turn towards the pole above the prison and watch as the black flag is hoisted into the London morning chill. The condemned murderess has met her end. Aside from the misguided boo hoos of a few suffragette types, the crowd is pleased that justice has been done and contented that they should never have to hear the name of Deirdra Quinn again.)

Head wardress Ruth Mallett checked a pocket watch, it was seven thirty in the morning as she and two junior wardresses kept a careful eye over their charge. The condemned cell at Newgate had the width of two normal cells, the wall between knocked down so as to accommodate the prisoner and a twenty four hour watch of guards who were to watch over the condemned in their final days. The lanterns had been removed an hour ago and the grey morning light was all the lit the barred cell, feted and damp with London’s early morning air. Deirdre Quinn, her face deathly pale while her long red hair sharply contrasted with her ankle length grey shift dress, sat quietly upon her small bunk reading the King James bible. The two of the younger wardresses occupied a simple bench across from her while Ruth was positioned in a wooden stool beside the cell door. To the uneducated eye, it would hardly seem possible that this child was capable of such atrocity, but Ruth reminded herself of the facts of Deirdre’s murder case lest she should devolve into sympathy. Ruth stood up, placing her stool directly in the light before approached her charge.

“You may keep reading but I need to get your hair fixed dear. If you would kindly be seated upon my stool where the light is better.” Ruth said.

“You’re welcome to tame it if you please,” Deirdre replied, her emerald eyes looking up now at her middle-aged minder, “Though I’ve had naught luck these years, try if you must.”
Deirdre rose from her rickety bed and walked over, seating herself upon the old wooden stool before returning to her reading. In the days since her death warrant had been signed and execution date set, Deirdra had displayed remarkable fortitude. Even now, just minutes away from her date with the gallows she betrayed little in the way of overt emotion. Was the girl really this unfeeling, or was there some courage?

“Are you sure you won’t take any breakfast dear? Not much could be provided now, but we could still furnish something if you like?” Ruth asked

“Best not to waste any food, I’ve no appetite about me. I don’t imagine many would.” Deirdre said.

“I suppose not,” Ruth replied as she took Deirdre’s curly locks and began fashioning them into a simple bun that wouldn’t interfere with the noose. In the five nights she and her two younger wardresses had watched over Deirdra, Ruth had given explicit instructions not to upset or otherwise distress their charge, lest she should become hysterical before her appointed hour. All interactions were to be short, reassuring and pleasant. The night before Dierdra had been given a bath and had her measurements taken for the hangman. He even appeared to briefly look through the hole in the cell door, an interaction which would unnerve most, yet Dierdra took it as a matter of course, merely remarking that he was in good time. Ruth had watched over the number of women who had been hanged at Newgate since 1856, and never had she encountered anybody like this.

Ruth was gathering Dierdre’s curls into something proper when, as she would later recriminate herself for, felt compelled to comment, unable to resist ascertaining just what sort of person she was watching over.

“May I ask you something Mrs. Quinn?”

“You may, though it is Dierdra. I haven’t been Mrs. Quinn since they laid that bastard in the dirt,” The two other wardresses snickered before Ruth shot a look to silence them. Still, she was loathe to scold the girl this close to the end. She continued, “You’ll be forgivin the indelicacy Miss Ruth, but there’s nothing particularly delicate about any of this, is there?”

“No, I suppose not.” Ruth replied.

“I know what you want. You want to ask me why I did what I did?”

“The papers would only say that you felt your husband had wronged you.”

“Ha!” Dierdre let out a bitter laugh, “Wronged me? That’s like sayin’ that Cromwell was a wee bit hard on the Irish. My husband swallowing his pay and pissing it away down at the pub, that was him wronging me, but I wouldn’t have killed him for it.”

“Then why dear? What could bring you to such violence?”

“I discovered on my wedding night that, well a certain activity hurt, quite a lot. The husband said it was because it me first time and that it wouldn’t be so bad in the future, but it was. I tried all sorts of remedies, even hitting the bottle meself but nothing worked. The husband started getting angry, saying I was faking just to spite him and deny him his right. I said that wasn’t true, but he stopped listening or caring when I asked him not to. He’d come home, drunk off his arse after pissing away our money and force me into to bed, no matter how much I cried or pleaded. Then he’d thrash me for spoiling his fun.”

Ruth started to feel queasy as she listened to this. It was possible that the girl was making this all up, but then why would she? Nothing could be done to spare her now, the death warrant had been signed. She had no cause to make up tales this close to the end.

“Did you not try to seek help if he was acting such a villain?” Ruth asked.

“Of course I bloody did!” Dierdre snapped before quickly adding, “I’m sorry miss, you’re just asking. Yes I tried confiding in my priest, who told me to pray for the strength to better serve my husband, and thereby assuage his sinfulness. I wrote to my father asking for help, but he treated me mother like shite, why would he do anything to help his lowly daughter? I even went to the local precinct to see if there was anything that could be done, but the sergeant helpfully explained that there was no law against a husband being with his wife unless there was sodomy involved. The best they could do was give my husband a talking to for being too rough with me. There was no help coming, and I didn’t feel I had a way out.”

“Why didn’t you try to leave?”

“And go where exactly? Live on the streets? Run away, just for my husband to fetch me back and hurt me worse than before? In case you haven’t noticed Miss Ruth, we have practically no protections under the law. I didn’t feel like I had anywhere I could go, and even if I did somehow get away, the filthy bastard would just latch onto another poor gurl and ruin her as well.” Dierdre got a glassy look in her eyes as she continued, “The last night, he came home especially oiled up, and did unspeakable things, even for him. And then the sodding devil laughed about it before he passed out. I didn’t care what happened, I wasn’t going to live like this anymore. I packed a few things and was going to make a run for it, but then I saw the cleaver I’d left out, and remembered him laughing at me. I couldn’t get that sound out of me head, and I… well I lost control. I felt like I watched meself take the cleaver and march up the stairs. I felt like I was watching from the ceiling as I climbed atop him and began swinging that cleaver down onto his face, again and again until he didn’t have a face.”
Ruth had finished fixing Dierdre’s hair by this point and stood frozen behind her, the other two wardresses staring at her with their mouths open.

“I don’t know how long I sat there before I came back into me senses, and found that I was covered in his blood.” Dierdre continued, “I can’t explain it Miss Ruth, but I was calm, calm as I’ve ever been in me life. I didn’t even bother changing me clothes, and was sitting in one of the London gardens, still with blood on me dress, listening to the birds with the constables found me.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Ruth said.

“There’s nothing left to say Miss. Because I didn’t act crazy in court and because I wasn’t sorry for what I’d done they sent me here, so I could be hanged like an animal.”

“I can’t condone what you did child, but I’m finding it hard to condemn you either.”
Dierdre turned around, and the two women saw that there were tears in one another’s eyes. Dierdre extended her hand and Ruth took it in hers.

“I wish to God you’d run away.” Ruth said as she tried to compose herself.

“I wish I had too, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. This is the end, and all that’s left is to face it with what courage I can. But I’m afraid that it’s going to hurt. I’ve heard stories about what happens to women when they’re hung.”

“That was years ago dear, they don’t have the short drop anymore. Whatever happens it should be over quick.”

“Thank you Miss Ruth.” Dierdre said as she wiped away her tears.

Ruth signaled for one of the wardresses to bring over the bottle of brandy that had been kept hidden, along with a tin cup.

“This’ll help stiffen you up some.” Ruth said as she filled the cup and handed it to Dierdre.

“Is there just brandy in here Miss? I want me head to be clear.”

“Just brandy dear.” Ruth reassured Dierdre before she downed the cup in a couple of swigs.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of rustling keys outside the door of the cell caused everybody to jump. Ruth whispered quiet reassurances to Deirdre and motioned for her to stand as the door clanged open and three men, all dressed in black suits entered. The first man was the oldest of the party, Sir James Whitehead, who that year had been appointed the Sheriff of London. Neatly trimmed and dressed impeccably, he was clearly of the aristocratic class. He stood back as the two other men approached Deirdre. The second man was James Berry, who at that time was one of England’s chief executioners. He looked quite a bit older than his 38 years, his whiskers styled into a thick mutton chop, the dark hair on his head receding and the lids on his eyes bruised with the burden of his position. The third man’s name has been lost to posterity, merely known as Berry’s assistant, a young man with dirty blonde hair, already failing teeth and mud spattered on his boots and the bottom of his suit. He was carrying what appeared to be a thick leather belt over his shoulder.

“Good morning madam, my name is Mr. Berry. I’ll be taking care of you.” He said as he extended his large hand to Deirdre. She cautiously took it but found his shake was gentle.

“Good morning sir, I’m… well suppose you know who I am already, don’t you?” Deirdre said sheepishly as Berry nodded, “I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

“As am I madam. If you’re quite ready my assistant and I will get these straps round you.”

Deirdre merely nodded, unable to articulate how one could possibly be ready for a moment such as this. Berry’s assistant went around behind Deirdre and, through a rasp asked her raise her arms up. The assistant reached around Deirdre and placed a thick, wide belt made of brown leather around her belly. He buckled the belt tightly enough that it caused Deirdre to momentarily lose her breath. Berry saw her grimace and apologized but she told him it was alright. Berry asked Deirdre to place her hands in front of her, and he gently folded one hand on top of the other. A leather strap, which was attached to the center of the belt, was then looped around Deirdre’s wrists. The leather was soft and didn’t particularly hurt her wrists as he buckled the strap tightly. Berry and his assistant then went to each side of Deirdre and looped additional thin leather straps around her elbows, pinning them to the large belt as well. Deirdre found that she pinned tightly enough that she could hardly move her upper body, but while it was uncomfortable it wasn’t hurting her.

With the condemned woman securely pinioned, Berry and his assistant stepped away as Sir James came forward to read the notice he was holding in his hand.

“Deirdre Quinn, on this day in the name of the Queen, you shall meet your end as stipulated under the laws of England. Have you anything to say?”

“I place meself in God’s hands.” Deirdre said in a quiet voice, looking directly at Sir James before uttering, “and leave my ultimate judgement to the Lord alone.”

Sir James was momentarily disquieted at what, in his eyes, was a total lack of remorse from the condemned, but decorum dictated he proceed without remonstration towards the wretch. He merely frowned and nodded to the three wardresses, who took up position around Deirdre. The two junior guards took hold of Deirdre’s upper arms, gently but firmly as Ruth stepped directly behind her.

“You needn’t trouble yourselves over me, I can walk by meself.” Deirdre said, trying to turn her head around to address Ruth but unable to due to her belt and straps.

“This is part of the procedure dear.” Ruth whispered in Deirdre’s ear.

“Oh well,” Deirdre said through a strained smile, “if you don’t mind going with me, I am pleased.”

Ruth gave Deirdre’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and left her hand there as the wardresses led Deirdre out of the cell. The gaol chaplain gave Deirdre a nod and began reciting prayers as he joined the back of the procession. Aside from the sound of footsteps and the solemn prayers being offered for the poor woman’s soul, no other noise was made as the procession made its way into the yard of Newgate Prison. The sun made no attempt to penetrate the lowered cloud base as Dierdre surveyed the scene. First she saw about thirteen solemn looking men gathered in the yard. Due to the age and sex of the condemned, Sir James and the Governor of Newgate had carefully limited who would be allowed to attend. They also barred any members of the press, lest salacious details of the execution should leak to the papers and cause scandal. Then she beheld the execution shed, painted bleach white with skylights to provide illumination. As the procession approached the shed, the wardresses could feel Deirdre tremble somewhat, but when Ruth whispered reassurance Dierdre replied that she wasn’t frightened, merely cold. The Governor of Newgate and the chief male guard were already positioned in the shed when the procession arrived. However, seeing that the condemned was calm and the wardresses had the situation in hand the two men stood aside as Dierdre was positioned over the trap door.

Not yet a decade old, these gallows could hang up to four prisoners at the same time, but for the purposes of this morning only a single noose, dangling from six iron links was attached to the metal bracket in the center of the beam. Dierdre looked up at the instrument of her death before Berry gently redirected her head forward. His assistant walked to a corner of the shed and returned with three further leather belts. The first was strapped tightly around her ankles, and the second was fastened just above her knees, both being buckled behind her, Victorian morays demanding modesty even though the assembled witnesses could not see into the pit below the trap door. A last, thick leather belt was strapped across her chest and buckled tightly, causing Dierdre to grimace. Berry then removed a thin white hood and covered Dierdre’s head with it, the last thing she saw being Ruth’s reassuring nod. Berry then placed the rope around Dierdre’s neck, careful to position the brass eyelet under the angle of her left jaw before tightening the noose. Satisfied that all preparations were complete, Berry motioned for all present in the shed to move away from the trap door save the two wardresses, who were positioned on thick wooden planks so that they could continue to hold the condemned in place without falling into the pit once the trap was sprung. Ruth moved from in front of Dierdre so that the view of the witnesses through the window would be unimpeded. All was still for a time as Berry positioned himself by the leaver, carefully checking his watch for the stroke of eight.

The tension in and around the shed was palpable as the seconds fell away, yet none could decipher what the condemned woman was feeling, as she had betrayed little during the process and remained still except for visible breathing underneath her hood and against her straps. At the stroke of eight, Berry looked to the Governor and Sir John, who both nodded in unison. Berry pulled the leaver, and with an almost deafening bang and crash the trap doors opened and the condemned woman plummeted into the pit below. Dierdre fell approximately six feet before her momentum was violently pulled to a stop. The witnesses outside were forbidden to approach the shed, but all those within peered down into the brick lined pit to see what was happening. There was a momentary but frightful gurgling from underneath the hood. Dierdre attempted to raise her strapped legs to her chest twice before they settled below her. After some further shivering and twitching, the rope was still within a minute of the trap door being sprung. After several minutes, the prison doctor appeared in the pit below, and despite no movement he could still detect a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be until fourteen minutes after eight that the doctor could certify that the prisoner was dead. With this, Sir John exited the shed to inform the witnesses that the lawful execution of Dierdre Quinn was now complete, and the Governor signaled for the black flag to be raised.

Dierdre’s body would be left hanging for the regulation hour to ensure that death had occurred. After this she was hoisted up from the pit and placed upon a table, the noose and leather straps being removed before a coroner’s jury of doctors conducted a mandatory review. It was found that the force of the fall and the positioning of the brass eyelet had induced a fractured vertebrae. They determined that unconsciousness would’ve occurred within thirty seconds. Aside from the unnaturally stretched neck and the dark purple mark where the noose had been, the woman could’ve been peacefully sleeping, though it should be noted that her eyelids had been closed quickly and no investigation was made into her mouth or anywhere else on her body. Satisfied that the thing hadn’t been needlessly bungled, the jury certified a successful execution and the body was placed into a simple wooden coffin, buried in an unmarked grave within the prison walls that very afternoon. Dierdre Quinn never saw justice, not in her life and not in death. The only equality she ever got was, more than a century on from her execution, all those involved are now equally in the ground with her.

 

Anne, a very touching short novel. Thanks.

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