Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (10 page)

“Deal.
Okay…a lawyer is coming to see you later today. He works for the crown but he’ll
be on our side. He’ll say they don’t have the evidence to pin the murders on
both of you so he’s coming to make you an offer: Freedom in exchange for your
testimony in court saying that Billy Burke was the mastermind behind all these
crimes. You provide King’s evidence against your mate in exchange for a full
pardon. It’ll take a few weeks before the hearings and the trial but you’ll
manage. Billy hangs…you walk away.  Understand?”

“Yes.”

“And
you’re okay with that?”

“Perfectly.”

The
actress began to laugh. “You’re a right cold bastard, William.”

“Coming
from you, Miss Da Vine…I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Chapter

15

January 28,
1829.

An
icy rain had fallen from the black, stormy sky for most of the night, soaking
the members of the gathering crowd who were angry enough—or perhaps foolish
enough—to brave the wintery chill in order to get the best available viewing
spots in the market square. Naturally, the very best seats were indoors,
watching from the dozens of windows in the neighbouring buildings, but those
warm and dry vantage points were reserved for upper-class people with money to
spend, and had been reserved weeks in advance. The commoners on street level
had to make do as best they could: huddled together, hands tucked deep into
pockets, collars raised, shoulders hunched, displaying that most famous of
British traits—unwavering stubbornness.

As
morning arrived, the rain began to taper off, eventually stopping altogether
around 7:00 a.m., the sun trying to break through the low-lying clouds but not
having much success. The temperature rose a few precious degrees, but whatever
heat the enduring crowd gained was quickly lost in the escalating winds that
whipped through the square. It was a terrible morning to be outside in the
elements.

But
it was a grand day for an execution.

Most
of the run-of-the-mill hangings were done right inside Edinburgh Prison, with
no fanfare or thought put into it other than carrying out the Lord Advocate’s
orders according to the law of the land. The execution of William Burke was far
from run-of-the-mill though, and there was such a huge public outcry about the
well-publicized Westport Murders that the Crown had no choice but to make the
hanging public. To accommodate as many people as possible, some who would even
rumored to be travelling from other cities to attend, the authorities chose a
site known as Libberton Wynd. 

Libberton
Wynd Lawn Market was a continuation of Edinburgh’s High Street, lying between
the head of the West Bow Municipal Buildings and the impressive crown-shaped
spire of St. Giles Cathedral. The market square was basically a large grassy
park within the city. But seeing as it was normally filled with row upon row of
street merchants’ and food vendors’ tents, selling their wares to the public,
there were no trees or bushes to get in the way. The massive wooden gallows had
been constructed at the east end of the square, near the front entrance of the
cathedral. Workers from all over the city had donated their time and labor to
help build the structure, more than happy to be a part of this highly anticipated
killing.

By
8:30 a.m. the market square was teeming with people: young and old, rich and
poor, ranging in ages from toddlers riding on their father’s shoulders all the
way up to elderly men and women limping along High Street with crutches to
support their frail legs. Everyone and anyone in the city wanted to be here to
bear witness to the execution, either to see justice carried out on a heinous
criminal, or simply to say that they were there to see the poor bugger die—it
mattered not—as long as they were there. With the rain having stopped, and the
icy wind settling down somewhat, the mood in the crowd was boisterous and loud.
Despite the hour and the supposedly serious occasion, there were people singing
and dancing and drinking, having themselves a tremendous time.

The
only thing this party was missing was the star of the show.

*   *   *

Billy
Burke could hear the raucous crowd of what he considered ghoulish people
outside in the square, but he was in no hurry to meet any of them. He’d been
brought from the prison the day before, and had spent most of yesterday
afternoon and evening listening to the construction workers endlessly banging
their nails into the scaffolding and platform he’d soon be walking out onto. It
hadn’t made for a relaxing or peaceful last night on earth but there was
nothing he could do about it. Billy had long since made peace with God and with
his imminent death but with the situation as it was he wasn’t exactly in the
best of moods as they came to collect him.

“You
ready for this?” the burly guard named McDaniel asked.

“Go
on and fuck yourself, mate,” Billy said, not even opening his eyes.

“Aye,
and I might do just that once I’m done dealing with the likes of you. On your
feet, scum. It’s time to meet your maker.”

When
Billy opened his eyes, he saw that there were four men standing at the door of
his makeshift cell, each looking as tall and wide as a Clydesdale horse. The
sight of the huge men nervously guarding the room’s only exit, as if he might
try and make a break for it, made Billy sit up from his cot and laugh.

“Bloody
Hell…you sure you don’t need to get a few more blokes to walk me out? I’m a
dangerous man, you know. Haven’t you been reading the papers?”

“Think
we’ll manage,” McDaniel said, with no hint of a smile. “Let’s go!”

Billy
sighed, but reluctantly did as he was told. Once in the hallway, he was joined
by a thin-faced Catholic priest dressed in a brown cassock, who walked along
beside him in case Billy wanted to speak. He didn’t. He’d met with this same
priest last night and had said everything he’d wanted to say to the man (and to
the man’s boss upstairs) already. This morning he just wanted a little peace
and quiet. The sooner they got this over and done with, the better.

Billy
exited out into the market square through a side door in the municipal office
and was greeted with a rapturous chorus of cheers, jeers, screams, and whistles
as he was led slowly across High Street and walked toward the gallows. He’d
known there was going to be a big crowd waiting outside, but wasn’t quite
prepared for what he was seeing. The gathered throng of people was enormous, as
if every man, woman, and child in Edinburgh had shown up to see him hang. It
wasn’t far off the truth, either.

Fear
took a hard and sudden bite out of Billy’s bravado and his legs involuntarily
stopped moving.  He’d thought he’d prepared himself for what was about to
happen but obviously he’d been wrong. One second the idea of dying and moving
on to the next life had been a peaceful, almost comforting thought, but faced
with the cold, stark reality of the moment was too much for Billy and he
refused to walk another step. Unfortunately, the quartet of beefy guards
escorting him was ready for just such a development. He was quickly grabbed and
forcibly dragged the rest of the way.

“Now,
now, Billy,” McDaniel said in his ear as they walked, shouting above the din of
the bloodthirsty horde. “Keep a stiff upper lip, hear? Rumor has it even Sir
Walter Scott is here to see you off. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him now, would
you?”

“Bugger
Sir Walter…and bugger everyone else!” he screamed, his heart racing the closer
he was dragged to the steps of the scaffold.

Billy
didn’t give a damn about Sir Walter Scott, or anyone else for that matter—famous
or not. Even if King George and the entire Royal Family had camped out in the
front row he’d still tell them all to go straight to Hell. He maybe owed the
families of his victims his life, and the devil his soul, but as far as he was
concerned he owed the vermin gathered here to watch him die absolutely
nothing
!

Don’t
let them see your fear
, he thought.
Don’t give the
bastards the satisfaction!

Easier
said than done, of course, but Billy tried his best to rein in the terror
gripping his body; trying his best to at least exit this world with his
self-respect intact. Up the scaffold steps they went, Billy being dragged up
two steps for every one he managed on his own. At the top, Billy finally got a
good look at the rope and noose awaiting him, and for some reason it made him
feel a tiny bit better. He was frightened, sure, but he was also exhausted from
the trials and the written confession and the days and nights freezing his arse
off in the damp, moldy prison. Part of him—no matter how scared he felt inside—was
ready to get this over with. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Billy
walked the final ten feet to the noose all on his own.

The
trap door beneath his feet creaked loudly with his weight, but held. He was
just wondering what would have happened if he’d have fallen through the board
and broken his legs in the fall—
would they have to go down to the ground and
carry him back up here?
—when McDaniel was beside him slipping the noose
over his head and yanking the knot tight.

“Say
hi to Satan for me, mate!” the burly guard said, a smile on his face as he
walked away without waiting for a response. That was good; Billy had none for
him.

A
fancily dressed officer from the Magistrate’s Office climbed the stairs and
walked over to introduce himself to Billy and the clergyman, who was still
standing by in case he was needed. Billy couldn’t make out the man’s name over
the roar of the crowd, not that he cared. The tall, feminine-looking man turned
and shouted for the noisy audience to calm down. It took a moment but soon he
had everyone’s undivided attention.

“Good
morning, ladies and gentlemen. I can understand your anger and vindictive
attitude for the condemned man in front of you but I must insist you act with
the decorum such a solemn event deserves. After all…a man’s life is about to be
forfeit for his crimes. The least you can do is show the man, if not
respect…then at least a shred of decency.”

The
crowd started to boo and shout even louder, such was their bloodlust and bitter
contempt for the Westport Killer. In a different time and place, Billy would
have found the situation hilarious and made fun of the silly toff himself, but
as it was he just stood there trying not to shake, and waited for the man to
proceed.

 “Have
it your way, then,” the officer continued, removing a paper scroll from his
jacket pocket. “William Burke, it is by order of the Lord Advocate of
Edinburgh, operating under direct authority of King George IV, that you have
been found guilty in the murders of Mary Patterson, James Wilson, and Mary
Docherty. Today, in the presence of God and in front of these witnesses, you
are to be hung by the neck until declared dead. Do you have anything to say for
yourself before the sentence is carried out?”

Billy
had been waiting for this moment, preparing all those long, lonely nights in
prison to come out here and tell the world how he had his share in all the
terrible things that had happened, but that he certainly wasn’t the only one
who should be blamed. He intended to tell them—whether they’d listen or not—about
his mate William, Ambrosious Black, and Magenta Da Vine. Surely they’d all
played their part in this, and for the life of him Billy couldn’t understand
how the Crown could possibly lay all the blame at his feet. As much as he truly
didn’t harbor any ill will against William for saving his own skin when he’d
been offered the chance (he’d have done the same), that still didn’t mean he
had to be happy about it.

Billy
opened his mouth to speak…

…and
then he spotted something huge flying over his head, slowly circling the market
square. It was the owl—Black’s beast—silently watching everything on the ground
below. Just the sight of its razor-sharp beak and talons stole Billy’s breath
for a moment, making him lose his train of thought. He watched the bird of prey
circle once more then land on an exposed wooden beam beneath an open window on
High Street. Inside the room, a tall man with white hair and a white beard
stood looking over at him.

Mr.
Black!
Billy
thought, a sliver of fear entering his heart, even under the circumstances.
Why
would he be here?

The
mysterious sculptor stared back at Billy, and then raised a single finger to
his lips, motioning him to be quiet.

Screw
you, mate,
Billy thought.
I’ll do nothing of the sort.

Billy
opened his mouth to speak…but nothing happened. His voice was suddenly and
inexplicably gone. He tried again, but nothing more than a tiny squeak escaped
his lips.
What’s happening? Why can’t I talk?

“Suit
yourself,” the officer from the Magistrate’s Office said. “Perhaps in this
case, silence is for the best. And for what it’s worth…may God have mercy on
your soul. Gentlemen, you may proceed.”

No!
Billy thought, trying his best to shout, to scream, to holler out any words at
all at this point, but no matter how hard he tried, he could produce no sounds
from his throat.
I’ve been hexed, I have! Bloody well cursed!

Billy’s
eyes returned to the open window across the street where the sculptor was still
watching him intently. It was difficult to tell, what with the man’s beard in
the way, but Black appeared to be smiling. The last thing Billy saw before
someone behind him pulled a black bag over his head was the massive owl
spreading its wings and launching high into the dreary morning sky. Moments
later, without warning, Billy was flying too; although
his
journey would
last but a few short seconds and the only place he was headed was straight
down.