Ill Will. Michael Stewart
clenched my eyes closed. I stayed as still as a statue.
‘There. See?’
‘It’s only an owl, you fool.’
‘I thought for a moment . . .’
‘Ha!’
‘You’ve got to admit, the girl’s eyes are a bit like that.’
‘Come on, they must be further in.’
The men went deeper into the forest. I waited until the lights from their torches diminished and the night was black again, and took a deep breath. Thank God for my friend the owl, who had returned to the wood at just the right time. I whispered to the girl, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
We climbed down. I’d been tensing every muscle of my body and only now was I aware of it. I retrieved the sack of coins from the hollow in the tree and I took the girl to the makeshift cave. There was just a sliver of moon to guide us, obscured by mist. I put the bag of coins in my pocket.
As my heartbeat slowed, the reality of the situation struck me, and I kicked myself. I was still nine shillings short of my target. Why had I acted so rashly? For a girl I barely knew? Now I had an angry mob baying for my blood.
‘What’s your name?’ I said in the dark.
‘Emily. What’s yours?’
‘I told you the other night: William Lee.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘Get the fuck out of here.’
The moon was cloaked by cloud and the sky was black. Further protection, I thought. Their torches would burn out soon, and they wouldn’t be able to see anything without them. We managed to find our way to the cave, stumbling here and there as we did. I reckoned that we were safe here until dawn. It was far enough from the farm, and they’d never find us in the dark, even with torches, as they wouldn’t think to look around these parts. The cave was in a steep dip and well hidden. I got a fire going, knowing that it couldn’t be seen from any angle. Even so, I burned the flaights rather than the woodpile, as they burned with a lower flame. I passed her the flask again.
‘Here, drink.’
‘Have you got anything to eat?’
‘You’ll have to wait till morning.’
‘I’m starving.’
‘You’ll last. Let me have a look at the wound.’
She turned her back to me and I examined it in the light of the fire. It had ripped deep into her flesh. The wound would heal but it might get infected. I wondered if it needed stitching. It was too dark for me to make a poultice but I knew where there were some soothing herbs and I’d fix her a remedy in the morning. She was shivering. I gave her the shirt off my back. One of Hindley’s hand-me-downs.
‘Here, put this on.’
She took hold of it as though it were something dead and festering.
‘It fucking stinks.’
‘Put it on.’
She did. It drowned her but I figured it would keep her warm. Her chest was as flat as an oatcake. I thought about your chest at her age, already budding with womanhood. I put my rough surtout on, itching from the coarse stitching. I felt it scratch at my shoulders.
‘You could show some gratitude,’ I said.
‘Eh?’
‘You know, such as, thanks, William.’
‘What for? A stinking shirt?’
‘I saved you from a braying back there. Perhaps worse.’
I waited for a response but there was none. I watched the flaights glow in the fire, giving off hardly any flame.
‘We’ll be safe here for now, but we’ll have to be on our way first thing. Get your head down. You need to sleep.’
‘Do you think that man will die?’ she said.
‘Which man?’
I don’t know why I asked because I knew full well which man she was talking about.
‘The man whose hand you cut off. The farmer’s son. Dick.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I hope he bleeds to death. My only regret is that I won’t be there to watch.’
I hoped so too, Cathy. I took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
‘Go to sleep.’
‘Where you heading?’
‘I told you: west.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s my business.’
‘I’ve never been west. Been east lots of times. York mostly. And south. Went to London with my dad. They had a big fire there, you know, a hundred years ago. Burned most of it down. My dad told me all about it. Said it was started when a baker forgot to put out his oven. Took them forty years to build it back again.’
She chattered away for some time. She reminded me of you at that age. Full of mischief and as nosey as the devil.
‘What did you say to Dick to make him snap?’
‘He’s heard rumours, that’s all.’
‘I meant in the field, when you were cutting hay.’
‘I can’t recollect exactly. He was having a dig. Fucking cunt.’
‘Who taught you to curse?’ I said.
‘No one taught me nothing. I’ll say what I fucking well like.’
I was surprised to hear such flaysome speech from one so young, but not at all offended. In fact, it amused me. It had always been me with the filthy tongue. I remembered Nelly saying she’d never heard such blaspheming and Joseph saying that he’d scrub my mouth with lye. Now I had some competition.
Eventually she lay back and closed her eyes. I watched the light from the fire flicker across her face. Less than a minute later I could hear her breathing deepen with sleep. How innocent she looked in slumber. I remembered watching your sleeping face, for hours, mesmerised. How innocent your face had looked as well, a long time before Edgar changed you for the worse. The fire was nearly out and I stared into the red embers. As I did I saw the girl’s blood. I saw the glinting bit of the axe spotted with gouts of red. I felt the bite of the axe through Dick’s thick wrist. Clean steel. Wet red blood. I saw Dick’s arm without its hand. I saw the blood pump from the wound. Had I killed a man? I wondered. It was only what he deserved. I wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it. I took the remaining blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I lay back and listened to Emily snore. Whether I’d killed the man or not, the act of violence had felt pure, and in the moment of it something had released itself within me, the way the wind blows the stones clean.
I woke twice in the night, the first time from a dream in which I was being chased by the villagers. The second time I was being flogged by Hindley. I felt the sting of the whip and turned to see his malignant glare. I was shivering. The wind had picked up and was blowing rain into the cave. I looked over to the girl but she was sleeping soundly. I wrapped the blanket tightly around me. The cloth was damp. I hugged the damp blanket but sleep would not come. Emily tossed and turned. She cried out, ‘No, no, fuck off.’ But she didn’t wake up. I must have drifted off because the next thing it was almost morning. It seems she woke first because when I opened my eyes she was standing over me. It gave me a shock.