Mad Alice Lane

Chapter Eighteen

Alice

Watching my husband breathe his last was the most satisfying thing I had seen in a long time. I nudged him, pinched his nose and then placed a piece of glass beneath his nose to see if he had any breath left but he was truly gone; for good; or bad.

With Mrs Simpson outside, I was left with two choices. Did I play the grieving widow? Or did I confess my crime? Undoubtedly they would hang me for what I had done. I had no illusions on that account. And yet, there was still cholera in the city. Many had died like him, and still more would.

But if he was diseased, his body would be thrown into the same pit in which he had caused my babies to be put. He would be alongside them, in body although certainly not in spirit. I couldn't bear the thought of that. That was all that I needed to make my mind. I called Mrs Simpson back into the room.

"You must call the constable," I said.

"The constable, Mrs Smith? What in heavens for?"

"My husband has been poisoned."

"Been poisoned, you say?" She looked at me curiously. "What makes you think that, Mrs Smith?"

"Because, Mrs Simpson, I poisoned him myself. And good riddance!"

She gasped aloud. "You wicked, wicked thing."

"You're quite right, Mrs Simpson. Quite right. Now please go and get the constable."

"No shame at all. No remorse."

"None, I'm afraid. Very shocking, I know. The constable, if you please."

My neighbour scampered out of the room as fast as her arthritic limbs could take her, and I heard the key turn in the lock. I wouldn't have ordinarily minded being locked in a room, after all, I had become quite accustomed to it, but being stuck with Thomas galled me more than the smell of sick, piss and shit.

I was surprised when I heard the key turning again, not more than ten minutes later. She must have run like the devil himself was on her trail, or, more likely, sent poor Simon. Although the key had turned, it was a few moments before the door itself was pushed open, and seated as I was, I had a perfect view of it inching wider very slowly.

I was right; it was Simon's head that first peeked through. He saw me watching, let out a squeak and the door slammed shut again. I couldn't help but laugh.

"It's alright, you know," I said. "You can come in. I won't hurt you. It was only my bastard husband that I thought to see dead."

The door was pushed open more rigorously this time, and it was a young man who walked in, not the constable; probably just a watchman, I'd have wagered. He was struck still for a moment as the smell of the sickroom hit him full in the face, and I saw him blanch. Not much older than Simon, about my age perhaps, and I took pity on him as I saw him shrink back.

"Don't worry. It's not cholera. It's tansy that did for him. Ministered by my own fair hand, as you see," I said, and gestured to the mug on the pallet nightstand, with the dregs still inside. "You're quite safe."

Whether it was my words, or some inner courage he managed to plumb, but he straightened up and walked over to me.

"You'll come with me, Miss, er, Mrs Smith."

"Of course."

He had nothing on him but the heavy wooden truncheon used to beat unwilling captives, but as I stepped towards him as willingly as a lamb, his uncertainty returned.

"Er-"

"You should probably take me to the parish constable. He'll know what to do."

"I know my job!" He said indignantly and stretched himself to his full 5 foot 6 inches. "Come along now."