Lizzie's Song

Chapter 8- Routine

Over the following few weeks, life in the jail falls into a pattern. Lizzie brings breakfast and a basin so Thomas can bathe, as well as a fresh set of clothes. Mr York comes through an hour later to retrieve the dishes, the washbasin, and exchange the chamber pot. He also brings news of Brother Morton's slow recovery. Lizzie brings lunch and checks to see if he needs a new book. He is on his own for the hours between lunch and dinner. She brings his supper and stays in his cell for a little while as he eats. Mr York comes through to check the candles in the hall and offer an extra blanket in the evening. Once he believes Thomas is not a threat, he also brings him his own candle so he can read a little later into the night.

It is only when Lizzie breaks the pattern that Thomas realises they have it. She comes with supper early and cannot stay, so she does not enter the cell. She is dressed differently- her skirt shimmers a little in the low light, the silk taffeta rustling with every step. Her blouse is crisp and trimmed in lace, her hair curled.

"Lizzie, you look lovely this evening. What is the occasion?"

She takes up the decorative notebook and pencil attached to the chatelaine on her skirt, "It is Christmas Eve and I have a party to attend."

"Is it? I have lost track of the days."

She nods.

"Well. I hope you have a lovely evening."

"I hope you enjoy your supper. Father will be around before bed."

She rustles away and he realises just how much he has enjoyed having her company as he takes his supper these past few weeks. He places his dish on the carousel and settles in with his book for the long, quiet evening.

A few hours later, Mr York ambles by, "Good evening, Mr Sharpe."

"And yourself, Mr York. Lizzie told me it is Christmas Eve?"

"Aye, it is. Mind if I come in?"

Thomas shakes his head and Mr York unlocks the door, "Do you celebrate any special way?"

"Lizzie goes to a party at the Rook house every year. When I don't have anyone here, I do, too. But that's not most years, so I have my own little rituals."

"Oh?"

"Candles in the windows. And I bake this." He hands Thomas a plate with a napkin draped over it.

Thomas takes the gift and lifts the napkin, "Fresh bread."

"Yep. Every year. Butter there was just made yesterday, too. Try it. I've already had a piece."

Thomas has never liked bread, particularly, at least not the heavy loaf Lucille made. But he lifts this, not wanting to offend his host (as he has come to consider Mr York) and it is different. Lighter. Fluffy. He tastes it and it melts in his mouth, warm, and a delight.

"I have never tasted bread like this. In our travels, I avoided it, and Lucille's bread could have been used as a doorstop."

Mr York smiles, "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to make it this way. Learned from Rebecca. She makes magic in the kitchen, too."

"My father said women like her were the downfall of all men, the destruction of society. They do not know their place."

"I think that's a load of hogwash, son."

Thomas smiles, "As do I. It is the same type of woman my sister could have been, had bitterness and fear not been so driven into her."

"How are you faring without her?"

"My heart hurts for what she could have been. I tried to convince her to leave, to find another city, another life. I asked if we could just disappear, leave Allerdale Hall. Find a place in America, perhaps. End the poisonings, ask to return home with Edith, start everything new. But she said no. She said someone would find out and then we would be ruined again and I would hang. I wanted to leave her so many times, but I could never bring myself to abandon her."

"Why not?"

"Because she was the only family I had. She took beatings for me, soothed me when I cried, and nursed me back to health when my father nearly killed me. I know you cannot understand, but she was my entire world for so long. I owed my life to her. How could I leave her?"

Mr York sighs, "I understand. At least a little. My wife was mad. I mean that kindly, too. The doctors suggested a lobotomy to help her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, even after she'd threatened to hurt Lizzie and I'd had to talk her down from the church tower couple of times- once with the baby. I was told to send her away. But she was the only woman I'd ever loved and the mother of my daughter. I thought I could take care of them both. I didn't even want to consider sending her to the asylum, and I wasn't sure I could pay the doctors what they would want to treat her right. So she stayed. And the night she died, I knew I should have borrowed whatever I could and made it happen. She tried to kill Lizzie and then did kill herself. Thad found the baby on his doorstep. She ran off over the moor to kill herself. Mal and I followed the trail of blood until we got to her- she'd eviscerated herself. We thought we were going to lose Lizzie, too, but Rebecca worked magic to save that little girl. And even when I thought she'd probably killed my daughter, I still couldn't bring myself to hate her, even dead."

Thomas sighs, "Does it ever get any easier?"

"Not really. It just gets different. Especially on holidays."

"We never had holidays to celebrate, so I can't relate."

"Not even birthdays?"

"Especially not birthdays."

Mr York pats Thomas' good shoulder, "Life's got a lot of changes in store for you, son."

"Yes, well the likelihood of that is somewhat reduced. The only thing that would surprise me would be discovering I wasn't going to hang."

"I can't guarantee you either way on that. The crown has let far more wicked men and women walk free while hanging far more innocent ones. I don't know how they decide. The judge makes his recommendation, of course, but beyond that...it's up to London."

"May London have mercy- though in my case, mercy may mean death."

Mr York nods, "It's not easy to come to terms with, but you've got to take responsibility for what you've done, what you've been a part of. While I don't call for hanging of any man in desperate circumstances, I don't have the power to stop it. We'll be as close as we can be up through the trial. I'll deliver you to Carlisle, stay through the sentence. And if I can, I'll visit between sentence and when the crown sends word as to whether or not you'll hang."

Thomas hesitates, "Will you...will you be there in the end if I do?"

"I'll talk to the jailer and the hangman- they're old friends. Lizzie hasn't ever asked to watch, but I've been there for a few. If you want me to, I'll stay."

"Is it...is it as bad as they say? Will I struggle at the end of the rope?"

"No. Not anymore. They changed how they hang men. They call it the 'long drop' and they die the minute the rope jerks. It's a lot better than it was. I've seen both." He studies Thomas' face, "Son...don't think too much about it yet. You haven't even been in front of the judge."

"I know. But with the time to think, I have started to wonder what I could do with a life without Lucille."

"Ah."

"I'm sorry. This is far too morose a conversation for Christmas Eve. Please, return to brighter spaces with more pleasant company."

Mr York shakes his head and smiles, "Mr Sharpe, you overestimate how I've spent some of my Christmas Eves. I'll go, but only to get more bread. Lizzie will be out late. So unless you want me to leave, I'll be back."

Thomas smiles, "No. I'd quite enjoy another slice of your bread. And the company."