Chapter 17- The Longest Walk
Lizzie writes to Thomas about her new inmates. One is a young man who has been jailed for beating his girlfriend. He leers at her, mocks her, and, one day, throws his soup at her as she leaves to deliver the others supper. There is also an older man, heavy set, who has trouble seeing and calls her "little girl" whenever she serves him his meals, but is otherwise not unpleasant. He is in jail for stealing a cow and slaughtering it in the street. Thomas writes back with sympathy, careful to keep his letters distant and void of most of his thoughts- he prefers to react to her predicaments, rather than try to interject his own feelings into the matter. That would require he acknowledge they exist.
Mr Hayes comes to him with a letter and a grim expression early one morning while Thomas is eating his porridge, "Well, Mr Sharpe, I've got some news."
Thomas sets his bowl aside and braces himself, "Tell me truthfully, sir."
"The Home Office wants the law to take its course. You have an appeal, but-"
"No. There is no sense in that. How long?"
"One week. I've sent a letter to the Yorks. We'll wait until we either hear from them, or they arrive."
"I've asked that Lizzie not come."
"And I know Reg a little better than you, son. He'll be here if he's alive to do so. We'll wait until he can stand by you."
"Oh. Thank you."
"Do you want me to send a preacher? Priest? Rabbi?"
"No thank you."
Mr Hayes studies his ward; he is calm, but it is the kind of calm that he knows won't last- the calm that comes from a man struggling to grasp what he has been told. Despair usually comes next, sometimes anger. He warns the guards on his way back to his office.
Thomas stares at the floor for most of the day. He has a date. One week. There are things he suddenly wants to write, but he tells himself that he has already said them. He has told Edith his regrets. He has told Lizzie enough...or, rather, he will have, once she reads the letter in her notebook. He wants to thank Mr York, but knows that he would fumble his words and that Mr York already likely knows he is grateful. He will tell someone to pass along the message after he is already dead.
The week goes slowly and there are no more letters, no more visits; the day of his execution, Gerry enters before breakfast, "So...do you have any last requests, Mr Sharpe? Words you want said to anyone?"
"I would like to skip breakfast and get this over with as quickly as possible."
Gerry nods, "I'll send for Mr Hayes. He'll come for you when it's time." He pauses, "Do you want to talk about anything before we make the walk?"
"Do you do this often?"
"For every man I'm assigned to, yes. I stay until the last. Nobody dies without a familiar face nearby."
"I am grateful for all you have done to keep me company during the time I have been here. Thank you for your kindness."
"You're welcome. Any messages for others?"
"Will you thank Mr York for all he did for me? And for trusting me with Lizzie?"
"Of course. Anyone else?"
"No. Yes. Have him thank the others who were so gracious to Lucille in death. And those who ended us. Allerdale Hall is theirs to do with whatever they wish. Thank god this is all over."
Gerry nods, "It will be soon. I'll go talk to Mr Hayes." The other guard is still in place. Thomas takes in his surroundings one more time. The cot. The books and periodicals he has borrowed. The belt still hanging from the bars on the window. He hears footsteps
"Mr Sharpe. You're ready for this?"
"Yes, Mr Hayes. I want this done."
"You have a guest waiting with the hangman."
"Oh?"
"Mr York."
"Ah. I asked that they not come."
"And I told you he'd be here. He said he wouldn't abide by that last request. Said someone had to be here to bring you home.".
Mr Hayes does not chain Thomas and the three men walk down the hallways, his pace brisk. Gerry holds his elbow and guides him. No hesitations, no fights, they move forward with determination. They turn down a long, dim, hallway and Thomas' feet falter. Mr Hayes turns back and they hear his footsteps fading.
"Steady, son, it's just a few more steps." Thomas turns to his other side and takes a shaky breath, his fear starting to creep to the surface, his heart tripping, breath starting to speed up.
"Thank you, Mr York."
Mr York puts a hand between Thomas' shoulders, "You're welcome. Just keep walking. You're almost there. It's better to do it this way instead of having to be dragged screaming to the noose."
"Yes, sir."
He applies a little nudging pressure and Thomas moves forward, forcing himself to breathe, trembling as the door grows closer. Gerry opens it and they are met by an old man in a black robe.
"Come in, young man. There's little to be afraid of here. Just an old man and the end of all things." Thomas has to be pushed into the room. He tries to focus on the old man, not the noose or the trap in the floor. The man's voice is soothing, calm, and steady, "You're afraid. Every man is, no matter their station, when they see this place. Priests, lords, peasants, and homeless drunks, they all come in here for the same reason. The priests often react the worst." He takes Thomas' hands, "Come. This way. Do you need a man of the cloth?"
"N...n...no, sir."
"Anything you would like said?"
Thomas shakes his head.
"Then come this way, young man." He walks backwards, drawing Thomas towards the noose, "Keep moving. You're doing fine. This won't take long, and it will be over soon. Keep focused on my voice." Thomas nods. There is something incredibly calming about the old man's presence. He stands him in place over the trap.
Mr York and Gerry stay near the door while the old man readies the rope. Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately not to panic, but it isn't working.
He whispers, repeating, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please forgive me, please forgive me, I'm so sorry," over and over as the old man places it around his neck.
He touches Thomas' cheek, "They know and they do."
Thomas stops repeating himself, "Thank you." He won't open his eyes, and it takes everything in him to keep from collapsing or wetting himself in terror. He is past the point of keeping back tears, and though he tries, he cannot, biting his lip until he tastes blood, scared of the long fall that is coming. The old man steps back.
"It will be over soon." Thomas hears footsteps and a prayer whispered in a language he does not know, a countdown to his end.
The door clicks open.
"Hold, Mr Angel."
"Oh, Mr Hayes?"
He holds up a piece of paper and reads, "Mr Hayes, I regret to inform you that I did not have the complete record on the Sharpe case when I made my decision to let the law take its course. Having reviewed the documents, previously undelivered, on Miss Lucille Sharpe, her confession and the confession of Mr Thomas Sharpe as dictated to Mr York, and the sworn statement of Miss Lizzie York, I declare Mr Sharpe's sentence be changed to grant mercy. With the death of his sister, I do not believe he will be a danger to the Crown or her citizens after sufficient time imprisoned. It is my deepest hope that this letter arrives in time."
Mr Angel takes his hand from the lever controlling the trap, "Good god, we nearly killed him." He walks to Thomas and removes the noose, "Young man...did you hear Mr Hayes?"
Thomas does not respond.
Mr Angel touches his cheek again, gently patting, "Come back to us. You're not going to die today. The Crown sent another letter. You've been granted mercy."
Thomas' eyes open; he is deeply confused, searching Mr Angel's face for any sign of a trick, "What? How?"
"Mr Hayes' letter says that some of your papers weren't delivered."
"I...I..." Thomas' knees buckle. Mr Angel catches him, but cannot keep him up, slowing his drop to the floor. Gerry runs to help.
Mr Hayes turns to leave, "I'll ready a cell. Losing his papers like that...good god... On what did they actually decide the case? Just the judge's word?"
Mr York steps out in the hall with him, "Bart, this is downright cruel. You're going to need to make some exceptions for him to get him through the night. And you're going to let me add my own piece to your reply to the Home Secretary. We're better than this."
Mr Hayes nods, "I agree. I need you to take care of Mr Sharpe. We'll write it together once we know he's found his feet."
"I need you to tell my daughter that her friend's alive. I left her crying in your guest room, waiting to hear he's dead."
"I will."
Mr York returns to the hanging chamber. Thomas has been moved off the trap and is kneeling with his head against the wall, heaving. Gerry holds his hair. Mr Angel stands back. Mr York crouches beside Thomas and rubs his back.
"What do you need from us, son?"
"How...how did this happen?"
"They somehow lost everything we sent- sounds like they only had the judge's papers and the testimony of the Americans."
Thomas retches again, his forehead against the cool stone. He can't think straight. Everything is coming in pieces and he struggles to understand what Mr York tells him. There is nothing in his stomach as he heaves again and tries to steady himself enough that he does not collapse face first into the bile. Someone, and he isn't sure who, puts strong arms under his chest to help him stay up.
"We need to get him out of here," Gerry says.
"Out to the hall."
Gerry and Mr York haul Thomas to his feet and help him to stagger to the door.
He stops before they leave, "One moment." He turns to Mr Angel, "Thank...thank you, sir. For your kindness."
Mr Angel bows, "You are welcome."
"No offense meant, but I hope I don't see you again."
"I understand. Please, go, take a breath of the dank prison air as though it is the sweetest you will ever breathe."
In the hall, Thomas leans hard against the wall. Gerry takes one side, Mr York takes the other. None of them speak. Thomas stares at the opposite wall, exhausted and stunned. And then Mr Hayes comes to report that the cell is ready and they slowly start moving again.