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Wilhemina Morecroft sat stiff and quiet in the 'waiting room' - a bare room down the deserted corridor from the execution chamber. On another chair sat the chaplain, long silent since Wilhemina begged him to stop his chanting. He did not even lay a reassuring hand on her, she would not allow it. So different to the caged woman in her old cell, she now made not a sound, her deadened eyes staring straight ahead, hands clasped together, shoulders back.
This was it. Mrs Morecroft's last minute pardon had been denied, and there wasn't going to be any more chances. Wilhemina herself seemed to have accepted this, and tortured herself no longer. Her Matrons, on the other hand, were both overcome by an incredible sadness they had never felt for a prisoner before. It shocked them as much as it saddened them, but they had no time to wonder where their defences had gone wrong, or to worry about themselves. Instead, they had to keep a firm eye on Wilhemina. Whether she deserved it or not, she was about to die, and that brought out the most unexpected behaviour in people. She could do anything at any moment, and they had to be ready.
The Warden came into the waiting room, closing the door behind him. As he approached the Matrons, he fought to keep his eyes off Wilhemina, but he felt her glare and was compelled to look at long last. The moment his eyes locked with hers, he could see the truth. Deep down he wondered whether Wilhemina was a killer but had just assumed, with the masses, that she was, and that she was another killer awaiting her punishment. But now he saw in her face that it wasn't true, and wondered how he could live with himself for being part of her murder. The brief interaction lasted only a brief moment, but the Warden finally tore his gaze away after what seemed like hours of staring into a persecuted soul.
"It's time."
The silence that followed was eerie: the matrons were so choked they couldn't speak, the Warden had no more to say, Wilhemina remained unchanged. The loud clang a heavy door made the chaplain and Matrons jump, and the footfalls of the other Warden echoed through the corridor.
Both Wardens took their places outside the room, waiting, in solemn pose with hands behind their backs, as the Matrons went over to Mrs Morecroft. The chaplain stood to get out of their way and waited with the Wardens outside.
Matron Jones stood in front of Wilhemina and asked her to stand. Wilhemina did so slowly, and towered above the Matron. She looked down at her and gave a faint smile.
"Don't weep, your tears are wasted."
"But you don't deserve this," whispered the Matron, for fear of the Wardens hearing. Matron Thomas lowered her head as tears rolled down her face. This was not acceptable behaviour for them, and if the Wardens saw any of this, they would be severely reprimanded. "You poor, dear girl. Watch us from heaven for doing this to you."
"I'm not going to heaven," Wilhemina replied, "I'm not leaving this earth until justice is done."
The matrons stared at her. What on earth did she mean? Surely she didn't expect to escape? A last minute pardon? Both were impossible now. Wilhemina merely looked at them.
The Warden came in to collect the condemned.
"Thank you ladies." Wilhemina said simply with a quick smile, as the Warden led her away.
The men flanked her closely on either side as they led her to the door at the end of the corridor. The first Warden unlocked the door and it opened with a whoosh of putrid air, and beyond lay the end of Wilhemina's short, tortured life.
(c) Cynthia M. Piromalli 2003
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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