My Broad Sword And A Pistol Too (Folk Stories #3: Geordie)

Catherine

It wasn't unusual to hear a woman begging for her husband's life to be spared. They used to queue up outside the courts to lodge their appeals, trying to convince the judges that he hadn't really meant to do it, or that it was really his conniving neighbour, or the last resort of desperate wives – a plea for pity based on the fact of four small children and another one on the way.

Not an unusual story. Catherine had seen it played out a dozen times. The first time she'd been moved to join the crowd who would jeer when the man was sentenced and cheer if he was let go. The second, she'd excused herself when things turned nasty, unwilling to watch him hang again. After that, she kept away from the courts. It was too depressing, even for a girl who watched hangings with morbid fascination and kept notes on how long it would take them to die.

It was possible that Catherine's parents were right to worry about her.

But this time was different. The woman had ridden into London that morning, hair wild and eyes overly bright as though she hadn't slept for a week. She dressed like a man, but the hair that escaped from its plait was a bright copper, and she was beautiful. At her side was a sword. That was new. They didn't usually carry a sword.

"She won't free him," said Catherine's sister Amelia, coming to stand beside her at the window. "Unless she plans to fight the court singlehanded and ride off with him."

Catherine smiled wistfully at the image. "If only," she said.

"You're not going to the court, are you?"

"I don't know yet."

"Don't, Cathy. You know Mother doesn't like it when you do."

She fiddled with her skirt. "I know. But she looks so brave. I want to know what happens."

"They'll hang him. They always did. Probably he stole something. Maybe he's even a murderer."

The woman certainly looked like she could love a murderer, if he treated her right. She had a certain steel inside her, and the sword at her side hung so naturally that it clearly spent a lot of time there. Catherine watched her until she was out of sight, and then turned to her sister. "Come with me, Mimi."

"Don't be absurd."

"Please. I have to know what happens. Whether she saves him."

"She won't! You know that she won't."

Catherine began gathering her outer clothes, lacing her boots despite her sister's protests. "Then I'll go alone. Don't tell Mother where I've gone unless she asks. No need for her to worry."

"I'll tell her you went to the market." Amelia sounded disapproving. "You sneak away so often, she's begun to suspect you have a young man hiding away somewhere. I've tried to convince her that it isn't true, but she fears for your virtue."

"I've no doubt that she does. Still, that's probably a good lie for her to believe. You may as well encourage it."

"Encourage her to think you're running around town with some lad, rather than that you're watching criminals die while their widows sob on your shoulder?"

"Something like that." Catherine tied the ribbons of her bonnet tightly. "She'll reach the court before me, on horseback. I'll have to hurry if I want to get in before they close the doors."

Amelia's smile was fond, if exasperated. "Then go, and I'll cover for you as ever. Of all the sisters one could have, you're surely the strangest."

"Perhaps I am. Would you have it any other way?"

The streets outside were packed with everyday pedestrians, as well as those trying to see the spectacle of the woman on horseback who had ridden into town. From their conversations, Catherine heard rumours that she was giving money to the poor if they'd vouch for her lover's life, but others said she'd fought the doorkeepers at the courts until they'd let her in, so it was hard to know what to believe. She was forced to push past people in an unladylike manner to avoid being held back by the milling crowds, and by the time she finally emerged into the relative emptiness of the court square, her bonnet had been knocked askew and her skirts were muddied from the boots that had trodden on them.

Still. She was there. The woman's horse was tied up outside, a groom attending to it. The creature was panting as though the journey had been hard, and its fine saddle could not make up for the signs of exhaustion.

From the groom, Catherine obtained directions to the court where the woman's appeal was being heard, and she hurried to the public entrance.

"The doors are closing now, miss," said one of the doorkeepers, but the other stopped him.

"I know this lass," he said. "She's always here. Looks after the widows when no one else will. Let her in."

Catherine smiled gratefully. He wasn't entirely correct – no doubt the widows could obtain comfort from elsewhere if they wanted to, but Catherine just happened to be nearest most of the time. "Thank you, sir," she said, and slipped through the doors just as the bright-haired woman took the stand.