Mr. Palmer is not in the crowd. Horror of public hangings was another sentiment we shared, and I am glad he will not see me die. To my brother I give just one look, long and final, in which I try to make my love for him clear. I dare not do more, for I must not cry. I do not look for my children. Dr. Whiting has written to Eustace with my final wish that they not witness my end but remember me as their loving mother, all of them forever in my heart. My other request was that I not be hanged alongside Franklin.

A noise makes me look up. Above me, three men are straddling one great beam of the triangular gallows, adjusting the rope that will hang me. Twenty-four felons can be hanged at a time here; I thank God I have it all to myself. The crowd falls silent and I stare out at the faces staring back; it is like seeing the sea for the first time.

“Are you ready to give your speech?” says Dr. Whiting.

For a moment panic empties my head and I can remember nothing. Dr. Whiting takes my hand briefly and reminds me of the start. I clear my throat and speak, slowly and calmly, as he has taught me. I am contrite and modest, announcing with gratitude that I have taken Protestant communion. The mood of the crowd, already softened by Mistress Bowdlery’s cries, warms; some nod, others smile encouragement. I speak of my conviction of the good judgment of my King, I repent sincerely of my sins, especially those of vanity and pride, and ask all gathered to pray for my soul. Some in the crowd shout back, “God rest your soul, sister!,” “God be with you!,” others bow their heads and pray silently for me. Although I am terrified of the rope swinging above me, I am also euphoric. I think of the pity of those around me, and of those I love who are already dead and waiting for me. I think of my guarding angel, who is nearby, waiting.

My voice catches only once, when I ask the Lord to show mercy upon my six children. I hear sobbing in the crowd and can see what I will become; in these few minutes of beseeching remorse and repentance, dressed with the simplicity and modesty of a Protestant martyr, I am become a paragon of reform, the lamb returned by the Good Shepherd to God. My death will remind the crowd of their compassion and mercy. It will make them good, for a few hours at least. I will be spoken of with kindness and my children will not need to hang their heads at my memory.