I lay on the mat, shattered. It was evening now, and one of the men called over to me and said someone would bring a supper soon. There were more calls like this, and I knew the men were trying to get me into some kind of conversation, but I did not want any of it and I was glad when a turnkey came with trays of food. It was better than the gruel we were given upstairs. I surveyed the plate of chops and peas, which, although dry and tepid, was the only real meal I had been given in days.

‘They want us in good health for the gallows,’ the woman said to me, picking up her chop with her hands. They don’t want us dying of typhus or starvation first. That would disappoint everyone. If you don’t fancy that chop, I’ll take it.’

I was hungry, but with no appetite, which was a ghastly combination. I chewed on the chop, and it reminded me of Ma’s Sunday lunches. Would they come and visit? Would they come and watch me hang? I had not had the chance to say anything to them in the courtroom. I had been dragged out too quick.

Then the woman guard came back down and called me over to the gate.

‘I shall not keep you long from your meal,’ she said, ‘but I’ve organized for you to get a bath tomorrow morning.’

I could not have cared whether I was bathed or not and she looked disappointed that I didn’t seem grateful. But she ploughed on regardless.

‘You’ll have a nice bit of soap, and you ought to wash your hair twice too – two soapings to get the grease out properly. I’ll make sure the water’s hot for you. Afterwards you’ll have your appointment with the doctor.’

‘And what is that for? Am I to be given medicine?’ I asked.

‘Oh no, he is not that kind of a doctor,’ she said. ‘The prison physicians can take care of all of that, and we receive them in the mornings as and when required. No, the doctor is the man who will hang you, my dear. He needs to weigh and measure you, to make sure you hang nice and quick.’