She hadn’t planned it like this. It was to be her act and hers alone. But perhaps it would be good to have a witness, and after all this was a special witness, this was the one who understood, the one she could trust. Now she had someone else’s secret, one which gave her power and would make her rich. Perhaps it was right that they should be together. The Executioner selected a slender faggot, brought it over and, shielding it from the wind, lit it and held it high, then moved over to the circle and thrust it among the kindling. Immediately there was a rush of flame, and the fire ran like a living creature, spluttering, crackling and sending out sparks. The night came alive, and now the voices on the other side of the wall rose in crescendo and she experienced a moment of extraordinary triumph, as if the past, hers and Mary Keyte’s, were burning away.

The Executioner moved closer to her. Why, she wondered, were the hands so pinkly pale, so translucent? Why the surgical gloves? And then the hands took hold of the end of the washing line and, with one swift movement, curled it round her neck. There was a vicious tug as it tightened. She felt a cold splash on her face. Something was being thrown over her body. The reek of paraffin intensified, its fumes choking her. The Executioner’s breath was hot on her face, and the eyes which looked into hers were like veined marbles. The irises seemed to grow so that there was no face, nothing but dark pools in which she saw only a reflection of her own despair. She tried to cry out, but she had no breath, no voice. She fumbled at the knots which bound her, but her hands had no strength.

Barely conscious, she slumped against the rope and waited for death: Mary Keyte’s death. And then she heard what sounded like a sob followed by a great cry. It couldn’t be her voice; she had no voice. And then the can of paraffin was lifted and flung towards the hedge. She saw an arc of fire, and the hedge exploded into flame.

And now she was alone. Half fainting, she began pulling at the cord round her neck, but there was no strength to lift her arms. The crowd had gone now. The fire was beginning to die. She slumped against her bonds, her legs buckling, and knew nothing more.

Suddenly there were voices, a blaze of torches dazzling her eyes. Someone was vaulting over the stone wall, running to get her, leaping over the dying fire. There were arms round her, a man’s arms, and she heard his voice.

“You’re all right. You’re safe. Sharon, can you understand me? You’re safe.”

Chapter 5

5