It was November the 15th, 1822, and there was neither a time he had ever read nor heard when the purlieu of Westbrook district had ever had such bustle. The natural ambience was lost in a preponderance of brouhahas and ruckus, and even the air smelled unclean. The market women hurried to and fro, most of them carrying their merchandise in a hamper that hung slightly below their shoulders.
It was in this busy city of Cadsbury that Doctor James Longbutton was supposed to be meeting with his friend. Although, if it were up to him, he would have preferred they had met at one of the rustic inns at the countrysides, but Betty Jones had always had a proclivity for the bustling ruction of the city, so she had insisted they met at Cadbury, and he could never say "no" to Betty Jones.
"Away from the road, you bugger!" A carter who was dragging a large cart filled with lemons yelled him out of his thoughts, and he quickly acquiesced and apologized he gently stepped out of the way, but the Carter paid him no mind as he dragged the heavy cart past him, and a woman who seems to be the owner of the lemons hurriedly trailed behind the carter.
He wasn't used to this kind of life. He had always been one for the quiet verdant environs of the countryside, and he had spent the most of his life there, tending to the horses and cows, hunting for deers in the forests, and smoking pipe with the lovely ladies of the countryside.
James decided to step off the road and back into the "jork". The jork was a tavern that apparently suited Betty's taste because it was here she had demanded they meet. Although why she had asked him to meet her at a tavern popular for its highway men and women instead of her house was a mystery to him.
He lifted up his finger and signified for another drink which the bartender served him almost immediately. The tavern was quiet and scanty and hot, another reason why he avoided the cities like a plague. The temperature. He could not endure the scorching temperatures of the cities, and just a few hours waiting for Betty inside the hot tavern had felt like torture. He gulped down the whiskey, letting out a sight of relief as he dropped the cup, then he took another look at his watch.
"Waiting for someone eh? " the bartender, a brusque and huge fellow with a broad face and a bunch of rough looking stubbles around his thick jaw.
"Ah, yes!" James replied aloud as soon as he realized he was the one the bartender was talking to. "outside seems quite busy and in here is a bit scanty," James quickly added.
"Not usually so," said the bartender, "today, folks are all gathered up in West Avenue, no one wants to miss a twitching."
"A twitching? " James was unsure of what the man meant.
"A hangin', a quick drop and a sudden stop, a leg in the hole, a duck stretching, whatever it is folks are calling it these days. Thing is, everyone wants to see a felon hang, gives them a cheer that sort of thing."
A hanging. James have heard of the hangings many times over and how people frenzied over watching a man go down the gallows, but he himself had never seen a hanging. He was used to killing people with guns and knifes, as the war had taught him, not strangling them from the noose.
"You don't look like you are from around these parts," said the bartender and James shook his head in response.
"Ever seen a hanging?" the bartender asked again.
And James shook his head in response.
"Never seen one myself. Inhumane that is, to go by the noose, bloody inhumane is the way I see it. But I think I will go see this one, see for myself why people are rushing just to see a man bloody hang. " continued the bartender.
James did not answer and the bartender, taking note of James's silence, inferred that James was not in the mood for a chitchat and stopped talking. James ordered for another glass of whiskey and gulped it as soon as it landed on the table. He looked at his watch again. He was staring to feel anger at Betty was keeping him waiting like this. She was the one who had arranged for them to meet, she had specified the time and had insisted that he came as early as he could and here he was, waiting for her, and she was no where close. Feeling chagrin, he gathered his newspaper and his hat, dug his hand into his pocket to pay the bartender when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"I hope you didn't drink too much, Doctor James."
He turned and Betty was standing behind him, her form as splendid as usual and her lissome structure was covered with a lilac gown and nothing else. She was panting, as if she had ran all the way, but she till managed to smile at him, a smile that drained away all his anger at her. He could never be angry at her, he could not even remember a time when he had ever been.
"I am sorry I showed up late. " she apologized, "Domestic problems. Please, let me pay for your drinks. At least, that would go a long way to show how sorry I am. "
She reached for her purse and pulled out five guineas and payed the bartender.
"You must be dying to leave this place," she eyed him gently, "the city has never appealled to you in anyway. "
"Well, you know me. " he replied, "you sounded quite urgent in your letter. What is it that has made you drag me from the comfort of my village to this hell of a place? "
"Doctor James Longbutton," she chuckled as if they mention of his full name tickled her, "always the same I see. Let us not rush into matters, although the reason I have summoned you here is as important as any other. "
"Not important enough. " He muttered.
She shot him a quick glance, and inferred that he was referring to here lateness but she ignored him.
"Come now," she grabbed his hand as if to pull him forward, "we must hurry. I have booked two seats and we don't want to miss it. "
"Don't want to miss what?" He asked as he stumbled behind her as they stepped out of the tavern into the busy road.
She smiled at him, then looked expectantly at the busy crowd, and answered succinctly, "The hanging. "