shamed England, and when I thought on it, it made me ashamed to be English.
Whether the comparison to slavery was apt or not, executing the poor, essentially for the crime of being poor, shamed England, too. I was coming to understand that more clearly the longer I listened to Susan. And somehow, she sensed it – that she nearly had me.
I managed one more argument, and not my strongest. I said that lenity toward property crimes for so long did not mean that was the normal, moral state of affairs. Perhaps the Code should have been more Bloody all along, and no-one today would think twice? I was smiling by the end, for Susan was, too.
Her rejoinder was that she loved me.
I was astonished. We shared affection, a bed now and then… but this marvelous person loved me? Me? She rose, came to my side of the table at a trot, the best you can trot from one side of a table to another, and kissed me on the cheek. My cheek had already turned hot as a pie. She struck the back of my head again, then, rather more tenderly than every other time.
It is possible that I echoed her confession of love. My ears were purple, my heart thumping in my chest, my loins stirring, and my surroundings became indistinct to me. I fondly remember Susan returning to her side of the table, crunching a carrot and gesturing for me to hurry up and drain my gin. And then Mme. Graveau taking my empty cup without my even asking, and smiling at both of us conspiratorially.
I knew then that I could, and would, embellish my writings concerning the day’s hangings, including the Account of James Morneau, with the object of reforming the Bloody Code. I knew that Susan’s declaration of love was surely an embellishment – but she made it seem so easy, and yet so very powerful.