THE WITHERED ARM

Sometimes strange things happen, and nobody can

explain why. A door opens in the night, but there is
nobody there. A cold hand takes you by the neck, but you
are alone, and it is a warm day. You go into a house, and
it is full of people. You cannot see them, but you can feel
them there, waiting in the dark.

Rhoda is a farm worker. She is tall, with beautiful dark

eyes, and works long hours for not much money. Gertrude
does not work. She is pretty, has small white hands, a
sweet smile, and beautiful dresses. Air Lodge is a farmer,
with a big farmhouse, and many fine cows on his rich
farm. Which of the two women is the wife of Farmer
Lodge? Which woman did he love, which woman does he
love, which woman is the mother of his son?

And which of these people has a withered arm? A poor,

thin, wi thered arm, an arm with the marks of fingers on
it, an arm that grows thinner and more withered, week
by week. How did those marks get there? Nobody knows,
nobody can explain them. But people say they are a
witch’s marks . . .
 1

The milkmaid and the wife

t was six o ’clock on a warm April evening, milking

time for Farmer Lodge’s eighty cows. They stood
quietly in the dairy, and the milkmaids were all at work.
‘They say Farmer Lodge is coming home with his new
wife tomorrow,’ said one milkmaid.
‘Yes. And she’s young and pretty, I hear,’ a second girl
said.
She looked past her cow to the other end of the dairy.
There was another milkmaid there, a thin, older woman,
about thirty years old.
The first girl looked at the older woman too. ‘I’m sorry
for her,’ she saici quietly to her friend.
‘ Oh no,’ said the second girl. ‘That was years and
years ago. Farmer Lodge never speaks to Rhoda Brook
these days.’
When the milking was finished, the milkmaids left the
dairy and went home. The thin woman, Rhoda Brook,
did not walk to the village with the other girls. She went
up the hill behind the farm to a little house near the trees.
It was a poor house, of only two rooms, and the roof did
not keep the rain out.

1
 ‘I ’m sorry fo r h e r / the m ilkm aid said to her friend.

At the door of the house the wom an met her son, a boy
of about twelve, and they went inside.
‘ I heard something at the dairy to d a y / the w o m an
said. ‘ Y o u r father is bringing his you ng wife home
tomorrow. I want you to go and look at her/
‘ Yes, mother,’ said the boy. ‘ Is father married then?’
 ‘Yes . . . Y o u can go into town and do my shopping for
me. And when you see her, there or on the road, look at
her carefully.’
‘Yes, m other.’
‘ What is she like? I want to know . Is she tall, is she
short? Are her eyes blue or brow n or green? L o o k at the
colour o f her hair, the colour o f her dress. And look at
her hands. Does she have small white hands, or the hands
of a milkmaid, a w o rk er’ s hands? Y o u must look at all
these things, and tell me.’
‘ Yes, mother,’ the boy said again. He took a piece of
bread from the table and began to eat it.
His mother said nothing more, but turned her thin,
pale face to the open door. Her beautiful dark eyes stared
out at the trees, seeing and not seeing.

The next evening was w arm and sunny. The road from
the town to the farm went up and down a number of
hills, and near the top o f one big hill the boy saw a
carriage behind him. It was Farmer Lodge with his new
wife. She was a pretty young thing, much younger than
her husband, with a sweet, innocent face.
The boy carried a heavy bag, and was happy to stop
and stare for a minute. The carriage came slowly up the
hill, and the boy took a good long look at the farm er’s
wife. His eyes never left her face.
 The farmer did not look at the boy once, and at the top
o f the hill the carriage went faster, leaving the boy behind.
'H o w that poor boy stared at me!’ said the young wife.
‘Yes, my love. I saw that,’ the farmer said.
‘Is he a boy from the village?’

i "I

T he boy took a good long lo o k at the fa rm er’s w ife.

 1 be m ilk m a id and the w ife

‘ No. I think he lives with his mother 011 one of these

hills/
‘He knows you, then.’
‘ O f course. And everyone is going to stare at you at
first, my pretty Gertrude.’
‘Yes, I know. But that poor boy had a very heavy bag.
Perhaps he wanted us to help him with the bag.’
‘ Oh, these country boys can carry anything,’ said her
husband. ‘They do it all the time.’
The carriage went quickly on. After a time the boy left
the road and went up the hill to his mother’ s house.
She was home before him. She took the heavy bag
from him and began to take the things out.
‘Well, did you see her?’
‘ Yes. I had a good look at her on the ro ad .’
‘And what is she like?’
‘She’s nice.’
‘ Is she young?’
‘Well, she’ s older than me.’
‘ O f course she is. But is she older than m e}'
‘ N o, she’s younger.’
‘ Ah. What colour is her hair?’
‘ It’s a brown colour, and her face is very pretty.’
‘Are her eyes dark?’
‘ N o, they’ re blue, and her mouth is very nice and red,
and when she smiles, you can see white teeth.’
 ‘Is she tall?’ said the woman, a little angrily.
‘I couldn’t see. She was in the carriage.’
‘Then tomorrow you must go to church. Go early,
before she and M r Lodge arrive, and watch her when she
walks in. Then come home and tell me.’
‘Very well, mother. But why don’t you go and look at
her?’
‘Never! I don’t want to see her. She was with Adr Lodge,
of course. Did he look at you or speak to you?’
‘N o .’
The next day the boy went to church, and waited and
watched. When Mr and Airs Lodge arrived, everybody —
not just the boy - stared at the new wife with interest.
When the boy reached home, his mother said, ‘Well?’
‘She’s not tall. She’s short,’ the boy said.
‘Ah!’ said his mother, pleased.
‘But she’s very pretty - very. She had a beautiful white
dress on, and it made a lot of noise when she moved. Mr
Lodge looked very happy with her.’
‘ N o more n o w ,’ said the woman. ‘ Y ou can tell me
more later.’
In the next days, Rhoda Brook heard more and more
from her son about the new wife. The boy often saw Mrs
Lodge around the farmhouse, but his mother never saw
her, and never went near the farmhouse.
At the dairy the other milkmaids talked a lot about
 i ne miuzmaia ana w e wife

‘M r Lodge looked very happy with herd the boy said.

the new wife. They usually stopped when Rhoda was near,
but she heard some of it. She remembered everything, and
forgot nothing.
And slowly Rhoda Brook made a picture in her head
of the young Mrs Lodge —a picture as good, as true as a
photograph.
 2

The dream

ne night, two or three weeks later, when the boy was

O in bed, R h o d a B rook sat by the dying fire in her

little house. She stared at the fire for a long time, but she
saw only the picture in her head o f the new wife. At last,
tired from her d a y ’s work, she went to bed.
But the picture o f Gertrude Lodge did not go away.
When R h o d a slept, the yo u n g w ife was still there in
R h o d a ’s dreams. She sat on R h o d a ’ s body in the bed,
staring into R h o d a ’s face. Her blue eyes were cold, and
with a cruel laugh, she put her left hand in front
o f R h o d a ’ s eyes. T here, on the third finger, w as her
wedding-ring. A n d the phantom o f Gertrude Lodge
laughed again.
Rhoda turned this w ay and that w ay, but the phantom
was still there. It sat, heavier and heavier, on R h o d a ’ s
body, and now Rhoda could not move. A lw a y s in her
ears was that cruel laugh, and always in front of her eyes
was that left hand with its wedding-ring.
At last, half-dead with terror, Rhoda suddenly put out
her right hand, took hold of the phantom ’ s left arm, and
pulled it hard.
 The phantom fell off the bed onto the floor, and
Rhoda sat up.
‘Dear God!’ she cried. She felt cold, so cold. ‘That was
not a ciream —she was here!’

Always in her ears was that cruel laugh, and always

in front o f her eyes was that left hand with its wedding-ring.
 She could still feel the young w o m a n ’s arm under her
hand - a warm, living arm. She looked on the floor for
the w o m a n ’s body, but there was nothing there.
Rhoda Brook slept no more that night, and at the dairy
early the next morning, she looked pale and ill. She could
not forget the feel o f that arm under her hand.
When she came home for breakfast, her son asked her,
‘W hat was that noise in your room last night, mother?
Did you fall off the bed?’
‘Noise? What time did you hear it?’
‘About two o ’clock. But what was it, mother? Something
fell, I heard it. Was it you?’
Rhoda did not answer, and after breakfast she began
to do her w ork in the house. At about midday she heard
something, and looked out of the window. At the bottom
o f the garden stood a w o m a n - the w o m an from her
dream. Rhoda stood still, and stared.
The boy came to look out of the w in dow too.
‘ Oh, there’s M rs Lodge,’ he said. ‘She told me— ’
‘Told you?’ said his mother. She looked angry. ‘Why
did you speak to her? I told you not to.’
‘She spoke to me first. I met her in the road.’
‘When was this ?5
‘Yesterday.’
‘ What ciid you tell her?’
‘Nothing. She began to talk to me, and then she saw
my old shoes. She said, “ Do they keep the rain out?” And
I said, “ N o , they don’t, but mother and I have no money
for new sh o es.” T hen she said, “ I can give you some
better shoes.” She’s bringing them now, I think. Perhaps
they’ re in her bag. She’s very nice, mother - she gives
things to lots of people.’
By now M rs Lodge was at the door. Rhoda wanted to
run aw ay, but there was no back door in her little house.
So she waited, and the boy ran to open the door.

T he hoy ran to open the door.

 The W ithered A rm

‘This is the right house then,’ said Mrs Lodge, smiling

at the hoy. ‘And this is your mother, is it?’
The face and body were the same as those of the
phantom in Rhoda’s dream, but there was nothing cruel
in this face. The blue eves were warm, and the smile was
¥ '

sweet and kind.

The young woman took the shoes out of her bag, and
gave them to the boy. She smiled and talked in a warm
and friendly way.
‘How kind she is!’ thought Rhoda. ‘How young and
sweet and innocent! Why did I have that bad dream
about her? She’s a friend, not an enemy.’

Tw o days later Mrs Lodge came again, with a new shirt

for the boy, and twelve days after that she visited Rhoda
a third time. The boy was out that day.
‘I like walking up here on the hill,’ Airs Lodge told
Rhoda. ‘And your house is the only one up here.’
They talked about the weather and the village, then
Mrs Lodge got up to leave. ‘Are you well, Rhoda?’ she
asked. ‘You look pale.’
‘ Oh, I’m always pale,’ said Rhoda. ‘But what about
you, Mrs Lodge? Are you well?’
‘Yes, I am, but . . . there is something . . . It’s nothing
very bad, but I don’t understand it.’
She uncovered her left hand and arm. There were
‘ There is something . . . It’s nothing very bad,
but I don ’t understand it,’ said Mrs Lodge.
marks on the arm, yellowy-brown marks, like marks
S J J '

made by fingers. Rhoda stared at them.

‘ How did it happen?’ she asked.
‘I don’t kn ow ,’ said Mrs Lodge. ‘ One night, when I
was in bed, I had a dream . . . and then suddenly, my arm
hurt very badly. Perhaps I hit it on something in the
daytime, but I don’t remember it.’ She laughed. ‘M y dear
husband says it’s nothing very much, and he’s right, of
course.’
‘Yes . . . Which night was that?’ saici Rhoda.
Mrs Lodge thought for a moment. ‘ It was two weeks
ago today. It was two o ’clock in the night - I remember,
because I heard the clock.’
It was the same night, the same hour, as R h o d a ’ s
dream of the phantom. Rhoda remembered the terror of
it, and felt cold.
‘H ow can this be?’ she thought, when Airs Lodge left.
‘ Did I do that? But why? She is innocent and kind - I
don’t want to hurt her. And how can a thing like that
happen? Only witches can do things like that . . .’
 3

The face in the glass

he days went past, and Rhoda Brook was afraid to

.. meet Airs Lodge again. She liked her, and did not
want to remember the strange dream or the strange
marks on the young wife’s arm. But she could not stop
thinking about them.
One day they met on the road from the village. They
began to talk, and after a minute or two Rhoda said,
‘How is your arm, Airs Lodge? Is it better now?’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s worse than before. Sometimes it hurts
very badly.’
J 4

‘What does the doctor say about it?’ asked Rhoda.

‘ He doesn’t understand it. He just says, “ Put the arm in
hot water for five minutes twice a day.” Well, I do that,
but it doesn’t help.’
‘Can I look at your arm?’ asked Rhoda.
Once again, the younger woman uncovered her arm,
and Rhoda stared at it.
The arm was thinner, and a little withered. And the
marks looked more and more like marks made by fingers.
Rhoda remembered her dream, and the feel of the arm
under her hand - in just the same place.
 ‘ It looks like the m arks o f fingers,’ Gertrude Lodge
sai’cf. She rri'ecf co /aug/i. ‘M y h u s b a n d says r/icy a ic a
w itch’s marks. A witch put her hand on my arm, he says,
and it’ s killing the flesh.’
‘ N o , n o ,’ said R h o d a quickly. She felt cold and afraid.
‘ D o n ’t listen to those old stories.’
The young w ife ’ s face w as unhappy. ‘ N o , but . . . you
see, I think he begins to . . . to love me less, because of
these marks on my arm. M en alw ays like their wives to
be pretty, d o n ’ t they?’
‘ Some men d o ,’ said Rhoda. ‘But d o n ’t show him the
arm. C over it all the time, and then he can’ t see it.’

R h oda co u ld see the tears in her eyes.

 ‘ A h, but he k n o w s the m arks are there.’ Gertrude
looked aw ay, but R h oda could see the tears in her eyes.
‘ I hope your arm is better soon, M rs Lodge,’ she saici
quietly.
She said goodbye and began to w alk home. She felt
sorry for the p oor, innocent young w ife, and did not
w an t to hurt her. But she did not feel sorry for the
husband. She w alk ed home, thinking about him. ‘ So,
Farm er L o d g e ,’ she thought. ‘Y o u loved me once, but
then you left me, and did nothing to help me. Y o u wanted
a new, younger and prettier wom an for your wife. But she
is not so pretty now, is she?’

The next day Rhoda walked home from the dairy after
evening milking at the usual time. She was nearly at her
house when she saw Gertrude Locige behind her. Rhoda
went down the hill to meet her.
‘ Oh, R h o d a !’ called Gertrude. ‘ I wanted to see you - to
ask you . . .’ Her face was pale and worried, and she held
her left arm with her other hand. ‘ Somebody told m e,’
she said, ‘ about a man at Egdon Heath. They don’t know
his name, but they say he is a famous Wise M an , and can
help people with . . . with things like this.’
She looked down at her left arm, and then looked at
R h oda, with hope in her eyes. ‘They say you know about
him, this Wise Alan. Do you know his name?’
 ‘Perhaps they mean M r Trendle,’ Rhoda said slowly.
She felt ill. This man Trendle, people said, could do many
strange things. He could understand dreams, he could
drive phantoms out of houses, he could stop the work of
witches . . . ‘ I am not a witch,’ she thought. ‘I am not\ I do
not believe in these things.’
Gertrude watched her. ‘Y ou know him,’ she said. ‘ I
can see it in your face. Of course, I don’t believe in Wise
Men. What can they do? But . . . well, I can just go and
see him. Is it far to his house?’
‘Yes - about five miles,’ said Rhoda.
‘ Well, I must walk there. I cannot tell my husband
about this. Can you come with me, Rhoda, to show me
the way? Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?’
‘ Oh no, it’s . . . I . . .’ Rhoda began.
‘ Please!’ said Gertrude.
And in the end Rhoda could not say no. M rs Lodge
was good and kind, and she needed a friend’s help. But
perhaps a Wise M an could see into people’ s dreams.
Rhoda did not want to meet this man Trendle, and she
was afraid . . .

The next afternoon she met Gertrude by the trees near

her house, and they began the long walk across the hills
to Egdon Heath. It was a cold day, and the sky above the
hills was dark and unfriendly. 4
They began the long walk across the hills to Egdon Heath.
 T hey found M r T re n d le ’s house outside the village.
He was at home when they arrived. He was an old man
with grey hair, and he looked long and hard at R h oda
when he saw her. M rs Lodge told him about her arm, and
he looked at it carefully.
‘N o , doctors can’ t do anything for this,’ he said. ‘This
is the w ork o f an enemy.’
Rhoda moved aw ay a little.
‘ An enemy? W hat enemy?’ asked M rs Lodge.
‘I don’t k n o w ,’ said the Wise M an, looking at her. ‘But
perhaps you do. I can show the person to you. D o you
want me to do that?’
‘ Y e s ,’ said Gertrude. ‘ Y es, please show m e.’
A ir Trendle took Gertrude into another room , but the
door was open, and R h o d a could see into the room.
T he Wise M a n took an egg, and did something to it.
T hen he put a glass of water on the table, and carefully
broke the egg open. The white of the egg went down into
the water, changing to a milky white colour, and moving
slowly round and round.
He put the glass in front o f Gertrude. ‘ L o o k dow n into
the w ater,’ he said. ‘ L o o k for a face.’
Gertrude stared down into the water.
‘Do you see a face?’ the Wise M a n asked quietly.
Gertrude whispered something, but R h oda could not
hear. She turned a w a y from the door.
‘Look dow n into the water. Look for a faced
 When M rs Lodge came out, her face was pale —paler
than R h o d a ’s. M r Trendle closed the door behind her,
and the two women began to walk home. But things were
not the same between them.
‘Did he - did he ask for money?’ Rhoda said quietly.
‘ Oh no. nothing. He did not w an t a pen n y,’ said
Gertrude.
‘And what did you see?’ asked Rhoda.
‘ Nothing . . . I - I don’t want to speak about it.’
Gertrude did not look at Rhocia. Her pretty young face
looked ten years older, and was now more like the face of
the phantom in R h o d a ’s dream.
They did not speak for a long time, then Gertrude saici
suddenly, ‘Did you want me to come here and see this
Wise Man? H o w strange of yo u !’
‘N o, I didn’t. But now, I am not sorry we came.’
For the first time since her dream Rhoda felt a little
pleased. Life was cruel, she thought, and Gertrude Lodge
must learn that lesson too.
On the long w alk home they did not speak again about
their visit to the Wise M an. But other people did, and
whispered stories about it in all the farms and dairies.
M rs Lodge could no longer use her withered arm to do
anything, and people began to put the word ‘w itch’ in
front of the name ‘Rhoda B ro o k ’ .
Rhoda said nothing to anybody about the phantom of
her dream, but her face got thinner and paler. And in the
spring she and her boy left their house and went aw ay
into the hills in the west.

They went aw ay into the hills in the west.

 4

The cure for a curse

ix years went past, and M r and M rs L o d g e’ s married

S life was not happy. T he farmer said little, and did

not often smile. H is wife had a withered arm, and there
were no children to call him ‘father’ , and to run laughing
around the farmhouse. He thought o f R h oda Brook and
her son. His son. But that was the past, and he could not
change it now.
Gertrude Lodge w as a different w om an too. She was
only twenty-five, but she looked older. Once a happy,
smiling w o m a n , she w as n ow sad and w orried all the
time. She loved her husband, but he no longer loved her,
and she knew it. ‘ Six years of married life, and only a few
months o f love,’ she sometimes whispered.
Her left arm w as no better. She tried one thing after
another, but nothing helped it. Some o f the things were a
little strange, and her husband did not like them.
‘Y o u think too much about your arm ,’ he said. ‘ You
need somebody to talk to - somebody to be around the
house. At one time there was a boy . . . I wanted him to
come and live with us, but he is too old now . A n d he
went aw ay. I don’ t k n o w where.’
 ‘ You think too much about your a r m F a r m e r Lodge said.

Gertrude knew about this boy now, and all of Rhoda

B r o o k ’s story, but she and her husband never spoke
about it. And she never said anything to him about her
visit to the Wise M an of Egdon Heath, or about the face
in the glass.
She wanted so much to find a cure for her arm. ‘M y
husband cannot love me because o f this a r m ,’ she
thought. ‘ So I must find a cure for it, I must. The Wise
M an helped me before. Perhaps he can help me again.’
So one day she walked to Egdon Heath. She did not
know the w ay, but at last she found the house.
‘Y o u can send aw ay other things, I k n o w ,’ she said to
Trendle. ‘H air on w o m e n ’s faces, and things like that.
W hy can’t you send this a w a y ?’ She uncovered her poor,
withered arm.

‘Is there no cure, anyw here?’ asked Gertrude sadly.

 ‘N o , I ’ m sorry, but I c a n ’t help y o u ,’ said Trendle.
‘Y o u r arm is withered because of a curse. It’s not easy to
find a cure for that.’
‘Is there no cure, anywhere?’ asked Gertrude sadly.
‘ There is one thing . . .’ Trendle began slowly. ‘But it’s
not easy for a wom an to d o .’
‘ Oh, tell me!’ said Gertrude. ‘Please!’
‘ Y o u must put the withered arm on the neck o f a
hanged man. Y o u must do it before he’s cold - just after
they take his body d o w n .’
Gertrude’s face was pale. ‘H o w can that do good?’
‘ It can turn the blood, and that changes many things
in the body. Y o u must go to the jail when they hang
someone, and wait for the body when they bring it in. In
the old days lots of people did it; these days, not so many
do it. But it is still the best cure for a curse.’

Back at home Gertrude thought about this for a long

time. She tried to forget it, but she couldn’t. She wanted
to be pretty again, she wanted her husband to love her
again. Yes, she must try this cure, she must.
‘But h ow do I do it?’ she thought. ‘Where is the nearest
jail? H o w can I get there? H o w often do they hang
people? And when there is a hanging, how can I learn
about it before it happens?’
So many questions. There was no one to help her, but
slo w ly she began to find the answers. She asked careful
questions in the village, because country people alw ays
k n o w everything.
One old man was very helpful. ‘ T h e nearest jail is at
C a ste rb rid g e , fifteen miles a w a y , ’ he told G ertrude.
‘ T h e y have trials there every three months, and there’ s
usually a hanging after the trials. Some poor man or hoy
takes a co w or a sheep, or just some bread, and they hang

‘T h e re ’s usually a hanging after the trials.’

him fo r it. Lots o f people go to w atch the hangings. I
d o n ’t k n o w w h y .’
T h e next trials were in J u ly , Gertrude learnt. She asked
her husband about them, but Lodge said very little. He
was colder to her than usual, and she did not ask him
again. H e w as often a w a y these days, so she did not see
much o f him.
J u l y came, and Gertrude went to see the helpful old
man in the village again. ‘J u s t one hanging this tim e,’ he
told her. ‘ It’s for arson, I think. T h e y ’re going to hang
him next Satu rd av.’
G e rtru d e w a lk e d s lo w ly hom e. ‘ I cannot tell my
husband about this . . . this cure,’ she thought. ‘ A n d h ow
can I be a w a y from home fo r two nights? W hat can I say
to him ?’
But in the end it w as easy. On the T h ursday before the
hanging, Lodge came to her. ‘ I ’ m going a w a y for three
nights,’ he said. ‘ It’ s about farm w o rk , so you c a n ’t come
with m e .’
‘T h a t ’s all right,’ Gertrude said quietly. ‘ I’ m h appy to
stay at h o m e .’
T h e y said nothing m ore, and on T h u r s d a y L o d g e
drove a w a y in the carriage.
 5

The hangman

} 'he next morning Gertrude got ready to leave for

Casterbridge. She did not want to go by road because
she did not want to meet any of her husband’s friends. So
she took one of the heavy horses from the farm, and rode
west across the hills.
She was afraid of riding with a half-dead arm, but the
farm horse was quiet and slow, and easy to ride. He
carried her uphill and downhill, past rivers and through
trees, moving west all the time.
The sun slowly went down in the sky, and it was
r J y

nearly eight o ’ clock when Gertrude stopped for a

moment at the top of a hill. It was the last hill before the
town, and she could see the roofs of Casterbridge below.
There was a big building on a hill at the end of the town,
with a white roof. She knew this was the jail, and she
could see a lot of workmen on the roof.
‘What are they doing?’ she thought. ‘T hey’re building
something up there on the roof . . . O h!’
Suddenly, she understood, and quickly turned her eyes
away. It was a warm summer evening, but she shivered
with cold.
 G ertru de could see the roofs o f C asterbridge b elo w .

‘ T o m o r r o w they’ re going to hang a man on that r o o f,’

she thought. ‘ And when he is dead . . .’
She shivered again, but then she rem em bered her
h u sb a n d ’ s cold w o rd s and his unsmiling face, and she
rode on dow n into the town.
 She found a room to stay for the night, and then went
out into the town.
‘ W hat do I do n o w ?’ she thought. ‘ H o w can I get into
the jail tom orrow ? W ho must I talk to? T h e men at the
jail, or the hangm an?’

‘ W ho are y o u ? ’ the man called out. ‘W hat do you w an t?’

 She was afraid to go to the jail, so she went to find the
hangman. He had a house down by the river, a boy in the
tow n told her.
When she found the house, she stood outside for some
minutes, afraid to go to the door. Then the door opened
and a man came out.
‘W ho are you ?’ he called out. ‘What do you w an t?’
‘ I want to speak to you for a minute.’
H e came nearer, and looked at her. ‘ Well, well, that’ s a
pretty face,’ he said. ‘ Com e into the house.’
T h ey went inside. Davies (that w as his name) was a
hangman on some days, but a gardener on other days.
‘ Is it about gardening w o r k ? ’ he asked G ertrude. ‘ I
can ’t do any tom orrow , because I’ m w orking at the jail.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. T h a t ’ s w hy I’m here.’
‘ Ah! I thought so. Is the poor man one o f your family
then? Perhaps your young brother? N o , ’ —Davies looked
at Gertrude’ s dress - ‘ I d o n ’t think so. W as he one o f your
farm workers perhaps?’
‘N o . What time is the hanging?’
‘T h e same as usual - twelve o ’clock.’
‘And it is . . . it is going to happen, yes?’
‘ Oh yes, nothing can stop the hanging n o w ,’ said
Davies. ‘ But I’ m sorry for this young man, I truly am.
H e ’ s only eighteen. T hey say it was arson, but I d o n ’ t
know. He was there when the fire began, but there were
 6

The blood turns

t half past twelve on Saturday Gertrude Lodge

A „ walked up the hill to the jail. She went there by the

small back streets, because there were so many people in
the town. They were there for a holiday, to watch the
hanging.
At one o ’clock she was inside the jail. The hangman
took her to a long dark room with a table. ‘Wait there,’
he told her. ‘T w o or three minutes, no more.’

Four men came into the room with a long box.

 He went aw ay, and Gertrude waited. She had a veil
over her face, and her left arm was uncovered, ready. She
stood still, with her eyes closed, listening, and shivering
with terror.
Soon she heard noises, and could hear heavy feet on
the stairs. T h e heavv feet came nearer, and four men
came into the room with a long box. It was open, and in
it was the body of a young man, with a cover over his
face. The men put the box down on the table.
‘N o w ! ’ said a voice in Gertrude’s ear. ‘ N o w ! ’
But the young w om an was half-dead with terror, and
at first she could not move. Then she opened her eyes and
came up to the table. She could hear other noises outside
the room. There were more people coming.
Davies the hangman was by her side. He uncovered the
b o d y ’ s face, took G e rtru d e ’ s hand, and put her arm
across the dead m an’s neck.
Gertrude screamed.
And at once there was a second scream. A w o m a n ’s
scream, but not Gertrude’s. Gertrude turned round.
Behind her stood R h oda Brook, her face pale, and her
eyes red with crying. Behind R h o d a stood G e rtru d e ’ s
husband. He looked old and sad, but there were no tears
in his eyes.
‘ Y o u ! What in G o d ’s name are yo u doing here?’ he
whispered angrily.
 ‘ Oh, cruel, cruel w om an!’ cried Rhoda. ‘Why do you
come between us and our child now? This is the true
meaning of my dream! Y o u are like that cruel phantom at
last!’
When Gertrude saw her husband with R h o d a, she
knew at once that the dead young man was R h o d a ’s son.
She stared at Rhoda, with terror in her eyes.
Then Rhoda ran to Gertrude, closed her hand round
the younger w o m an ’s arm, and pulled her away from the
table. When she let go of the arm, the young wife fell
down, at her husband’s feet.
She never opened her eyes again. They carried her out
of the jail into the town, but she never got home alive.
Perhaps it was the ‘turning of the blood’, perhaps it was
her withered arm, perhaps it was her terror in the jail
when she turned and saw Rhoda behind her. Doctors
came and looked at her, but they could do nothing to
help her, and three days later she died.

In those days the unhappy parents o f a hanged man eame

and took the body away after the hanging. That was why
Farmer Lodge was at the jail with Rhoda that day. It was
not his first visit to the jail. With Rhoda, he went many
times to visit his son that summer, and that was why he
was away from the farm so often.
But after his young wife died, nobody ever saw
Rhoda ran to Gertrude, and pulled her aw ay from the table.
Farm er Lodge in Casterbridge again. He went home to
his farm , but he did not stay there long. After a short time
he sold the farm and the farmhouse, and all the cows and
sheep and horses. T hen he went a w a y to live in a small
town by the sea. He lived very quietly, without any friends
or familv near him.
When he died tw o vears later, he left a lot of monev.
j * J

M o st o f it went to a home for poor boys, but there was

monev for Rhoda Brook too.
4

For some time n ob od y could find R h o d a . Then one

4

day she came back to her old house near the dairy. But
she never took a penny o f Farm er L o d g e ’ s money. She
went back to w o r k in the dairy, and w o rk e d there for
m any long years, milking the cows in the morning, and
again in the evening. Her dark hair turned white, and her
sad pale face looked thin and old.
M o s t people knew R h o d a ’ s story, and sometimes they
watched her at milking time. W hat did she think about,
all those long days, at morning and evening milking?
But nobody ever asked her, and nobody ever knew the
4 J 4

answer.
 GLOSSARY

arson the crime of setting fire to a building

believe to think that something is true or real
blood the red liquid inside the body
carriage a kind of ‘car’ that is pulled by horses
cow a farm animal that gives milk
cruel not kind; giving pain or unhappiness to other people
cure (n) something to make an illness go away
curse (n) asking for something bad to happen to someone
dairy a place where cows are milked, milk is kept, etc.
dream (n) a picture in your head when you are sleeping
egg a round thing laid by a chicken, which we eat
enemy a person who hates you; the opposite of ‘friend’
fall (past tense fell) to go down quickly; to drop
farmer a person who owns a farm (a place to keep animals and
grow food)
flesh the soft part of your body under the skin
God (dear God) words you say when you are surprised or
afraid
hang to kill somebody by holding them above the ground by a
rope around the neck
hangman a person whose job is to hang criminals
heavy difficult to move or carry
9 J

horse an animal that you can ride, or that can pull carriages
innocent an innocent person has done nothing bad or w^rong
jail a prison
kind friendly and helpful
mark (n) if you touch a piece of paper with a wet, dirty finger,
you leave a mark on the paper
married having a husband or a wife
milkmaid a woman who works in a dairy, milking cows
pale with no colour in the face
phantom a ghost; a ‘person’ who is not real
poor with very little money; also, a word you use when you feel
sorry for someone or something
pretty nice to look at
ride (v) to sit on a horse’s back when it moves
sad not happy
scream (v) to make a loud high cry when you are afraid or hurt
shiver (v) to shake with cold, or fear
stare (v) to look at something for a long time
strange very unusual or surprising
sweet kind and gentle
tears water that comes from the eyes when you cry
terror very great fear
thin not fat
trial a time when a judge decides if a criminal has done
something wrong or not
uncover to take something from the top of another thing
veil a piece of material that a woman puts over her head and
face
wedding-ring a ring on the third finger, to show you are married
whisper to speak very, very quietly
wise knowing and understanding many things
witch a woman who can make bad things happen to people
withered thin and weak, looking old and dry and dead
worried afraid that something bad is going to happen