The Hanging of Margaret Dickson by Alison Butler Page B

Musselburgh. The widow’s hen-pecked husband built it just before he succumbed to smallpox, and it was to be his greatest achievement and testament to his place of refuge, away from his nagging wife. To be sure the widow’s a feisty character, well-known for her wicked temper, quick tongue and strange appearance. Folk either love her or loathe her and Maggie falls in with the former.
    When the Lord was handing out good looks, sadly Widow Arrock was not in the queue. Her face and body have no symmetry, everything’s twisted and out of kilter. The widow has beady eyes, one placed higher than the other, ears that resemble cauliflowers and thin lips that stretch inwards to form an ugly grimace. And if that isn’t bad enough, her skin is so bad it resembles the peel of an over-ripened fruit, spoiled by a hot sun. For sure, Widow Arrock is the ugliest woman in Musselburgh, and probably the whole of Scotland. But nevertheless, Maggie is proud to call her a friend.
    Upon an old wooden stool, Maggie stands, fidgeting as the widow pins her wedding dress. With nimble fingers, the widow makes the necessary alterations all in her own good time. Maggie draws in her breath and clamps her teeth together. A searing pain shoots down her back as she struggles to hold her position.
    â€˜Be still, Maggie. If your poor mother could see you now, she’d be having kittens. You look a mess; a blue-gowned beggar would put you to shame. Look at me up to my oxsters in pins and material, but I’m well turned out.’
    Maggie glances at the widow and can’t help having visions of ugly toads crawling on their backs in muddy swamps. ‘I was too busy to comb my hair.’
    The widow slaps Maggie on the leg and puffs out her cheeks. ‘That’s no excuse girl; you should always look your best. You’re bone idle.’
    â€˜Ouch, that hurt! Anyway, today is not my wedding day. Does it really matter what I look like?’
    The widow stops to stare at Maggie, her one good eye slightly slewed, so that it bores into Maggie. ‘Now listen to me, girl. You youngsters are an absolute disgrace. In my day we would not be walking about with our hair unbound, even in private. You’re slovenly, Maggie. You should always look your finest, not just for your husband, but for yourself. You’re a very fortunate woman, because you were born with the gift of beauty. God never shined on me, but that didn’t stop me trying to make the best of myself! Nae, it did not. I’m a handsome woman and not the hag people claim me to be.’ She pats the rear of her head with a haughty look.
    Handsome , Maggie thinks. The widow’s finally gone insane .
    â€˜How much longer will it take? My feet are killing me and I’m starving.’
    The widow scoffs. Her eyes near pop from her head and a vein bulges from her neck as she rants. ‘Starving? What nonsense, you wouldn’t know starving if it slapped you in the face. My generation was born hungry. You probably don’t remember the great dearth, but your father would, that’s if he wasn’t too drunk to recall it. Anyway, it’s patience you need a lesson in, young lady. I’m nearly done,’ she says with a pin between her teeth.
    â€˜I’m going to pee myself if it takes much longer.’
    â€˜Be quiet, lass. The dress will be ready for you tonight. I’ve never seen so many petticoats in my life, what a fortunate lass you are to wear a dress as fine as this on your special day. Where on earth did you get it? On second thought I don’t want to know. I wish your poor mother could see you now.’
    It takes Maggie just a moment to take off the dress and run to the much envied indoor privy. When she returns she feels much better. ‘All cottages should have indoor privies. I wish Father would build us one.’
    The widow presses her hands together. ‘Never mind the privy.
I wish to God someone would knock it down now,