The Confession

‘I’m ill, I’m ill,’ said Rockingham,

‘I’m ill,’ then took to his bed,

He tossed and turned in his fever there

As the visions danced in his head.

He couldn’t tell if the world outside

Was real, or a crazy dream,

But muttered into the night, instead

Of some of the things he’d seen.

 

His wife, Marie, was a surly wench

She said, ‘I’ll not be a nurse!

I’ll not be tied to a sick man’s bed,'

And left the room, with a curse.

She called the maid and she told her: ‘Sit!

And mop at the old man’s brow,

I’ll be abroad in the coach and six,

If he dies, go milk the cow!’

 

The fever turned to delerium

As he tossed and turned all night,

The doctor came, and he feared for him

As he lay in the grey twilight,

He used up seventeen leeches as

He blooded him, full sore,

But Rockingham was a haunted man

From a time of long before.

 

From time to time, he would sit up straight

And stare, with an awful dread,

As the ghost of Harold Murchison

Would hover, over his bed.

‘Don’t come for me, it was my Marie

That you wanted - She was a witch!

If only you’d taken her off from me,

She’s such a God-awful b***h!’

 

He fell back onto the pillow, cried

At the mess he’d made of his life,

And the worst mistake he’d ever made

Was to make Marie his wife,

She’d married him for the Castle gate

And the pride of a titled name,

But her love had stayed with Murchison

And she saw him, just the same.

 

At midnight they had hurried the priest

And the constable came too,

‘I think he’ll be dead by morning,’ said

The doc: ‘Not much I can do!'

But Rockingham tossed as one quite lost

While the ghost lay in his mind,

‘It’s true, it’s true! What was I to do?

I poisoned her Harry’s wine!’

 

He fell back onto the pillow, slept

In the peace of the almost dead,

For Murchison had faded away

At the words that he’d just said,

He woke that morn when a thunderstorm

Flash-flooded over the floor,

His eyes were bright from his endless night,

But the hangman stood at the door!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Another story full of wit. The ghost takes finally revenge. Confessing in front of other mortals brings peace from heaven because human law takes over. The poor man was trapped between two evils. What if...just for the sake of questioning...maybe one can read your story grasping another meaning (imaginative) - for example Marie was a witch and a b***h, guilty for marrying this man, guilty for the death of the other one she loved. And then she poisons her husband and doesn't care about his fate. What people confess under drugs, fever, delirium, tortures, cannot be considered the ultimate truth. The man dies and she becomes a wealthy and honorable widow. After all she was in love with money. Please excuse me if I went to far with my interpretation. I just wanted to say that your latest stories have the quality to offer different alternative scenarios to the reader, exactly like detective fiction. I was searching for the motives and interests of the characters, because man is driven by his goals in life. I like when a story can be read in different ways.

[cynthiabuhainbaello]

Excellent writing in perfect rhyme and rhythm, gripping suspense in the content and the style remarkable in flow, this narrative is truly brilliant (as always, David).

[eatmills]

Poe move over and make some room for Paget. Incredibly amazing, had my attention all they way to the end.

Cheers.

[roarke]

sort of the frying pan into the fire piece. Your rhyme is so matter of fact and lends strength to all the characters. There's always an interesting theme between man and wife in all your poems, a dark humor the reader never tires of. Well done.

[Tomi]

Powerful Piece! Wonderful Style and Pattern..Dark, sad and excellent! well done! Loved reading this

[afra]

very dark and powerful .....well done

[EileenMarie]

This is great! I enjoyed it very much :)

[Dean Kuch®]

Oh-h, a very dark irony and a tale with a gristly little '"twist" at the end from you. My Granny always told me, without fail whenever I oogled a young girl or 'wished' I had something I didn't. "Be careful what you wish for dear boy", she'd say. "For you just might get it!" Poor ol' Rockingham, if only he had heeded such warnings himself! Fantastic...

[Mark]

Committed the unthinkable, to win the unbearable...
A story line many of us might identify with, methinks!
Of course, a good lawyer will be able to get him off, pleading that in the throes of a fever, he can't be held responsible for any (alleged) confessions he might have uttered!
Christina makes a good point, though, for even if he swings, his making a public confession will carry some weight with the higher Judge!
As ever, a most thought provoking write, my friend!

[Mockingbird]

brings to mind a gothic story of revenge and the consequence of those acts. excellent poem. really enjoy your poetry.