How the Hangman Lost His Heart (6 page)

Lady Widdrington eyed him with affectionate scorn. “Ah, Mr. Wig,” she purred. “You are a splendid craftsman, but, it seems to me, an extremely bad manager of money. You should never owe rent.” She wagged her finger. “Instead of paying, I shall do you a favor. I shall keep your money and act as banker. At least then you will always know that you have money safely tucked away in Grosvenor Square.” She ignored his look of abject despair. “Come now, Alice. Bunion is waiting and it is rude to take advantage of servants.
Be more careful of your pennies, Mr. Wig—and, Mr. Skinslicer, don't forget the bag.”

Dan saw the wigmaker's anguished expression as they negotiated Lady Widdrington's re-entry into her carriage. He looked to see if Alice had noticed, but she was as blithe as if on a picnic. He humphed to himself. Didn't she have a heart? Yet it was impossible not to admire the girl as she skillfully humored her grandmother so that, by the time they got to Grosvenor Square, the old lady was happily conspiratorial, hobbling down the portable steps, her eyes twinkling and one craggy finger on her lips.

The dragoons sent to keep an eye on Lady Widdrington's house had already arrived and, having tied their horses to the railings, were mooching about on foot. They stared with open amusement. What
did
the old witch look like? As Bunion took the carriage away to the stables, they were too busy sniggering to give more than a cursory glance through its dirty windows and Alice and Dan, huddled on the floor, went completely unnoticed.

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. It was all going swimmingly. “What are you doing?” she asked Dan, who was suddenly very busy.

“I'm making the colonel respectable,” he told her. “This wig bag will make a fine resting place for him, much better than being bundled up in your cloak. And
I took the liberty of relieving Mr. Wig of some hanks of horsehair as we left, so we can set your uncle Frank up nice and dandy.”

“You stole?” Alice was a little shocked.

“I did not.” Dan looked hurt. “I left some of your money on a ledge. Which is more than can be said for your grandmother,” he added pointedly.

Alice blushed and prickled. “She never takes any money with her. She's frightened of robbers.”

“That old woman frightened of robbers! That's rich, young missy, and you can rob without threats and a pistol, you know. Your granny should pay her debts.”

There was a frosty silence, then Alice put out her hand. “Don't be cross, Dan Skinslicer,” she wheedled.

Dan shook her away. “I'm not cross,” he said stubbornly. “I'm just pointing out the truth. Your granny is as much of a thief as a pickpocket.”

Alice set her lips and tossed her head. “That's a very rude thing to say.”

“I don't care.” Dan refused to give in. “Mr. Wig has to earn his money and if your granny doesn't give it to him, that means she has robbed him. Simple as that.” He didn't need a lamp to feel Alice smarting in the dark. They did not speak again until the yard gates swung shut behind them.

Alice peered cautiously out of the window. “I was right,” she said, and did not try to conceal the triumph
in her voice. “There are no dragoons around here. Lazy creatures.”

“They do their job,” said Dan, still unforgiving. “Do you know, sometimes they're given oatmeal instead of silver as their pay?” He peered out of the window too. “And some of them don't even like oatmeal,” he hissed very close to Alice's ear.

She opened her mouth, then thought the better of it. Anyway, there was no time, for as soon as Bunion climbed off the box they had to take their chance. Slipping out of the carriage as lightly as they could, they skittered across the yard with Uncle Frank's head swinging in its bag, then in through the back door of the house, taking refuge in alcoves and storerooms until they were clear of the servants' quarters and in the main hall. From here, Alice had hoped to spirit Dan directly up the stairs to her room.

But unfortunately Lady Widdrington was waiting. Thoroughly excited by both Alice and Dan's appearance at the wiggery and her new, magnificent hairpiece, she was calling for supper and minstrels. “Alice!” she cried, “Alice, and your friend, whose name I forget! Go around the square and gather everyone up. While you are doing that, I shall find out if there is an officer or two among those men in handsome uniforms who are hanging around the railings. Maybe a major, or even a general? Perhaps
they have already heard of my new wig and that's why they are here.” She began to hop over to the door, but found the back of her skirts trodden on hard.

“No, Granny, no!” Alice's voice was a squeal.

The old lady started to dislike her granddaughter's tone. “Alice dear,” she said icily, “this is my house and I shall do what I like. Ursula! Ursula!”

There was a pause. Alice and Lady Widdrington glared at each other until Ursula clacked down the stairs, her own wig awry and her expression dazed. She had been tucked up in bed asleep. When she saw Alice, she opened her mouth to scold, but when she saw Dan, she gulped, for although his clothes were scruffy, his air of rough gentility was, to Ursula, quite irresistible. “Oh!” she said, smoothing her nightgown. “Hello!” And she sidled across the room.

“Ursula!” Lady Widdrington squawked her disapproval. “This man is not for you. He's, er, he's a, oh dear, he's something—” Alice tried to help, but her grandmother ignored her. Then her face lit up. “He's the children's new dancing master. Isn't that right, Alice?”

Alice edged Dan nearer to the stairs and nodded. “That's right, Granny,” she agreed, not meeting Ursula's eye. Her hair stood on end when she thought of what her aunt would do if she knew the truth or
guessed what was in the wig bag. “He's our dancing master.”

Lady Widdrington grew quite gay. “And we are to have a gavotte before bed,” she cried. “I once danced the gavotte at court in France.” She touched her sinewy throat, remembering the diamonds that had sparkled there when it was smooth and white. “My partner, a count no less, told me I was exquisite, exquisite.” She began to tap back and forth, her small feet like a pair of antique beetles. “Do you hear that, Ursula? Has any man ever thought you exquisite? Perhaps a blind man?” She held her arms out to Dan. “Now, come, man, come.”

Dan stood his ground. “I can't dance and I'll not be made an idiot,” he muttered to Alice. “Let's collect what we came for and get out of this madhouse.” He turned and put one boot on the stairs.

“She's not mad, she's just forgetful,” Alice muttered back, trying to smile at her grandmother, who was clearly displeased at Dan's reluctance. “She's not trying to make a fool of you, Dan Skinslicer, but I'm afraid—oh dear.” Alice held her breath.

Lady Widdrington had forgotten her gavotte. She was, instead, gazing beadily at the wig bag now tucked under Dan's arm and, before Alice could blink, had darted across the room and grabbed at it. There was a brief struggle, with the result that the bag went
bowling across the floor, leaving Dan with only a tassel. Quick as a flash, he set off in pursuit, Lady Widdrington skipping in front of him. She reached the bag first and Dan did the only thing he could think of: he picked the old lady up bodily and parked her, like a rag doll, on the table. Then he snatched Uncle Frank back and, with Alice right behind him, belted up the stairs.

Immediately the old lady set up a mewling, thrumming her heels on the tabletop. “The man's a thief! He's stolen my new hair! Stop him! Stop him!” In her confusion, she had quite forgotten that her new wig was not actually in the wig bag but safely on her own head. “Send for Bunion. Send for Frank! Catch him!”

Ursula, who had been standing, slack-jawed, was now galvanized into action. Running to the front door, she threw it open and appeared, a skeletal apparition in yards and yards of crumpled lace. “We have a thief,” she cried theatrically. “Come, men, come and save us.” The dragoons stared, incredulous.

A voice came from behind. “Gather your weapons, men!” It was Hew Ffrench, sent to oversee the night watch. “You heard the lady.” And with six troopers behind him, he ran inside.

“Up the stairs,” Ursula commanded, stretching out an arm and throwing back her head in a posture she associated with goddesses, “he's run up the stairs.”

Hew set off and the troopers clanked faithfully after him.

Alice heard the jingle of swords and was in agony. “Hurry, hurry!” she urged Dan as they fled along the passages, blowing out the lamps as they went. There was no time to find a decent hiding place and the dark was their only hope. “We'll go to my bedroom,” Alice panted at last. “I've a huge wardrobe. It's worth a try, and anyway, I can't think of anywhere else. Hurry, Dan Skinslicer, hurry.”

She pushed Dan through an open door, locked it as quietly as she could, and bundled him into the wardrobe among all her dresses. Clutching the wardrobe key, she dived under her bed. It was a silly hiding place, she knew that, but the door was already being tried and Captain Ffrench was already shouting that the thief had better open it or he would batter it down. Noises of battering followed soon after. Alice lay there, trying to quiet her breathing. The floor was foul and she could feel it alive with creeping things. One began to crawl up her nose but she didn't dare move to brush it away. Against her cheeks, soft balls of fluff drifted and sticky dust soon coated her lips. She tried not to breathe, but it was no good. The dust followed the creepy-crawly up her nose and, just as her bedroom door splintered, she sneezed. It was such a powerful sneeze that her head jerked upward and hit hard on
the wooden mattress slats. Only a person made of stone could have avoided yelping and Alice was not made of stone.

In a minute, Hew Ffrench was on his knees, dragging her out and shining a candle in her face. When he saw that, far from a thief, it was Alice, he was completely disconcerted. “You!” he exclaimed. Then he was angry. Why on earth had Alice come back here? She must have known that it was the most dangerous place in town. He had imagined her well away by now. He turned to his men, whose swords were drawn and raised. “Sheathe your weapons,” he ordered. “This lady's not a thief.”

“She is,” said one of the dragoons insolently, peering down and instantly recognizing Alice, despite her dirty face. “As you well know, Captain Ffrench, she's the reason we 'ave to stand out there in the street instead of enjoying ourselves in the tavern.” He turned to his fellow troopers. “Here's that wench as stole that traitor's 'ead from Temple Bar. She must 'ave crawled in 'ere when we wasn't lookin'.”

His fellow troopers hooted with excitement and were all for marching Alice instantly away. But then Aunt Ursula appeared in the doorway, tutting with annoyance. “That's not the thief, that's Alice,” she announced, exasperated. “The thief was a man. A big person, much bigger than Alice.” She had visions of
Dan being taken and then saved from hanging by her eloquence. He'd have to marry her then. But first he had to be found.

“No,” Alice insisted to Hew. “There was nobody else. Aunt Ursula just wants you to think that because she doesn't want you to take me away. There really was nobody else. Just think about it. No man would risk being hung as a thief for something as silly as a wig.” Ursula was affronted. “There was a man,” she said, “a fine-looking man, and I think it very selfish, Alice, to keep him to yourself.”

Alice stamped her foot. “There was no man, Aunt. Or only in your dreams. Go back to bed.”

“What nonsense.” Ursula grew more and more dogged. She now eyed Captain Ffrench from handsome top to handsome toe. “He was a strapping man built of logs,” she said, touching her lips to see if there was any rouge still on them. “That's what he was. He must be in here somewhere. Please catch him, or I shall be too afraid to do anything except stand quaking in my nightgown.” She gave a girlish smile and showed off surprisingly trim ankles. But Hew never saw them for he was trying to stop Alice from attacking two troopers who were heading for her wardrobe. Quietly but deftly, he pinned her arms to her sides. When the troopers carelessly wrenched off the wardrobe doors, she was beside herself. “It's very rude, Captain
Ffrench,” she shouted, writhing as hard as she could, “to search among a lady's clothing. It's really very rude.”

Hew regarded her as she defied him. He was not thinking of her wardrobe. “Now we have found you, we must arrest you,” he said sorrowfully. “You are guilty of stealing a traitor's head. Do you understand what the penalty is for that?”

Alice would not let her eyes drop, but she found that her voice had become quite small. “Yes.” She shivered pitifully, then turned the shiver into a more matter-of-fact shake. “Leave this silly search and just arrest me now. I'll come with you. There is nothing here. Let's get it over with.”

Hew nodded and gestured to the men, but one, a hefty fellow with a sly expression, did not at once obey. “I'll just run my sword through these dresses, Captain, to make sure there really are no other criminals being harbored here,” he said, with a false and unpleasant grin. “I'll do it with my eyes shut to save your blushes, mistress, and apologies in advance for the rips.” He winked ostentatiously at Hew and, before Alice could say a word, he had his companions roaring with mirth as he thrust and parried in a pretend duel with a rustling mass of silks and bows. He saved his last flourish for a Prussian-blue velvet evening gown of which Alice was particularly proud. The velvet was
thick and defended itself well, but when the trooper had finished, it would not even have made a decent duster.

Not that Alice cared. Hew watched very carefully as all the color left her face and her legs turned to jelly. He glanced over at the wardrobe, then made a decision. “We'll leave you to get yourself ready for prison,” he told her. “You may like to change into warmer clothes, for the cells are cold and damp. In five minutes, I will come up and take you away. Five minutes,” he repeated pointedly.