How the Hangman Lost His Heart (8 page)

The nearest footman looked nervous. If there was damage to the duke's property, he would be made to
pay. He began to fumble and had almost got the strap undone when a cough made him look up.

“Er, excuse me. What do you think you're doing?” The Duke of Mimsdale, chewing a fat chicken leg, was watching from an upper window. As a rule he cared little for his laundry, but, with his wife in the country, he did not want his sheets displayed to the entire square. “Take the laundry away,” he ordered, waving his hand.

But the troopers were not frightened of old Mimsy. Everybody knew that he had fallen out with the king, and those out of favor with the king were not due any respect. A veteran trooper stood his ground. “Go and get Major Slavering,” he ordered his young colleague. “We'll see about this.”

Inside the basket, Alice and Dan lay quaking.

Some curious onlookers gathered and when the major, accompanied by Hew, pushed through on horseback, an expectant hush fell. The duke, with his boots on but still not properly dressed, appeared on the doorstep and strode out, hoping to cow everybody with both the size of his paunch and the acres of gold frogging on his red silken dressing gown. Major Slavering and Hew dismounted and handed their horses to the cornet.

“Good day to you,” the duke began, in his grandest voice. “Is there some trouble with my laundry?”

The major eyed him up and down, noting the nervous tic in the ducal eyelid. “Two criminals, plus a head, are loose in the square. They may be so desperate to escape, Your Grace”—he accentuated the title, making it ridiculous—“that they might even brave your dirty washing. They have slipped through the clutches of Captain Two-Effs Ffrench twice now. This is his last chance.”

The duke flapped the ends of his wig, feeling a little hot. “I can assure you, Major,” he said, “that, as a loyal subject of King George, I would not conceal enemies of His Majesty in my laundry. My laundry is an entirely private affair, not open to criminals or anybody else. I'm sure, being a man of the world yourself”—he bared his teeth queasily at the major—“you understand that I would like to keep it that way.”

“It's a big laundry basket for a small duke, though.” Major Slavering enjoyed making Mimsy sweat. With a gloved finger, he traced the coronet engraved on the leather strap. “A very big basket indeed. So big”— he trailed his fingers all the way along its length—“that I'm truly impressed. You must be the cleanest man in England and it would be a fine thing for my men to see that clothes and sheets do not have to be crawling with lice before they meet soap and water. Come, sir. Open the basket. Even if we find no
criminals, we'll find something to interest us, I dare say.”

The duke could see the game was up. With a fixed smile, he ordered his footmen to undo the strap and throw back the lid.

There was nothing Dan and Alice could do. They held hands as the top sheets were hauled out and spread on the pavement, along with shirts and other garments that made the duke mutter, “Really, really.” Little by little the basket was emptied, until discovery was imminent. The spectators were laughing uproariously as Alice, who could just about squint through the weave, poked Dan and whispered in his ear. The next sheet slid away from them. Alice's throat was too dry to shout, but Dan just heard her croak “Now!” before, with nothing left to lose, they sprang up together, extraordinary figures draped in cambric and gauze, with fine woolen bloomers wound about their heads.

Vaulting over the side of the basket, they startled the cornet into dropping the reins of the horses belonging to Hew and Major Slavering, and Alice, gesticulating wildly, clutched a stirrup, and threw herself over one of the saddles. Dan, less elegantly, followed suit. Terrified, the horses took fright and galloped away as fast as they could, with Dan and Alice hanging on for dear life. The crowd scattered before
them, and the laundry horse, which had not been out of a walk for a decade, also took to his heels and set off at a spanking trot. Around Grosvenor Square they all pelted, Dan and Alice in front and the lumbering laundry horse behind, spreading stockings and pillowcases like giant confetti. One large, bright-red nightgown, clearly not the property of a duchess, ballooned into the sky before settling gracefully around the shoulders of Major Slavering himself. Livid, he fought it off, but the sleeves clung about his neck and even the troopers could hardly contain their giggles. Whirling like a tornado, the major eventually managed to disentangle himself, but not before being assailed by a woman's camisole and a nightcap clearly marked “Mimikins.” Now Major Slavering's blood was really up. He, who had braved the muskets and broadswords of the Scottish rebels without blanching, would not be humiliated by some trumpery hat. He ground his teeth and swore horrible vengeance. Hew would pay for this; by all God's saints, he would pay.

Lady Widdrington, hearing the rumpus, ordered Ursula to throw open their windows. She was fond of riots and this sounded like a good one. As Alice and Dan galloped by a second time, the old lady recognized them and waved. “That's my girl,” she cried, imagining that she was at the racecourse. “Did we have a gamble, Ursula?”

But Ursula hardly heard her. “Alice is riding astride, and she's NO STOCKINGS ON!” she shrieked. “The shame! The shame! What will my poor sister say when she hears of this?”

“Oh, pishy wishy, Ursula. Don't be such a stick,” scolded her mother. “This is better than being at war!” She pinched her daughter's cheek and leaned farther out of the window. Now she forgot about the racecourse and saw Alice as a tragic heroine. “Fly, fly to your uncle Frank, Alice my lovely!” she sang out, as if at the theater, and waved her hands, then, feeling this was not enough for such an occasion, she took off her wig and waved that too. “Fly to your uncle Frank!” Purple dust liberally sprinkled the heads and shoulders of those below.

Alice could see her grandmother clearly, but only caught the last echo of her words. Despite the heat of the chase, they made her go cold all over. Uncle Frank's head! She had left it behind! She glanced over her shoulder. The laundryman had caught his horse and the major was now mounted on another. Hew had charge of the washing basket.

Alice turned. “Dan!” she shouted into the wind, “Dan, we've forgotten Uncle Frank!” But Dan could do nothing except twist his hands deeper into his horse's mane. He had never ridden before and was quite out of control, and anyway there was no going back. Even
Alice must know that. They would have to leave Uncle Frank where he was. Alice punched herself with fury. How could she have been so thick? Without Uncle Frank's head, the point of all this was totally lost.

However, even she had to accept that it would not help Uncle Frank if she and Dan were taken too. Glancing around, she saw with some relief that the spectators, clearly wanting the funfair spectacle to last as long as possible, had closed ranks behind her, keeping the major and the pursuing troopers momentarily at bay. Taking full advantage, Alice pushed her horse as close as she could to Dan's, seized its flapping rein, and steered both animals helter-skelter up to the main road. Here, all the assorted traffic of a London morning was building up: coaches, wagons, donkeys, children walking in pairs to school. Alice and Dan plunged through the lot, but though people shouted, most were too intent on their own business to pay much attention to a stockingless girl and an ashen-faced man, even if they were going at a pace more commonly seen at Newmarket. People were always fleeing from something or other. Best not to get involved.

Alice kept charge of both horses as well as she could, trying neither to lose Dan nor to knock anybody over. “Passage, passage!” she cried. “Please let us through!”

The crowd grumbled but obliged, and by the time the major managed to get away from Grosvenor
Square, she and Dan were heading northward through emptier streets and lanes until they eventually found themselves in the fields beyond Marylebone. The horses' blood was up and, as the country spread wide in front of them, Hew's black took the bit between his teeth. The feel of the girl's bare legs was strange to him, as was her gossamer touch on the bit in his mouth. In the end, Alice had to let go of Dan's horse, although she could still hear Dan's groans as his bottom was battered against the army saddle.

Alice steered right away from the main road and into the fields, plunging in and out of woods until, certain that they had outrun their pursuers, she hauled on the reins, aimed the horse into a thicket, and finally managed to bring him to a halt. She leaped off at once and in a second Dan was beside her. He did not leap off, but simply let go and fell to the ground in a style that left his horse distinctly unimpressed.

Alice slumped down next to him, tears streaming down her face. “Uncle Frank,” was all she could say. “How could I have left him behind, Dan Skinslicer? How could I? He'll be back on Temple Bar before we know it and I'll have to start all over again.”

It was a while before Dan could answer, but when he did, he was quite emphatic. “You most certainly will not, missy,” he stated, grimacing as he sat up, for
the whole of him was in agony. “Are you mad? We're going nowhere near Temple Bar.”

“But we can't leave Uncle Frank to Major Slavering. Just imagine what he will do.”

“Well, we'll have to leave your uncle Frank to get on as best he can for the time being. Gracious! We only just escaped with our heads ourselves. Are you never content?” Dan's temper was short, not only because of his lively aches and pains, but also because he was starving, having had nothing to eat since before going to the wiggery. He didn't care if Alice looked mutinous. “I never thought that the laundry basket was a good idea,” he added reasonably, although not very kindly.

“Did you have a better one?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “But maybe I would have thought of one in time.”

“But we didn't have any time, Dan Skinslicer. That's the point.” Alice's voice was deliberately stinging.

The horses began to graze and Dan got up. “It's no good blaming each other,” he said. “Let's look on the bright side. We've lost your uncle, but we've two fine horses. What we need now is a good breakfast, some different clothes, and a new plan.” He nudged Alice gently, not wanting to see her cross. They were stuck with each other for the time being. “And you never know. Maybe it'll be that Captain Ffrench who gets charge of Uncle Frank and not Major Slavering,” he
said, and this was generous of him, for the thought of Hew was still irksome. “If he puts the colonel's head back on the Bar, at least he'll do it nicely.”

Dan's face was so honest and sensible, and he was trying so hard, Alice was ashamed of herself. She gave him a gentle hug. “You're right, Dan Skinslicer,” she said, “and what's more, you are a good man to have in moments of trouble—even if you can't ride.”

“I can learn,” said Dan stoutly, returning Alice's hug with an awkwardness that had nothing to do with his injured shoulder. He extricated himself and eyed the major's horse balefully. “At least, I suppose I could learn. I'm really better with ponies and carts. These horses are too grand for me and this one knows it.”

Alice laughed. “I'll make a horseman out of you before we get to Towneley,” she promised, swishing her bare legs through the reeds. “Now. Clothes, food—and Uncle Frank's head. Which will you take charge of?”

Dan sighed. Alice was not going to give up. “All of them,” he said, “but I'll walk back into town on my own. There's lots of folk about so nobody will notice a scruffy man on foot and I know my way around better than you. I'll see what I can pick up.”

“Do you have enough money?”

Dan felt in his pouch. “I have none,” he said sorrowfully. “It must have all emptied itself in that dratted basket.”

“I have lost mine too,” said Alice. She opened her eyes, all innocence. “So how will somebody who disapproves of stealing get what we need?” She couldn't resist teasing.

“I'll do it my own way,” said Dan, turning rather grumpy, “and anyway, this is different. This is an emergency.”

“At least we can agree about that.” Alice took one large hand between both of hers to rub his temper away, then she got up. “I want to come with you, but I suppose somebody has to keep the horses. Be back by evening, Dan Skinslicer. If you're not, I shall come looking for you.”

Quick as a flash, Dan was in front of her, seizing her and looking her square in the face. “If I'm not back by evening,” he said, deadly serious, “Uncle Frank's head or no Uncle Frank's head, you get on that horse and ride as fast and hard as you can over those hills until you get home. You hear me? You ride straight home. I'll not go unless you promise me, on the dead colonel's soul, to do that.”

Alice tried to wriggle away but Dan easily held her. “You promise me,” he said, and shook her hard. “On the dead colonel's soul, promise.”

“All right, I promise,” said Alice reluctantly. “I promise, on Uncle Frank's soul.”

Dan made her repeat this and only then, with many
misgivings, did he let go. There was nothing he wanted to do less than trudge down the road up which he had galloped so uncomfortably only moments before. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do less than leave Alice. But there was no option. He turned around just once before he was out of sight and opened his mouth to call to her. But Alice was not looking his way: she was fully occupied petting Hew's horse. Dan shook his head, cursing himself for being nothing but a soppy mooncalf. Then he shut his mouth and, with weary resignation, headed back toward danger.

Stranded with the laundry basket, Major Slavering's parting glare still hot on his face, Hew also felt foolish. He was too polite to curse Alice, but he did wish that she had found a less lively way of leaving Grosvenor Square and that she had not taken his horse. He could get another horse, of course, but he had been fond of Marron, who had cost him a pretty penny. Slavering's horse, Belter, had been expensive too, and looking at the major's face as he fought his way up the road on a rather lowly, borrowed beast, Hew knew that if Dan and Alice were ever caught, their list of offenses would be long and grim. Treachery, thieving, resisting arrest, and now horse stealing. Hew paled at the punishments. On his left, the Duke of Mimsdale was grumbling away as his linen and clothes were collected and given to maidservants to fold. Hew itched to tell the silly old fool to shut up, but he did not. Instead, to hasten the process, he helped repack the basket.