by R. L. Stine
Your true friends will know it could never be true, she told herself. And you have Henrietta. But the idea that even one person could believe she killed her father made Maggie ill.
By the time the constables delivered Maggie to the female warden, Maggie felt numb. She followed each of her new guardian’s instructions without thought. She bathed in a pit of slimy, stinking water and changed into her uniform. A brown serge dress. A white hat. And coarse blue stockings with a red stripe.
The Wardress turned her over to two women guards, one short and one tall. Maggie allowed herself to be led down a winding staircase and through a narrow hallway without protest.
I must try to look on all of this as the most amazing and terrifying adventure, Maggie told herself. Something I can tell my friends about for years to come!
What if I am never released from this place? What if I am forced to live out the rest of my life here?
The two guards marched her through a heavy wooden door and the icy open air of a cold, wet courtyard.
Maggie stopped short. Her knees began to shake.
Up ahead loomed the wooden scaffolding where the prison held its public hangings.
The large wooden platform rose in the silver moonlight like a monster waiting to devour her.
Terror gripped her fiercely as she turned to face the guards. “Where are you taking me?”
The short guard smiled at her. “You are to be hanged, of course.”
“To be hanged?” Maggie could barely get the words out. “But I am innocent! It is all a mistake! I—”
The guards glared at her.
Then a mean and jagged smile spread across the short guard’s face.
The tall guard began to guffaw.
Staring back and forth from one woman’s face to the other, Maggie slowly realized that they were teasing her.
“You need not worry,” the tall guard told her. “They will not hang you until after your trial.”
Both guards wheezed with laughter. “Come along,” the short one ordered.
They hurried through a door on the other side of the courtyard, and down another winding staircase. Then they entered a long, dark underground passage lined with cells. Maggie could see the women prisoners staring at her through the grates on the heavy wooden doors.
I am a long way from Alston Manor, Maggie thought with a shiver.
“Look at the pretty one,” one woman sneered.
“Must be a rich one from the look of that soft skin,” called another prisoner.
“Silence!” yelled the tall guard. “Unless you would like a flogging that you will remember the rest of your miserable life.”
The guards stopped at a cell door. No face pressed against this grate. The short guard picked out an iron key from her large ring and scraped it in the lock. The guards pushed the door open and shoved Maggie into the darkness.
The door slammed shut. Maggie heard the iron keys clank as it was locked behind her.
Now my nightmare has truly begun, she thought as she studied her cell. Stone floor, sloping walls. Just large enough to accommodate two beds. Beds that were mere planks of wood covered with tattered blankets.
And the stench! A pail of filth sat in one corner. I wonder how often that is emptied, she thought. She sat down wearily on one of the beds.
“That is my bed. You have the one on the left.”
Maggie leapt to her feet. A huge old woman leaned against the wall of the cell, near the door. In the darkness of the tiny room, Maggie had walked right past her!
Old as she was, the woman looked strong enough to tear Maggie to pieces.
The woman advanced slowly.
Maggie backed away.
“Have no fear,” the big woman said kindly. “I will not harm you, little one.”
Maggie could not speak.
The old woman smiled, and her smile was warm, gentle, good. “Welcome to my house,” she said to Maggie. “It appears we will be spending some time together.”
“It appears so,” Maggie agreed.
“My name is Elizabeth,” the older woman said. “Elizabeth Samuels.”
“Maggie Alston,” Maggie replied.
The large woman peered at her closely. “Why, child, what are you doing in a godforsaken place such as this? You are innocent of any crime.”
“Y-yes, I am innocent,” Maggie stammered, “but how—how did—?”
“I can see it in your face,” Elizabeth explained. “Poor child,” she murmured.
“Oh, thank you!” Maggie cried. “I cannot tell you what your kindness means to me at a time such as this. . . .”
She could not help it. She began to cry. All the grief and shock . . . the old woman’s kindness . . .
Out poured all the tears she had been holding back since the constables led her into the Black Maria.
Through her tears, she saw Elizabeth studying her dry and veiny old hands, turning them over and over. The woman’s expression hardened.
“Where is my ring?” she asked Maggie coldly.
“Your what?”
“Do not play innocent with me, you thief! So you are a filthy, rotten criminal after all. You stole my ring!”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Maggie insisted. “Truly!”
“You took it! You took it!”
Elizabeth lunged for her. Maggie leapt away. Her foot caught the bucket of filth. The contents sloshed across the stone floor.
“Get back!” she screeched at Elizabeth. “Or I will—”
I will what? she thought frantically. What could she do? Who would protect her now?
There was nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide. The big woman grabbed her by the hair and shoved her hard against the wall.
Maggie tried to scream, but the woman’s arm pressed across her throat, making it hard for her to breathe.
As she held Maggie against the wall, the old woman pawed through Maggie’s pockets. “Where is it? Where did you hide it?!”
“I am telling you, I did not take your ring!” Maggie gasped, trying to shove her away. “Do you hear me? I never saw your ring!”
Elizabeth released Maggie. She stalked over to her bed and sat down heavily. Her eyes narrowed in fury. “You swallowed it, eh? Well that will not stop me from getting it back. I will slit you open like a fish. Just as soon as you are asleep. I will chop you into a thousand pieces! Do you doubt me? I have a knife hidden in this cell.”
Maggie’s eyes darted around the cell, searching for the woman’s weapon. Elizabeth cackled. “You will not find where I have hidden it. Until you find the knife in your guts, twisting and turning! Oh, I will enjoy carving you up!”
Henrietta will talk to our lawyer today, Maggie thought. I will be released tomorrow. I will have to spend only one night in this hideous place.
As the old woman raved on, Maggie repeated three words to herself over and over. Like a prayer.
Only one night.
Only one night.
Only one night. . . .
Chapter
4
Four Months Later
A wooden club banged on the metal grate of her cell door. “Maggie Alston, you have a visitor.”
A visitor!
Maggie’s heart soared.
She rushed to the door and pressed her face against the grate.
“Hen!” she gasped, grinning wildly when she saw the familiar pale face framed by a bright blue bonnet. “My precious Hen! You came at last! I knew you would! I knew it! It felt so horrible seeing you at the trial and not being able to talk to you. I’ve missed you so!”
Maggie tried to stretch her fingers through the grate to touch her sister’s face, but she could not reach far enough. At least I can talk to her without that horrible Elizabeth around, Maggie thought. Her cell-mate had been taken away a few days before.
“I am all right alone with her,” Henrietta told the guard in a choked whisper. Maggie could tell that her sister had been crying.
The heavyset guard
gave Maggie a hard look. “Very well,” she answered. She shuffled off down the hall.
“Oh, Hen,” gushed Maggie, “I have been going out of my mind. My hanging is scheduled for dawn tomorrow! Tell me! Do you have news? Did you talk to our lawyer? Does he have any leads, any prospects, any . . .?”
Henrietta shook her head slowly. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
Maggie grabbed the metal grill with both hands. “Henrietta! You must do something! Throw yourself on the mercy of the judge! Is there no old friend of Father’s who has any influence with him? Even a delay of a day or so would be of some help. We need time, Hen. We need time to find the true killer!”
Crying harder, Henrietta shrugged helplessly.
“Henrietta! Listen to me!” Maggie yelled. “Now is not the time to fall to pieces! Do you realize the seriousness of my situation? Do you? I will die tomorrow if you do not do something! Why do you just stand there crying? Why do you not answer me? You must act and act fast.”
As Maggie stared into her sister’s pale, serious face, all hope drained out of her.
For the first time since the judge had issued his ruling, she truly believed it. Tomorrow morning she would hang. She would walk up the wooden scaffold stairs. She would feel the rough noose slide around her neck. She would see the crowd cheering—howling for her death.
Then—bang!—the floor would drop from beneath her feet. Her—
“You look awful,” Henrietta told her sister, interrupting her gruesome thoughts.
Maggie winced. “I know. I hardly recognize myself. They cut off all my hair as soon as I was brought back from the trial. That mean guard Tessie did it with a big scissors. She was glad to do it. Kept saying that I was a rich girl putting on airs. That I would not be putting on airs when I—”
Maggie could not go on.
She began to cry.
“That guard was right. You do put on airs,” Henrietta said quietly. “Always thinking you were special. Daddy’s favorite.”
Maggie stared at her sister, open-mouthed.
“Have you not guessed why I have not been to visit you in all these months? Have you not guessed by now?” Henrietta asked in a whisper. She leaned close to the grate. “Have you not guessed the truth?”
Maggie felt a chill sweep through her. She clasped her hands tightly together to keep them from shaking.
Henrietta turned and glanced down the cell-lined hall to make sure no prisoners or guards were in earshot. “I killed Father!”
Maggie tried to speak, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard. “You?”
“Of course. You had young men begging to take you on outings. But I am not as pretty as you. What chance did I have to snare a handsome young man without Father’s inheritance? And dear old Father showed no signs of giving up the ghost.”
“Oh, Henrietta, no,” Maggie cried. “Don’t you know Father would have given you whatever you wanted? I’m sure he planned a sizeable dowry for you.”
“No, Maggie. Father would have given you whatever you wanted. He only cared about you,” Henrietta insisted. “So I sneaked into the house. You and Father were yelling at each other, so of course you did not hear me. I stirred the poison into his wine goblet and planted the rest in your room. Simple.”
For a moment Maggie felt nothing at all. Then came the fury.
She grabbed the metal grate and shook it with all her might. “I will kill you!” she shouted at Henrietta. “Do you hear? I will kill you!”
“Tsk, tsk,” Henrietta chided her. “You have already done enough murdering, I think. She smiled and gave a little wave as she turned to go.
Maggie screamed. She could hear guards coming on the run.
Henrietta turned back and put her face right up against the grate. “Oh, and by the way, Maggie,” Henrietta whispered into her face with a little smile, “I did meet with our lawyer. Just this morning, in fact. I am so sorry you will not be able to share in our inheritance.” She grinned broadly. “Whatever will I do with all this money?”
Chapter
5
Have you not guessed by now?
Maggie heard her sister’s voice speaking those words again and again as she lay waiting for morning. The morning of her execution.
Have you not guessed the truth?
How could I have lived with Henrietta my whole life and never guessed she hated me so? Maggie thought.
Her eyelids felt heavy. It would be so easy to fall asleep. Forget.
Do not sleep, Maggie, she told herself.
You must not sleep!
She did not want to waste the last few hours of her life.
But she felt herself drifting off.
A hand shook her shoulder.
Maggie sat up with a startled cry.
A dark figure dressed all in black stood by her bed. A black hood hid his face.
“No!” she cried, shrinking away. “Who are you?”
“Your executioner.”
The executioner reached out his hand. “It is time.”
“But it cannot be dawn yet,” she cried. “I was told at dawn!”
“It is time!” the executioner repeated, his voice growing harsher.
Maggie began to shake. “You cannot do this! I am innocent! Innocent!”
The executioner grabbed her roughly. He squeezed her thin arm so hard Maggie felt sure her bones would crack.
“Come! Now!”
The executioner dragged her out of the cell.
Dragging her to her death.
“No! Please! Let me go!”
The hooded executioner shoved her through the narrow cell-lined hallway. Prisoners jeered and laughed.
“Careful which noose you pick out, dearie. I hear tell some of them are a trifle tight!”
“I hope you die quickly, miss. That fat woman swung and twisted for hours.”
Maggie’s knees buckled. She fell to the floor. The executioner yanked her back to her feet.
Well, if I must die, thought Maggie, I will die as a proud and innocent woman. I will go out of the world with dignity.
She stood up straight. “You do not need to hold my arm anymore,” she told the executioner, her voice shaking. “I will go.”
As she walked past endless rows of cells, she tried to keep her face emotionless.
“Look at the rich lady!” cried a prisoner. “She thinks she is taking a stroll on Astor Place.”
“Father-killer! You deserve to die, filth!”
The executioner kicked open a door and pushed her through. “Keep moving,” he told her. “We don’t want to keep the public waiting. There is a big crowd gathered to watch you swing. This way!”
Up ahead rose a narrow, winding staircase.
Maggie forced herself to climb the first step, the second . . .
“Wait!” the executioner ordered.
He pulled off his hood.
Maggie gasped. “You!”
Red hair. Freckles. It was one of the constables who had brought her to the prison.
“I don’t under—”
“Listen hard, Miss Alston,” he whispered. She could hear the fear in his voice—and knew at once that this man was risking his own neck for hers.
“At the top of this staircase you will come to a door. I have unlocked it for you. Go through. A carriage will be waiting. Here, put this on.”
He handed her a loose black dress, which he had hidden under his robe. “It will hide your prison garb. Do not waste time. Hurry. Put it on! Now, Maggie!”
Maggie obeyed, slipping the dress over her head with trembling fingers.
Then the young constable gave her a push. “Go!”
Maggie started up the steps, then stopped and turned. “Why are you doing this for me?”
The young constable blushed. “You do not remember me, do you? I am Thomas Dobbs. You showed my family such kindness after our home was destroyed by fire. I believe you are innocent, Maggie Alston. I believed it from the first.”
“God bl
ess you!”
“Go!”
Maggie flew up the stone steps, almost tripping on her long black dress.
She came to a heavy door. Pushed it hard. It squealed open.
She stepped out into the cold, foggy air.
Thomas said a carriage would be waiting. She hurried along a stone wall. Where was it? Where was it? She hurried around the corner—and right into the arms of a large constable. He had his gun drawn.
“That’s far enough!” he growled.
Chapter
6
Maggie gave a startled shriek.
She backed away.
Searching for a place to run. A way to escape.
The carriage! Where was the carriage?
Oh, she was so close to freedom!
“This way!” the constable barked, yanking her arm. “There. Through that archway. Run! The carriage is waiting.”
Maggie felt faint.
This man is working with Thomas! There is still hope!
She clutched his hand. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“Run!” he ordered.
Maggie raced through the archway, her heart thudding in her chest. A carriage waited just out of sight. The horses whinnied as she ran up. The door of the coach flew open. Two strong hands helped her inside.
Inside the dark carriage sat an older man in a dark suit, round as a barrel with a twitching brown mustache under his big nose. “Get down!” he told her.
Maggie quickly crouched down out of sight. The man with the mustache rapped on the side of the carriage with his umbrella, and the driver shook the reins.
They were off.
Maggie dared take only the tiniest breaths. At any second she expected to be caught. Dragged back to prison. Hanged.
She heard an iron gate creak open.
“Going so soon?” asked a male voice. “We have a hanging this morning, you know.”
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against the floor of the carriage. Would the guard look inside and discover her hiding there?
“Oh?” asked the old driver.
“Aye. You ought to come back for it. Should be a good one. The pretty rich girl that poisoned her father. Going to be a big crowd for sure. It will be fun to see a rich girl like that as she weeps and begs for mercy.”
