How the Hangman Lost His Heart

by K. M. Grant

  Practically without thinking, she did the only thing she could. She hauled herself from the ladder not onto the roof but onto the cornice that ran above the frieze of the Bar. Clinging to the coping as far as its slope permitted, she edged her way along, facing inward toward the ashlar stones. She moved very slowly, her hands feeling their way, for the surface was rough and chipped in places and to balance she had to press her weight hard onto the balls of her feet. The cornice was terrifyingly narrow and Uncle Frank unbalanced her. Nevertheless, it worked. Her pursuer did not follow but, laughing, gave the short ladder a hefty push and sent it sliding away.

  Alice hardly had time to take this in before a breeze caught the bottom of her dress and it billowed out like a sail. She would be torn away! But at the last moment the breeze was kind and changed direction. Now it slammed her against the pediment and squashed her chin in some bird droppings. Far below, the crowd oohed and aahed, but Alice did not hear them. All she knew now was that if the wind blew again and swung Uncle Frank’s head just a little harder, she would fall and die. She forced herself to ease her bundle off her arm and onto the cornice beside her. She still had to hold it, which left only one arm with which to steady herself against the stone, but at least she felt more stable. After a short rest, she began to ease herself and her precious cargo carefully along until, in the middle of the pediment, she stopped. Too late, she realized that climbing onto the cornice was the stupidest thing she could have done. The coping arched and she was too short to reach its fullest height, so she could not get over to the other side. She would be here forever, or at least until her raised arm ached so much that it could no longer support her. She would have cried, except that tears seemed far too feeble a response.

  Underneath the main arch, a stony-faced dragoon major dismounted from his horse and stood, apparently deep in contemplation. Years ago he had been a good-looking man, but too many military campaigns had coarsened his face, and eyes that might once have been kindly had long since turned sour. Looking up at Alice, he did not see a girl, he saw another traitor—there were a lot around these days. True, he had come across this one by chance, as he and his men accompanied a thief to the gallows, but he would see justice done, you see if he didn’t. He watched Alice almost nonchalantly, flicking imaginary dust from his yellow cuffs. When she swayed this way and that and the crowd sighed, half-hoping and half-dreading that this fair-headed heroine would end up a bloodied pulp in the gutter, he shifted his legs a little wider apart. He was in no hurry. Executions were two a penny, but a pretty prisoner was a rarity. When he had secured Alice, he would take her to the barracks and, after suitable questioning, which might or might not involve a little physical “discomfort,” he would hand her over to the authorities with a confession hung around her neck. His lips curled in what passed for a smile. His men, milling about on their uniformly black and bobtailed horses, saw the curl and felt sorry for Alice. It was their experience that recipients of such a curl seldom survived long. Sensing their sympathy, the major clapped his heels together and barked at them. “Back into your lines, you fish-eyed fleabags!” The reaction was gratifyingly electric. Even the horses jumped. “Captain Ffrench!” He turned on his second-in-command. “Are you a soldier or a lapdog? These men are not children on a nursery outing. You forget your duty, sir.”

  The captain on his handsome gelding had been helping the cornet, who usually held only the troop’s colors, hold on to the major’s horse—for the cornet was small and the animal strong. Now he let go and began to shout orders himself. “Form back into your riding order,” he cried. “I’ll see two lines. Come on now, troopers. No more gawping at the lady.”

  The major settled his legs apart again. “So you think she’s a lady, do you, Captain Ffrench?”

  “Well, sir.” Hew Ffrench’s voice betrayed his nerves. He had once loved the army, but life under Major Slavering needed a stronger constitution than he possessed. “She’s certainly a female.”

  The troopers laughed and the major’s eyes narrowed. Two vertical dents appeared as he sucked in his cheeks. The laughter died away. Hew tensed. He knew those dents.

  “Get off your horse.” Every word was enunciated clearly. The crowd shushed at each other and shimmied forward. Here was more sport. What a day this was turning into.

  “Now,” said the major, stroking his mustache, “where are your manners, Captain Ffrench? Up on the Bar, as you have noted, we have a ‘lady’ in distress. But tell me this. What is the point of having two fs in your name if, having identified a ‘lady,’ you can’t behave as a man with two fs should?” Now the major turned to the people, inviting them to appreciate his humor. They obliged. “Shall we send him up after the blond damsel, my good friends? Shall we order Captain Ffffffrench up the ladder and along the ledge to get our lady traitor?”

  “Yes! Yes! Send him up! Send him up!” went the cry. The crowd felt much more at ease now.

  Hew stood his ground. “You know that I cannot stand heights,” he said pleasantly enough, even laughing a little to give the major every opportunity to include him in the joke rather than turn him into the joke.

  But the major smelled fear and couldn’t resist. Again he addressed the crowd, which was fast turning into a throng. “Our Captain Ffrench has been commended by the king himself for bravery, my good Londoners. Just the other week he rescued some of these troopers here from the top of a burning building. Yet, as he has just reminded us, he’s frightened of heights! Fancy that! Our brave, two-effed Captain F-french f-frightened of heights! Could it be that his previous efforts were performed under the influence of strong drink? Perhaps he is not brave in the least! Perhaps I should send to the king and tell him that his captain F-french is nothing but a f-fraud. What say you, excellent men and women all?”

  The major gave Hew a mock shrug. “It’s up to y-you, Captain F-f-french,” he said. “H-hero or c-coward? Which is it to be?”

  Hew looked up. Even the statues of the monarchs in their niches seemed to be taunting him. He could barely see Alice. Sweat prickled his scalp and he was grateful to have at his back the solid shoulder of his horse. Just thinking of heights made him sick. He could not climb up. He could not.

  Major Slavering came so close that Hew could see the thickening veins in his eyes. “Can’t even do it for a lady?” He leered. “You could do it for the boys,” and he began to mince about, pointing at Hew and then at the troopers. The throng howled. The major looked around with intense satisfaction, then began to take off his own coat. “I may only be a poor Slavering, with one s, but I think I can manage to do what is proper by a lady stuck up a monument,” he announced, tossing his hat to a delighted small boy to hold. “Get out of my way, Captain Ffrench. I’m going to enjoy myself.”

  At that moment, from on high, came a small cry. A raven, perched next to Alice on the cornice, was pecking at Uncle Frank’s head through the cloak and Alice was kicking at it so hard that she lost her balance. For a second, she rocked backward and forward, her hands paddling crazily, then she dropped clean off the cornice and it was only because, by chance, one hand caught the top of the ledge and the other wedged itself in the egg-and-dart stone patterning that she did not crash all the way down. Had Uncle Frank’s head rolled off, Alice would have been lost. However, mercifully, the head remained still. Aghast, Hew ran forward. “Hold on, hold on,” he cried. Alice held on.

  The major took out a short dagger and put it between his teeth. “She’ll put that head back where she got it,” he said as he made for the ladder. The dagger nicked the corner of his mouth and a drop of pink saliva glistened, then vanished into the red of his coat. This was too much for Hew. Thrusting aside all his misgivings, he unbuckled his sword, pushed past the major, and began to climb up the ladder himself. He climbed fast, calling out in a voice he hoped was unambiguously good-natured, “I accept your challenge, Major Slavering. I’ll get her.” Before he could be stopped, or allow his fear to stop him, he was ten feet above the ground and telling himself t
o remember that he was a captain in Kingston’s Light Horse and could do anything he set his mind to.

  At first, although high boots hampered him, he made good progress and counted as he climbed, up to ten then back again, up to ten then back again. This helped him to concentrate, but he had no idea at all what would happen when he reached his goal. When he arrived at the top of the ladder he scrambled onto the ledge, then used the scroll to get as near to Alice as he could. He was still too far away to give her his hand, so, unable to think of another plan, he stepped onto the cornice himself and stretched out his arm in the hope that Alice would shuffle up until she reached it.

  But Alice had no intention of reaching for anything in a uniform. With her skirt flapping and her heart hammering, she heaved herself back on to the cornice and arranged herself so that she was at least a little less precariously perched. She could hear Hew pleading with her not to be foolish and to come to him, but then she could also hear shouts of “No, no” from down below. The fickle crowd was changing its mind again. Now they did not want Alice to be captured. Those who had been laughing with Major Slavering began to boo and hiss. Slavering hastily remounted his horse. There was no telling how this would end up.

  For Alice, there was only one way to go. She must use her fingertips and continue to edge over to the other side of the Bar. If she could make it, she might yet escape. But there were so many obstacles. For a start, the raven, not satisfied with its first attempt, prepared to attack Uncle Frank again, this time with more determination. It was fortunate that, as it swooped down, it spied Uncle Frank’s erstwhile neighbor and settled on him, kaw-kawing in its excitement at finding an even easier meal. Alice guessed from the noise what was going on and tried not to be mesmerized by the peck, peck, pecking noises that seemed horribly near her own head. “I will make it, Uncle Frank,” she muttered, “I will make it.” But her resolve was not as certain as she would have liked and when the raven flew past again, ogling her and scattering discolored hailstones of putrefying flesh, Alice found she really could go no farther. Clutching Uncle Frank nearer to protect him, she crouched down and turned to confront the enemy.

  Hew, inching along the cornice, was now sweating from every pore. Only iron self-discipline prevented him from throwing himself backward, anything to reach the blessed ground. Sick to his stomach and careless of his dignity, he lay on his side, facing the wall. This was the only way he would be able to move. Time and again, to restore his courage, he reminded himself that if he descended without Alice his life would not be worth living. Already he could hear the crowd beginning a chant of “Coward” and he could just imagine the major’s smirking derision. He wiped his cheek on his shoulder, dislodging his hat in the process. He dared not make a grab for it. Moments later he could hear the crowd roar as a sea of eager fingers pulled it apart. He pressed his forehead into the stone.

  Hunched like a cornered cat, Alice watched his every move. “Go back,” she called out, her voice thin as a bat squeak. “Go back and leave me be.”

  Hew heard her and gingerly tilted his neck. But the movement was too much for him and he quickly buried it again and the groan he was trying so hard to suppress escaped. Instinctively, Alice put out an arm. But she withdrew it at once. What was she thinking? Hew’s groan would be part of a trap. She waited.

  “I can’t move,” Hew said at last. “I am stuck here forever, God help me.” His voice was muffled and Alice had to strain for the actual words, but she could hear the shake in them all right and in the face of such weakness she immediately felt better.

  “Don’t ask God to help you,” she retorted, “when I’m hoping he’s going to help me.”

  “I need to get off of here. Please.”

  “It’s a trick.” Alice held Uncle Frank’s head closer to her. “I’ll come near you and you’ll grab me.”

  “No. I swear. I am terrified of heights. I could no more grab you than dance a jig. If you don’t help me, I won’t get down from here alive.”

  Alice considered. The sun was fully up and it was getting hot. Her own legs were sore and her head felt too big for her body. She wanted this to be over. “If I help you, will you let me go?” It was the most pathetic of pleas.

  Hew strove to be honest. “I wish I could say yes. But I am only a captain. You would have to persuade Major Slavering.”

  “Is he a man easily persuadable?”

  Hew couldn’t lie. “Not many people find him so, but you may be different,” he said. He shifted slightly and a sliver of masonry disappeared from under his leg. He cried out. His black hair was molded to his scalp.

  “What will happen if I do come down with you?” Alice edged slightly nearer, for it seemed to her that the captain really might fall and she did not want that to happen. “Will I be executed?”

  “If a jury finds you guilty.” Hew could only whisper.

  “But I am guilty.”

  “Perhaps you could put the head back,” Hew suggested desperately, his eyes stinging, “then you might just get imprisonment. And I would say that you helped me down from here. That might count in your favor.”

  “I don’t want to be executed. I’m not brave enough.” Alice shivered.

  “You seem to me to be brave enough for anything,” Hew told her, trying to speak in a more normal voice, “and I promise to defend you as best I can.”

  Alice considered. The one thing she did know was that it was now impossible to desert Hew. How could she, when he was clearly so helpless? She should never have spoken to him. Oh, what was she to do?

  A noise from behind helped to make up her mind. On the side of the monument toward which she had been heading, troopers were now waiting. Hew would have to move. “Roll very carefully over onto your stomach and look straight at me,” she commanded him. “Just keep looking straight at me and I’ll tell you where to go. I’m not good at this myself but I seem to have had quite a lot of practice this morning. Ready?”

  Hew fixed his gaze on the small oval face about six feet away and found himself staring straight into a pair of eyes the color of cornflowers. They were wide-set and candid, each iris a pool of such clear, almost icy blue that they would have turned their owner into a cold china doll had not the blurring of the edges by deeper, purple-colored smudges warmed them through. Even in these dire straits, Hew thought them the loveliest things he had ever seen. They regarded him coolly.

  “Now,” said Alice, not unaware of the effect she had caused, “move from the hip. Right hip just an inch back, then left hip, always in a straight line. Start now. Right hip, left hip, right hip, left hip. I’m going to lie down too, but facing you. We’ll be doing it together.”

  Hew began, repeating her instructions as he went. Their progress was painfully slow, but it was progress. Alice kept Hew’s brown eyes entirely in thrall, never letting her own flick away even once. “Left hip, right hip,” she said, and hardly realized that by the time they reached the end of the cornice her voice had softened and was almost tender.

  When she at last fell silent, they both paused. “You’ll have to wriggle until you feel the top of the scroll,” Alice told him, noticing the dimple in his chin. His hand was so close, she could have touched it. But she didn’t.

  Hew pulled himself onto his knees. As he levered himself off, he could still feel cornflower-blue courage pouring through his limbs. Shuffling until his feet found something secure on which to balance, he held out his hand. “Give me the head,” he said, “and I’ll put it back on the roof.”

  “Oh no!” Alice’s voice was brisker and she was still just out of reach. “I’m not leaving it.”

  “You must,” said Hew.

  “I can’t.”

  “I could leave him covered with the cloak.” The captain was genuinely sympathetic. “Would you prefer that?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. His eyes are open,” Alice explained. “He wants to be with his body.”

  “Yes,” Hew replied gently, “but it won’t help his head if yours is up here too,
will it?”

  Alice blinked. “I suppose not.” She considered, but what Hew suggested was just not possible. “It’s my business anyway,” she said. “Now go on. Wheesht.” It was what her nurse said when Alice was being annoying.

  But Hew was not finished yet. “Before we go any further, will you tell me your name?” It was an unusual place for an introduction, but Hew needed to know.

  “It’s Alice. Alice Towneley.”

  “I’m Hew. Captain Hew Ffrench.”

  “I’m not glad to meet you, Captain Ffrench.”

  Hew blanched. He had hoped for something more friendly than that. “No,” he said, recovering, “I don’t imagine you are.”

  “Now get going,” ordered Alice, anxious suddenly, and unexpectedly confused. She gripped her cloak harder as she tried to banish Hew’s dimple. She must concentrate only on Uncle Frank. She absolutely couldn’t leave his head behind. Yet how could she carry it down, when somebody would at once take it from her? She drummed her fingers. She would follow Hew off the cornice, then decide what to do.

  In a few minutes she too was on the scroll, then on the wider ledge. Still wary, she insisted that Hew make use of the long ladder before her and looked about, hoping for a miracle. None arrived. Indeed, troopers were now pouring out of the windows. Any second they would have her. With a sinking heart, Alice slithered onto the ladder herself, slinging Uncle Frank onto her back. She would just have to throw herself and Uncle Frank’s head on the mercy of Major Slavering. It seemed a vain hope that Captain Ffrench’s ability to plead was better than his ability to climb. Nevertheless, it was the only hope Alice had.

  She moved slowly, disconcerted by yet another roar from the crowd. She glanced down and found herself looking not at Hew but at Major Slavering himself. He was swinging a padlock and some chains. Even twenty feet up, Alice could see his eyes protruding slightly, for his drinking habits made him bilious, and the expression in them was enough to send her rocketing up the ladder again as quick as she could go. What a fool I am, she cried out inside. I should never have listened to that Captain Hew Ffrench. Oh, how stupid, stupid, stupid! Yet the top of the ladder held just as many dangers, with troopers waiting in silence. Alice’s bottom lip began to tremble.