by K. M. Grant
Slavering, now sure of victory and grinning broadly, turned to shout for a gangway to be made. He had ordered a cart to transport his prisoner to the jail. Alice heard his shout and screwed up her eyes. She could see the cart. It reminded her of the cart that had taken Uncle Frank to be executed. Indeed, there was even a prisoner kneeling in it with his hands tied behind his back. She shuddered. Then she screwed up her eyes some more and her heart began to beat faster. Goodness! The cart did not just remind her of the one that had taken Uncle Frank. It was the one that had taken Uncle Frank. The barrel-chested figure with the cobblestone face and broad shoulders was familiar. Could it be? Oh, if only it was! The man looked up, and Alice knew at once what to do.
When she judged the distance to be about right, she took an enormous breath, pulled Uncle Frank around, and hugged him to her. Then, using one leg, she pushed the ladder away from the wall as hard as she could. “Come on, come on,” she prayed. It resisted. Oh, Lord in Heaven! Why was this wretched thing, which had seemed only too keen to keel over before, now trying to behave so responsibly? Alice thumped it as it crashed back against the stones. Then she tried again. It was no good. She could hear the troopers sniggering. On the ground, Major Slavering began to swear. He could see what Alice was trying to do and was determined to prevent her. If she fell off the ladder, she would be dead, and that would be no fun at all. He grabbed a rung, but it was difficult to keep both the ladder and his horse steady simultaneously. He bellowed for help.
Alice went wild. It was now or never. Frantically, she once more rocked the ladder to and fro until the rungs shook. Thud, thud, thud it banged against the wall, thud, thud, thud. It made Alice feel seasick, but though her eyeballs were sliding about, she at last caught sight of Hew. She wanted to shout, but her tongue was stuck, so instead she gestured frantically over his head. Hew frowned for a moment, for it would not do to misunderstand her, then, hardly seeming to move, his face cleared. In an instant, he whipped out his sword and deftly poked the hilt hard into the ribs of Major Slavering’s horse. The animal grunted and leaped sideways, knocking the ladder clean for six. Had Alice been able, she would have cheered, but she had no breath, as, with Uncle Frank pressed against her, she was hurled in a great arc through the air. The only noise came from the mob, who screamed as the ladder, in balletic slow motion, crashed into the street and splintered into a thousand scattering pieces.
Alice had abandoned it long before then. At the height of the arc she shut her eyes and let go, while Dan Skinslicer, his executioner’s judgment honed to a T, whipped his horse through the multitude. Although his eyes never left Alice’s flying body, he only just caught her, and then at the price of losing his prisoner. As Alice landed, the condemned man was catapulted out of the cart and for the rest of his life made money from relating how he had been saved by an angel of mercy who had flown out of the sky especially for that purpose.
The reality was rather different. The cart sagged as Dan was thrown clean onto his back and the shafts almost broke, crumpling the pony between them. But Dan was quick. Rolling Alice below the seat, he steadied both pony and cart before grabbing his whip and beating anybody who tried to hold on to him. The pony was only too happy to gallop as fast as its stubby legs would carry it down an alley leading away from Temple Bar, even though the alley was so dark and slimy it was like being swallowed by a snake.
Dan could not speak at first, but just hurried the pony along through maze after maze of dingy backstreets until corners and high walls deadened all sounds beyond those they made themselves. When he could no longer make out cries of “Stop, thief!” or “Hang them both!” he began to work his way swiftly past Westminster Bridge, down the bank of the Thames, and into the water meadows beyond. It was some time before he felt it safe to calm the pony’s panicky pace, tie the reins in a knot, and bend down to see how his unexpected passenger was faring.
Alice was lying in a small heap, Uncle Frank’s head beside her. Dan hardly dared lift up the flap of cloak that hid her face. The girl must be injured. Perhaps she was dead. He hesitated many times before he made himself look, and what he found made him jump. Far from being injured or dead, Alice was smiling a smile as broad as any Dan had ever seen. He was quite taken aback.
She put out her hand. “Oh, Dan Skinslicer,” she burst out, “never was I so glad to see anybody as I was to see you, and I know that if Uncle Frank could speak, he would say just the same.” She sat up and her smile lost a little of its starriness. “But they’ll hang you too now, if they catch you. You can’t go home for goodness knows how long. I’m sorry for that.”
At first Dan grinned in response, but then he recollected himself and exploded. “What were you doing, missy, up there on the Temple Bar? My heart nearly stopped. Never mind you being pleased to see me, or Colonel Towneley come to that. What would he be saying if he’d seen you flying through the air like one of them circus monkeys? And how’d it be for your mother if next time she clapped eyes on your pretty face it was sitting, without the rest of you, up on the Bar next to the colonel’s? And she may yet. Every trooper in the land will be after us by now and we are hardly inconspicuous, you, me, and your uncle Frank’s head. We’ll be in irons before nightfall and up before Lord Chief Justice Peckersniff by dawn. And to top it all, Lord alone knows who they’ll get to hang us. I’ll ask if I can do you, but I’m bound to get some clodhopping rope-mangler.” He thumped his great fist into the side of the cart, almost knocking a hole through. The pony lurched once again into a trot. Dan picked up the reins. “Happen I’ll ask for poison,” he said. “There’s some say that’s an ’angman’s privilege. Except old Peckersniff won’t go for that,” he added gloomily, “not if Major Slavering has anything to do with it. And he will.”
Alice looked quite unperturbed. “Oh, we’re not going to die,” she said, patting Dan’s arm reassuringly. “Once or twice today I thought that I might, but now I’m quite sure I’m not, and neither are you. We won’t die if we’re clever, Dan Skinslicer.” She mimicked his gruff accent. “And we are.”
Dan looked at his feet. “You may be clever, missy, but not me,” he said. “And if they offer me a post in the navy instead of execution, I’ll take the execution.”
Alice snorted. “You won’t have to choose,” she declared with a little more confidence than she actually felt. Despite her smile she was still shaking inside, but she didn’t want to show Dan. “We’ll leave London and go to Towneley. Don’t worry, it’s miles from the sea. You will be a hero, Dan Skinslicer, especially if you bring home both me and Uncle Frank’s head.”
“And what exactly will I do at Townswhatever, apart from being a hero?” asked Dan sarcastically. “I don’t think you can earn a living standing on a pedestal.”
“It’s Towneley, and my father will find something,” said Alice airily. “He measures rain, you know.”
Dan shook his head at her. “What about my wife?” Alice frowned. She had forgotten Johanna. “We could go and get her,” she said doubtfully.
Dan’s face relaxed a little and eventually he chuckled. “I can just see Johanna in this cart with us: me, her, a papist, and a papist’s head. She’d think she’d died and gone to hell. Better leave her be. The mutton pie she made last night wasn’t much good in any case. Do you keep a decent kitchen at Tow—Town—whatever?”
“Towneley,” repeated Alice patiently, cheery again. “And yes, I think our mutton pies are very tasty, although”—her face darkened a little—“I haven’t been home for a bit, so all kinds of things might have changed. They sent me to London to see life, but I seem to have seen more death.” She suddenly looked so fragile that Dan wanted to pick her up and put her in his pocket. But scarcely had he thought that than Alice spoke out most robustly. “You’ll love my home, Dan Skinslicer, and once we have worked out how to get there, we’ll be quite safe. Nobody will ever be bothered to climb over the hills to find us, especially as it’s always either foggy or raining. What’s more, now that useless Prince Charlie
has skedaddled, there’s no need for any more rebellions.” She decided to give Dan the full benefit of her political opinion. “From now on, Dan Skinslicer, all kings will be called George and people won’t care what religion you are.”
Alice’s tone was highly authoritative and Dan found himself quite happy to believe her. He lost some of his anxious look and wiped his brow as they made their way to the river’s edge, mingling easily among the pleasure-seekers. The pony slackened his walk into a meander and began to snatch at tufts of grass. Several times Dan and Alice saw troopers on the road and each tried to reassure the other. But the troopers were idle and none came to accost them. Eventually, in a small hollow, the pony stopped altogether. Alice got out of the cart and unfolded her cloak, glad to see that Uncle Frank had suffered no ill effects. She propped him up, then proudly handed Dan some of the money she had taken from the long case clock. “Take this, Dan Skinslicer,” she said. “You may need it for our journey.”
Dan did not want to touch the money at first, but Alice insisted, so he carefully counted out several coins, biting each to test its integrity before slipping them into a pouch at his belt. “It’s not much, missy,” he said, “and we’ll need different clothes and a better horse than this if we are to reach Towneley Hall before doomsday.”
Alice thought. “We could get clothes from Faraway Granny’s house,” she said. “Bunion—that’s the coachman—is about the same size as you. We could get food too, and a couple of horses. Granny wouldn’t mind, although we’d have to avoid Aunt Ursula.”
“The dragoons will be watching the house,” said Dan. “They will know by now who you are.”
“But Granny will be at the wigmaker’s tonight,” said Alice. “She goes in the closed carriage because she likes to give her bald pate an airing on the way. We could get into the carriage while it is waiting, then sneak through the back door of the house after Bunion has dropped Granny home again. Troopers aren’t very bright. They’ll watch as Granny gets out at the front, but I’ll bet they won’t watch when Bunion takes the coach to the coach-house. And don’t worry. Granny really won’t mind. Actually, she’s a bit vague, but I can manage her. Just think, Dan Skinslicer! We’ll be right under the troopers’ noses and they will never notice. As for creeping out”—Alice wrinkled her own nose very prettily—“well, we’ll manage that when the time comes.”
Dan looked at her closely. “I believe you are enjoying this,” he said with disapproval.
“Bits of it,” said Alice, as, quite unsolicited, the image of the black-haired captain’s dimple floated into her head. “Bits of it,” she repeated a little dreamily, then yelped as she stretched her legs and, quite by mistake, knocked Uncle Frank over.
Dan noted her dreamy look and frowned. Then he began to unhitch the pony. “We won’t be needing you anymore, old son,” he said a little regretfully, for he was fond of the animal. “Take care of yourself.”
Alice gave the pony a pat, then refolded her cloak ready to wrap the head up again, but before she did so she called out, making Dan start. “Look!” Alice was delighted. “Uncle Frank is smiling.”
Dan grabbed the cloak and quickly covered the head up. “That’s very foolish!” he admonished. “The colonel should wait until we’re well on the road north before he goes in for that kind of thing. Now, come on, missy. We’ve got a wigmaker’s to visit.” He sighed. “And to think, this time yesterday I was a simple executioner.” He should have felt anxious, even aggrieved, but as they set off, and Alice slipped her hand into his, Dan Skinslicer found himself whistling.
4
At dusk, he and Alice made their way in through the poky back door of the wiggery. Nobody stopped them and, when she saw her errant granddaughter, Lady Widdrington simply cocked her head to one side, causing the fussy little wigmaker to trill and flutter as his masterpiece tilted and wobbled.
“What do you think, Alice dear?” Lady Widdrington asked, clamping spiky hands firmly on the purple mountain to avert disaster.
Alice rose at once to the challenge. “It’s very striking, Granny, startling even, but in the best possible way.”
“I’ll make a splash?” The old lady turned back to the mirror.
“I’d say so.” Alice took the wrinkled fingers and stroked what skin was visible between the rings. “Granny,” she said, keeping her voice low and sweet, “this is my friend Dan Skinslicer.”
Dan bowed and as he rose he banged his head on the ceiling. Lady Widdrington turned to stare and Alice gave him a smile that he did not return. Backing away from the old lady, he knocked a lamp onto the cluttered floor. The burning oil hissed and snippets of horsehair began to sizzle, but when Dan stamped about, trying to put the sparks out, he caused a veritable cascade of wig boxes, wooden models and baskets of samples.
“Oh my very deary me!” exclaimed the wigmaker, cavorting like a fawn as he tried to catch all his goods in his skinny arms. “This is an artisan’s shop, not an elephant house! Stay still, large man! Stay still!”
Lady Widdrington scowled but Alice leaped in quickly. “Dan is a friend of Uncle Frank’s,” she explained, deciding to come if not clean, then cleanish. She would say nothing about Frank being dead. “The thing is, Granny, the dragoons were after Uncle Frank, and Mr. Skinslicer and I helped him escape. I know you will approve of that. But the dragoons are not happy and now we need to escape ourselves.” The old lady’s watery eyes darted from Alice to Dan and back again. Alice rushed on. “We thought we might just go back to Grosvenor Square with you in the carriage and borrow a few things …” She trailed off. Her grandmother’s expression was plaintive.
“Where’s Frank now?” she asked. “Has he time to see my new wig before you all go gallivantin’?”
Alice relaxed a little. “Not really, Granny dear,” she said. “He can’t see anything at the moment. But I’ll tell him how fine you look. This mauve, it’s just the color he’d like.”
The wigmaker made approving noises.
Lady Widdrington slid off her chair. “Then I’ll take this one, Mr. Wig,” she said, for she had clean forgotten the wigmaker’s name, though she had used him for thirty years, “and I’ll wear it to go, if you don’t mind. Give Mr. Skinslicer the wig bag. He can make himself useful carrying it to the carriage.”
Mr. Wig rubbed his hands together. “Just the payment, Lady Widdrington,” he ventured, hesitating over almost every word. “Even a little of the payment. You have quite a substantial bill here, you know, quite a substantial bill. Could I trouble you for six pounds? My rent is overdue, you see.”
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 unn
oticed.
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.
