How the Hangman Lost His Heart

by K. M. Grant

  Every evening, with Job-like patience, Dan listened to the familiar litany and was ready with his answer. “Captain Ffrench didn’t do what he did for the dead but for the living. He wants you to be able to bury your uncle Frank’s head because that’s what you want to do. Now, missy, you must pull yourself together. That’s what the poor man would want.”

  “He did it because he felt sorry for me.” Even in her distress, Alice was never short of a reply. “Or maybe that girl told him to.”

  After a while, Dan tried a different tack, reassuring Alice that if Hew was still alive, he would be tried, probably not executed but only sent to the galleys. He was a hero of Culloden after all. Alice seemed almost more horrified by this and reminded Dan of his own terror of the sea. “Ah,” said Dan philosophically, “but Captain Ffrench won’t ever have smelled a dead cabin boy, so he won’t know how bad it is, will he?”

  It was unsurprising that Alice found none of this comforting, particularly with the rain seeping down her collar, and Dan soon gave up his initial hope that she was too sensible, or perhaps too heartless, to pine after Hew for long. Alice never asked how he himself was doing and eventually Dan just concentrated on traveling. He had tried his best.

  After ten days or so, however, Alice shook him awake, declaring that she wanted to find “that girl who kindly put Uncle Frank into this hatbox.” Her fingers plucked at his shirt. She wanted to go right now. She could not like the girl, but she wanted to see her anyway. There might be news of Hew.

  Dan pulled himself up. The ants had been at him and, as he picked them out of his ears, he saw that although Alice’s face was filthy and pinched, her chin had regained some of its stubbornness and she had already heaved the saddles onto the backs of the horses. “That’s madness,” he told her, but his heart was lighter as she ate some of the bread he had stolen the day before. “She probably lives in London and we can hardly go back there, missy. Even you must see that.”

  “Well,” said Alice, stamping her foot, “maybe we don’t have to go to London. The lady looked as if she was going on a journey. If we knew who she was, perhaps we could find out where she’s gone.”

  Dan shrugged. Who was going to tell them? The birds?

  Alice chewed harder on the bread, then suddenly hurled it away. “The hatbox,” she said, and color began to flow back into her cheeks. “The hatbox Uncle Frank’s head is in is hers, Dan. Maybe there is a clue in there.”

  “You’re not going to disturb the poor colonel again?” Dan was horrified. “He must feel like a regular parcel. Can’t he just sit tight until it’s time to bury him?”

  But Alice wasn’t listening. She ran to Marron, pulled the hatbox off his saddle, and tugged it open.

  Uncle Frank was almost hidden under Mabel’s bonnet, a broad affair, generally colored pale lilac and elaborately decorated. The feathers that were glued around the brim drooped over the colonel’s nose and stuck to his tar-blackened straggles. Had Frank been alive, the effect would have been undignified. Now that he was dead, it was preposterous and his expression was more than unhappy. Alice apologized as she set him gently on the grass.

  Dan stared. “Oh, the poor man,” he said with feeling, and wiped away the fluff that had accumulated on Uncle Frank’s forehead. The colonel needed a shave, so Dan noticed, for hair still grows after death, but even Dan could not bring himself to use his own razor. It was Dan who found what Alice was looking for. “There,” he said, pointing to a small inscription on the inside of the hatbox lid, which Alice, in her haste, had pushed to one side. “There.”

  “What does it say?”

  Dan shifted. “You read it.”

  Alice looked at him curiously and leaned over. “Mabel Ffrench,” she read aloud, “care of the Duke of Cantankering, Cantankering Castle, Cantankering, Cantankeringshire.” She sank back on her heels. “Mabel Ffrench. Miss Mabel Ffrench. Miss Mabel Ffrench. Oh, Dan Skinslicer! The lady is not Hew’s ladylove, nor even his wife. She’s his sister! Well I never. Hew’s sister.” As she said the words over and over, the haunted look that so upset Dan vanished. “Hew’s sister. The girl’s his sister.” She jumped up. “Come on, Dan Skinslicer, we must go to her.” She gave a skip. “And to think … And I thought …”

  “You thought too quickly,” said Dan, a trifle glumly.

  “I suppose I did,” Alice agreed, “but don’t be such a grump, Dan. Maybe Hew is still alive. Maybe he is. Wouldn’t that be marvelous!” She did not look at Dan again, but hurried to put Uncle Frank back in the hatbox. She barely noticed at first that the head was now looking at her with a kind of disappointed sorrow and, when she did notice, she chose to put her uncle’s expression down to the ugliness of the hat he had been obliged to wear. “Sorry,” she whispered, “we’ll get that silly hat off of you as soon as possible, but just now it is such a good disguise. I hope you understand.” Dan had to help her get the lid on and Alice was disconcerted to notice that when Dan’s hands appeared, Uncle Frank’s expression changed to one of sympathy. It brought her up short and she looked at Dan properly for the first time in days. Her heart smote her. “How is your shoulder now?” she asked. “It seems ages since I dressed it.”

  Dan made the hatbox secure. “It’s all right, missy,” he said shortly as he tightened Belter’s girth. “You can check it tonight. Look.” He gestured to the sky. The sun was breaking through and, after the chill, the wind was breathing warm through the bracken. “If we’re to find this Cantankering Castle, we’d best get going.”

  Alice didn’t argue. The hatbox, soaked once too often, was beginning to crumble, but she didn’t care as it squashed against her knee. Even the horses sensed a new purpose and trotted willingly through the drying mud. Alice got directions from a tinker and sped on, but Dan, although happy to see her so lively again even if the reason gave him an odd pang in his heart, had many misgivings as he followed behind. He had no idea what they might find at Cantankering Castle and did not share Alice’s evidently unshakeable belief that their welcome would be friendly.

  When they had been going about an hour, he was glad that Marron slackened the pace until he realized that Alice was calling to him to read a signpost she had missed.

  “I can’t!” Dan called back. “My eyesight’s too poor.”

  “Nonsense!” Alice shouted. “You could see enough to catch me off Temple Bar.”

  He insisted and Alice turned back to read the signpost for herself. They rode on, but after a few minutes Alice turned to him and said in what she considered to be her nicest voice, “The truth is that you can’t read, can you, Dan Skinslicer? I thought you couldn’t when we opened the hatbox so I missed the signpost on purpose. I could easily teach you, you know,” she continued tactlessly. “You have done so much for me, maybe I could do this for you?”

  At this, Dan fell into a sulk. Who on earth did Alice think she was? He left her question hanging in the air and, when he did reply, it was in peevish tones. “I didn’t grow up in your fancy home, lounging around with books,” he said. “I went to work when I was five. I don’t expect you will go to work at all.” He kicked Belter unnecessarily hard and overtook Marron. “And anyway,” he shouted over his shoulder, “I can read some things. I can read the Bible and I found the address in the hatbox.”

  “You can only read the Bible because the stories are so familiar,” replied Alice, riled. “It’s easy to read words you already know. And what’s the use in finding a label if you can’t tell what it says?”

  Dan was suddenly more depressed than irritated. What was he doing here, playing nursemaid to this unconscionable girl? She could speak in a nice voice but she was not a nice person, for she led him on, then knocked him back, always sighing after a handsome captain and taking a toiling hangman utterly for granted. I had a wife and a job before I met her, he thought. Now he had nothing except a black horse that didn’t belong to him. He had even lost all the tools of his trade. He tried to remember when he had last seen them but couldn’t.

  They
rode in silence. Alice purposefully pushed past him and Dan let her. It was another hour before she turned around to make sure he was still there. Then it was clear at once, from Dan’s slumped shoulders, what she had done. At first she was cross. However, after a while, she was sorry and eased Marron back until they rode stirrup to stirrup. Dan would not look at her, but Alice stayed beside him and after a while, when the road grew smooth, she took off her hat and shook out her hair. “Race you?” she offered.

  In the bright sun, even in his mood, Dan noticed that, despite the easiness of her tone, Alice was anxious. His heart softened, then he groaned inside himself. Try as he might to build defenses against her, she had only to look a certain way and he melted like butter. He told himself strictly not to, but what was the use? He slapped Belter with the flat of his hand and his broad face cleared again. “I’ll beat you to the next milepost, whether I can read it or not. Now, take care of the colonel’s head. That’s your handicap.” As they galloped, neck to neck, he felt his spirits lift. Alice, grateful and happy that Dan had forgiven her so easily, allowed him to win.

  Once in Cantankeringshire, it was not difficult to find Cantankering, a large market town, over which Cantankering Castle loomed. The sight of it, half beneficent protector, half threatening bully, gave Dan the jitters but Alice would not be dissuaded. “I’ve got to go in,” she told him as he let Belter dawdle. “I won’t leave until I know Hew’s fate. But maybe it is best if I go on my own. I’ll go on foot and say I’m a friend of Mabel’s.”

  “For goodness’ sake, missy, be careful,” Dan begged. “She may not want to see you.”

  Alice just gave him a look.

  The road was getting busier and although a shabbily dressed couple were nothing special, even if the girl was riding astride, people did look curiously at the identical bobtailed horses. Neither as neat nor as glossy as they had been when Alice and Dan commandeered them, their military gait and bearing had, nevertheless, still not deserted them.

  The castle portcullis was raised and the gates were open. Delighted at this good portent, Alice dismounted neatly. “I’ll go in now. Look! I don’t even have to knock,” she said.

  However, the gate was swinging wide not to let visitors in but to let a group of people out. A dozen or so Kingston’s dragoons were headed straight toward them. Dan made a grab for Alice and swung her back into the saddle as they at once plunged away, back into the crowd they had just left.

  They were too late. The sharp-eyed captain—Hew’s replacement—let out a cry. “Look! Look, men! There they are! On, men, on and get ’em!” There was a general spurring of horses and many great whoops as the troopers, sick to the teeth of their hitherto fruitless searching, determined that they were not going to be denied their prey now.

  It was an uneven chase. Alice did not even have time to get her feet into her stirrups and Marron and Belter, homesick for their fellows, fled only with reluctance. “Come on, come on,” urged Dan, in panic. They crashed through a dogfight taking place in the middle of the road, knocking spectators into the dust as they skimmed over the shafts of the carriages and carts used to mark out the makeshift ring. Dan found himself safely on the other side, but Alice was not so lucky. One of the dogs, already maddened with pain, forgot its rival and launched itself at Marron instead. It missed the horse but clamped its jaws gamely on Alice’s skirts and she was suddenly involved in a tug-of-war she could not win. Oh, why did your skirt never rip when you wanted it to? All too soon she found herself sliding closer and closer toward the ground and eventually fell off.

  At once Dan yanked his reins and charged back, just managing to sweep Alice up in front of him on Belter. Marron, now confused, followed on as Dan tried again to make good their escape. Draped over the front of Belter’s saddle, Alice was jolted and jarred, but Dan’s strong hand kept her safely wedged and, once through the straggling ends of the town, the going was easier, with fewer people and conveyances blocking the way. Yet the cobblestones were cruel on galloping legs and Belter was not at all keen on the breakneck speed Dan wanted from him. Marron trailed behind, looking half back, half forward, with Uncle Frank’s hatbox still swinging at his shoulder.

  “We must catch Marron, Dan Skinslicer, we must catch Marron. We can’t lose Uncle Frank again!” Alice hiccupped.

  Dan nodded—it was no time to argue—and leaned back to encourage the horse to come alongside. Marron sped up, but his bridle was always just out of reach. They galloped out of the town and made for the woods, plowing straight through a flock of sheep. Belter found the turf here more to his liking, but with no rider to push him and the grass so tempting, Marron began to dawdle. Alice implored him to hurry, holding out her hand as if it was full of sweetmeats, but he took no notice and, in the end, Dan had to pull Belter up and wait. It was clear that if they wanted to keep Uncle Frank, Alice must remount Marron and ride him to safety.

  It was dreadful watching the troopers storming toward them, but at last Marron came near enough for Dan to take one last chance. Straining every muscle, he stretched and hovered, then caught the elusive straps. Alice sobbed with relief. She had no time to swap horses, so she just yelled at Marron as loudly as she could, making both horses canter with more enthusiasm toward a dense clump of trees. As soon as they reached them, Alice tumbled to the ground and clambered into her own saddle.

  It was too late to move now. The dragoons were already crashing through the thicket behind them, fanning out, trying to find which way their quarry had gone. They missed seeing the path Dan had taken, so, very slowly and in perfect unison, Dan and Alice slipped deeper beneath the shadowed canopy of a huge oak. With black horses they might yet escape detection. All would be well, provided they were quiet as mice.

  It was then that Marron, spying an equine friend, neighed a loud and cheerful greeting.

  11

  The dragoons quickly surrounded them. Dan tried to barge a way through for Alice, urging her to flee as he took the blows and parried the sword thrusts, but despite his best efforts they were both taken, their hands bound behind their backs and their feet tied together under the horses’ bellies. They were whisked straight to Cantankering Castle, where the duke, much surprised, found himself obliged to provide a cart to transport the prisoners and Uncle Frank’s head back to London. The clattering and fuss in the courtyard was loud enough to carry to the schoolroom and Hew’s sister and her two charges came running down to see what was going on. Mabel stared when she saw Alice, recognizing her at once from the riot in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Her stare was not friendly and Alice had very quickly to give up any notion that Mabel would happily share news of Hew, or indeed address a word to her at all. Alice climbed into the cart with dread in her heart.

  “Don’t say ‘I told you so,’” she whispered to Dan.

  “I’m saying nothing at all,” he muttered back.

  Their return to London was mercifully quick, for the dragoons headed straight down the turnpike, making a travesty of the weary meanderings Dan and Alice had endured in order to keep out of sight. The two of them sat close together, with Uncle Frank beside them, glad that their conveyance was a closed one so that they were at least spared the indignity of having things thrown at them in the villages through which they passed. At regular intervals they stopped at coaching inns and the troopers ordered changes of cart horse “in the king’s name.” If only I could meet the beastly king, Alice thought, holding on to Dan for comfort, I am sure I could show him that we meant no harm. When she confided these thoughts to Dan, he humored her but he could already feel the chilly tickle of the hangman’s noose.

  Once they were back in London, Major Slavering couldn’t contain himself and had Hew dragged out immediately to witness their disheveled disgrace. “Well, Captain F-f-f-french,” he gloated, “I wonder if this tasty girl knows that she has you to thank for her less-than-comfortable quarters?”

  Hew, blinking in the unaccustomed light, pulled himself up from the floor. It was not possible for his complexion
to be any paler, but when he saw Alice he could have passed for a ghost. At the same time Alice, when she saw the emaciated and bedraggled state Hew was in, lost any delight in knowing for certain that he was still alive.

  Slavering found this spectacle very satisfactory. “Did you know, Mistress Alice Towneley,” he said, deliberately conversational, “that Captain Ffrench could have saved you all this nonsense? He had it within his power to make sure I forgot all about you. All he had to do was reveal to the world that he is not really a supporter of King George, but secretly supports that overdressed Jacobite impostor, just like your traitorous Uncle Frank. But he was too cowardly, poor old Captain Two-Effs, so here we all are. Now, I know what to do with him, but the question is, what are we to do with you?”

  “Touch her, Slavering, and you’ll hang yourself,” Hew croaked.

  “Oh, I’ll not hang,” smiled the major, pushing Hew into a chair. “On the contrary, the king rewards those who get heads returned to Temple Bar and we’ll have this one”—he kicked the hatbox—“back up there before you know it.” He walked over to Alice. “Now, my dear,” he said, lifting up her chin with his thumb and enjoying the look in her eyes, “I’m going to ask Captain Ffrench once more, in your presence, if he will save you by telling us the truth about himself. Come, come.” He let go of Alice’s chin and pulled her chair around so that she and Hew were facing each other. Dan, objecting loudly, was pushed into the corner.

  Slavering sat himself down behind a desk, for all the world like a notary settling a dispute between neighbors over a hedge. “Captain Ffrench,” he began without further ado, “will you confess to harboring sympathy for the cause of Charles Edward Stuart, known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, against our lawful monarch, George II?” The major suddenly saw a joke. “You could just say ‘I will,’ as if you were getting married!”