by K. M. Grant
“Now,” Dan continued, “I’ll wash under your pump and dress up in your livery if you don’t mind, Lady Widdrington. Bunion here can take the cart bearing Captain Ffrench’s coffin and Mrs. Ffrench and I’ll drive the carriage north. We’ll send it back to you somehow. Captain Ffrench, get in and keep your head down. Come on, missy, time to go.” He disappeared and they heard muffled oaths before he reappeared, squeezed into white leg britches and a scarlet coat, with a white wig and a hat with an immense cockade. His face was mutinous and he dared Alice to laugh as he picked up the hatbox and pushed her toward the carriage door. Alice slipped past him one last time to plant a spontaneous kiss on the cheek of Mrs. Ffrench. “I’m sorry for all the fuss,” she said, “and Uncle Frank would be sorry too. Everything seems to have happened so quickly.”
“Come on now,” Dan said impatiently. “The longer we dally the greater the danger. We’ll just have to hope that your grandmother’s servants won’t gossip about what they’ve seen here.”
Bunion sniffed. “You’re not the only one with morals, Dan Skinslicer,” he said. “Take care of my horses.”
With that the gates swung back open and the carriage was gone. It was only when they were well out of London that Dan realized he had forgotten to put Hew’s waxen effigy into the coffin. Uncle Frank’s hatbox contained two heads still. It made Hew feel rather strange, to be traveling with his head in a box, but, with Alice at his side, he reckoned that he could get used to anything.
15
Alice’s return home in her grandmother’s carriage with a hangman, an admirer, and Uncle Frank’s head was greeted with some surprise by her parents. Alice told a garbled story, to which her parents, standing awkwardly in the cavernous gloom of the great hall, appeared to be paying attention. “Yes, dear, goodness!” they both said at appropriate moments. In fact, neither heard more than every fifth word. Alice’s father was wondering about the accuracy of his rain gauge, suspect ever since Alice had gone away, and her mother about the prodigious amounts of mold that one of her cheeses had sprouted. “Well, you are very welcome, er, er …” Sir Thomas looked vaguely at his wife.
“Captain Ffrench and Mr. Skinslicer,” said Alice helpfully.
“Indeed.”
“Alice, dear, we weren’t quite expecting you. How’s Faraway Granny—and Ursula, of course?” Her mother wondered if the cheese had grown too warm—or perhaps too cold. It reminded her—“Uncle Frank’s body arrived in surprisingly good order,” she said. “We buried him. It was a sad day.”
Sir Thomas echoed his wife’s sentiments. “Sad day, sad day,” he repeated.
Now was the moment. “I’ve brought his head back,” said Alice, pointing to Mabel’s hatbox. “We should bury it too.”
Lady Towneley looked at the hatbox with some disappointment, for despite her spreading waistline and collapsing beauty, she had inherited an interest in fashion from Lady Widdrington. “Oh, what a pity. I thought you were going to show me some new styles.”
Alice giggled. Home was just the same. She slipped her arm through her mother’s, who looked down at her daughter and sighed. “Oh well,” she said. “I suppose we can combine another burial with a party for your homecoming. Such a pity Frank won’t be here to enjoy it.” She dabbed her eyes, for she had been very fond of her brother-in-law.
Sir Thomas gave a little hum. He too had been fond of his brother, but now it was raining. He could tell that because large drops of water were dripping from the ceiling somewhere miles above and splashing the stones at his feet. His rain gauge was calling.
“Better go, Father,” Alice prompted gently. “Who knows how much water you might collect today? It could be a record.”
“If you’re sure.” Sir Thomas did not need more persuading. “Nice to have you back, dearest daughter,” he said, feeling pleased that he still liked her, “and I hope you will come and help me again at my calculations. Somehow, since you went, they have become rather dull.” He waved an arm at Hew and Dan and vanished up the staircase.
The rain pattered down with increasing vehemence and, although they were certain that their beds would be damp, both Dan and Hew were delighted to hear it, for within half an hour of their arrival the roads were reduced to a quagmire. Had Bonnie Prince Charlie himself been at Towneley, it would have been difficult for even Major Slavering at his most determined to beat a path through to arrest him. Alice had the servants build up the fire and, for the first time since they had known each other, the three of them sat in a row: warm, safe, and, after Alice had nagged the cook, well fed.
Three days later, in the very early morning, several people could be seen slipping into the weather-beaten stone church that was tucked beside the house. From the outside, to fool the Protestants, it looked like a coach house, with broad doors and high windows. Indeed, several of the Towneley conveyances were parked haphazardly around about. But inside was a small chapel, smelling of polish and incense. At the far end, an altarpiece, beautifully carved with flowers and saints, was lit by candles and, in front of it, the red sanctuary lamp, like the eye of God, hung suspended. Father Saunderson, the Towneley’s pet priest, was already on his knees and beside him was the hatbox.
It was chilly in the chapel and Alice and her mother pulled their cloaks around them. Dan and Hew stood in silence at the back, Dan wondering what Johanna would say if she could see him now. Hew was happier than he would ever be again in his whole life. Over the last few days, as she had shown her guests around the castle and taken them along the secret paths up onto the moors, Alice had chattered away, telling stories as they plowed through the bogs. At dinnertime, she sat demurely near her parents, flashing glances at him under her eyelashes amid the candlelight. In the chapel, with her head bowed, she looked like a medieval saint. If Hew could not find as much to say as she could, it mattered little, for Alice never ran out of conversation. When they were alone, the silences that fell between them were silky, easy things. Only the presence of Dan made things sticky and Hew could see how hard Alice worked to make this right. He loved her even more for that.
The vault under the chapel had been opened and a small, dark hole winked at them. From here Uncle Frank’s coffin had already been extricated and it was sitting on top of the marble slab that marked the tomb of a previous Sir Thomas and his lady.
“Now, Father Saunderson,” said Alice’s father, nervous in case the weather changed while he was otherwise engaged, “let’s begin.”
The ceremony did not take much time. The hatbox, looking very incongruous, was set on the altar for a blessing as if it was some kind of purchase on a shop counter. Dan harrumphed, thinking Father Saunderson looked like nothing but a magician, with his cope and his incomprehensible mumblings.
Then came the moment when the coffin had to be opened. Dan was ready for the summons and did the job easily with hammer and chisel. He knew better than to look inside. Ignoring everybody, he picked up the hatbox and set it down on the tomb. He could see that Alice’s mother had her handkerchief over her face and that her father was steadfastly telling his rosary beads. Father Saunderson tried to rise, but never quite made it and Hew, who had no wish to see the effigy of his own head again, hovered at a distance.
Suddenly, Alice was at Dan’s side, smiling conspiratorially, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Well, Dan Skinslicer,” she said, “the last lap. We’ve brought Uncle Frank home. Shall I take the lid off?”
“Don’t seem any point in delaying things, missy,” Dan agreed.
She had to use a knife to cut the rope. The waxen head emerged first. Alice raised her eyebrows. What was she to do with this? There seemed only one solution. She popped it into the coffin, just above Uncle Frank’s right shoulder. Dan approved. He then took out Frank’s head and carefully placed it back exactly where it should have been. It was a beautiful join. “A tribute to your clean swing,” said Alice with heartfelt pride. Both were surprised at how cozy the colonel looked, but neither was surprised to see his eyes f
ull of twinkles. Alice tipped the wax head over so the two heads looked as though they were chatting before her hand sought Dan’s and he held it fast. “We should say something,” she whispered, “before we put the lid back on.”
“I’m no good with words, missy, you know that,” murmured Dan, leaning over to settle the hair, “but we could just say “good-bye and Godspeed.” I’m not really one for your popish prayers.”
“That’s perfect,” Alice told him, gently serious. “Let’s say it together, Dan Skinslicer. Ready?”
“Good-bye and Godspeed, Uncle Frank,” they chanted. Hew heard them and wanted to go and join them, but they did not invite him and he did not want to intrude. Alice, still holding on to Dan, touched Frank’s eyelids with her fingertips. They closed at once. “Oh!” Alice gave a little jump. “Perhaps that’s all we needed to do all along, Dan Skinslicer. Perhaps he could have closed his eyes weeks ago if we’d helped him.”
Dan shook his head. “He needed to come home, missy,” he said. “He needed to be where he is comfortable.” He could see Hew approaching and let go of Alice’s hand.
The coffin lid was difficult to get straight, but Alice held it steady while Dan wielded the hammer. It was a noisy business but had a jolly ring to it. In a few moments they were squabbling amicably about the straightness of the nails and whether a special inscription should be put on the coffin explaining the wax head.
But there was no time. As soon as the last nail was hammered home, Father Saunderson summoned four of the Towneley gardeners and they picked up the coffin and disappeared into the dark. There was much scraping as they edged Uncle Frank into his final resting place and slid back the flagstones. The vault was now completely hidden.
Alice felt a curious pang. Uncle Frank had been a more constant companion when dead than he had ever been when alive and she found that she missed him. She leaned against Dan. She knew he understood.
That night, Alice could not sleep. Her bed seemed first too hot, then too cold. When she was small and restless, she used to count the daisies her nurse had embroidered on the bed hangings, but that would not work now. Besides, Alice already knew there were forty-eight and a half, where Nurse had run out of thread. Instead, she got up. Taking a lamp, she left her room and roamed down the long paneled corridor, occasionally peeping into disused bedrooms and frightening the bats. With her candle and lace nightdress, she looked like a wraith, except that she swore when she hit her foot on a doorstop on her way down to the kitchens. She would find something to eat.
The kitchens were not in darkness, for the great fire never went out, and beside it Dan was sitting, his back to the warmth and his head in his hands. Three large wolfhounds were sitting bolt upright watching him.
When Alice approached, the dogs wagged their tails and Dan jumped. “You startled me, missy,” he exclaimed.
Alice set her candle down. “I couldn’t sleep, Dan Skinslicer,” she said. She could feel her heart beating and suddenly the beat was ominous. “Could you not sleep either?” She settled the wolfhounds back into their beds.
“I couldn’t,” Dan replied shortly. Alice busied herself in the meat safe. She heard Dan’s voice behind her. “It was your uncle Frank as reminded me.”
She reemerged. “Uncle Frank?”
“Yes. He could only shut his eyes when he was comfortable.”
“But aren’t you comfortable here, Dan Skinslicer?” Alice forgot about her sore foot. “We could change your room.”
“I think you know what I mean, missy.”
But Alice didn’t want to know what he meant. “Perhaps it’s because you need something to do,” she said decidedly, and, as if to demonstrate the point, found some bread and began to slice off a mountain of salted lamb. “We’ll find you something.”
Dan allowed her to push a plate in front of him. “It’s not that.” He fiddled with a corner of the bread and made a ball, which he rolled across the table. Alice rolled it back. “I must go,” he said, “because in time you will be married to Captain Ffrench.”
“But that won’t make any difference.” Alice pushed the bread ball faster and faster as Dan returned it slower and slower. “What on earth difference could that make?”
“Ah,” said Dan. “It will make no difference to you, but it will make a deal of difference to me.” He captured the bread ball in his palm.
The shadows in the kitchen were enormous and the dogs yawned and licked their lips. They could smell the lamb and waited expectantly.
“A difference to you, Dan Skinslicer?” Alice looked straight at him now and her voice lost its little-girl chirrup.
Dan threw the bread into a corner and the dogs scuffed over the flags, fighting to get it. Alice hastily threw down more crusts. Both she and Dan were glad of the distraction, but it could not last forever.
“I’ve never met anybody quite like you, Alice Towneley,” said Dan, and his use of her name, the first time he ever had, brought a lump straight into Alice’s throat, “and it’s not good for me, what you make me feel. The likes of me, see, can never be for the likes of you. We both know that. And Captain Ffrench is a good man who loves you dearly. So I’m happy for you and I’m happy for him. But I can’t be happy for me.”
Alice made a sound in her throat.
Dan sighed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You are better off with him because he thinks you’re a saint and I don’t. We’d quarrel.” He watched a tear drop slowly off the end of Alice’s nose. “Oh, don’t cry, missy,” he said, full of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. And anyway, you could never have married me because I’ve been married already. Johanna is getting a divorce, but even if I was an earl with the grandest coats of arms, that wouldn’t be good enough for your type of Catholic.”
“But I thought you’d stay here with me. I love you, Dan Skinslicer,” Alice sobbed. It was true, it was perfectly true, and nothing would stop her from saying it. “Not in the same way I love Hew, but so much, Dan, so much. If you go, I’ll be miserable and nobody will ever tell me off. I think somehow we’re meant to be together.”
Dan hated her sobs but he shook his head. “In another time, perhaps,” he said softly. “One day, in the future, maybe it wouldn’t matter that I’m a hangman and you are a lady. But I can’t see you making my tea of an evening and asking me how my day went. Can you? Can you honestly?”
Alice wiped her nose and smiled wanly. “No, I suppose not.” The dogs sat around her. “But why do you have to be a hangman, Dan Skinslicer? You could be anything—a carpenter or a blacksmith, perhaps, or a butcher, yes, that’s right, a butcher! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“I don’t want to be a butcher, missy, or any of those other things. I execute people and I’m good at it and, Lord knows, we need good ones for the poor souls as come to be sent to us.”
“You could execute people here!” Alice exclaimed wildly.
Dan got up. “Now you’re being fanciful,” he said. “When was the last hanging around here?”
Alice began to cry again. “I don’t know.”
“About a year ago. I asked a man in the village. And there’s never been a drawing and quartering. I get more for that. One hanging a year isn’t going to keep me going. I need to be back in London, where there’s a steady supply. I have my pardon, so nobody will bother me.”
“But won’t you be lonely? How will I visit you? I have to stay here.”
Dan came around to Alice’s side of the table and put his huge hands on her shoulders. “Every time I feel lonely I will think of you,” he said simply, “and I’ll think of how happy—and spoiled—you’ll be with Captain Ffrench. Be nice to him, missy.” Alice stroked Dan’s rough cheek. His voice dropped very low. “I want to ask you something, though,” he said. For once in her life, Alice listened hard. “When I am dying,” Dan spoke so softly, “I want you to come and close my eyes, just like you did for the colonel. I want you to promise me that if it’s possible, and causes you no danger, that the last thing I
shall feel on this earth will be your fingers on my eyelids, because, Alice”—he still faltered at her name—“then I’ll know for certain sure that despite my sins I’m going to rest in peace.”
Alice did not answer. Instead, she climbed off her stool and wound her arms around his neck. They stood, wrapped together, for quite some time, then Dan pulled away, picked up the bag of tools he had left beside the kitchen door, and silently let himself out.
Epilogue
Hew eventually became a Catholic and he and Alice did marry and had lots of children. Neither of them ever forgot Dan, who never married again, and when he caught a fatal fever at the age of seventy, just before the French Revolution, which would, with its scale of executions, have made him a millionaire, Alice answered his call. She traveled to London alone and nursed her old friend patiently through his last months. It was the happiest time Dan had ever known and on days when he felt strong enough, Alice hired a carriage and they picnicked on Kennington Common, reliving old times in the kind of perfect companionship they would never have achieved as man and wife. The day Dan died, it was Alice who closed his eyes, just as he had hoped, and his look of happy peace was so striking that people wondered at it. For a hangman, they said, he must have led a blameless life. Alice took him to Towneley Hall for burial, and she and Hew laid him to rest in the garden with the tools of his trade and a headstone that read:
Dan Skinslicer
Hangman and Jobbing Executioner
HAND ALWAYS STEADY, STEEL ALWAYS SHARP
loved by one who loves him still
Years and years later, Alice and Hew’s descendants became confused and believed that Dan was a blood relation, which didn’t matter because, in a way, he was.
Mrs. Ffrench came up to live at Towneley, where she found Alice to be a wayward but endearing daughter-in-law, and they became friends. Mabel married Lord Trotting and eventually became the Duchess of Cantankering, which was quite apt, as she remained very cantankerous. Unlike her mother, she never really forgave Alice and couldn’t forgive Hew either. When she died, her husband, although far too nice ever to say so, was quite relieved.
