How the Hangman Lost His Heart (16 page)

Minutes later they bumped into each other at the front door. Ursula was wearing her traveling cloak, Lady Widdrington her most sparkling jewelry. “For
goodness' sake, Mother,” Ursula shrieked, “you won't need jewelry if you don't have a HEAD.” She was cut off, midcry, by a knock on the door. With a strangled hiccup, she scurried into the shadows, her nose twitching like a terrified mouse. Surely they were not to be arrested now, just at this last moment?

Lady Widdrington stayed exactly where she was and settled her priceless tiara even more crookedly into her wig.

The tiara was the first thing that caught the eye of Mrs. Ffrench as the door was opened and it took her a little time to adjust her sights downward to the powdered face beneath. “Lady Widdrington?”

“Who else would I be?” Alice's grandmother fixed Mrs. Ffrench with a baleful glare.

Mrs. Ffrench tried to sound strong. “I'm Captain Hew Ffrench's mother.”

“Who?”

Mrs. Ffrench explained, trying not to be disconcerted by Ursula, who had crept out of the shadows and was standing behind Lady Widdrington, signaling through bizarre gesticulations that her mother was, in fact, dotty. Lady Widdrington, who could see Ursula's pantomime reflected in the paint on the door, kicked smartly backward as she listened, catching her daughter's ankle with commendable accuracy.

None of this filled Mrs. Ffrench with hope. She had come to Grosvenor Square to beg Alice's grandmother to use any influence she had to prevent Hew from receiving the ultimate punishment. She herself was going to write to the Duke of Cantankering, she said, but she needed to know that Lady Widdrington would not try to gain her granddaughter's release at the expense of Hew's life. As for Dan Skinslicer, Mrs. Ffrench was worried about him too. The man had a wife, so everybody was saying, and it seemed he had been caught up in this escapade by mischance. “And so was my son,” Mrs. Ffrench insisted firmly. “He was trying to help Alice get Colonel Towneley's head home out of the goodness of his heart.”

Lady Widdrington tilted her own head farther and farther over as she listened until eventually her wig began to topple and plumped onto the floor, the tiara skidding under the sideboard. As Ursula scrabbled to rescue both from the dust, Mrs. Ffrench gave up entirely. These lunatic women, with their chalky scalps and eye-popping fashion sense, were from another planet entirely. She should never have come.

Reunited with her wig and tiara, Lady Widdrington pushed past Mrs. Ffrench, hopped quickly through the door, down the steps, and, before Ursula could stop her, sprang into the carriage that Bunion had obediently brought around. Fizzing like champagne,
she implored him to whip up the horses and was gone. Ursula smacked her hands together. “Stop! Oh, stop! STOP! Don't you love me at all? Are you leaving me to the mercy of the mob, YOU UNFEELING CROW?”

Mrs. Ffrench watched, wanting to do some smacking herself. When Ursula ran back into the house in a fine fit of hysterics, Mrs. Ffrench did not stay to comfort her.

Lord Chief Justice Peckersniff was at home, a handkerchief over his nose. In either hand he held a beautifully heavy bag filled with money he wanted to invest. He did not wish to make a great fortune, only enough to buy a very large house in which he could have some hope of escaping from his wife, the very woman who had been having new teeth fitted on the day of Uncle Frank's execution. Despite all Peckersniff's hopes, the new teeth had done nothing to sweeten his wife's breath, which was still whiffy as a dead pig, and while the Lord Chief Justice did not wish to divorce her, he could no longer bear to be in the same room.

When he heard a carriage draw up, he stuffed the bags into the false seat of his chair and hid behind the curtains, only to find Lady Widdrington staring at him through the window. He could scarcely not ask her in. To start with, their conversation was extremely jerky, since Lady Widdrington could not quite remember
why she had come and Peckersniff would not help her. Naturally, he knew now that the girl he had spotted on the gallows at Uncle Frank's execution was not the hangman's niece but the offspring of highly respectable parents and this rather less respectable grandparent. However, he most certainly didn't want to discuss Alice in case he was required to sit in judgment over her on the bench. “My dear lady, dear lady,” he said gallantly after a few very uncomfortable minutes, “how well your wig looks, really very well, but my, my, is that the time? I must keep a very important appointment. Can I show you—”

“My granddaughter has a head,” said Lady Widdrington. She had been rocking from foot to foot, but now she approached him very fast and Peckersniff had to swerve out of her way.

“And a very pretty one too, I expect,” he replied nervously. He vaguely recalled that Alice
had
been pretty and anyway, in his experience, all grandchildren were pretty to their grandparents.

“She must keep it.”

“Indeed she must,” agreed the judge. “And I am sure, dear lady, that she will, sure she will, I say.”

Lady Widdrington frowned. “And there's a man with two effs,” she said, “although why he has two effs I couldn't say. Anyway, he should keep his, or it will end up in a hatbox, like Frank. Or is he coming to dinner?”
She looked expectantly at Peckersniff. “He's not, though, is he? Body in a box. Was that because Frank only has one eff?”

Peckersniff waved his hands, as if by catching the words and putting them in a different order he might discover what on earth they meant. Lady Widdrington followed his hands for a moment or two, then began to cry. Peckersniff was horrified. Now he would have to give her his handkerchief! He stood like a paralyzed heron, one bandy leg rooted to the floor. But it was no good. He couldn't allow a lady's nose to run uncovered. He leaned toward Lady Widdrington. Unfortunately, she mistook his gesture, ignored the handkerchief, and wiped powder all over his smoking jacket.

Some faint girlhood memory triggered by the feel of the silk lapel cheered Lady Widdrington. She stopped crying and swiftly became spookily flirtatious. “Oh, sir!” She gave a girlish simper. “I want my granddaughter back, and the hatbox she is so attached to, and the man with two effs, because his mother asks so nicely. You could do that for me, couldn't you?” She rolled back her lips. At least
her
gums weren't black. “I've a daughter,” she wheedled. “She's a little plain but you'd never know it in the dark.”

“Madam, madam, madam!” cried the scandalized judge. “Please. I have a wife, a wife, indeed, whom I'm
expecting shortly, expecting shortly, d'ye hear? Now, I can do nothing to help you. Nothing. Justice must be done, justice I say. That is clear. That is sufficient. That is all.” He remembered his position and frowned the frown of a man with the power of life or death. It had taken a long time to perfect this frown, but it had been more useful than a whole study of books. It was useful now. Lady Widdrington backed away and, skillful as a sheepdog, Lord Chief Justice Peckersniff hurried her out the way she had come in.

It was not until he saw her face peering from the carriage window, like a ferret in a hutch, that he sank into his chair and placed a clean handkerchief over his face. But there was still no peace. Under his left buttock was something hard and bulgy. He tugged it out. It was a jeweled bracelet, thick as a horse's girth, and valuable as a king's ransom. The scrawly writing on the note attached simply said, “Ffor you iff you ffree Alice, Ffrank, and Ffrench.” Peckersniff held the treasure out as if it was contaminated, but the diamonds and rubies winked their devilish eyes at him, reflecting back not himself but a pleasure dome with parklands and a small gazebo all of his own. When his reverie was broken by his wife's ponderous tread and her infernal “Peckie, my love?” he gave a great groan and slipped the price of freedom into his pocket.

It was standing room only in the court and the jurymen looked very self-important as they took their seats. It was rumored that the king himself might pay a visit and, although he never actually showed up, a small box was kept empty for his use. The first dispute was about the head, for Uncle Frank too was to be tried for colluding in his own head's removal and there had already been much discussion as to whether or not he should be openly displayed in the courtroom. Some argued that the sight would be too upsetting for the ladies, but from the ladies' objections it was clear that they would be more upset if Colonel Towneley, about whom they had heard so much, remained hidden. The clerk of the court hesitated, looking to Peckersniff for guidance.

The Lord Chief Justice, two handkerchiefs at his nose today, didn't care either way. All he wanted was silence in the court. “Oh, very well, very well I say. Put out the head,” he ordered impatiently. There would be no peace until this was done.

There were gasps as Uncle Frank appeared. Mrs. Ffrench and Mabel, who were in the body of the court, sat a little straighter and Lady Widdrington, who was sitting right at the front of the gallery above, gave a shrill kind of whistle. But nobody fainted, for Frank's head looked rather fine on its horsehair base. What was more, he had such an intelligent look in his eyes that several times during the morning Peckersniff inadvertently found himself addressing him directly.

Proceedings began. Alice was to be tried first and the charges against her were read out by a pompous young clerk. However, the charges were so badly framed that she couldn't honestly plead guilty and waxed very indignant as she was sent back to the holding cell during a short refreshment recess. “I didn't conspire against either the king's majesty or his person,” she complained to Hew and Dan. “I never heard such a thing. I'll plead guilty to theft but nothing else.”

They nodded encouragement at her. All three had been imprisoned together in Newgate for nearly a fortnight before their trial began and during that time Hew's regard for Alice had grown tenfold, for she had comported herself with admirable fortitude and common sense. An outside observer might have thought her brazen or rash as she teased the prisoners in neighboring cells with more wit and spirit than either Dan or Hew could muster. The whole prison
had heard her too, as she whiled away the hours with unlikely stories of rescues and resurrection. The guards found her almost cheeky.

But in those dead hours of the night, when the icy chill had made her bones ache and the groans echoing off the walls brought her worst nightmares to life, her courage had often failed her, and Hew and Dan had stayed by her while she sobbed quietly. “Will it be terrible, what they do to us?” she had asked again and again. “I'm not brave. I don't want to die.” They had tried to reassure her and warm her, but usually failed at both.

It was a relief, in many ways, that the trial had started, even though Alice could not help flinching when the usher's voice boomed to summon her back once the break was over.

Hew hugged her. “You're as brave as a lion,” he said, “and a credit to your uncle. The jury will surely see you meant no harm.” Dan said the same, but their encouragement was forced. After she had gone, they were awkward with each other, each dreaming their private dreams in which the other, most certainly, did not feature.

By the time Alice was back in the dock, the witnesses had lined up and she saw Major Slavering, arms crossed, licking his lips like a dog-fox anticipating a feast. Alice gave him a look of queenly disgust.

The witnesses were many and all had seen the same thing. The accused, Alice Towneley, had stolen the head of her uncle, Colonel Francis Towneley, from the top of Temple Bar. She had then run off with it and, while doing so, had caused an affray in Grosvenor Square and later in Lincoln's Inn Fields. She had also stolen a mount rightly belonging to Kingston's Light Horse and in their individual and collective opinion, for all her angelic looks—Alice squirmed at this point—she was as wicked as any highwayman and worse.

The jury took only moments to find her guilty as charged and Peckersmith had no option but to prepare himself for the sentence. He tried not to think of Lady Widdrington's bracelet bribe, but just as he reached sadly for his black cap Alice finally lost her temper and shot to her feet. “Now look here!” she cried before anybody could stop her, “I just wanted to bury my uncle Frank properly. Is that treason? The king took my uncle's life, but what on earth can he achieve by flaunting his dead head? My goodness me”—she got that phrase from her mother—“what century are we living in? Civilization is our watchword”—that was from her father—“yet we still chop people up and use their poor bodies as flags.” Quite ignorant of court etiquette, she turned on the jurymen. “Haven't any of you got uncles or aunts,
or any relations for that matter? Would you be happy to see their heads pecked by birds on top of Temple Bar? I mean, even if you didn't like them, they surely deserve better than that. I only did what any of you would have done. Look at my uncle Frank.” The jurymen swiveled around and found Frank looking suitably contrite. Major Slavering leaned forward, enjoying the show. “I loved him.” Alice's voice was a little choked now. “That's why I did it. If the king was here, I'd tell him that. Only he's not.” She sat down with a thump.

There was great whispering among the jury. Many of them thought about their uncles and aunts. Then one was pushed toward Peckersniff. “We think, possibly, mercy, Your Honor,” he murmured. “Not the drop. She's very young.” That juryman can never have known how very nearly he was kissed. The bracelet sparkled again in Peckersniff's mind. But only for a moment. The jury were likely to be much harder on the captain. Nevertheless, if they had already lost their appetite for executions, Hew Ffrench might yet be lucky. He asked Alice to stand and, to conceal his relief, spoke to her with all the severity of his office. “Mistress Towneley, you are guilty as charged,” he said, “but mercy has been recommended by a jury of your peers. I therefore do not sentence you to execution, but rather banish you from London.
Indeed, you are to go back to your family's home, which, I understand, is in Lancashire, and once there you are to remain within five miles of its front door for at least ten years. You must go there right now. Do you understand?”