by K. M. Grant
Dan picked up his bundle and moved away. He strolled aimlessly for a bit, then, when the air was full of the clank and hiss of a dozen blacksmiths hard at work, he walked through an arch, down a cobbled passageway, past three sets of stalls, and into a flagged harness room. He moved swiftly. If anybody challenged him, he would say he was a chef looking for the kitchens.
The harness store was filled with bridles and saddles, and underneath the pegs lurked a dozen or so pairs of enormous boots. Dan suddenly saw the first flaw in his plan. Alice was so slight. The uniform of even the smallest trooper would drown her. He frowned, then he heard noises behind him and made for the door. He was too late to get out and two troopers pushed passed him. They barely looked at him. Dan relaxed a little, even nodding to them as he moved on. He must keep calm. At the far end of the next room was a small stone staircase that Dan climbed to find himself in a dormitory. Uniforms were all over the place here, some folded neatly, some heaped in piles. Even better, the troopers on the bunks were all fast asleep. Tiptoeing across, Dan held a coat against himself. It was much too small for a man of his girth so he threw it down and picked up another, and another and another, until he found a reasonable fit. As he stripped, one of the sleeping beauties gurgled and rolled over, waking another, who sat up and threw a boot before covering his own head with a blanket. Dan stood, half in and half out of his new britches, until the snores were regular again. Then he pulled on the rest of the uniform and rolled his own clothes in with his knives and scissors. He had only just time to cram a hat onto his head and seize a sword before he heard laughing and stamping on the stairs and the room was filled with soldiers returning from their shift. Some looked at him curiously, and one or two were puzzled, for they could not place him, but before any could speak Dan made for the door. It was as he ran down the steps that he bumped flat into Hew himself. Only the shadows saved Dan from instant recognition.
“What are you doing in full uniform, trooper?” Hew asked sharply, for he had not heard that the men in barracks were to be ordered out and hoped this did not herald bad news about any sighting of Alice.
“I’m, er, I’ve got to go and see the general,” Dan replied, trying to imply that his business was too urgent to brook any interruption. Hew would have pressed him further had not a commotion in the yard distracted him. One of the horses wasn’t happy. “Very well, then,” he said. “About your business.”
“Sir.” Dan was not sure if he was meant to touch his hat or not, so he simply lifted his arm a little and carried on down the steps.
“The general’s not down there,” came Hew’s voice. “He’s up in his quarters.”
Dan stopped. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and had to turn around and pass Hew again. Fortunately, Hew’s attention was already elsewhere. Nevertheless, he did not leave until he had seen Dan disappear.
The first floor was very comfortable, with rugs, hangings, and armchairs. The general was nowhere to be seen. Dan hesitated, wondering if Hew would still be lurking, but before he could tiptoe down to see, he heard somebody approaching. Losing his cool completely, he rushed toward a small door set in an alcove. It was unlocked and Dan tumbled through. This room was in the most awful mess, with clothes scattered all over the beds. Dan hid, then, when nobody came in after him, picked up some of the items, and, even though his pulse was racing, grinned. God was really smiling! The general had sons and the boys had obviously been given Kingston’s uniforms as fancy dress. Here was stuff that might just fit Alice. Yanking up the corners of a blanket, so that everything—shirts, breeches, sashes, gloves, stockings, boots, coats, hats, and swords—dumped into the middle, Dan was thinking perfectly clearly again. If no bits of uniform remained for either boy, it would be assumed that the servants had put them away. It would be hours before anybody suspected they had been stolen. He knotted the blanket and hung it over his shoulder, opened the door a crack, and found himself confronted directly not only by the general’s back but by the regimental cat.
The cat gave a loud meow and, before Dan could stop it, wedged itself between the door and the doorpost. The general half-turned, bent down, and waggled his fingers. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he cooed. Dan willed the cat to move, but it only arched at him and purred. “Go on back to your kittens, then, kitty, kitty, kitty.” The general’s tone was sickly sweet, but Dan knew this was reserved strictly for animals. When addressing humans, it was lethal. He reversed at high speed. Just as he reached the window, his blanket sack began to move. At first the movements were so small Dan hardly felt them, but as the cat in the doorway’s purr grew louder, so the movements in the blanket grew stronger, and even through his uniform coat he felt tiny claws scratching. Gods alive! The cat must have made a nest for the kittens on the bed and he had swept them all up. The door was pushed wider. The general was coming in. He stopped short when he saw Dan. “I say,” he began.
Dan did not wait to hear any more but smashed the window and leaped. The drop was not huge and he landed safely on the roof above the horses’ stalls. The crashing and splintering seemed ear-splitting and one of the boys’ boots escaped, thumping slowly over the slates before teetering and toppling into the dungheap steaming gently below. Dan was flat on his back and, before he could get up, he felt a small, neat weight land on his chest. The cat, in pursuit of her kittens, had leaped after him. Dan tried to push her away, but she insisted on clinging to him, cross now, for her kittens were wailing. Two or three white faces, cute as could be, peered out of the blanket. The bravest emerged and wanted to play. Framed by jagged glass, the general was looking down, too astonished to shout—yet.
Dan knew he had only a few seconds. Pulling as many kittens from his bundle as he could find, he plucked the cat from his shirt and, grabbing everything else, ran to the edge of the roof and jumped again.
The landing in the dungheap was foul, but although Dan sank up to his armpits it was at least soft—and he had kept hold of the bundle. Something surprised him, though. The heat was intense, for the middle of a well-made dungheap is hot as an oven, and the Kingston’s men prided themselves on being able to cook potatoes in theirs. It was quite impossible to stay still. Not that this mattered. The general’s head had disappeared. He was not wasting time shouting. He was on his way down.
With great difficulty, for the dungheap was keen to suck him under, Dan clambered and clawed his way out and ran straight into the stables. They were full of men grooming or lounging on the water barrels and when they saw him they roared with laughter. “Fell into the muck heap,” Dan called, and sped out the other side. There was no time to rinse himself under the pump and he still didn’t have Uncle Frank. “Surely missy’ll understand,” he told himself as he slid around the feed room, leaving smelly brown splashes in his wake. He could hear the general’s voice and slowed down, forcing himself to break cover and march casually across the yard. He would be done for if he couldn’t get out but he must not, must not, look like a man in a panic. Settling his bundle more firmly under his arm and with a face as red as a beetroot, he managed a jaunty wave at the sentry, who, only vaguely aware of the hullabaloo, saluted. As Dan passed through the gate, he copied the sentry’s actions and saluted back. No mean feat, he thought as he finally allowed himself to run, for a hangman whose boots are filled with manure.
8
It was evening by the time he got back to Alice and before he could say much at all she collapsed into furious tears. He had been away far too long. What did he mean, he had been messing about with kittens? She had been frantic with worry. And she was starving. Eventually, Dan stopped speaking. It wasn’t worth it because she wasn’t listening. He let her shout and bawl. It seemed easier.
He was no longer in his Kingston’s uniform, having changed out of it by a stream and attempted to wash it. He had also stolen some loaves from a baker’s windowsill and produced a loaf now, watching as Alice, with a small hiccup, grabbed it and crammed it into her mouth.
“You’ll be sick if you eat like that,” he o
bserved. “Nonsense,” she mumbled, spraying crumbs. “I’m never sick.”
“You were sick at Colonel Towneley’s execution,” he reminded her.
“That was different.” She wolfed down a bit more, then had to take a breather. “This is so fresh. Just like we get at home. Uncle Frank could eat a whole loaf at once, although not without butter.” She stopped chewing. “You’ve got more than his head in that bundle, Dan Skinslicer.” With bread in her stomach, Alice felt much better and was prepared to be nicer.
Dan braced himself. “I’m afraid I never found Uncle Frank,” he said, and blocked his ears as the tirade began again. She went on and on, and on and on some more, but by the time she cried her final “So now what are we going to do?” the response was a gentle snore. Dan had fallen asleep where he sat.
Alice shut her mouth with a snap. He was hopeless. She would never, never have returned without Uncle Frank. There must have been a way to find him. She grumbled to herself and, deliberately not waiting until Dan woke up, ripped open the bundle with bad grace. However, as she unwrapped the uniforms and found the swords, her muttering ceased and her bad temper began to dissolve. She had not been entirely fair. Poor Dan had, after all, walked miles and his booty, she had to admit, was really very splendid. They would be two dragoons together. She ate another loaf of bread more slowly and thoughtfully before she lay down. Dan was clever after all. She would tell him so in the morning.
She didn’t, because they were both stiff and grumpy. Then she couldn’t help giggling as Dan squeezed himself into his uniform because, in truth, the breeches were at least one size too small. “They looked well enough in the barracks,” Dan said resentfully when he eventually managed to do them up. Alice, however, was soon perfectly attired from top to toe and Dan was invited to admire her dashing looks as she bound up her hair under her hat and buckled on her sword. “There,” she exclaimed, shaking the grass seeds out of Marron’s tail. “I’d fool even Captain Ffrench.”
“I dare say,” said Dan drily, pushing his feet unwillingly back into his boots. Even though the manure was gone, the memory of it, along with more than a faint whiff, would take a long time to banish. “Now, let’s head north.”
Alice stopped prancing about. “North?” she queried. “Oh no, Dan, we’re going back into London. I told you. We can’t go north without Uncle Frank.”
“Don’t be foolish now,” said Dan, his expression darkening. “You’ve done your very best. The colonel knows how brave you are. You don’t have to prove anything to him. We’ll go north and, when you are safe at home, I promise I will come back. Who knows, maybe your father can do something.”
“But I want to take Uncle Frank home myself.” Alice could feel her voice rising like a child’s and didn’t like it. But really, who was Dan to tell her what to do? If he had failed to get Uncle Frank, she certainly wouldn’t. Rolling up her discarded skirts and tying them behind the saddle, she mounted. “Are you coming or not?” she asked, trying to pretend she didn’t care either way.
Dan climbed clumsily on to the major’s horse. “I’m going where you are going,” he said, his mouth set, “but we’re both going north.”
“You don’t have to come with me.” Alice jammed her hat more firmly onto her head and aimed Marron south. “But whatever you say, I am going to get Uncle Frank. The uniform you so kindly brought will be quite enough protection.” Her politeness was like the prick of a needle.
Dan pushed Belter in front of Marron and tried to make the horse turn. “The uniform will not make you invisible,” he said. “If they look close, they’ll see at once who you are.” He dug Belter harder in the ribs and gave her a sideways look. “If that happens, you know, Captain Ffrench will certainly be questioned. Major Slavering will have guessed by now that it was him who gave us time to get out of your granny’s window.”
Alice flushed, but still did not hesitate. Indeed, she just sat up a little taller and wondered how well the uniform suited her. “Good-bye, then, Dan Skinslicer,” she said, urging Marron into a trot. “I’m sure my father will give you a good welcome and I’ll follow on as soon as I can.”
Dan swore loudly and, thinking to teach Alice a lesson, tried to leave her. But Belter was reluctant, then downright pig-headed, and whipped around to catch up with his friend. When Dan appeared, unwillingly, alongside her, Alice gave him the one-raised-eyebrow treatment. But Dan did not smile and, as they rode along, his face looked even more like a cobblestone than usual.
It was at least half an hour before Alice broke the silence. “If you try to stand in your stirrups, then fall naturally, then stand again, you will soon be able to rise to the trot and be much more comfortable,” she said, trying to sound conciliatory rather than smug. “John, our head groom, taught me that when I first started to ride.”
Dan sniffed. Alice gave up, but when she next looked over, Dan’s broad forehead was red under his three-cornered hat and his cheeks were puffing as he bounced. “Glory be,” he burst out at last, “this must be worse than being at sea.”
The frost was broken. Alice gave him her most captivating smile.
“Do you always get your own way?” Dan asked after Alice had shown him how to hold the reins properly and what his legs were for.
“Usually,” she admitted, quite unperturbed by the implied criticism, “but I’m always very nice about it.” Dan shook his head, but he could not help grinning. Alice looked at him and nodded approvingly. “You’re quite a stylish rider, Dan Skinslicer,” she said. “When we’ve got Uncle Frank’s head, we’ll make excellent time home.”
Dan grunted. “Maybe we won’t find it.”
But Alice tossed her hair. “We will find it,” she said, and, as if to underline her certainty, kicked Marron into a canter.
It was not long before they saw some troopers dressed similarly to themselves and, catching them up, they fell in right at the back. Nobody questioned them, for unfamiliar dragoons were often appearing, replacing those lost at the battle of Culloden earlier in the year. Some of the men spoke to Dan, and he, with a native cunning he was fast picking up from Alice, confided that his slim companion was the young son of a high-ranking officer and had been entrusted to him to look after. “Best not to speak to him,” Dan whispered. “He’s a right snotty-nosed little fop.” Alice never knew why the troopers avoided her, but Dan smiled a tiny smile to himself and settled back in his saddle. Just before the barracks, he and Alice peeled off. Nobody bade them good-bye. Nobody even saw them go.
Inside the barracks, Major Slavering had not slept well. As more and more of his crack troops straggled in empty-handed, with no news at all of Alice, Dan, or the two stolen horses, his temper grew shorter and shorter. “Call yourselves soldiers,” he stormed as the men stood in the mustering yard, tired and disconsolate, wanting only a decent breakfast. “How can a couple of cranks carrying a head have got past you?”
There was muttering among the troopers and one took his courage in his hands. “When we chased the two villains around Grosvenor Square,” he said, nervous but buoyed up by his fellows, “we didn’t see no ’ead.”
“Of course you didn’t,” replied the major, eyeballing the unfortunate soldier. “They’d have wrapped it in something. Dangling heads from saddles went out some time ago. Is that not so, Captain Ffrench? You are the educated one among us.” Hew was standing behind the major. “How would you think they are carrying it?”
Hew cleared his throat. “I imagine in a cloak or something,” he said.
The major looked more closely at him. “Did you see anything containing a head when that traitorous couple made their escape?”
“No, Major, I didn’t,” said Hew, “but maybe one of them was holding it on the side away from me.”
“Perhaps.” Slavering scrutinized his captain. Hew’s dark eyes were so irritatingly honest. But now they seemed to have some kind of veil over them, a veil that told Slavering, as clear as a public announcement, that Hew was harboring a secret. Ever since Ali
ce’s unexpected catapulting from the ladder, the major had entertained doubts about his captain’s commitment to bringing the girl to justice and it seemed more than curious that whenever Alice vanished, Hew was in the vicinity. Slavering walked forward until his face was only an inch from Hew’s nose. “If that girl and her accomplice were not carrying the head,” he said slowly, brushing an imaginary spot of dirt from Hew’s shoulder, “perhaps they have left it in that house in Grosvenor Square where, I believe, the grandmother and aunt live. Should we conduct a thorough search and bring the two ladies here to question them? Ladies like that can’t be so very hard to break.”
Hew did not allow himself to flinch but, behind his back, one hand formed a fist. “We could go and search the house, if you like,” he said evenly, “but if the girl did leave the colonel’s head—”
“The traitor’s head,” the major hissed, standing so close to Hew that their buttons touched.
“The head.” Hew would make no further concession. “If they did leave it in Grosvenor Square, I’m sure the two ladies will know nothing about it. One is extremely old—I’m told the king believes she is the oldest person in London—and the other is, well, certainly eccentric.” The effect was as Hew hoped. The reference to the king was enough to have the major step backward. Nobody wanted to fall afoul of the king. It was safe to tease and misuse the unpopular Duke of Mimsdale, but Lady Widdrington was a riskier target.
Slavering paced up and down. “That laundry basket,” he said abruptly. “You returned it to the laundryman?”