aldermen, I discovered, are the legal employers of the hangman and the wretch has petitioned us for an assistant. One never likes to disburse funds unnecessarily, so two of us undertook to discover the demands of his work.'
'And have you made a decision yet?' Eleanor asked.
'We're taking the Sheriff's advice,' Sir Henry said. 'My own inclination was to refuse the request, but I confess that might have been mere prejudice against the hangman. He struck me as a vile wretch, vile!'
'Not an employment that would attract persons of quality,' Eleanor remarked drily.
'Botting, he's called, James Botting.' Sir Henry shuddered. 'Hanging's not a pretty thing, Rider, have you ever seen one?'
'I've seen men after they've been hanged,' Sandman said, thinking of Badajoz with its ditch streaming with blood and its streets filled with screams. The British army, breaking into the Spanish city despite a grim French defence, had inflicted a terrible revenge on the inhabitants and Wellington had ordered the hangmen to cool the redcoats' anger. 'We used to hang plunderers,' he explained to Sir Henry.
'I suppose you had to,' Sir Henry said. 'It's a terrible death, terrible. But necessary, of course, no one disputes that…'
'They do,' his daughter put in.
'No one of sound mind disputes it,' her father amended his statement firmly, 'but I trust I shall never have to witness another.'
'I should like to see one,' Eleanor said.
'Don't be ridiculous,' her father snapped.
'I should!' Eleanor insisted. 'We are constantly told that the purpose of execution is twofold; to punish the guilty and to deter others from crime, to which intent it is presented as a public spectacle, so my immortal soul would undoubtedly be safer if I was to witness a hanging and thus be prejudiced against whatever crime I might one day be tempted to commit.' She looked from her bemused father to Sandman, then back to her father again. 'You're thinking I'm an unlikely felon, Papa? That's kind of you, but I'm sure the girl who was hanged last Monday was an unlikely felon.'
Sandman looked at Sir Henry, who nodded unwilling confirmation. 'They hanged a girl, I'm afraid,' he said, then stared at the rug, 'and only a young thing, Rider. Only a young thing.'
'Perhaps,' Eleanor persisted, 'if her father had taken her to witness a hanging then she would have been deterred from her crime. You could even say, Papa, that you are failing in your Christian and paternal duty if you do not take me to Newgate.'
Sir Henry stared at her, not certain that she was talking in jest, then he looked at Sandman and shrugged as if to suggest that his daughter was not to be taken seriously. 'So you think, Rider, that my servants might have heard of this girl Meg's fate?'
'I was hoping so, sir. Or that they could ask questions of the servants who live in Mount Street. The Avebury house isn't a stone's throw away and I'm sure all the servants in the area know each other.'
'I'm sure Lizzie knows everyone,' Eleanor said pointedly.
'My dear,' her father spoke sternly, 'these are delicate matters, not a game.'
Eleanor gave her father an exasperated look. 'It is servants' gossip, Papa, and Hammond is above such things. Lizzie, on the other hand, thrives on it.'
Sir Henry shifted uncomfortably. 'There's no danger, is there?' he asked Sandman.
'I can't think so, sir. As Eleanor says, we only want to know where the girl Meg went, and that's merely gossip.'
'Lizzie can explain her interest by saying one of our coachmen was sweet on her,' Eleanor said enthusiastically. Her father was unhappy at the thought of involving Eleanor, but he was almost incapable of refusing his daughter. She was his only child and such was his affection for her that he might even have permitted her to marry Sandman despite Sandman's poverty and despite the disgrace attendant on his family, but Lady Forrest had other ideas. Eleanor's mother had always seen Rider Sandman as second best. It was true that when the original engagement took place Sandman had the prospect of considerable wealth, enough to have persuaded Lady Forrest that he would just about make an acceptable son-in-law, but he did not have the one thing Lady Forrest wanted above all else for her daughter. He had no title and Lady Forrest dreamt that Eleanor would one day be a duchess, a marchioness, a countess or, at the very least, a lady. Sandman's impoverishment had given Lady Forrest the excuse to pounce and her husband, for all his indulgence of Eleanor, could not prevail against his wife's determination that her child should be the titled mistress of marble stairways, vast acres and ballrooms large enough to manoeuvre whole brigades.
So though Eleanor might not marry where she wanted, she would be allowed to ask her maidservant to delve the gossip from Mount Street. 'I shall write to you,' Eleanor said to Sandman, 'if you tell me where?'
'Care of the Wheatsheaf,' Sandman told her, 'in Drury Lane.'
Eleanor stood and, rising onto tiptoe, kissed her father's cheek. 'Thank you, Papa,' she said.
'Whatever for?'
'For letting me do something useful, even if it is only encouraging Lizzie's propensity for gossip, and thank you, Rider.' She took his hand. 'I'm proud of you.'
'I hope you always were.'
'Of course I was, but this is a good thing you're doing.' She held onto his hand as the door opened.
Lady Forrest came in. She had the same red hair and the same beauty and the same force of character as her daughter, though Eleanor's grey eyes and intelligence had come from her father. Lady Forrest's eyes widened when she saw her daughter holding Sandman by the hand, but she forced a smile. 'Captain Sandman,' she greeted him in a voice that could have cut glass, 'this is a surprise.'
'Lady Forrest,' Sandman managed a bow, despite his trapped hand.
'Just what are you doing, Eleanor?' Lady Forrest's voice was now only a few degrees above freezing.
'Reading Rider's palm, Mama.'
'Ah!' Lady Forrest was immediately intrigued. She feared her daughter's unsuitable attachment to a pauper, but was thoroughly attracted to the idea of supernatural forces. 'She will never read mine, Captain,' Lady Forrest said, 'she refuses. So what do you see there?'
Eleanor pretended to scrutinise Sandman's palm. 'I scry,' she said portentously, 'a journey.'
'Somewhere pleasant, I hope?' Lady Forrest said.
To Scotland,' Eleanor said.
'It can be very pleasant at this time of year,' Lady Forrest remarked.
Sir Henry, wiser than his wife, saw a reference to Gretna Green looming. 'Enough, Eleanor,' he said quietly.
'Yes, Papa,' Eleanor let go of Sandman's hand and dropped her father a curtsey.
'So what brings you here, Rid—' Lady Forrest almost forgot herself, but managed a timely correction. 'Captain?'
'Rider very kindly brought me news of a rumour that the Portuguese might be defaulting on their short-term loans,' Sir Henry answered for Sandman, 'which doesn't surprise me, I must say. We advised against the conversion, as you'll remember, my dear.'
'You did, dear, I'm sure.' Lady Forrest was not sure at all, but she was nevertheless satisfied with the explanation. 'Now, come, Eleanor,' she said, 'tea is being served and you are ignoring our guests. We have Lord Eagleton here,' she told Sandman proudly.
Lord Eagleton was the man whom Eleanor was supposed to be marrying and Sandman flinched. 'I'm not acquainted with his lordship,' he said stiffly.
'Hardly surprising,' Lady Forrest said, 'for he only moves in the best of circles. Henry, must you smoke in here?'
'Yes,' Sir Henry said, 'I must.'
'I do hope you enjoy your visit to Scotland, Captain,' Lady Forrest said, then led her daughter away and closed the door on the cigar smoke.
'Scotland,' Sir Henry said gloomily, then shook his head. 'They don't hang nearly as many in Scotland as we do in England and Wales. Yet, I believe, the murder rate is no higher.' He stared at Sandman. 'Strange that, wouldn't you say?'
'Very strange, sir.'
