Free The Original Miss Honeyford by M.C. Beaton

on him. He saw them ahead of him just as they were leaving Ludgate Hill to go to the hanging. He ran back here as fast as he could and I sent him on to Mrs. Osborne to call your ladyship home.”
    “He should have stayed with them,” snapped Lady Canon. “He should have taken Miss Honeyford away.”
    “Begging your pardon, my lady, there’s more. I had gone out on the step to send John on his way to tell you when Lord Alistair happened to walk past, and, seeing my evident agitation, he demanded to know what was amiss.”
    “Dear God, you never told him that Miss Honeyford had gone to a public hanging?”
    “I am afraid I did, my lady. Lord Alistair said he would go in that direction and see what he could do.”
    “I do not see how he can possibly find one girl among thousands,” said Lady Canon. “This is a wretched business. At least Lord Alistair will not talk. We must simply wait until she comes home. Do not look so worried, Beecham. I am not angry with you. You did everything you could.”
    And since the news of the terrible crowd deaths at the hanging had not yet filtered to the fashionable West End, Lady Canon decided to pass the time until Honey came home by preparing the lecture she was going to give that young miss when she eventually returned.
    *   *   *
    The screams of the crowd were deafening. Honey twisted her head, desperately seeking escape, and seeing only panic-stricken faces as everyone pushed and shoved and bit and clawed, trying to make their escape.
    She knew she could not keep her senses for very much longer. She raised her eyes. Far above was the blue, blue sky.
    There was another great surge as the people in front of Honey turned about and tried to push to the back. She stumbled backward against the buildings, feeling the black mass of the crowd beginning to press the life out of her.
    And then she saw a rope dangling in front of her face.
    She seized it tightly and screamed for help, her scream being lost among the screams and roars of the rabble.
    Slowly Honey was pulled up above the crowd, although for several agonizing moments she thought she would never be free of the press around her. Her arms felt as if they were about to be pulled out of their sockets. A man jumped and struck at her but was knocked back by the stumbling and grabbing of the people about him. The blow sent Honey spinning out over a sea of upturned faces. Then she swung back toward the buildings and stuck her feet out to brace herself for the impact. The jolt when it came was severe, but she held on tightly to the rope and “walked” her way up the side of the building, praying her unseen rescuer would not let her drop.
    “Hold the rope and let me get her,” came a familiar voice. Lord Alistair’s head and shoulders appeared out of the window. His strong arms seized her and pulled her in over the sill.
    Honey fell in a heap on the floor. Lord Alistair eyed her with dislike.
    When he had arrived at the scene of the hanging, he had been appalled at the chaos. There was no way of finding Honey among all these people. The screams of the dying and wounded were dreadful. The worst scenes were over at the corner of Green Arbor Lane, near Skinner Street. By vaulting over a wall which led to the back of the house, followed by his groom, Ben, he was able to bribe his way into the second floor of a house which overlooked the worst of the chaos. He hung out of the window and scanned the crowd below. Like a kind of mockery, the sun was shining brightly. Lord Alistair watched helplessly as a pieman dropped his tray, and, bending to retrieve the contents, was trampled to death. Several others went down with him, never to rise again.
    He looked immediately below, attracted by the screams from those who were being crushed against the buildings.
    That was when he saw the sunlight glinting on a head of short chestnut curls.
    “A rope!” he called over his shoulder to his groom. “Fetch a rope, Ben.”
    Ben was soon back with a