William the Fourth by Richmal Crompton

battered penknife.
    ‘We may want arms,’ he said; ‘keep your dagger handy’
    He pulled his school cap low down over his eyes. Ginger did the same, then looked at the one broken blade of his penknife.
    ‘I don’t think mine would kill anyone,’ he said. ‘Does it matter?’
    ‘You’ll have to knock yours on the head with something,’ said Rudolph of the Red Hand grimly. ‘You know we may be imprisoned, or hung, or somethin’, for
this.’
    ‘Rather!’ said Ginger, with the true spirit of the bravado, ‘an’ I don’t care.’
    They tramped across the fields in silence, William leading. In spite of his occasional exasperation, Ginger had infinite trust in William’s capacity for attracting adventure.
    They walked down the road and across a stile. The stile led to a field that bordered the Grange. Suddenly they stopped. A small white figure was crawling through a gap in the hedge from the park
into the field. William had come out with no definite aim, but he began to think that Fortune had placed in his way a tempting prize. He turned round to his follower with a resonant
‘Shh!’, scowled at him, placed his finger on his lips, twirled imaginary moustachios, and pulled his cap low over his eyes. Through the trees inside the park he could just see the
figure of a nurse on a seat leaning against a tree trunk in an attitude of repose. Suddenly Lady Barbara looked up and espied William’s fiercely scowling face.
    She put out her tongue.
    William’s scowl deepened.
    She glanced towards her nurse on the other side of the hedge. Her nurse still slumbered. Then she accosted William.
    ‘Hello, funny boy!’ she whispered. Rudolph of the Red Hand froze her with a glance.
    ‘Quick!’ he said. ‘Seize the maiden and run!’
    With a dramatic gesture he seized the maiden by one hand, and Ginger seized the other. The maiden was not hard to seize. She ran along with little squeals of joy.
    ‘Oh, what fun! What fun!’ she said.
    Inside the barn, William closed the door and sat at his packing-case. He took a deep draught of liquorice water and then put on his mask. His victim gave a wild scream of delight and clapped her
hands.
    ‘Oh, funny boy!’ she said.
    William was annoyed.
    ‘It’s not funny’ he said irritably. ‘It’s jolly well not funny. You’re kidnapped. That’s what you are. Unhand the maiden, dog,’ he said to
Ginger.
    Ginger was looking rather sulky. ‘All right, I’m not handing her,’ he said, ‘an’ when you’ve quite finished with the liquorice water—’
    ‘Grog,’ corrected William, sternly
    ‘Well, grog, then, an’ I helped to make it, p’raps you’ll let me have a drink.’
    William handed him the bottle, with a flourish.
    ‘Finish it, dog,’ he said, with a short, scornful laugh.
    The vibration of the short, scornful laugh caused his bacchic mask (never very secure) to fall off on to the packing-case. Lady Barbara gave another scream of ecstasy
    ‘Oh, do it again, boy’ she said.
    William glanced at her coldly, and put on the mask again. Then he swept her a stately bow, holding on to his mask with one hand.
    ‘Fair maiden,’ he said, ‘unless thy father bring me sixty thousand crowns by tonight, thy doom is sealed. Thou shalt swing from yon lone pine.’
    He pointed dramatically out of the window to a diminutive hawthorn hedge.
    The captive whirled round on one foot, fair curls flying.
    ‘Oh, he’s going to make me a swing! Nice boy!’
    William rose, majestic and stately, still cautiously holding his mask. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Rudolph of the Red Hand.’
    ‘FAIR MAID,’ HE SAID, ‘UNLESS THY FATHER BRING ME SIXTY THOUSAND CROWNS, THOU SHALT SWING FROM YON LONE PINE.’
    ‘Well, I’ll kiss you, dear Rudolph Hand,’ she said, ‘if you like.’
    William’s look intimated that he did not like.
    ‘Oh, you’re shy !’ said Lady Barbara, delightedly.
    ‘Let her be treated,’ William said, ‘with all courtesy till this even.’
    ‘Well,’