Shadow of the Hangman (14 page)

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘You’re the only person he confides in. Has he said anything to you?’

‘He talks to me now and then,’ she replied with a meaningful smile, ‘because he knows he can trust me.’

‘I’m justly rebuked,’ he said, raising apologetic palms. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. What he does when he’s not working on an investigation is his own business.’

‘I endorse that feeling. As for the bout you had with him yesterday, Paul does have these upsurges of energy. He loves to flex his muscles.’

‘He did a lot more than flex them yesterday, Charlotte. His energy was surging like a waterfall. I pity anyone who takes him on when he’s as angry as that.’

It was the second time that Paul Skillen had been caught off guard. When he went to explore another Irish enclave in the city, he made the mistake of taking Hannah Granville with him. She occupied his mind so fully that he forgot where he was and why he’d come there. It was only when someone bumped into him that his reverie was shattered.

‘A thousand apologies, sir,’ said an Irish voice. ‘It was an accident.’

Paul was stirred. ‘You did that on purpose, you liar.’

The man laughed. ‘Me? No, sir, I’m the gentlest of beings.’

It was an incongruous description of a middle-aged ruffian with a squat body topped by a large head that featured deep-set green eyes and a bulging forehead. His grin exposed blackened teeth.

‘Give it back to me,’ demanded Paul.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You took my purse, you lice-ridden pickpocket.’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said the other with injured innocence.

‘Give it back or I’ll
take
it back.’

The man cackled. ‘You’ll have to catch me first.’

Intending to scamper off, he only managed a few steps before Paul tripped him up then pummelled him into submission. Paul held him down with a foot on his chest.

‘Hand it over.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ whined the other.

‘I’m talking about this,’ said Paul, reaching inside the man’s coat to retrieve a purse. ‘I regard pickpockets as vermin.’

‘I only did it in fun, sir.’

‘And I only hit you in fun. Try to move and I’ll do it in fun again. Now then,’ he added, ‘I have a little task for you. How long have you lived here?’

‘I’ve been here for five years or more.’

‘Then you can save me a lot of time,’ said Paul. ‘I’m looking for someone and, since you inhabit this rat-hole, you can tell me whether or not they’re here.’

Viscount Sidmouth was a copious correspondent, forever answering letters, sending reports or suggesting ideas for consideration at cabinet meetings. He was in the process of penning a long missive to the Prime Minister when he was interrupted by one of his clerks. Sidmouth was interested to hear that Captain Shortland, governor of Dartmoor, had called on him. He asked that the man be admitted at once. When the visitor stepped into the room, Sidmouth rose to greet him.

‘You come upon your hour,’ he said, using a Shakespearean quotation that went unrecognised by the other. ‘I’d not expected you to be in London.’

‘I felt that I should speak to you in person, my lord.’

‘You’ve already been to the Admiralty, I presume.’

‘I’ve just come from there.’

Sidmouth waved him to a chair then resumed his own seat. Never having met the man, he was glad of the opportunity to do so. Stern, smart, erect and humourless, the governor looked as if he’d
been born in a uniform. Sidmouth knew that it was no casual visit. Shortland was there to advance his own interests.

‘I felt it was a courtesy to call on you, my lord,’ he began.

‘I appreciate your consideration.’

‘Ideally, I would have liked a moment with the Prime Minister but I learnt that his diary was too full.’

‘It’s one of the perils of being what is sometimes called
primus inter pares
,’ said Sidmouth. ‘The first among equals is the repository of every single problem that afflicts this nation of ours. I discovered that during my tenure of the role. The present holder of it, Lord Liverpool, was my foreign secretary at the time.’

Sidmouth felt that it would do no harm to remind the governor of his eminence in political circles. Shortland had the determined look of a man who’d come to badger him and needed to be warned that the Home Secretary would not allow any pressure to be put on him.

‘I thought you ought to know that everything at Dartmoor is now under strict control,’ said Shortland, gruffly. ‘The riot has been suppressed.’

‘That nomenclature has been questioned, Captain.’

‘It was a blatant act of mutiny, my lord.’

‘Some have suggested an alternative description.’

Shortland was brusque. ‘Then it should be disregarded.’

‘So you would not describe it as a massacre, then?’

‘There were incidental casualties that could not be avoided.’

‘Well,’ said Sidmouth, ‘that’s for the joint commission to decide. You’ll no doubt be appearing before them very soon.’

‘It’s one of the reasons I came to London.’

‘I passed on to them the letter which you sent me.’

‘I felt that you needed to know the full details,’ said Shortland.
‘The mutiny was led by Thomas O’Gara who, as I explained, was a constant thorn in our flesh. He whipped the prisoners up into a frenzy of protest and the riot broke out. O’Gara took advantage of the confusion to escape.’

‘Where was he beforehand?’

‘O’Gara?’

‘In which part of the prison was he being held?’

‘That’s the maddening thing, my lord. We don’t know. He had vanished from the cell in which he was being kept and somehow stayed out of sight until the day of the riot. Behind the scenes, he’d been agitating for all he was worth. After he’d fled, his friends told us that he’d boasted of escaping one day. In other words,’ said Shortland, as if making an unanswerable debating point, ‘he led the mutiny from purely selfish reasons. That’s the kind of rogue O’Gara is.’

‘What about Moses Dagg?’

‘He and O’Gara were old shipmates.’

‘Has Dagg been a thorn in your flesh as well?’

‘No,’ conceded the other, ‘he has not. To be honest, he’s never come to our attention before.’

‘Then your supervision of the prisoners has been lax, Captain Shortland. It may interest you to know that Dagg was instrumental in shielding O’Gara when they were both in Dartmoor. The reason you failed to find the Irishman was that he was living in disguise among the black sailors.’

Shortland gasped. ‘Can that be true?’

‘We have O’Gara’s own word for it,’ said Sidmouth. ‘He was considerate enough to send a long report of what he calls a massacre and to explain why he feels the regime at Dartmoor is appalling in every way.’

‘Would you take the word of a mere prisoner over
mine
?’ asked Shortland, close to apoplexy.

‘The final judgement will be taken by the joint commission. It’s not for me to influence it one way or another. But since a deposition from the fugitives exists, it must be seen and weighed in the balance.’

‘It’s wholly irrelevant, my lord. Need I tell you what would happen if this mutiny had occurred aboard a ship? The ringleaders would have been executed and that should be so in the case of O’Gara and his accomplice.’

‘Both men are wanted for an associated crime, Captain Shortland. As it happens,’ said Sidmouth, ‘I have a personal reason for wanting them recaptured. You’ll be reassured to know that their whereabouts have been established and that O’Gara and Dagg will very soon be in custody.’

‘Thank God for that!’

Micah Yeomans knew that it would be a difficult operation. That was the reason he had to deploy so many men. Irish communities, such as the one housed behind Orchard Street, were disinclined to assist Bow Street Runners and their foot patrols. Among the majority of hard-working, law-abiding people who lived in the tenements was a solid core of criminals who used the protection of the crowd. Winkling them out was problematical because they not only had lookouts on patrol but also escape routes they could use in an emergency. The big advantage that Yeomans had in this instance was the advice given by Donal Kearney. The chimney sweep knew the tenements intimately and was able to alert the Runners to potential dangers. As a result of his advice, men were stationed in various places to block off the likely escape routes. Everyone involved was armed. Yeomans insisted that the fugitives should be captured dead or alive.

‘It doesn’t matter which,’ he said to Hale. ‘Personally, I’d prefer to deliver their corpses and claim the reward.’

‘Do I get a share?’ asked Kearney, greedily.

‘No, you don’t.’

‘But I told you where Fallon is hiding them.’

‘We’re grateful for your help.’

‘The reward is for the arrest and conviction of O’Gara and Dagg,’ Hale pointed out. ‘You are in no position to arrest them, Mr Kearney. All that you did was to tell us where they were.’

‘That’s not fair!’ complained the sweep.

‘Then there’s the danger we’ll encounter,’ said Yeomans. ‘While you’re cowering in some dark corner, my men and I will be trying to overpower some desperate criminals. There’s a big risk involved.’

‘I know all about risk, Mr Yeomans.’

‘Stop bleating and stand aside.’

‘What do you think would happen to me if anyone discovered that I was the one who told you where to find those American sailors? My life wouldn’t be worth living.’

‘Then it’s in your interests to stay well clear,’ said Hale. ‘We guarantee that your name won’t be mentioned.’

‘Give me a share of the reward money as well.’

‘Your reward lies in knowing that you did your civic duty.’

‘I don’t give a fart about civic duty.’

‘You’re holding us up,’ said Yeomans, impatiently. ‘Now get out of our way or we’ll arrest you for impeding us in the execution of our duties.’

‘I deserve payment.’

‘
This
is all you deserve.’

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Yeomans pushed him away with such force that he travelled several yards before his back hit a wall.
Kearney’s roar of disgust went unheard. What they were all listening for was the signal and it soon came. Yeomans blew hard on the pipe and the high-pitched squeal rose above the sound of passing carts and clip-clopping horses. Everyone moved in swiftly. Urgent and long striding, Yeomans led the way with Hale doing his best to stay beside him.

‘This could be a great day for us, Micah,’ he said. ‘We’re not simply capturing escaped prisoners, we’ll be saving the Doctor’s life.’

‘We’re not doing this for the Doctor’s sake,’ Yeomans told him. ‘We have a bigger ambition altogether, Alfred.’

‘What is it?’

‘For once in our lives, we can outfox the Skillen brothers.’

‘I’ll say “Amen” to that.’

Supported by a dozen men, they hurried down a lane that led to the tenements behind Orchard Street. Other members of the foot patrol came into the court from various directions to seal off the area. Yeomans headed for the building where Dermot Fallon lived and where the American sailors were hiding. They met with resistance at once. Alerted by lookouts, dozens of people opened windows and hurled missiles at the newcomers. Several emptied chamber pots over the raiders. Dogs came out of nowhere in a pack to bark and harass. The noise was deafening. Kicking aside a yapping hound, Yeomans reached the front door and used his shoulder to force it open. With others at his heels, he charged up the stairs until he reached the floor on which the family lived. Ready to smash his way into the rooms, he was taken aback to find the door wide open as if in welcome. Yeomans gestured for his men to scatter and draw their weapons. Then he approached with a mingled care and excitement, conscious that he was about to make some of the most significant arrests of his career.

Pistol held out before him, he plunged confidently into the room.

‘Let nobody move!’ he shouted. ‘You’re all under arrest.’

But there was no sign of the Fallon family or of the fugitives they’d been sheltering. Clear indications of a hasty departure were, however, visible. More galling for Yeomans and Hale was the fact that someone was there to greet them. Seated on rickety chairs, Peter and Paul Skillen gave them a cheery wave.

‘You’re too late yet again,’ they said in unison.

Hannah Granville was keenly aware of the irony of her situation. An actress whose gifts fitted her for the performance of tragedies was herself trapped in a personal tragedy. She had lost the one man who’d brought comedy into her life because Paul Skillen had made her laugh with joy whenever they were together. He embodied all the elements she admired in a man with the exception of his urge to invite danger. Even that had had a surface appeal at the start. The more she grew to love him, the less that appeal became. Danger implied the possibility of loss and Hannah could not bear that. Even if he was not killed, he might be maimed or blinded and she could never bring herself to be a nursemaid to any man. At the time when she forced him to choose between her and his work as a detective, she’d expected her attraction to outweigh anything else in his life. She was demonstrably wrong.

There was a cruel paradox. In trying to control
his
career, Hannah had damaged her own. Since she’d parted company with Paul, she’d been unable to commit herself wholly to her role. The manager of the theatre had noticed it and so had her dresser. It was only a matter of time before the audience began to discern it as well and wonder why they were paying a high price for a muted performance
instead of one verging on greatness. Lines in the play took on a new meaning for her and the suffering of Belvidera mirrored her own. The difference was that she could enjoy an ovation at the end of the play and be rewarded for her display of anguish. For the real anguish she endured, however, there was neither applause nor succour.

Paul would not bow to her demands. That much was now glaringly evident. And though he’d sworn undying love to her, he would not lack for temptation. Other women would be delighted to have such a dashing companion and they’d impose no restraints or conditions on him. They’d allow him the freedom of choice that Hannah denied him. Conscious of her folly, she felt unable to repair it. The moment that desire prompted her to go to him, pride stepped in to prevent her. She was held in a cleft stick: unable to move, unable to think, unable to compromise, unable to communicate with him in any way. It was agonising.

She could at least allow herself one treat and that was to be driven past his house in the hope that she might get a momentary sight of him. On her way to the theatre that evening, therefore, she asked the driver of her carriage to make a detour so that she could go down the street where Paul lived. From her elevated position, she might be able to see in through the front window. Hannah prayed that he might be there. A brief glimpse was all that she wanted but she was to get much more than that. As the carriage rolled past the house, the front door opened and Paul Skillen emerged with a beautiful young woman on his arm.

Hannah was mortified. She’d not simply been discarded but been replaced. In a short space of time, Paul had clearly forgotten the promises he’d made to her and found someone else. There would never be a reunion with him now.

Peter Skillen walked home with his wife at his side. In the wake of the raid on the tenement, the brothers had gone back to Paul’s house and Charlotte had met them there. They’d enjoyed reminiscing about the look of utter consternation on the faces of the Runners. Micah Yeomans had once again discovered that he could not outwit them. Charlotte reminded her husband of a salient fact.

‘The prisoners are still at liberty, Peter.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘In one way, it does,’ he confessed, ‘but another part of me is glad.’

‘How can you be glad when these men are planning to murder the Home Secretary? I’m shocked.’

He grinned. ‘I’m touched that I still have the power to shock, my love. After all the time we’ve been together, I feared that my powers would have waned somewhat.’

‘I’m being serious,’ she said with a hint of reprimand.

‘And so am I. You asked me a question and I’m striving to give you an honest answer. When I got to the tenement earlier on, I fully expected to do my duty by arresting O’Gara and Dagg. Since I met Paul as I arrived, I was certain that, between us, we could surprise both the Americans and the man sheltering them. As it was, they surprised
us
by disappearing before we even got there.’

‘Did you see that as a cause for celebration?’

‘To some extent, I did. I have a sneaking admiration for them.’

‘They’re criminals, Peter.’

‘They’re prisoners of war who should have been released and who’ve been under the heel of a governor who revels in being a martinet. Friends of theirs were shot in cold blood. In my view, it’s estimable that these two men are campaigning on behalf of all the others.’

‘But they’re doing it by means of a threat.’

‘That, I agree, was not an act of diplomacy.’

‘You should want them locked up again.’

‘I certainly don’t want them returned to the tender mercies of this Captain Shortland,’ he said with passion. ‘Even allowing for exaggeration, their portrayal of him is worrying. He’s ruthless and singles out men he believes are troublemakers. O’Gara was one of them. I’d hate you to see the description of the Black Hole into which O’Gara was flung. The treatment of him was inhuman.’

‘This is not your battle, Peter,’ she argued. ‘Viscount Sidmouth employed you to catch these men not to sympathise with their demands. Paul doesn’t share your views. His attitude is simple. He wants to lock them up so that the pair of you can collect the reward.’

‘Paul was maddened when he realised that they’d evaded us. That court behind Orchard Street was the third place on his list and he felt sure that they’d be there. What he didn’t know, of course, was their precise location in that rabbit warren. After my chat with Jubal Nason,’ recalled Peter, ‘I did. He told me which building they lived in.’

‘Where will they have gone?’

‘Someone like this Dermot Fallon will have friends all over the place.’

‘What about his family?’

‘They’re still there, Charlotte.’

‘Why didn’t you arrest them and question them about the whereabouts of the others?’ He laughed. ‘Is it such a ludicrous suggestion?’

‘We couldn’t arrest them because we didn’t know where to find them. They just blended in with another family. Fallon would have made sure his wife and children were safe before he left with
the others. I’ll wager that Mrs Fallon doesn’t have any idea of his whereabouts,’ said Peter. ‘He’d have deliberately kept her in the dark so that she couldn’t inadvertently give them away.’

‘Someone gave them away, Peter.’

‘I agree.’

‘The Runners must have been helped by an informer.’

‘Yes, and it has to be someone who lived in the same tenement. Yeomans and his men knew exactly which rooms to raid. Unfortunately for them, the only occupants were Paul and me. I daresay they’re still wondering how we got there.’

‘What about the informer?’ she asked.

‘Fallon will find him.’

‘How?’

‘Men like that have eyes everywhere, Charlotte.’

‘What will he do when he finds out who it was?’

‘Well, I don’t think he’ll be paying Jubal Nason to write a letter of thanks on his behalf,’ said Peter with a wry smile. ‘He’ll be eager to have a confrontation with the man. Frankly, I’d hate to be in the informer’s shoes.’

Tom O’Gara and Moses Dagg had no complaints about being told to leave the building at short notice. They’d been expecting a sudden departure at some point. Disguised as beggars, they slipped out of the tenement and followed Dermot Fallon on a tortuous route to the river. They were now hiding in a rotting hulk that bobbed gently on the Thames. As before, they were delighted to be back on water again. The vessel was leaking and showing clear signs of its advanced age but it was the perfect haven for a couple of sailors. In a busy port with shipping from all corners of the world, Dagg’s black face was no longer so conspicuous. The waterfront was a polyglot
community. Men of many nations, creeds and colours met there.

Since they were the only people aboard, they had far more freedom than they had when sharing two cramped rooms with Fallon and his family. They were able to strut around on deck and watch a wide variety of craft sailing on a river that not only defined London geographically, it provided countless of its citizens with a livelihood. All sorts of people fed off the Thames, whether as wealthy merchants sending cargoes abroad, humble mudlarks scouring the banks for items of value or those in one of a hundred other river-based occupations.

‘I don’t like it, Tom,’ said Dagg.

‘We need the money.’

‘Then we’ll find another way to get it.’

‘But this is the easiest way of all,’ urged O’Gara. ‘You climb into a ring and knock some misguided fool so hard that it will be a week before he wakes up again. Think how many times I’ve seen you do that over the years.’

‘All it needs is one person in the audience who’s seen the reward notice.’

‘Most of them can’t read, Moses. They couldn’t care less who or what you are. Dermot told you the sort of people who’d be there. They come to see blood spurting and bones being broken.’

‘I’m still worried.’

‘You do the fighting,’ said O’Gara. ‘Leave the worrying to me.’

They were in the remains of what had once been the captain’s cabin, a small, cramped place with damaged timberwork and cracked glass. Through the gap in the window, they could smell the rising stench of the river and hear the cries of the gulls as they rose and dipped. Among the large Irish community, O’Gara had felt at home while Dagg had been the obvious outsider. Back on board,
both now felt equally comfortable and safe from the attentions of the Runners.

‘I want to know who ratted on us,’ said O’Gara.

‘It must have been that scrivener.’

‘No, he wasn’t to blame.’

‘He looked crafty to me, Tom. I wouldn’t trust him.’

‘He was the one who saved us, Moses. If he hadn’t warned Dermot, the three of us would have been caught napping. I agree that Nason is a sly bastard but he’s thinking about his own neck. If we hang,’ said O’Gara, ‘he’ll be shitting his breeches beside us. Dermot will find out who tried to turn us in.’

‘Where is he? I expected him back by now.’

‘Be patient. He’ll be here soon.’

‘What if the police arrest his wife?’

‘Mary’s too clever for that. She’ll have changed her name and taken the children to stay with friends. And you’re forgetting what Dermot said. He won’t even tell Mary where we are so she couldn’t lead anyone here.’

‘I feel guilty causing them so much trouble,’ said Dagg.

‘Sure, they thrive on it. My cousin will tell you the same,’ said O’Gara, looking through the window. ‘There he is, on his way back here.’

In fact, the river bank was thronged with people coming, going or working in some way, yet O’Gara had picked Fallon out in the crowd. It took Dagg a little longer to espy him. When he did so, he was able to relax a little. They went up on deck to lower the gangplank so that Fallon could come aboard with his dog. As soon as he’d joined them, they hauled the gangplank into position again so that nobody else could get onto the vessel. The dog immediately went below deck in search of rats.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Dagg.

‘I had some shopping to do,’ said Fallon, opening his coat to reveal a loaf of bread and a large pie. ‘Hold these, Tom.’

While his cousin took charge of the provender, Fallon emptied his pockets of the fruit he’d kept there. He explained that he’d come through a market and used his dog to distract stallholders so that he could help himself to their goods. Other items of food came out of his pockets.

‘You’ve done well, Dermot,’ said O’Gara. ‘This will keep us well fed for a couple of days. Did you manage to see Mary?’

‘She was waiting for me with the tale of what happened after we left.’

‘How many men were there?’

‘Oh, they came in strength, Tom, so they offered us plenty of targets.’

The sailors laughed as he went on to describe how everyone in the tenements did their best to repel the intruders with missiles and offerings from their chamber pots. The tumult they’d created had caused great confusion. When they failed to catch any of us wanted men, the Runners left and had to endure another pelting.

‘They were led by Micah Yeomans,’ said Fallon.

O’Gara shrugged. ‘That name means nothing to us.’

‘It would if you lived in London. He’s the most famous thieftaker in the city and also the most crooked. Greasing his palm is the best way to stay out of prison.’

‘How did he know where we were, Dermot?’

‘Who tried to stab us in the back?’ asked Dagg.

‘That’s the man we want.’

‘We’ll cut his tongue out for a start.’

‘Mary has a good idea who it might be,’ said Fallon. ‘She
watched the Runners leave and got within a few yards of Yeomans. My wife has keen eyesight. She saw something that will guide us to the informer.’

‘What was it?’ asked O’Gara.

‘Yeomans is a big man and as ugly as they come but he likes to dress well. Mary was surprised to see that he had black hands and specks of soot all over him. That can only mean one thing.’

‘The informer was that chimney sweep,’ said Dagg, malevolently.

‘That’s right, Moses. He’ll get more than a beating next time.’ Fallon made a vivid gesture with both hands. ‘That filthy traitor, Kearney, will wish that he never left Ireland.’

Donal Kearney was still hurt, resentful and embittered. In delivering the escaped prisoners to the Runners, he’d expected thanks and financial reward. As it was, both were denied him. He was livid. Without his help, they would have had no idea where to look. Kearney had told Yeomans where they were hiding and who was sheltering them. The bonus for the sweep was that Moses Dagg, the black man who’d beaten and humiliated him, would be dragged off to prison. That thought gave him great consolation. When the raid on the tenements began, Kearney made sure that he went off quickly in the other direction. He had chimneys to sweep and his work kept him busy for hours. While he was away, he assumed, the American sailors would have been arrested along with Dermot Fallon, a man with whom Kearney had clashed in the past.