Steps to the Gallows (10 page)

‘You can have a ride if you tell me Virgo’s real name.’

‘Doan know it, sir.’

‘Where do I meet him?’

‘Inside there,’ said Snapper, jerking his thumb.

Paul was taken aback. ‘He’s a
prisoner
?’

‘Yes, sir – so am I.’

Peter Skillen accompanied his wife to the gallery before going off to make enquiries about the four suspects they’d identified from a study of
Paige’s Chronicle
. He was certain that Paige’s murder had been ordered either by a vengeful politician enraged by the unflattering portrait of him in the
Parliament of Foibles
, or by someone with connections to the government. That raised the question of where the journalist and his partner, Virgo, got their intelligence. Paige seemed to be remarkably well informed about the private lives of the people he satirised yet he had no practical experience of the political scene. He was only a former soldier with the gift of writing scabrous prose. When the Stamp Act had silenced his newspaper, he’d found another way to strike at some of the men who’d helped to put it on the statute book.

Whoever had ordered Paige’s assassination would be unaware that he had a partner in the enterprise. Peter was bound to wonder what would happen if and when they did so. The likelihood was that Virgo would also become a target. When he actually met the artist that morning, therefore, Paul Skillen would do his best to ensure his continued safety. There was a whole raft of unanswered questions to consider, yet Peter nevertheless felt a degree of confidence. They’d discovered the name of one of the
assassins and an old sailor had been employed to seek the man’s whereabouts. Notwithstanding her tendency to interfere, Diane Mandrake had given them priceless help when she handed over her copies of the
Chronicle
. The newspapers had not only provided huge entertainment, they’d given Peter and the others an insight into the quirky mind of Leonidas Paige and into the mission he’d apparently set himself.

Peter drew comfort from something else. Having learnt so much in such a short time, they must have made more progress than the Runners. Yet he was not complacent. Yeomans and his men would be working hard to solve the case. In order to trounce their rivals, Peter and the others needed to push themselves to the limit.

His first port of call was the Home Office. Though Parliament was not in session, he knew that Viscount Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, would be at his desk, grappling with the many problems that landed on it at random. They were old friends who shared a mutual respect. Working as an agent in France during the war, Peter had reported directly to Sidmouth. The previous year he’d been engaged to find the Home Office cleaner when she mysteriously disappeared. In tracking the woman down, Peter had exposed a plot to strike at the very heart of government as the nation celebrated its victory at the Battle of Waterloo. Given his run of success, therefore, Peter felt that he’d earned the right to have privileged access to Sidmouth.

It was the ideal place to start.

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Paul.

‘I’ve lost count.’

‘Don’t you have enough money to buy your way out?’

‘As it happens, Mr Skillen, I do.’

‘Then why stay here?’

‘It’s my home.’

‘Do you actually
enjoy
rotting in a debtors’ prison?’

‘I don’t rot, my friend. I thrive.’

‘Life would be far better in more comfortable surroundings.’

‘I’d have too many distractions.’

‘It’s so unhealthy in here. The place stinks.’

‘You get used to things like that.’

Virgo was quite unlike the man Paul had envisaged. Tall, sinewy and with a livid scar on his cheek, he was obviously the person who’d called at Paige’s lodging and heard of his death. There were well over two hundred rooms in the prison and Virgo had secured one of the best of them, enjoying the luxury of being its sole occupant. Yet the room was cold, bare, featureless and short of natural light. The only thing that brightened it was the selection of his prints on the walls. On the table was a box of candles. Evidently, he needed extra illumination when he was at work. As well as paper, paint and writing materials, he had some engraver’s tools.

Conscious that he was still being weighed in the balance, Paul tried to win him over by telling him about the investigation. Virgo was grateful.

‘You’re doing all this for Leo?’ he asked.

‘He came to us for help. Since we couldn’t provide it
before
he died, we’re doing it after his death. That help, of course, extends to you.’

‘Why do I need help?’

‘We’re assuming that you’d like to stay alive.’

‘Nobody knows who I am.’

‘What if someone finds out?’

‘I know how to defend myself, Mr Skillen.’

‘I daresay that Mr Paige felt the same.’

When Paul had asked him for his real name, the man had declined to give it. Evidently, there was no point in trying to force it out of him. There was a tough, decisive, unrelenting quality about Virgo. If he wanted to confide in anyone, he’d do so at a time of his choosing.

‘If you’re locked in here,’ said Paul, ‘how could you visit Mr Paige?’

‘Fortunately, I can afford to buy Freedom of the Rules,’ explained Virgo. ‘That means I can venture out into the three square miles surrounding the prison. Were I to wish it – and, frankly, I do not – I could visit any tavern or place of entertainment I chose. My work absorbs me. Here at the King’s Bench things are very lax. As you know, it’s largely a place for debtors and for people convicted of defamation. That’s why it’s my spiritual home. I’m the prince of vilification.’

‘I’ve seen and admired your work. The wonder is that you and Mr Paige managed to escape being arraigned for libel.’

‘Leo and I came within inches of that fate many times. Nearly fifty years ago,’ he went on, reflectively, ‘John Wilkes was put in here for writing an article in the
North Briton
that dared to criticise the king. A mob assembled outside with the object of escorting Wilkes to the House of Commons where they felt their hero belonged. When they refused to disperse, the crowd was fired on by soldiers.’

‘I’ve heard tell of the massacre.’

‘It was an example of the common people rising up to defend a man they believed had simply told the truth. Leo and I have followed in Wilkes’s footsteps. We show no respect to people in authority. We strip them of their finery and display them naked to the public.’

‘You are both artist and engraver, I see.’

‘My task was to turn Leo’s wonderful words into memorable pictures.’

‘What was kept in the oak chest at his lodging?’

Virgo was surprised. ‘You heard about my visit?’

‘The landlord reported that someone had forced his way into his lodger’s room. What were you looking for?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘Why do you have to be so secretive?’

The man smiled. ‘For the same reason that you have to be so inquisitive, Mr Skillen,’ he said. ‘It’s in our natures.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘What did you think of my young messenger?’

‘Snappy? I liked him.’

‘He’s a clever boy. Snappy runs errands for me.’

‘He’s looking after my horse at the moment.’

‘If I know him, he’ll be riding it around the courtyard to the envy of all the other children. We’ve whole families in here. Snappy’s family has been here for years. In fact, his youngest sister was born here. Poverty is a crime – that’s what the law tells us. So they put people in the one place where they have little chance of paying off their debts. What money they
do
have goes on food and accommodation. The system has been skilfully devised to keep poor people even poorer.’ He ran his eye over Paul. ‘If you work at the shooting gallery, you must be proficient in all forms of fighting. Leo and I were the same at one time, but I traded my sword for an artist’s tools.’

‘Art can be a very powerful weapon. You’ve proved that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Why won’t you tell me your name?’

‘I’m biding my time.’

‘What made you pick the name of “Virgo” as your sobriquet?’

‘When I feel I can trust you,’ said the other, ‘I might explain.’

‘Who are your sources of intelligence about leading politicians?’

Virgo sat back in his chair and subjected him to close scrutiny.

‘Tell me a little about yourself, Mr Skillen. You interest me.’

Having heard so much about her, Charlotte Skillen had some idea what to expect when she met the owner of the print shop. In the event, Diane Mandrake exceeded those expectations. When she came into the gallery, she seemed to fill it with her presence and with the bewitching odour of her perfume. What Charlotte saw was a woman of substance, authority and independent spirit. Neither Peter nor Paul had told her how extremely handsome Diane was. It took Charlotte a few moments to adjust her opinion of the woman. For her part, the newcomer was delighted to meet her, embracing Charlotte as if they were old friends, then standing back to appraise her.

‘We are two of a kind, Charlotte,’ she said, dispensing with formalities. ‘We are purposeful women, making our way in a man’s world. I have my print shop and you, I see, have a small kingdom here.’

‘I’d hardly call it that, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘Diane, please,’ corrected the other.

‘I simply work in here behind the scenes while the others deal with our clients and take on dangerous assignments.’

‘You’re an important member of the team. Gully Ackford said as much.’

‘That was kind of him.’

‘And so did Jem Huckvale. Not that he stayed long enough to explain why,’ added Diane with a laugh. ‘For some reason, he seemed frightened of me. I never thought of myself as intimidating.’

‘Jem is very shy.’

‘He’s also very courageous. In taking on the task of guarding Leo, he was putting himself in jeopardy.’

‘He’s done that sort of thing many times, Diane. So, of course, have Peter, Paul and Gully. We live in a violent city, alas. One has to be on guard all the time. Whenever he took on hazardous assignments,’ she confessed, ‘I used to fear for Peter’s life. But I’ve learnt to trust in his abilities now.’

‘And so you should.’

‘He and Paul have remarkable talents.’

‘I know. Incidentally, how on earth do you tell them apart?’

Charlotte smiled. ‘It’s a question of instinct.’

‘My instinct would be to favour the wilder of the two.’

‘Then you’d have to pick Paul.’

‘Yet I couldn’t think of turning Peter down,’ said Diane, chortling. ‘If I was not constrained by the laws of decency, I’d marry the pair of them and have the best of both worlds. Paul’s madcap tendency would then be counterbalanced by Peter’s steadiness.’

‘Paul is less of a madcap since he fell in love.’

‘Really – who is the lady?’

Charlotte told her about her brother-in-law’s romance with Hannah Granville and how he’d pined for her ever since she went off to Paris. Diane listened with great interest. Feeling that she could confide in Charlotte, she broached a topic that had been on her mind all night.

‘Are you able to keep a secret?’ she asked.

‘I like to think so, Diane.’

‘This is not something I wish to be common property. Men would only snigger whereas a woman like you, I suspect, would understand.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘You are, I take it, familiar with Mr Yeomans.’

‘It’s in the nature of our work to meet the Bow Street Runners all the time, Micah Yeomans, in particular.’

‘What do you think of him, Charlotte?’

‘I think he does his job to the best of his limited abilities.’

‘I was talking about his appearance and character. Be candid, please.’

‘Then I have to admit that I find him ugly, unpleasant and overbearing.’

‘How would you cope if he took an interest in you?’

‘That would
never
happen.’

‘It’s happened to me.’

Charlotte gaped. ‘Are you saying that …?’

‘So it appears,’ said Diane, grimacing. ‘When he came to the shop, he was far less hostile than Runners often are. He kept staring at me as if I were a celestial being. Ben Tite, who works for me, said that Yeomans came back later on and walked up and down the street so that he could peer into the shop. Tiring of the fellow, Ben went out and asked him if he wanted anything.’

‘What was his answer?’

‘Hearing that I was not there, he asked if
Mr
Mandrake was at home. When he was told that I no longer had a husband, Yeomans was plainly delighted. Can you think of anything worse than attracting an insufferable boor like that?’

‘No,’ said Charlotte, amazed at the news. ‘You may no longer be married but he certainly is. What would his wife think of his behaviour?’

‘If he bothers me too much, she may get to hear about it.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, Charlotte,’ admitted the other. ‘How would you deal with unwanted advances from a man you despised?’

‘Oddly enough, I’ve been in a parallel situation. Not that the advances were exactly unwanted and I couldn’t possibly have despised the man. But,’ Charlotte went on, ‘I was in something of a dilemma.’

‘How did you resolve the situation?’

‘I married his brother, Peter.’

The visit to the Home Office had been productive. Sidmouth had been glad to see Peter Skillen and given freely of his time. A degree of tact and diplomacy was involved. Peter took care to say nothing about the
Parliament of Foibles
because he knew that Sidmouth was rather sensitive on the subject of satire. When he’d been a rather undistinguished prime minister years earlier, he’d been the target of vicious caricatures. Peter recalled seeing one that showed Britannia in a sickbed – the country’s economy being in a parlous state at the time – with the prime minister being kicked unceremoniously out of office through the door. After over a decade, he felt it must still rankle with Sidmouth.

While admitting that he’d been drawn into a murder investigation, therefore, Peter gave few details but turned the conversation around to a discussion of what politicians did when Parliament was not in session. Sidmouth was happy to regale him with anecdotes about his colleagues and about his political opponents. Peter had been able to slip the names of Sir Humphrey Coote and Gerard Brunt into the conversation, discovering that the former had a passion for cricket and that the latter was always trying to present his latest Private Members Bill in the Commons. Sidmouth made mention of Dr Penhallurick of his own volition, revealing that he had parliamentary ambitions and that he would be standing at the next election. The one person about whom Peter learnt nothing new was Julian Harvester.