Steps to the Gallows (13 page)

‘There were none that we could get at, anyway.’

‘We promised ourselves we’d make up for lost time when we got out.’

‘And we did just that. The trouble is that … well, I got too excited. It was reported and the Runners came looking for us.’

‘They’re easy enough to dodge.’

‘Not when your breeches are around your ankles. I told you what he said. He heard it from the chief magistrate’s own lips. They’re after us, Sim. They’re keeping watch in Covent Garden.’

‘So we go somewhere else.’

‘We stay here and play cards.’

‘That’s boring and, in any case, you keep winning.’

‘You keep
letting
me win,’ said Fearon with a snigger. ‘It’s your deal so let’s get on with it.’

Higlett picked up the cards and shuffled them clumsily. He was just about to deal them out when he was troubled by a sudden thought.

‘Why is he keeping us, Abel?’ he asked.

‘He has more work for us.’

‘We were hired to follow Paige and kill him if he ignored the warnings.’

‘So?’

‘We did that. What’s left for us to do?’

‘The woman who owns the print shop needs to be scared.’

‘That’s what you did earlier on. You smashed her window.’

‘We don’t know if it worked, Sim. He told me that Mrs Mandrake was as tough as any man. She won’t be frightened easy.’

‘Then we kill her as well, I suppose.’

‘And we get even more money than we did for Paige.’

Higlett’s face puckered. ‘Then what?’

‘We wait for orders.’

‘But there may never be any. He wanted a man killed and a
shop closed. If we commit a second murder, it’s all over. He doesn’t need us any more, Abel.’

‘In that case,’ said the other, shrugging, ‘we go our merry way.’

‘Are you sure he’ll let us do that?’ asked Higlett. ‘We’ve seen how he treats people who get in his way. Once we’re no longer any use to him,
we’ll
be in the way as well. Do you see what I mean?’

Fearon swallowed hard and shifted uneasily in his chair.

‘Deal those frigging cards,’ he snapped.

Returning home at the end of the evening, Peter and Charlotte were let into the house by Meg Rooke. The hopeful look on her face vanished when she realised that they had come alone.

‘Is Mr Huckvale not with you?’ she asked.

‘No, Meg,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’s staying at the gallery.’

‘But he had a bad injury, Mrs Skillen. He needs looking after.’

‘We’ve told him that but he prefers to be back in his own room.’

Her face clouded. ‘Oh, I see …’

‘However,’ said Peter, ‘it doesn’t mean that you can’t see him. He’ll be working at the gallery. I can even tell you what times he has appointments. If you happened to call in when you’ve been to market, you could ask him how he is.’

She brightened at once. ‘Yes, I could, couldn’t I?’

‘He’ll be delighted to see you,’ said Peter.

The maidservant went off happily, allowing them to go into the drawing room. Charlotte sat down with a sigh of relief but Peter hovered near the door.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘I’m wondering if I should go to Holborn, after all.’

‘Diane doesn’t want you there, Peter. She made that clear.’

‘She need not be even aware of my presence,’ he said. ‘I can
just loiter outside for an hour or two to make sure that there’s no further trouble.’

‘You heard her. She can look after herself.’

‘Mrs Mandrake is a forthright woman, I grant you that, and she wouldn’t hesitate to fire that weapon she carries. Gully was amazed by the way she handled it. But, when all is said and done, she’s only a woman.’

Charlotte bridled. ‘I object to the word “only”, Peter.’

‘I apologise unreservedly, my love.’

‘Sit down and forget all about Diane.’

‘Very well,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘After what happened, she won’t venture far from that shop. We’ll not have her impeding us at the gallery.’

‘She wasn’t impeding us – she was helping.’

‘Well, now it’s time for us to help
her
.’

‘I don’t want to hear her name mentioned again, Peter.’

‘I thought you liked Mrs Mandrake.’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m full of admiration for what she is and what she’s done in building up the reputation of her shop. But we have lots of other concerns and its time we turned to them. Diane will be fine. She’s probably fast asleep by now, enjoying a well-earned rest after the vagaries of the day.’

‘You’re wrong, my love,’ he argued. ‘She’ll be wide awake.’

Diane Mandrake was as good as her word. She was determined to protect her property at all costs. Since the shop window had now been boarded up, she could not act as a sentry on the ground floor. Loaded pistol at hand, she therefore took up her position in the window of the front bedroom. There was a timid knock on the door. In answer to her summons, Tite came into the room.

‘You can’t stay there all night,’ he said.

‘I’ll do whatever is necessary, Ben.’

‘What if someone through a stone through
this
window?’

‘He’ll be shot before he even has a chance to hurl it,’ she said, resolutely. ‘
You’re
the one who needs his sleep. Leave me be and go back to your room. It’s my property and I’ll defend it.’

‘You should have let Mr Skillen stay the night.’

‘It’s a very appetising thought,’ she said under her breath.

‘He’s accustomed to this kind of work.’

‘Peter Skillen’s offer was kind and well meant but it was asking too much of him. He’s already committed himself to finding Leo’s killer. That will keep him more than preoccupied.’

Tite adjusted his nightcap. ‘I’m sorry to be so inadequate,’ he said, meekly.

‘You do what you’re paid to do, Ben, and I have no complaints. When I asked you to sell prints for me, I didn’t expect that you would also be my bodyguard.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘Besides, you’re the person who was here when the outrage took place. I feel very guilty about that. You take yourself off and have a good night’s sleep.’

‘Can’t I prevail upon you to do the same?’

‘I’m staying here.’

When she heard a horse approaching outside, she grabbed the pistol and parted the curtains even more, but there was no real threat. The animal was moving at a gentle trot along the street and the rider didn’t even look in the direction of her shop. Diane relaxed and set the weapon aside.

‘How many times has that happened?’ asked Tite.

‘Too many,’ she admitted. ‘Every time I hear a hoof beat or a footstep in the street, I anticipate danger. So far it’s never actually come.’

‘Mr Skillen felt that an attack would be unlikely tonight. He only offered to stay here in order to calm our nerves. He said that whoever ordered the attack would wait to see what effect their warning had had on you.’

‘I’m taking no chances.’

Tite made an effort to sound brave. ‘I’ll stay in here with you.’

‘What a suggestion!’ she exclaimed. ‘It would be very improper.’

‘We could take it in turns to sleep, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘This is my battle and I’ll fight it on my terms.’

‘I was only trying to—’

‘Goodnight, Ben,’ she said, pointedly. ‘I won’t discuss it any further.’

Issuing a stream of apologies, he backed away and went out.

Diane, meanwhile, stared through the window in a vain attempt to pierce the darkness. When people did walk or ride past the shop, she could only see them in a blurry outline. It put a strain on her eyes and her neck started to ache. It was well past midnight when she dozed off, willing herself instantly awake and getting up to shake herself all over. She could not keep a yawn at bay, however. Resuming her seat, she looked out into the gloom.

An hour later, she was fast asleep.

Covent Garden remained alive at night. Clients came and went to its tempting array of brothels and gambling dens. Revellers sang their way home. Yapping dogs scavenged. One of them took a keen interest in Chevy Ruddock and he had great difficulty in scaring the animal away. Having taken up a position outside Doll Fortune’s house, he was close enough to glimpse the men who arrived there and even heard some of the banter and ribaldry of those departing. Paying for sexual favours was something so far outside his experience or inclination that he couldn’t understand
the motive behind it. Apart from anything else, the women who sold their bodies were often old, ugly and repellent. He had to contend with more than one example of the breed.

‘Can I ’elp ya, sir?’ asked the woman in a hoarse whisper.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Ya looks lonely, sir. A big, strong man like ya needs a bit o’ comp’ny at noight. I’ll take care of ya.’

‘Go away,’ he said.

‘Gintelmen likes me. I never ’ad no complaints.’

When she rubbed up against him, he went puce with embarrassment. The street prostitute was worlds away from the perfumed princesses of the trade operating in Doll Fortune’s house. The woman was old, bedraggled, heavily powdered and had such bad breath that he recoiled from it. Feeling her hand on his thigh, he leapt back as if she’d sunk a dagger into him.

‘Come wi’ me, sir,’ she purred. ‘Annie’ll look arfter ya.’

‘Go away, woman. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll arrest you.’

She became combative. ‘Doan ya touch me, ya long, tall, nasty turd!’

He tried to push her away but she became even more abusive. Ruddock was still trying to get rid of her when Hale came down the street. He recognised the woman by the sound of her screech.

‘Is that you caterwauling again, Annie?’

‘Yes, Mr ’ale,’ she replied. ‘This filthy scab ’ad ’is way wi’ me but woan pay up. Iss nor right, sir – ’e left bruises all over my tits.’

‘I never touched the woman,’ said Ruddock, indignantly.

‘Yes, ya did, ya bleedin’ liar.’

‘As God’s my witness, Mr Hale, the woman is lying.’

‘She always does, lad,’ said the other before rounding on the prostitute. ‘If you’re still standing here by the time I’ve counted to ten, I’ll have you locked up and fed on stale bread and water. Now disappear, Annie.’

After ridding herself of a string of imprecations, she hobbled swiftly away.

‘Thank goodness you came along when you did,’ said Ruddock.

‘How many times do I have to say it? You’ll have to learn to cope with trulls like her, Chevy.’

‘She made the most appalling suggestion.’

‘Well, she won’t be able to make it again tonight,’ said Hale, ‘and neither will anybody else like her. You’re off duty, lad. We’ve watched all night and there’s been no sign of the people we’re after. Mr Yeomans is standing everyone down.’

Ruddock was delighted. ‘Does that mean I can go home?’

‘It does.’

‘Thank you, Mr Hale.’

‘But you may have to return here tomorrow night.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘Duty calls, lad.’

‘Can’t I keep vigil in another part of the area?’

‘This is your own special spot,’ said Hale. ‘You’ve earned it. I know that it’s lonely out here in the dark but don’t worry. Annie might well turn up again tomorrow night to keep you company. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

It was just before dawn when the man strolled along Middle Row. When he reached the print shop, he paused to look at the boarding and the large sign that had been stuck to it. He could just make out the letters of
BUSINESS AS USUAL
. Using a dagger to slip under the edge of the sign, he tore the whole thing off, scrunched it up and tossed it into the gutter. Then he walked calmly on down the street.

Fearon and Higlett had drunk themselves into oblivion. The clip-clop of horses, the rattle of vehicles and the sound of raised voices began soon after first light. They were not enough to disturb the two men. It would be hours before they finally stirred. The room was small, airless and hopelessly untidy. Empty flagons of ale were all over the floor and the cards were spread wide on the table. There was a musty atmosphere. It was Abel Fearon who was first roused from his slumber. The persistent barking of a dog in the street outside finally penetrated his hearing. He opened an eye then closed it at once when it was dazzled by the sunlight slanting in through the window.

Excess of alcohol had left its legacy. His head ached, his stomach was queasy and his bladder was uncomfortably full. Struggling to his feet, he took a few moments to steady himself, then parted his eyelids enough to see out of them. The first thing he noticed was Higlett, sprawled on the floor because he’d been too drunk to reach the bed. On the bare boards behind him was something that had obviously been pushed under the door. Apart from the landlord of the tavern, only one person knew where they were hiding. If there was a message, it had to have come from him.

He staggered across to the door and bent down to scoop up the letter. It took some time for his eyes to obey him. He was then able to read the short message. Turning round, he kicked Higlett’s leg.

‘Wake up, Sim!’

‘What?’ moaned the other. ‘Who’s that kicking me?’

‘It’s me,’ said the other, giving him a second kick.

‘Stop it, Abel. I want to sleep.’

‘It’s time to get up.’

‘What’s the point when we can’t have women up here?’

‘Get up,’ said Fearon, shaking him. ‘We’ve got orders.’

‘Who from?’

‘Who d’you think, you numbskull?’

‘Has he been here while I was asleep?’

‘Someone delivered a letter from him.’

‘What’s it say?’

‘Wake up and you’ll be able to read it.’

‘Is he going to pay us this time?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the other. ‘For this kind of work, he’s going to pay us a great deal. I gave them a warning in the print shop yesterday. It didn’t work. There won’t be a second warning. They signed their death warrant.’

Now that he was feeling better, Jem Huckvale was determined to shoulder as much of the load as possible at the gallery. Fencing and boxing were still beyond him but he was at last capable of giving instruction in archery as well as in shooting. Since Ackford had lingering doubts about his abilities with a bow and arrow, Huckvale gave him a demonstration, hitting the centre of the target time and again with a satisfying thud. Before his young assistant could reach into the quiver again, Ackford stepped forward.

‘No more, Jem,’ he said. ‘You’ve convinced me.’

‘I told you I could do it, Gully.’

‘I admire your pluck in even trying. You never were one to give up easily.’

Huckvale put the bow and the quiver of arrows aside. He was pensive.

‘I wonder which of them it was?’ he said.

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Fearon and Higlett – those are their names, aren’t they? Which of them did his best to smash my skull in two?’

‘Does it matter? We’ll catch the pair of them in time.’

‘I want to look my attacker in the eyes.’

‘You’re not equal to that, Jem.’

‘Yes, I am. I can handle a dagger or even a cudgel.’

‘Leave them to Peter and Paul,’ said Ackford, firmly. ‘They’re experts with every weapon under the sun. I’d like to meet Fearon and Higlett myself so that I can strike a few blows on Leo Paige’s behalf but I’m unlikely to get the chance. The one thing I
am
set on, mind you, is attending my old friend’s funeral this afternoon. That comes before everything.’ He sighed. ‘There won’t be many of us there, I suspect.’

‘What about Mr Paige’s brother – Virgo?’

‘He may well turn up. I know that Paul sent him word of the arrangements. Virgo will undoubtedly want to pay his last respects. I’ll be interested to meet him.’

Huckvale walked up to the target and started to pull the arrows out of it.

‘How will we find them, Gully?’

‘Peter has the answer to that. The surest way is to identify the man who employed them in the first place. By right, those rogues should still be festering away in Newgate. Somebody needed to hire assassins and they were selected.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘They’ll be in hiding somewhere.’

‘One of them must have thrown that stone at the print shop.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ackford. ‘It shows that someone is determined to punish Mrs Mandrake as well. She’ll not stand for that, I can tell you.’

Huckvale gave a shiver. ‘She frightens me.’

‘I suffered a few qualms myself when she was here,’ confessed Ackford with a chuckle. ‘But she’s a brave, honest, hard-working woman and, out of the kindness of her heart, she’s paid for Leo’s funeral. She didn’t deserve that attack on her shop. Who gave the order for it, I wonder?’

After putting the arrows in the quiver, Huckvale felt a twinge of uncertainty.

‘We
will
catch them, won’t we?’

‘Do you even need to ask that question?’

‘They mustn’t get away with it.’

‘Everyone involved will be caught and convicted. Peter and Paul will see to that. You’re their inspiration, Jem. One glance at that bandaging around your head always spurs them on. Look how much intelligence they’ve gathered already,’ he went on. ‘We know who the culprits are, for a start. That puts us way ahead of the Runners.’

‘What are
they
doing?’

‘Whatever it is,’ said Ackford, ‘it won’t help them to solve the murder.’

‘Mr Yeomans has got more resources than we have.’

‘That’s never made any difference in the past.’

‘I’d
hate
it if he made the arrests in this case.’

‘There’s no chance of that, Jem. The Runners may have more men at their disposal, and they have a legion of informers, but we have two prize assets.’

‘I know – Peter and Paul Skillen.’

‘When it comes to fighting crime, they have no peers. Micah Yeomans would love to have men like that at his disposal but he doesn’t. They’re
ours
.’

She was never far from his thoughts. As he lay in bed for a few hours that morning with his wife, Yeomans was toying with the fantasy that the woman beside him was, in fact, Diane Mandrake. The reality was daunting. He was tied to a wife he now found hideously predictable and largely irrelevant to his life. While acknowledging her loyalty to him and her essential goodness,
he could find nothing in her – or in their marriage, for that matter – that provided even an ounce of excitement. Now that he entertained hopes regarding Diane, he pushed his wife to the back of his mind. Creeping out of bed, he left her in a deep sleep.

When he slipped out of the house in due course, he was hit by the realisation that the previous night had been a signal failure. Having managed to impress the chief magistrate by talking about the certainty of arrests, he would now have to avoid him in order to escape the inevitable scorn that would be heaped upon him. Yeomans had arranged to meet Alfred Hale but his feet took him insensibly in a different direction altogether. He was walking instead towards Holborn and the woman who aroused such powerful feelings in him. While not expecting to see her in person, he felt that he had to go past her shop at least once. Simply being in the same street where she lived would be a blessing.

His arrival, in fact, was well timed. Not only did he see her on the pavement outside the shop, he noticed the boarding over the window. His protective instinct made him quicken his step until he was almost running.

‘What happened, Mrs Mandrake?’ he asked, breathlessly.

‘You let me down, sir,’ she replied, tartly. ‘The Runners are supposed to make the streets of London safe yet this kind of atrocity can happen. Someone galloped past my shop yesterday and hurled a stone through the window.’

‘I hope you were not hurt in any way.’

‘As luck would have it, I was not even here.’

‘Thank God for that!’

‘My property was not only damaged, there was a second outrage.’

‘What was that, I pray?’

‘When the boarding was put up,’ she explained, ‘there was
a poster nailed on it proclaiming that there would be business as usual. Nothing will deter me from offering my prints to the general public.’

He looked at the window. ‘Where is the poster now?’

‘I found it in the gutter, Mr Yeomans. During the night, would you believe, some vile wretch sneaked past and tore it down. What do you think of that?’

‘I think it very disturbing indeed.’

‘My assistant and my servants are quaking.’

‘You should be alarmed yourself, Mrs Mandrake,’ he advised. ‘Whoever broke your window expected you to suspend business. The fact that you intend to carry on regardless has evidently angered him. If your poster was torn down, it’s a dire warning. I beg you to close the premises for a while.’

‘That would suit you, wouldn’t it?’

‘Not at all, dear lady, not at all.’

‘Come now, sir, cease this parade of false concern.’

‘But it’s
not
false,’ he declared. ‘Truly, I’m worried on your account.’

‘You’re only worried that we’ll remain open if every window in the property is smashed to smithereens. You despise what I do because you recognised yourself in one of my prints. Have the decency to admit it.’

Yeomans measured his words carefully. ‘I did take exception to some of the prints in your window, Mrs Mandrake,’ he said, quietly. ‘I’ll own that. They showed a worrying disrespect for authority. A man in my position must necessarily look askance at that. As for your good self, however,’ he added, ‘I’m bound to admire your courage and sense of purpose. My worry is that those same qualities will lead you unwittingly into harm’s way.’

Diane looked more closely at him. When he first appeared,
she’d been tempted to turn on her heel and go back into the shop, but there was a note of sincerity in his voice that held her back. The anxiety he was displaying was palpably real. In a man like Yeomans, it seemed incongruous but it was nevertheless there. It did nothing to change her opinion of the man. She still found him despicable.

‘What are you doing here, Mr Yeomans?’ she demanded.

‘I was on my way to meet someone.’

‘So you came down this street by chance, is that it?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘It’s not the first time you came down here by happenstance, is it? Ben Tite tells me that you’ve been skulking about before. For what purpose, may I ask?’

‘It was out of consideration for your safety, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘I’d prefer you to have more consideration for my peace of mind,’ she said with emphasis. ‘That would involve going about your business by different means than this particular street and leaving me alone. Do I make myself plain?’

‘Don’t spurn my protection. I offer it in good faith.’

‘Good day to you, sir.’

He raised his hat to her. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Mandrake.’

Accepting her rebuke, he walked swiftly away. It was only when he reached the end of the street that he dared to turn around. Hoping for a final glimpse of her, however, he was disappointed. She had vanished from sight.

The day got off to a troubling start for Paul Skillen. A letter from France finally arrived to rekindle his hopes that Hannah Granville would soon return. It was full of endearments that reminded him just how much he loved and missed her, and it gave a summary of her activities in Paris. Well received by theatregoers in the city,
she had given a number of poetry recitals and, as a result, had steadily widened her circle of admirers. Hannah spoke of several English visitors to the French capital who’d come to support her. Paul read that she was now rehearsing for a production of
Macbeth
to be performed in French. Having seen her in Shakespearean roles at the Haymarket Theatre, he’d witnessed her greatest triumphs. Whether or not she could repeat that triumph abroad was, however, an open question. Hannah did have one advantage. Having been taught by a French governess, she’d achieved a fluency in the language that gave her the confidence to take on the difficult challenge. Paul was proud of her for that.

His early euphoria soon changed into disappointment, then apprehension. On the surface, the letter was all he could have desired but, when he read between the lines, he detected that something was wrong. Was the unhappiness he sensed simply occasioned by absence from her lover or was there another, darker reason? Were her reservations about tackling a Shakespeare play in French the real cause of her unease or was she hinting at problems with the rest of the cast? At all events, Paul was anxious. He read the letter a number of times in search for clues on which to build his theory but they were elusive. What exacerbated the situation was that it had taken ten days for the missive to reach him. Much could have happened in the interval. Was Hannah still struggling to master her role? Did she have to cope with envy and spite from French actresses who might feel they were more suited to play Lady Macbeth than an imported foreigner? Was there tension with the man playing her husband? Worst of all in Paul’s mind, had her striking beauty attracted the kind of urgent suitors who always besieged the stage door after one of her performances?

His initial impulse was to take ship to France and rush to her
assistance but he had other priorities. A murder investigation kept him in London and required all his attention. At a time when Hannah needed him – he could almost hear the cry for help in her letter – he had to spend the day at a cricket match. It was excruciating.

Peter Skillen hadn’t realised how long and tortuous some of the speeches in the House of Commons really were. As he sat at a table with copies of recent Hansard journals in front of him, he read through many examples of Gerard Brunt’s rhetoric. Clearly, the man had had a good education. Greek and Latin phrases peppered his speeches and Roman emperors were mentioned on a regular basis. The overwhelming impression was of a Member of Parliament trying to curry favour with those in the senior ranks of his party. Brunt went out of his way to make ingratiating remarks about this or that Cabinet minister, congratulating them on some action taken or pending. Peter had never read anything so full of unashamed fawning.

Yet the man’s legal skills were undeniable. He could mount a cogent argument on almost any subject and back it up with an effortless command of precedents. Faithfully recorded in Hansard, his interventions during the speeches of others were also notable. Peter was getting to know Brunt extremely well. The parliamentarian’s most recent speech had concerned an amendment to the law of libel. It was patently something close to his heart because he spoke about it with a fiery passion that was lacking in other debates. There was no room for tributes to political colleagues this time and no toadying. All his rhetoric was concentrated on a group of people he described as the caterpillars of the commonwealth, eating remorselessly away at the very foundations of English society.