Steps to the Gallows (14 page)

Peter set the journal aside. He’d read enough. Gerard Brunt had the controlled fury of a man who would resort to any means in order to retaliate against those who sought to mock him. All of a sudden, he’d become the chief suspect.

When they’d reached their destination, they paused on the corner of the street.

‘You walk past the print shop and have a good look at it,’ said Fearon.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’

‘It may just be that someone saw me galloping past on that horse and can recognise me. We don’t want that to happen. Besides, I’ve got other work to do.’

‘What is it, Abel?’

‘I need to look at the street that this one backs on to.’

‘The shop is
here
,’ said Higlett, ‘not in the next street.’

‘It’s got a garden at the rear. I want to see if we can get into it somehow. It will be far safer than going this way.’

‘But it will be in the dark. Nobody will see us.’

‘Mrs Mandrake might have someone guarding the building. I would.’

‘Then we deal with him before we follow our orders.’

‘Too dangerous,’ said Fearon. ‘The garden is the best answer, Sim. I’ll poke around until I can find a way into it.’

‘Where do we meet?’

‘Back at the tavern – don’t loiter.’

Higlett was on the point of moving away when a thought made him frown.

‘Is this
it
, Abel?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is this the last thing we do for him? Is he going to pay us off and let us go our own sweet way? I’m getting tired of taking orders.’

‘Do as you’re told and don’t ask questions.’

‘I’m bound to wonder.’

‘All you need to think about is what we have to do tonight,’ said Fearon, voice laden with threat. ‘Now get on with it.’

A cricket match at Thomas Lord’s ground was always going to attract a large number of spectators. When Paul Skillen arrived there that morning, thousands were converging on what was, in fact, the third venue selected by Lord. After three years at Lisson Grove, the enterprising property dealer had moved the ground, turf and all, to the site in St John’s Wood. It was the designated home of the Marylebone Cricket Club and, as such, was effectively the guardian of the laws of the game. Members of the aristocracy and the gentry flocked to a match that would last two days and was advertised as For Five Hundred Guineas a Side. Substantially more money than that would change hands because there would be some assiduous gambling throughout the game. It was an aspect of cricket that had always appealed to Paul but his penchant for gambling had been banked down since he met Hannah and he was resolved to resist temptation.

His main worry was how to identify and get close to Sir Humphrey Coote. He’d seen many caricatures of the man but the latter’s features were distorted for the comic effect in them. All that he could do was to lurk near the entrance and hope that he singled out the right person. It would be difficult. There was an atmosphere of high excitement as the crowd pushed forward to pay the admission price of sixpence. What he did know was that Sir Humphrey would arrive by coach. He therefore studied each vehicle as it arrived and deposited its passengers. His mind, however, kept wandering. In his pocket was the letter from Hannah Granville and it seemed to be giving off intense heat. Instead of watching a cricket match, Paul wanted to be sailing to France to be at her side. He envisaged the moment of reunion time and again.

Only a firm slap on the shoulder could bring him out of his reverie.

‘Well met, sir!’ said a hearty voice. ‘Is it Peter or Paul Skillen I see?’

‘Good morning, Mr Reddish,’ said Paul, recognising him. ‘You’re speaking to Paul. It’s good to see you again, sir.’

‘That’s no small thanks to you.’

‘I simply gave you the instruction you sought, sir.’

‘Yes, and it saved my life. What you didn’t know at the time was that I came to the shooting gallery because I’d been challenged to a duel. Your advice gave me the courage to go through with it and an unerring accuracy with the duelling pistol that I’d never have achieved otherwise.’

Paul remembered him well. Gilbert Reddish was a corpulent man in his forties with an unquenchable ebullience. His voice, mien and attire suggested considerable prosperity. He’d needed a lot of instruction before he was ready to fight a duel. Paul was glad to see that he’d survived it.

‘I shot him in the arm holding the pistol and that was that,’ explained Reddish with a triumphant guffaw. ‘He’ll know better than to take me on again.’ He slapped Paul on the shoulder again. ‘Are you on your own today?’

‘Yes, Mr Reddish.’

‘Then you must join our party. Watching cricket is a barren affair if you’re by yourself. Three of my very best friends will soon be here to drink, gamble and enjoy the festivities. You’ll make a fifth.’ He held up a handbill. ‘Have you seen the names in the respective teams?’

‘I have, indeed, sir,’ replied Paul. ‘Lord Frederick Beauclerk will lead one side and the other will have Squire Osbaldeston in its ranks. There are no better players in the whole kingdom.’

Flattered by the attention from Reddish, he was also dismayed. If he was trapped with a group of people, he would not be free to hunt down the man he was after. Paul was about to offer an
apology and say that he was unable to accept the kind invitation when Reddish stood on his toes to look over the heads of the crowd.

‘Here they are!’ he cried. ‘I’d recognise his coach anywhere.’

‘Mr Reddish …’

‘They’re splendid fellows, each and every one. You’ll get on famously with them, especially with Sir Humphrey. He’s very knowledgeable about the game.’

Paul’s apology died on his lips. ‘Sir
Humphrey
…?’

‘Yes,’ said the other, waving an arm to attract the three people alighting from the coach. ‘Sir Humphrey Coote. He’s always riotous company.’

It was a quiet funeral. Held in the parish church, it was short but moving. Peter Skillen was there and so was Gully Ackford. Gregory Lomas had also come to see his former lodger laid to rest but, since neither of them had ever met the man, they didn’t recognise him. The coffin concealed the ugly injuries inflicted on Leonidas Paige by the murderous assault and by the subsequent fire. Flowers provided by Diane Mandrake were sent with her love and deep regret. Peter and Ackford had been able to identify Virgo the moment he appeared but it was only afterwards that they were able to speak to him. After tossing a handful of earth into the grave, Paige’s brother came over to them.

‘Thank you, Mr Skillen,’ he said, shaking Peter’s hand. ‘It was good of you to send me details of the funeral. I’d not have missed it for the world.’

‘Actually,’ Ackford pointed out, ‘this is not
Paul
Skillen but his twin brother, Peter. We’re pleased to meet you at last, sir. My name is Gully Ackford. Leo and I fought together in America.’

‘Then I owe Mr Skillen my apologies and I owe you profound
thanks.’ He exchanged a handshake with them. ‘Paul told me that you and his brother were helping in the search for the killer. I just wish that I could do more myself but I’m too distracted by grief. As he got older, Leo and I grew so much closer.’

‘Working together does that,’ said Peter. ‘It’s the same with Paul and me.’

‘I’d assumed that he’d be here.’

‘He’s shadowing one of our suspects, Mr Paige.’

‘Then there’s no better excuse.’

They chatted for a few minutes, then, after shaking hands in turn with the vicar, they walked away from the grave. Lomas had been loitering self-consciously on the fringe of the little group. After the earlier abrasive meeting with Paige’s brother, he took care to keep well away from him. Seeing his chance to speak to the person he mistook as Paul Skillen, he came over to him. Peter had to explain the situation.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ said Lomas. ‘I didn’t realise there were two of you.’

‘We are working together to solve the crime.’

‘Is there any chance of an arrest yet?’

‘We are getting ever closer to that point, sir.’

‘The killer should be made to pay for the damage to my house.’

‘I fear that the only compensation you’ll get is the pleasure of knowing that he’ll be tried for murder with his accomplice.’

Lomas nodded towards Virgo. ‘Who’s that gentleman over there?’

‘A friend of the deceased,’ replied Peter, unwilling to disclose the man’s identity. ‘My brother told me that he called at your house.’

‘He did more than that, Mr Skillen. He forced his way in.’

‘This may not be the time to press for an apology, Mr Lomas.
I’m sure that it would be forthcoming but our thoughts should be with Mr Paige at this moment.’

‘You are right, sir. Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.’

‘We will keep you informed of any developments.’

‘Your brother made the same promise,’ said Lomas, ‘but it’s not one I received from the Bow Street Runners. They gave me no such assurance.’

‘They have their methods and we have ours.’

‘I know which I prefer, Mr Skillen. You and your brother have shown a sympathy and consideration that I appreciate. As you can imagine, it’s been a very trying time for us. Mr Paige was a friend as well as a lodger. We feel his loss sorely. The other Mr Skillen consoled us,’ he went on, ‘whereas the Runners simply trampled over our feelings. We’ll be glad if we never set eyes on Mr Yeomans ever again.’

Alfred Hale’s reaction to the news was a dry laugh and a raised eyebrow.

‘Are you surprised?’ he said.

‘I’m very sorry for the lady.’

‘It’s amazing that nobody has smashed her window before. Let’s be honest, Micah. When we looked at those prints the other day, you’d have been tempted to grab a brick and throw it through the glass.’

‘That’s a lie!’ retorted Yeomans. ‘I have respect for property. I’d never dream of damaging that shop or any other.’

‘Why are you so concerned about Mrs Mandrake all of a sudden?’

‘I fear for her safety, Alfred.’

‘But she was not on the premises when the stone was thrown.’

‘She’ll certainly be there in the event of a second attack and I have a feeling that it’s likely.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Hale. ‘Just because someone tears down a poster, it doesn’t mean that the shop is in imminent danger. The poster might have blown off in the night or been ripped off the boarding by mischievous children. It may just be that it was never fixed securely to the wood in the first place.’

‘It was another warning,’ asserted Yeomans.

‘Need it concern us?’

‘Yes, it should. As Runners, we’re charged with the protection of property and with the safety of our citizens. The print shop is under threat and so is its owner. Has it not yet dawned on you that the person who ordered the killing of Mr Paige is the same man who had Mrs Mandrake’s property attacked?’

Hale’s mouth fell open. ‘Is that really the case?’

‘Who sold Paige’s drawings?’

‘
She
did.’

‘How do you stop Paige from producing those caricatures?’

‘You have him silenced.’

‘What if they continue to be on sale in the print shop?’

‘You try to scare the owner of the shop.’

‘Well done, Alfred,’ said Yeomans, sarcastically. ‘You are making the right deductions at last. Make one more deduction for me, if you please. What should we be doing tonight?’

‘We must keep watch in Covent Garden until those two villains roll up with their tongues out and their pricks throbbing.’ He saw the look of contempt on the other’s face. ‘You tell me, then.’

‘If there’s to be another attack on the shop, it will be at night. Mrs Mandrake and her assistant are on guard during the day. Forewarned is forearmed. At night, however, she is more vulnerable. When I offered my help, she refused it outright. Now, isn’t it logical to suppose that the men hired to dispose of Paige will also be engaged to cause some sort of damage in Middle Row?’

‘I never thought of it like that, Micah.’

‘You never thought at all.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘We’ll maintain some surveillance in Covent Garden,’ said Yeomans, ‘but I’ll also deploy men in Holborn. The print shop must be guarded all night.’

‘We should take on that task ourselves.’

‘No, we shouldn’t. It’s work for someone with sharper eyes and quicker legs than ours. You can guess who I mean, I think.’

‘Oh, I do – Chevy Ruddock.’

The irony was that, in other circumstances, Paul Skillen might have relished the occasion. He loved the game of cricket and he found his companions uniformly amiable. When they heard that he’d helped to prepare Gilbert Reddish for a duel, they accepted him at once and insisted on paying for everything he needed. Swept into the largest of the marquees, Paul was plied with drink and urged to make a wager. He was in a situation that was familiar to him, hobnobbing with the sort of people he’d met dozens of times in a gambling den. What made him even more popular with his new friends were his insights into the game. He knew the worth and potential of every player on both sides and was happy to give advice before anyone placed a bet. It was not long before all four of them were deferring to him.

When the game finally started, Sir Humphrey Coote insisted that Paul sat beside them so that he could savour his observations. He was a tall, lean man of middle years with piggy eyes and an aquiline nose markedly increased in size in all the caricatures of him. His laugh was a high-pitched cackle of pure joy. He was so generous and good-humoured that Paul had to remind himself that he could be talking to a man who’d instigated a murder.

‘I’m so glad that we met,’ said Sir Humphrey, patting him on the thigh. ‘I may have need of your services one day. In the course of my favourite recreation, I have cuckolded an untold number of husbands. Sooner or later, one of them will want his revenge in a duel. You, Mr Skillen, will act as my instructor and as my second. Is it agreed?’

‘It’s agreed, Sir Humphrey,’ said Paul, forcing the words out.

‘If you saved Reddish’s life, you can do the same for me.’