Steps to the Gallows (22 page)

‘What are our orders, sir?’ asked Fearon.

‘The first thing you must do is to close your mouth and listen.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Your instructions are simple.’

He spoke slowly and distinctly, repeating certain details in order to stress their importance. Fearon took it all in, nodding obediently throughout. When he’d committed everything to memory, he asked a final question.

‘So we have to kill this man in the King’s Bench,’ he said. ‘Does that mean we forget all about Mrs Mandrake?’

‘Oh, no – her turn will come next.’

It was a pointless gesture. They soon came to accept that. When they rode through the darkness to Southwark and reined in their horses outside the prison, they found that they were in the middle of a gushing stream of beggars, prostitutes, homeless men and drunken revellers. Caught up in the mass of people, it was impossible to see their faces properly or to discern their purpose in being there. Nobody was let into the King’s Bench and nobody emerged from it. The gate remained defiantly closed. An hour scudded by.

‘We’re wasting our time, Jem.’

‘They may turn up,’ said Huckvale.

‘How will we recognise them in this crowd?’

‘Think of that sketch we have of Fearon.’

‘That’s no help at all in the dark.’

‘If they come, they’ll try to gain entry. We simply watch the gate.’

‘But they may already have been allowed inside.’

‘Then why don’t we ask to be let in ourselves?’

Ackford laughed. ‘You’ve a good heart,’ he said, ‘but you have a lame brain at times. If we rouse the gatekeeper and tell him that we’re worried about the safety of a friend, he’s going to ask what
Paul Skillen is doing in there when his name is not listed among the prisoners.’

‘Ah, yes … perhaps that would be foolish.’

‘He’ll also wonder why Virgil Paige is no longer there. In other words, you’ll be giving both him and Paul away.’

‘It was a stupid idea,’ conceded Huckvale.

‘Let’s go back to the gallery.’

‘Can’t we stay another hour?’

‘No, we can’t.’

‘Can we come again at first light, then?’

‘Is there any need to do so?’

‘I think there is.’

‘Well, I think you should have more faith in Paul. He does, after all, have the advantage of surprise,’ Ackford pointed out. ‘He’s expecting an attack. If it comes, it will involve someone who has no idea that he’s lying in wait for them.’

‘But there could be two of them, Gully.’

‘At a pinch, he could handle four or five.’

Huckvale agreed reluctantly to go back and they were soon picking their way through the traffic on the bridge. Arriving at the gallery, they stabled their horses and let themselves into the building.

‘Time for bed,’ suggested Ackford.

‘I’ll be too worried about Paul to sleep.’

‘Fatigue will wipe away your worries, Jem. Close your eyes and think about Meg Rooke. She’ll give you sweet dreams.’

They were about to go to their respective rooms when they heard the sounds of gunfire above their heads. Dashing into the office, Ackford grabbed a pistol, loaded it and gave it to Huckvale. He then found a weapon for himself. Holding a lantern to guide the way, he crept upstairs with Huckvale right behind him. The
gunfire was coming from the shooting gallery. When they got there, they could see light from inside the room spilling under the door.

Ackford grasped the handle and flung the door open, levelling his pistol at the same time. Huckvale come rushing into the room behind him. They stopped dead.

Virgil Paige stood there with a hand clasped to his heart.

‘You frightened the life out of me,’ he complained.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Huckvale.

‘I’m trying to rub off a little of the rust, lad. It’s a long time since I’ve borne arms. I never thought I’d have need of a weapon again but, obviously, I do. Since you both went out, I thought I’d get in some practice.’

‘You needed it,’ said Ackford, examining the target. ‘Every shot hit the rim.’

‘Leave it to Paul,’ advised Huckvale. ‘He can hit the bull’s eye time and again with either hand. He always says that the first shot must be accurate because it may be the only one you get to fire.’

‘That’s horribly true.’

‘My weapon of choice was a Brown Bess musket,’ said Paige. ‘I can’t get the hang of this pistol.’ He put the weapon resignedly on the table. ‘I hate to admit it but my soldiering days are definitely behind me.’

‘I thought that when I was discharged,’ said Ackford with a wry smile, ‘then I opened this gallery and have had a weapon in my hand every single day since then.’ He looked at Paige’s shirt, waistcoat and breeches. ‘How do you feel in my clothes?’

‘I feel hopelessly inadequate.’

‘Why?’

‘Instead of sneaking out of prison, I should have stayed to fight.’

‘You
do
fight – but it’s with a pen instead of a gun.’

‘Because of me, Mr Skillen is in danger.’

‘That’s his natural habitat.’

‘I’d never forgive myself if anything bad happens to him,’ said Paige with an anguished expression. ‘And neither will his brother.’

‘Don’t worry about Peter,’ said Huckvale. ‘He told me that you’d done the right thing. If those men do go to the prison, they’ll be searching for someone who is roughly the same age as your brother. They won’t give Paul a second look.’

Paul Skillen employed the same code as his predecessor. He’d wedged the chair against the door so that it couldn’t be opened from outside. When he heard the distinctive knock that morning, he knew that Snapper was outside. Moving the chair, he let the boy into the room.

‘Ya still ’ere, then,’ observed Snapper.

‘I’m still here and still alive.’

‘Nobody came – I watched all night.’

‘Thank you, Snapper.’

‘Gor any breckf’st?’

‘There’s some bread in the cupboard and a few other things. Help yourself.’

The boy rushed over to the cupboard and plundered it. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress, he munched away happily. He looked more waif-like than ever.

‘Won’t your family miss you?’

‘Nah – they’ll be glad to get rid o’ me, sir.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Too many,’ said Snapper through a mouthful of bread.

‘Will you ever get out?’

‘One day, I ’opes. Mr Paige said ’e’d pay orff our debts bur my
farver wood’n ler ’im. Dad says we pays our own debts.’

‘Isn’t that a case of looking a gift horse in the mouth?’

‘Mr Paige never said ’e’d give us an ’orse.’

‘It’s an old saying, Snapper. It means that, if something good is offered to you, then you ought to take it.’

‘Iss thar why Mr Paige ain’t in ’ere no more?’

‘Yes,’ said Paul, laughing, ‘you’re quite right. I made him a tempting offer and he accepted it.’

‘I misses ’im.’

‘He’ll be back one day.’

‘When?’

‘When I catch the people trying to kill him.’

The boy’s eyes were whirlpools of dread. ‘Wor if they kills ya first?’

‘That will never happen,’ said Paul. ‘I’ve got this wonderful lookout.’

Snapper giggled so much that he began to choke.

The night had passed without incident at the print shop. Peter had made a couple of forays out into the darkness to check that the Runners had indeed dispersed and to see if there was any suspicious activity. Convinced that they were completely safe, he’d even managed an hour or two of sleep. Though her own slumbers had been curtailed by fear of attack, Diane was now in a cheerful frame of mind. Over breakfast with Peter and Tite, she became expansive.

‘We’ve scared them off,’ she decided. ‘They’ve realised that they’ve met their match in me and crawled away with their tails between their legs. I usually see off my enemies in the end. It’s true, isn’t it, Ben?’

‘Yes, Mrs Mandrake,’ said Tite, dutifully.

‘Nobody picks an argument with me twice.’

‘I can appreciate why,’ said Peter, tactfully.

‘The glazier is coming this morning to put in the new window.’

Tite was vexed. ‘Is that altogether wise, Mrs Mandrake?’

‘We can’t have a shop without a shop window, Ben.’

‘But we have no stock to put in it.’

‘We’ll bring it back soon.’

‘I feel safer with the boarding up,’ he admitted. ‘When we have another window, anybody will be able to look inside at us.’

‘We can pull the curtain across.’

‘What if someone gallops past and throws another stone?’

‘They won’t try the same trick twice, Mr Tite,’ said Peter. ‘Besides, that’s too mild a warning now. Since they’ve already made one attempt on your lives, they won’t draw back from making another.’

Tite blanched. ‘Please, please stay with us, Mr Skillen. We need you.’

‘We may do so at night,’ agreed Diane, ‘but I sense that we’re out of danger during the day. In any case, Peter can’t build his life around us. He has family commitments. He’ll want to see his wife at some point.’

‘If I don’t go home,’ said Peter, ‘Charlotte will probably come here.’

‘There’s no reason why we should make her do that.’

‘You could always stay at
our
house, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘Someone has to stand over the glazier to make sure that he does the job properly. I have a gift for handling tradesmen. They know that I’ll not accept shoddy workmanship.’

‘I will slip away later this morning, then,’ said Peter.

‘There may be more news about your brother.’

‘If that were the case, Jem would have already delivered it to me.’

‘How close are you and Paul?’

‘We work together so we spend a lot of time in each other’s company. Where leisure is concerned, however, we live in different worlds. My wife and I enjoy things that Paul would consider far too tame and conventional.’

‘I read somewhere that twins have a special means of communication.’

‘Oh, no, we speak to each other in English, just like everyone else.’

‘What I mean is that … well, you can sense things about each other when you’re apart. Is there any truth in that?’

‘Yes, there is,’ replied Peter. ‘Each of us seems to know if the other one is in serious danger. That’s what happened in my case anyway. I was too unwary on one occasion when I walked down an alleyway and I was felled by a cudgel. I had enough strength to get up and fight but there were two of them and I couldn’t have held out indefinitely. All of a sudden, Paul came riding to my rescue,’ he continued. ‘He swung his horse round so that the animal’s flank knocked one man flying then he leapt from the saddle to grapple with the other. I can’t tell you how pleased I was to see him or how glad I was that I’d told him exactly where I was going.’

‘How did he know that you were in trouble?’

‘He told me that he sensed it somehow.’

‘It sounds to me as if you’re very much indebted to him, Peter,’ said Diane, hand on his arm. ‘That was taking brotherly love to an extreme. I hope that you get a chance to repay him for his timely intervention.’

Knowing that he was a stickler for punctuality, Yeomans and Hale were waiting for him at precisely the minute he arrived at court. Kirkwood dispensed with greetings.

‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Did they strike again last night?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Yeomans.

‘They might have done,’ said Hale. ‘We weren’t there.’

‘Why not?’ asked Kirkwood, looking accusingly from one to the other. ‘I understood that you were going to maintain the patrol.’

‘That was the intention,’ said Yeomans.

‘Yet you didn’t actually go there.’

‘We went there, Mr Kirkwood but … our services were not required.’

‘What he means,’ explained Hale, ‘is that Mrs Mandrake sent us on our way.’

‘But you were there to protect her.’

‘So was Paul Skillen.’

‘In point of fact,’ corrected Yeomans, ‘it was Peter Skillen.’

‘There’s nothing to choose between them, Micah.’

Kirkwood became angry. ‘I hope you’re not telling me that you ceded the duty of mounting a patrol to one of the Skillen brothers. In my codex, that would be viewed as a case of dereliction of duty.’

‘Skillen did not patrol the street, sir.’

‘Then what
did
the fellow do?’

‘At Mrs Mandrake’s invitation, he stayed the night inside the shop.’

‘But you saved the woman’s life and her property. Didn’t she think that you were worthy of thanks?’

‘They both were,’ said Hale. ‘Mr Yeomans and Ruddock were heroes.’

‘Who’s Ruddock?’

‘He’s the member of the foot patrol who first saw the place was on fire.’

‘Why wasn’t I told about this?’

‘I did mention his name to you,’ claimed Yeomans, shooting a poisonous glance at Hale. ‘He’s a promising young man.’

‘Then he should have been brought to my attention.’

‘I thought he had been, sir.’

‘I’d remember a name like Ruddock,’ said the chief magistrate, pointedly. ‘Have you returned to the print shop this morning?’

‘No, sir, I wanted to report to you first.’

‘But you have nothing worth reporting. There was I last evening, telling Brunt that you were making steady progress and it’s not true. The next time I see him at my club, I’ll have to admit to Brunt that you are struggling.’

‘Is that Mr Gerard Brunt, the Member of Parliament?’

‘Yes, it is, Yeomans. For some reason he’s taken an inordinate interest in this case. It will be embarrassing to inform him that you failed miserably.’

‘That’s unfair, sir.’

‘We did our best,’ argued Hale. ‘Chevy Ruddock patrolled the street itself while the rest of us stayed within easy reach. When Mr Yeomans went to speak to Ruddock, out came Peter Skillen with a message from Mrs Mandrake that they were to stand down for the night.’

Kirkwood was almost apoplectic. ‘Since when has the owner of a print shop been in control of the deployment of the Bow Street Runners?’

‘The lady seems to have some animosity towards us.’

‘Be quiet,’ whispered Yeomans.

‘Let’s be honest about it. She has no respect for who we are and what we do. Mrs Mandrake was grateful that Mr Yeomans and Ruddock fought the blaze but she remained unfriendly towards them. To be frank, Micah,’ he went on, turning to his companion,
‘I don’t think she liked the look of you after your eyebrows got singed.’

‘This is preposterous,’ howled Kirkwood. ‘For all we know, the woman could be lying in a pool of blood because you were not there to keep the killers at bay last night. Why did you let her send you packing? Does Mrs Mandrake own the whole street? How did she acquire a legal right to control access to and from Holborn?’