Steps to the Gallows (24 page)

‘I don’t care who he is as long as he’s caught.’

‘That might be tricky, Charlotte,’ said Ackford. ‘In his position,
I’d make myself scarce. His plots to kill Mrs Mandrake and Mr Paige have both failed, and his hired assassins are in chains. Peter and Paul will soon be on his tail. That will put the fear of God into him. He’ll make a run for it.’

‘We’ll catch him wherever he goes,’ promised Paul. ‘Meanwhile, we can spread the good news about the arrests.’

‘Jem is already on his way to Holborn to do so.’

‘I wish I could be there when Mrs Mandrake hears it.’

Even though the horse jiggled him around, Huckvale didn’t mind. He was happy to endure the headache he was given in the interest of being the bringer of glad tidings. When he got to the print shop, the glaziers were hard at work with Diane Mandrake standing over them with Benjamin Tite at her side. Seeing the horse cantering towards them, Tite was terrified that another missile was going to be thrown at the window and he hid behind the ample frame of his employer.

‘Don’t be silly, Ben,’ she chided. ‘It’s Jem Huckvale from the gallery.’

‘Oh,’ said Tite, overwhelmed with relief. ‘Thank God!’

Huckvale reined in his mount and leapt to the ground.

‘They’ve done it!’ he announced.

‘Who has done what?’ asked Diane.

‘Peter and Paul have caught those two men. They’re in custody.’

‘That’s marvellous,’ she cried, embracing him so tightly that his face almost disappeared between her breasts. She stood him away from her. ‘Tell me all, Jem. Are we truly free of any danger?’

‘Yes, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Tite, eyes streaming with tears. ‘It’s over at last. We can open the shop again.’

‘We’ll need to reclaim our stock first,’ Diane reminded him. ‘But let’s hear the details from Jem. When and how did it happen?’

Huckvale was very proud to be chosen as the messenger. Still nervous in Diane’s presence, he nevertheless gave a report that was articulate and laced with moderate excitement. He freely embellished the details of the actual arrest, knowing the kind of skill and bravado that Peter and Paul always showed in a fight. At the end of his recitation, he was given a kiss on both cheeks by Diane and a pat on the back by Tite. In effect, he’d just torn up their respective death warrants.

‘Oh,’ cried Diane, ‘if only
he
were with us to hear this news.’

‘Who do you mean?’ asked Huckvale.

‘I mean that detestable man with the singed eyebrows.’

‘Credit where it’s due,’ said Tite. ‘Mr Yeomans did manage to put out the fire and save the shop. I could never detest a man for doing that.’

‘Nor should I,’ she said, apologetically. ‘It’s just that he’s going to go bright green with jealousy when he realises that Peter and Paul have done his job for him better than he himself could. What will the chief magistrate say to that?’

They had never seen Eldon Kirkwood in such a state of quivering fury before. As the Runners stood abjectly before him in his office, the chief magistrate subjected them to withering scorn. Yeomans and Hale hardly heard a word of his vituperation. They were trying to take in the news that Peter and Paul Skillen had arrested the two men responsible for the murder of Leonidas Paige and for attempted arson at the print shop. When he finally reached the end of his harangue, Kirkwood eyed them darkly.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘what have you to say for yourselves?’

‘We’re very sorry, sir,’ ventured Hale.

‘Is that all?’

‘The Skillen brothers always have good luck.’

‘Solving a murder is not a matter of luck, Hale. It requires hard work and an insight into the criminal mentality. Bravery, too, is involved. Paul Skillen, I’m led to believe, took on two armed men.’

‘Where was this, sir?’

‘I don’t know all the details. What I do know is that those brothers stand to collect a large reward while you are mired in failure once again.’

‘That’s unjust,’ said Yeomans. ‘Don’t forget about the fire.’

‘I haven’t done so,’ returned Kirkwood. ‘Only this morning, I wrote a letter of thanks to Ruddock for raising the alarm that night. Had he not done so in time, the print shop would have been razed to the ground.’

‘I played
my
part, sir.’

‘That’s true, Yeomans, and it deserves commendation. But the good work you did in fighting that fire has been eclipsed by the pusillanimous way in which you let Mrs Mandrake expel you from Holborn like so many naughty children, and by the fact that you let someone else catch the villains in your place.’

‘We didn’t “let” them, sir.’

‘Then how do you explain their success?’

‘They use different methods to us.’

‘Yes,’ said Hale, ‘and they don’t share the evidence they find. If they’d told us what they’d found out,
we
could have put those men behind bars.’

‘I beg leave to doubt that,’ said Kirkwood, curling his lip. ‘The only person who’s emerged from this farce unsullied is Ruddock. You have both blotted your escutcheons badly. It’s high time you redeemed yourselves.’

Yeomans winced at the praise bestowed on Ruddock. He was desperate to repair his damaged reputation without quite knowing how. Hale provided the answer.

‘I’ve been wondering, sir,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘There’s somebody else, isn’t there? Why should those two men kill someone who helped to make caricatures, then try to burn down the shop that sold them? It doesn’t make any sense. They were suborned by someone else.’

‘Now you’re beginning to think like a Runner.’

‘Yes,’ said Yeomans, pouncing on the idea as if it had just emerged full-grown from his brain, ‘they must have been controlled by someone who took offence at the cartoons sold by Mrs Mandrake. The Skillen brothers may have caught two people but it’s a third one who instigated the crimes.’

‘Find him,’ said Kirkwood. ‘That’s the way for you to redeem yourselves. Find this man quickly and earn back my respect.’

Having ordered his valet to pack his trunk, he had it carried downstairs. As it was loaded on to the coach, he announced that he had no idea when he’d return to the house. A minute later, he was being driven away.

Peter Skillen had always been saddened by the wide disparity between inmates in the city’s debtors’ prisons. The majority of those incarcerated were doomed to lives of misery, packed into filthy, stinking cells that were breeding grounds for disease and forced to rub shoulders with seasoned criminals. Peter had heard of cases where prisoners had parted with clothing and shoes in exchange for sustenance. In stark contrast, there were those in the King’s Bench with money enough to purchase healthier and more comfortable accommodation. They dressed well, moved freely around the place, ate heartily and might even bring a cook into the prison to prepare their food. Virgil Paige had occupied a position between the two extremes, able to pay for a limited number of privileges but still having to provide his own bedding and endure the many shortcomings of the prison community. By inclination, he sided with the real paupers, like Snapper and his family, who suffered severe deprivation.

Having been inside the King’s Bench during the arrest of the two men, Peter had seen the yawning gap between poverty and plenty with his own eyes. He’d been amazed by the number of elegant bucks promenading in the courtyard while ragged children hunted for scraps of food or huddled in corners. It was
something he took up with Geoffrey Lanning, the marshal.

‘Do you have no pity for the scarecrows in your keep, sir?’ he asked.

‘I am merely enforcing the law.’

‘Yet you do so from
outside
the prison.’

‘I have a care for the air I breathe, Mr Skillen. Some of the scarecrows you refer to are no more than disease-ridden, lice-ridden wretches.’

‘Can you not cure their diseases and get rid of their lice?’

‘Had I the money to do so,’ said Lanning, impassively, ‘I could hire a team of doctors for that purpose. Since you show such an interest in their welfare, sir, perhaps you’d like to make a donation to that end.’

Peter said nothing because he believed that any money he donated would get no further than the marshal. He was sitting in the commodious office in the well-appointed apartments occupied by the man, a thin, sleek individual in his fifties with a powdered wig and immaculate attire. The marshal’s face was carved from granite.

‘State your business, sir,’ said Lanning. ‘I am a busy man.’

‘I am here with regard to Mr Virgil Paige,’ said Peter. ‘Two men were hired to kill him and were admitted to this prison by means of a letter signed by you.’

The marshal flicked the charge contemptuously away. ‘I deny the allegation.’

‘Somebody obtained that document from you, Mr Lanning.’

‘I have no memory whatsoever of that.’

‘You deny obliging a gentleman who called on you here yesterday?’

‘My job is to run this prison efficiently,’ said the other, coldly. ‘It is not to oblige anyone by writing a letter on his or her behalf.’

‘Then perhaps you can explain this,’ challenged Peter, extracting the missive from his pocket and handing it over. ‘Your gatekeeper was kind enough to give it to me. That is your signature, is it not? Or is it a clever forgery?’

The marshal glanced at the paper then put it hastily aside. While his features remained immobile, his eyes smouldered with anger.

‘Why have you come here, Mr Skillen?’

‘I want the name of the man who called on you to have Mr Paige’s freedom rudely curtailed. Or is your memory unequal to
that
task as well?’

‘Sarcasm ill becomes you.’

‘What is your answer?’

Lanning rose to his feet. ‘My answer is that I’d like you to leave immediately. You have no right to be here and no warrant to make distasteful insinuations. Good day to you, Mr Skillen.’

‘Before I leave,’ said Peter, remaining in his seat, ‘I have another letter to show you. This one comes from Viscount Sidmouth. Rightly anticipating a lack of cooperation from you, I took the precaution of visiting him before I came here. When I explained the situation to him, he was kind enough to offer his assistance.’ He took a second letter from his pocket and passed it to Lanning. ‘That signature, I can assure you, is
not
a forgery.’

The marshal unfolded the letter and read its contents. To his dismay, it was highly complimentary about his visitor. He looked up.

‘How did you come to have the ear of the Home Secretary?’

‘I had the privilege of rendering him service during and after the war, sir.’

‘He considers you to be a hero.’

Peter smiled modestly. ‘I make no such claim,’ he said. His
voice hardened. ‘I simply wish to know the name of the man who asked a favour of you.’

‘That’s out of the question.’

‘Why?’

Lanning shook his head. ‘I couldn’t possibly break a confidence.’

‘You’d be helping in a murder investigation.’

‘That makes no difference, Mr Skillen. A promise is a promise.’

‘Not when it’s made to a man who ordered an assassination.’

‘I gave him my word.’

‘And what did he give
you
in return?’

‘How dare you!’ yelled the other, stamping his foot.

‘He’s a rich man. He could well afford a hefty bribe.’

Lanning was about to explode when his eye fell on the Home Secretary’s letter. It enjoined to him to give whatever information Peter Skillen requested. Mastering his fury, he adopted a dignified pose.

‘I accept bribes from nobody, sir.’

‘Then what emolument
did
you receive?’

‘I received overwhelming evidence that one of the prisoners in my charge had repeatedly flouted his freedom. I would be slack in my discipline if I’d allowed that to continue. That’s why the fellow was denied the right to leave the premises.’

‘And who provided this so-called evidence?’ asked Peter. There was a long pause. He brought his ultimate sanction into play. ‘Would you rather tell me or wait until the Home Secretary drags the name out of you by threat of dismissal?’

Head lowered, the marshal sank back into his seat with an air of defeat. He could see that his visitor would not be thwarted. Yet if he surrendered the name, he might have to face retribution from the man who’d demanded that Virgil Paige be penned without explanation inside the prison. Lanning did not see the sizeable
amount of money that he’d been given as a bribe at all. In his view, it was simply a payment for services rendered, so his conscience was untroubled.

‘Since you can’t remember the name,’ said Peter, tired of waiting, ‘then let me supply it for you. I put it to you that your visitor was Mr Gerard Brunt.’

Lanning was surprised. ‘Mr Brunt – the Member of Parliament?’

‘Am I right?’

‘Most certainly not.’

‘Then who was it?’

‘His name was Dr Penhallurick.’

After his brawl with the two men in the prison, Paul Skillen had collected a number of scratches and bruises. Yet he felt no pain whatsoever. The successful arrest of Fearon and Higlett was a soothing balm to his wounds. Charlotte couldn’t believe that he was not aching and smarting all over.

‘You have a nasty graze over your eye,’ she said with sympathy.

‘It will heal.’

‘Would you like me to bathe that lump on your temple?’

‘No, thank you. It will go down of its own accord.’

‘You should have waited until Peter came to help.’

‘Fearon and Higlett denied me that option,’ said Paul, smiling, ‘and I was happy to take on the two of them. I’ve not had such a bracing fight for some while. I’m just glad that I was wearing Mr Paige’s clothes at the time and not my own. They have a lot of bloodstains on them.’

‘Mr Paige didn’t mind in the least,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’s so relieved by what you and Peter achieved today. As for
your
apparel, he didn’t enjoy wearing it at all.’

‘It served its purpose.’

‘He thought it looked a trifle garish.’

‘It’s the height of fashion,’ insisted Paul with a hint of vanity. ‘I couldn’t wait to put it back on again.’

They were alone in the office at the gallery. After the excitement of capturing the two men, Paul was able to relax and let his mind wander away from the murder investigation. Charlotte saw the dreamy look in his eyes and the sad smile on his lips.

‘You’re thinking about Hannah, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘How did you guess?’

‘I know you too well.’

‘You’re right as usual. Now that I’m no longer so preoccupied, I’m going through the wording of her last letter.’

‘I still think you’re mistaken about that, Paul.’

‘Well, I don’t. Something is definitely amiss.’

‘Yes – she’s parted from the man she loves. That’s what’s amiss. It can be very painful. I suffered agonies every time Peter went to France during the war. I was never sure if he’d come back alive. Bear in mind that you don’t have that problem to contend with. Hannah is well and her commitments in Paris finish before long.’

‘There’s something else, Charlotte, something undisclosed.’

‘Then why didn’t she tell you about it?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just … very unsettling.’

‘She’s due back in England by the end of the month.’

‘I’m not sure that I can wait that long.’

‘But there is still unfinished business here,’ she said. ‘Those two men may be in custody but their paymaster is still at liberty.’

‘True.’

‘He must be brought to justice.’

‘Peter can do that perfectly well without me.’

‘What if he needs help?’

‘Gully or Jem can provide it.’

‘They have too much work to do here, Paul. Don’t desert your brother.’

‘I’ll explain the situation to him. Peter will understand.’

‘Don’t bank on that.’

‘Hannah
needs
me,’ he stressed. ‘I must go to Paris.’

Tracking down Penhallurick took some time. Peter had to be patient. Having discovered the doctor’s address, he went to the house at once, only to be told that its owner was visiting a patient before going on to his consulting rooms in Piccadilly. Since there was no sign of him at the latter venue, Peter waited near the door so that he could intercept him on arrival. When a carriage eventually rolled to a halt nearby, he watched a man alight and decided that he had to be Guy Penallurick because he looked so much like the figure in the various cartoons.

Stepping forward, Peter stood in the man’s path and tipped his hat.

‘Good day to you, Dr Penhallurick.’

‘Good day to you, sir,’ replied the other.

‘I’d value a word with you.’

‘That’s not possible, I fear, because I have a patient waiting for me.’

‘Allow me to correct you,’ said Peter, smoothly. ‘My information is that your patient is not due until this afternoon. By that time, you may not be in a position to see him unless he wishes to join you at the magistrate’s court.’

Penhallurick started. ‘What the devil do you mean, sir?’

Peter indicated the door. ‘You might care to have this discussion inside rather than out here in the street.’

‘Well, I don’t – say what you have to say and be off.’

‘My name is Peter Skillen and I am searching for the person who hired men to kill Leonidas Paige.’

‘Don’t ask me to mourn for Paige,’ said Penhallurick, bitterly. ‘The man did untold damage to the reputations of blameless individuals.’

‘Would you include yourself in that category?’

‘Indeed, I would.’

‘Conniving at murder is therefore a blameless activity, is it?’

‘I don’t have to listen to this nonsense,’ said Penhallurick, trying to walk past but Peter obstructed him. ‘Get out of my way, man.’

‘Mr Lanning has named you, sir.’

‘Who on earth is Mr Lanning?’

‘He’s the marshal of the King’s Bench Prison and you procured a favour from him yesterday.’

‘I did nothing of the kind, Mr Skillen.’

‘I have his word.’

‘Then you’ve been cruelly misled,’ said Penhallurick with mounting irritation. ‘I’ve never heard of a Mr Lanning and I certainly didn’t ask a favour of him. What exactly is going on?’

As Peter explained, the other man’s irritation became, by turns, curiosity, surprise, bafflement, realisation, then something bordering on frenzy. Eyes flashing, his arms gesticulated wildly.

‘I see what has happened here,’ he said, vengefully. ‘Someone has used my name in order to conceal his own. You told me that you were aware that I had the loan of a coach from a friend of mine. That much is true, Mr Skillen, though how you came by the intelligence is a mystery to me. I had arranged to take someone for a drive in the country and decided that my open carriage was unsuitable. A coach provides some insurance against inclement weather and guarantees privacy. Need I go on, sir?’

Peter shook his head and sighed with disappointment. Guy
Penhallurick was not his man, after all. Patently, he’d borrowed the coach to further a dalliance with a lady who’d either be more impressed by a coach than a carriage or who preferred to remain unseen with her beau. Peter apologised for the mistake.

‘For my part,’ said Penhallurick, ‘I’m grateful that you brought this deception to my attention. I will take it up with the man who dared to steal my name.’

‘I have an idea who that might be.’

‘I can tell you for certain. It was unquestionably Sir Humphrey Coote.’

When the coach came to a halt at the inn, someone opened the door for him.

‘Would you care to step inside while the horses are changed, sir?’

‘I’ll stay here.’

‘Shall I bring some refreshment out to you?’

‘No,’ said Sir Humphrey, impatiently, ‘I simply want to be on my way as soon as possible. How far is it to Dover?’

Even though he had good news to impart, Jem Huckvale had not been looking forward to the meeting with Diane Mandrake. As a rule he was not fearful, but somehow she frightened him at a deep level. In the event, she was extremely pleasant to him and the visit yielded an unexpected bonus. Deciding that the glaziers no longer needed her, she announced that she would reclaim her stock from Peter’s house and asked Huckvale if he would ride ahead and warn the household. He was back in the saddle at once. The chance of a few moments with Meg Rooke was too enticing to miss. He set off at a good pace.