Steps to the Gallows (3 page)

‘No, sir,’ admitted Yeomans.

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Hale.

‘Were neither of your aware of
Paige’s Chronicle
?’

‘So many newspapers are printed,’ said Yeomans, ‘that it’s impossible to keep track of all of them. They come and go all the time.’

‘This one existed long enough to cause considerable offence to some of the most distinguished men of the realm, myself among them. In essence,’ Kirkwood went on, plucking at his goatee beard, ‘the
Chronicle
was little more than a disgraceful example of indiscriminate mud-slinging at figures of authority.’

‘There’s far too much of that, sir.’

‘I hoped that the Stamp Act would terminate the vile publication but Paige continued to issue it without paying the duty. His boldness was expensive. His newspaper was closed down, a punitive fine was imposed and the wretch was thrown into prison. If it had been up to me, I’d have sent him there in perpetuity but the case, alas, didn’t come before me.’

‘Did you say that you were mentioned in the
Chronicle
?’ asked Hale.

‘I was more than mentioned, Hale.’

‘Oh?’

‘I was roundly traduced,’ said the other, curling his lip. ‘My name was changed, of course, but everyone who read the article would have realised that Eldon Kirkwood had been rechristened “Well-done Churchwood”.’ Yeomans spluttered. ‘I’m glad that you find it so amusing. Wait until
you
are the target of some malicious satirist, Yeomans. You feel as if you are being flayed in public.’

‘I’m astonished that anyone should dare to mock you, sir,’ said Yeomans, trying to win favour by being obsequious. ‘If anyone in public life is above reproach, it must be the Chief Magistrate.’

‘Paige thought otherwise.’

‘It could have been worse,’ ventured Hale.

‘Keep your idiotic opinion to yourself, man.’

‘But it could, sir. Being attacked in a newspaper must be very hurtful but imagine what it must be like to be sneered at in a caricature. Micah and I were passing a print shop only today. The cartoons on show poured scorn on everyone – even on the Prince Regent. The artists who draw them have no respect for anyone. There was the most vicious attack of Sir Humphrey Coote.’

‘Then it’s not impossible that Paige was party to it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The print, I believe, is part of a series under the collective nomenclature of the
Parliament of Foibles
. Rumour has it that the hand of Leonidas Paige is involved in its production. It’s one of the mysteries you need to solve. First, however,’ said Kirkwood, picking up the sheet of paper, ‘you must set an investigation in motion.’ He handed the paper to Yeomans. ‘Here is the address and what little we know of the crime. Report back to me when you’ve made your preliminary enquiries.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Yes, sir,’ echoed Hale.

The chief magistrate dismissed them with a lordly flick of his wrist. Once outside the room, Yeomans looked at the details he’d been given.

‘We can walk there easily.’

‘Wasn’t that a strange coincidence, Micah?’ said Hale. ‘The dead man might have been behind that caricature we saw of Sir Humphrey Coote – when he was alive, that is. Paige, I mean, not Sir Humphrey.’

‘Stop blabbering.’

‘But the cartoon was part of that series about Parliament.’

Yeomans was rueful. ‘I don’t need reminding of that, Alfred.’

While his colleague was thinking about the promiscuous politician, all that Yeomans could remember was his own
appearance in the caricature. Everyone who saw it would laugh heartily at his expense. The Runner was vengeful. If Paige was indeed responsible for it, he deserved to die.

‘Come on, Alfred,’ he said, setting off. ‘We’ve a murder to solve.’

Hale fell in beside him. ‘I’m with you, Micah.’

‘Before we catch the killer and make him face justice, there’s something I must do to him first.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I mean to shake his hand in gratitude. He’s done me a great favour.’

Shuttling between guilt and self-pity, Jem Huckvale was close to tears. He blamed himself for Paige’s death and he shuddered when he looked into a future without a place at the gallery. What would he do and who would look after him? Where else could he find such friendship and fulfilment? He’d be an outcast, carrying his abject failure like an irremovable brand upon his forehead. He wallowed in anxiety until fatigue finally closed his eyes and made him doze off. Waking after a few minutes, he took time to realise where he was, then saw that Gully Ackford was looming over him. Huckvale put up both arms protectively and cowered before his erstwhile employer.

‘Don’t hit me,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve already punished myself enough.’

‘Why the devil should I hurt you?’ asked Ackford, mildly.

‘You must be disgusted with me.’

‘I’m nothing of the kind. I’m just glad that you’re still alive, Jem. If you were outwitted, you’ll incur no blame from me. We all make mistakes. Mine was to give you an assignment far more hazardous than I’d ever imagined.’ He sat on the bed and put a gentle hand on Huckvale’s arm. ‘How do you feel?’

‘I’m frightened, Gully.’

‘Why? You’re perfectly safe now.’

‘I’m frightened of
you
.’

Ackford’s smile was paternal. ‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘I applaud your bravery in taking on the task I set you. Only something very serious could have forced Leo Paige to come looking for a bodyguard. I picked you out at once. You’re quicker on your feet than Peter and far less ostentatious than Paul. Unlike either of them, you can merge into nothingness.’

‘What I merged into today was a dark alley. All at once, it got even darker.’

‘Peter has told me what the surgeon said. You were lucky to survive.’

‘I don’t
feel
lucky.’

‘When he had the chance to kill you, your assailant didn’t take it. Leo Paige was the destined target. You just happened to get in the way.’

‘Are we still friends, then?’ asked Huckvale, hopefully.

‘We always will be, Jem.’ He squeezed the other’s arm then looked around. ‘This is a palace compared to the room you have at the gallery. Make the most of it while you can. I’m told you even have a maid to fetch and carry.’

‘I hate putting Peter and his wife to any trouble.’

‘They’re only too glad to take you in. Charlotte tells me that you can stay as long as you wish. Now, then,’ said Ackford, standing up, ‘let’s go back to the attack. You followed that man for some time, I gather. What can you remember about him?’

Huckvale indicated his head. ‘He can strike a fearsome blow, Gully.’

‘How tall was he?’

‘I’d say he was about your height.’

‘What age would he be?’

‘From the sprightly way he carried himself, he had to be a young man.’

‘How was he dressed?’

‘Like a costermonger. He wore a large hat that covered his face. I could see nothing of it when he turned his head sideways.’

‘So there’s nothing that would help you pick him out again?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘That’s disappointing. A strong young man of my height is a description that could apply to thousands in this teeming city.’

‘I didn’t wish to get closer unless he caught sight of me.’

‘But he did so, anyway.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Huckvale, frowning. ‘How could he have seen me when he never once turned round? There’s another explanation, I fancy.’

‘He had an accomplice?’

‘That’s right. The first man set off in pursuit of Mr Paige while the other waited to see if anybody from the gallery would follow. When I did, he dogged my footsteps. It never even crossed my mind to look over my shoulder.’

‘How did the accomplice get ahead of you and hide in that alley?’

‘It wouldn’t have been difficult to run past me. A number of other people did, most of them children. My eyes were unwisely fixed on one person.’

‘You did what you were bidden, Jem. There’s nothing wrong in that.’

‘I’m so upset about Mr Paige.’

‘So am I,’ said Ackford, sadly. ‘That man was a hero at the battle of Yorktown. He fought like a demon. It makes me sick to think that he was murdered simply because he dared to lampoon someone. I used to believe that there was such a thing as free
speech in this country. I learnt otherwise – and so did Leo Paige.’

There was a polite tap on the door and it opened to admit Meg Rooke, who looked as bright and attractive as ever. When she bobbed to the two men, Huckvale sank back shyly under the sheets.

‘I’ve been sent to ask if there’s anything you need, sir,’ she said.

‘No, no,’ replied Huckvale, jolted by her excessive deference.

‘When you do, sir, you only have to ring that little bell.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled sweetly. ‘I’m very sorry that you were injured, Mr Huckvale.’

‘Thank you.’

She took her leave and closed the door behind her. Ackford burst out laughing.

‘You’ve ended up in paradise, Jem.’

‘She called me “Mr Huckvale”. Nobody does that.’

‘It shows how much she respects you.’

‘Yet I’ve done nothing to earn it.’

‘How long do you expect to stay here, lad?’

‘Oh, it will be a few days at most.’

‘In your position,’ said the other with a sly wink, ‘I’d make it at least a few weeks. And that bell of yours wouldn’t stop ringing. The very thought of having Meg at my beck and call is dizzying. You could see how willing the girl is. Employ her to the hilt. My guess is that she’s going to be the best possible tonic for you.’

Though neither of them dared to go anywhere near the murder scene itself, Gregory and Eleanor Lomas had at last plucked up the courage to step inside their house. The Runners arrived and were told substantially the same story that Paul Skillen had heard from the couple earlier. With the landlord’s permission,
they went up to examine the victim’s lodging. A scene of chaos confronted them. The fire had eaten its way hungrily through the newspapers, clothing and bed linen before starting on the timber. Thanks to help from neighbours, terrified that the flames would extend to their dwellings, an endless succession of wooden buckets of water had eventually managed to douse the blaze. The place was full of charred timbers, shallow pools of water and general debris. A stench of damp hovered. Gaps in the floorboards allowed continuous dripping into the room below. There was an air of devastation.

‘Garrotted then set alight,’ said Hale with gruff sympathy. ‘That’s no fit way for any human being to meet his Maker.’

‘Don’t ask me to feel sorry for the man,’ warned Yeomans.

‘He was
murdered
, Micah. Show some respect for the dead.’

‘I’d rather dance a jig on his grave.’

‘You didn’t even know Paige.’

‘I know his type, Alfred. He’s another of those nasty, hateful, conniving scribblers who use words to blacken the reputation of others and cartoons to turn them into scapegoats. I detest the whole breed of cunning back-stabbers.’

‘They’ve never troubled
you
, have they?’

It was a pointed question. They both knew that Yeomans had been derided in one of the caricatures they’d seen earlier. Hale was too scared to say it aloud and Yeomans refuse to concede that – along with a lecherous politician – he’d been the butt of a satirist’s joke. He stared so aggressively at the other Runner that Hale was forced to avert his gaze and step quickly backwards. His feet landed in the soggy remains of a blanket and he almost fell over.

Having seen all they needed to, they went back downstairs and questioned the landlord and his wife about their lodger’s source of
income. Lomas had no idea how Paige had made his money. All that concerned him was that the rent was paid regularly and that they had an unusually quiet tenant.

‘We hardly knew he was up there, sirs,’ said Lomas. ‘Most of those we’ve taken in as lodgers have given us trouble of some kind or another but not Mr Paige. He’s a great loss to us.’

‘Who could want to kill him?’ asked the wife, wringing her hands.

‘It couldn’t have been for his money because I don’t think he had a great deal. We felt sorry for him, spending his old age in a single room among strangers.’

‘We’re not strangers, Gregory. We treated him like a friend.’

‘Yet he wouldn’t let us get close to him, Ellie.’

‘Why was that?’ asked Yeomans. ‘Did he have something to hide?’

Lomas hunched his shoulders. ‘Who can say?’

‘I’m sorry you had to come back and find your house in this state,’ said Hale.

‘The damage can be repaired but nobody can bring Mr Paige back to life.’

‘Good riddance to him!’ muttered Yeomans under his breath. He raised his voice. ‘We’ll need to speak to your neighbours,’ he went on. ‘They may have seen the killer coming or going. No man is invisible. He must have been spotted by
someone
.’

‘Will you catch him, Mr Yeomans?’

‘We’ll not sleep a wink until you do,’ added the wife.

‘It won’t take us long,’ boasted Yeomans. ‘We always catch up with the culprit in the end. It’s a matter of pride with us.’

‘It is,’ said Hale. ‘When a murder is committed, they always send for us.’

It was true. They had become a formidable team. Having made
their names as efficient thief-takers, Yeomans and Hale had been assigned to the more difficult and dangerous work of hunting killers. As a result, they’d sent a number of people – male and female – to the scaffold. One of the reasons for their success was that they’d built up a wide network of informers in the criminal underworld. The Runners either kept them on small retainers or offered them immunity from arrest for the petty crimes in which they were routinely involved.

‘As soon as word spreads,’ said Yeomans, confidently, ‘information will start to trickle in. We have eyes and ears everywhere in the city.’

‘London is a cesspit of crime,’ said Lomas, resentfully. ‘There’s theft and violence everywhere you turn. Because of that, we take care to avoid trouble. What we never expected was that our own home would be invaded by disaster. Can you offer law-abiding citizens no protection at all?’

‘No,’ replied Hale, bluntly. ‘There are far too few of us. We can’t police a huge city with a mere handful of men. But we have our successes.’

‘The gaols are full of them,’ asserted Yeomans. ‘We’ll never catch every light-fingered rogue who steals for a living or every accursed footpad who knocks his victims senseless before robbing them. What we can do is to put enough of them behind bars to send out a stern warning to the others. And our reputations have made some villains think twice about committing murder because they know we will come after them.’

‘That didn’t stop it happening right here,’ moaned Lomas. ‘The killer didn’t care two hoots about the Bow Street Runners.’

‘He’ll die regretting that.’

‘You’ll have to catch him first.’

‘I guarantee it.’

Eleanor Lomas bit her lip. ‘I think we should sleep at our son’s house.’

‘Nobody is going to drive me out of here,’ said her husband, stoutly. ‘This is our home and we’ll stay.’

‘But water is still coming through the ceiling!’

‘The servants will clear up the mess, Ellie.’

‘There are just a few more things we’d like to know,’ said Yeomans.

Lomas became tetchy. ‘Do you have to pester us like this?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you keep asking questions we’ve already answered? The other man was even more thorough than you’ve been.’

Yeomans bridled. ‘What other man?’

‘We thought he was a Runner like you.’

‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Well, no,’ said Lomas, ‘but he had the same air of authority.’

‘Describe him.’

‘He was tall, well dressed and ten years or more younger than either of you.’

‘And he was very handsome,’ his wife put in, wistfully. ‘Even in my distress, I noticed that. The gentleman was kind and reassuring. We trusted him.’

Yeomans turned to Hale. ‘It sounds like Peter Skillen.’

‘It could equally well be Paul Skillen,’ said the other, worriedly. ‘We don’t want him solving this crime instead of us, Micah. That’s happened before.’

‘Well, it won’t happen again.’

‘I hope not. We were made to look like buffoons.’

‘Whichever of those infernal brothers it is,’ said Yeomans through gritted teeth, ‘he is
not
going to interfere in our investigation. I’ll make sure that the Skillens understand that.’

When he’d discharged his duty as a fencing instructor at the gallery, Peter Skillen went back to the office to find his brother there. Seated at the table, Paul was making notes of his visit to Paige’s lodging. After a last flourish with the quill pen, he put it in the inkwell and sat back in his chair.

‘Everything I learnt at the murder scene is down here,’ he said.

‘It was Charlotte’s idea that we should keep written records while memories were still fresh in our minds.’

‘Charlotte is brimming with good ideas.’

‘That’s why she married me instead of you,’ teased Peter.

Paul smiled. ‘I’ve recovered from that setback a long time ago.’

‘Are there any clues as to the identity of the killer?’ asked his brother, picking up the paper and reading the elegant hand.

‘None whatsoever, I fear.’

‘Then we’ll have to rely on Gully. I asked him to rack his brains.’

‘I’ve been doing the self-same thing, Peter.’ He got to his feet. ‘Why did the killer choose to strike today of all days?’ he wondered. ‘If it was so important to silence Mr Paige, it should have happened long before now, surely?’

‘I hate to say it, Paul, but
we
might be responsible for his death.’

‘That’s arrant nonsense. We never even knew the fellow.’

‘The salient point is that he knew
us
– or, at least, he was aware of the services we offer.’ Peter put the paper back on the table. ‘Everyone knows that this is no mere shooting gallery. People turn to us to protect them, hunt down stolen property, find missing members of the family or solve a hundred and one other problems they encounter. Our escapades last year were lauded in all the newspapers. The gallery became rightly famous and that fame brought Mr Paige here.’