Steps to the Gallows (20 page)

‘How can you say that of some sublime batting?’

‘It failed to excite me, Julian. While I’m grateful that you took me there, it’s a game that will never be dear to my heart. But then, unlike you, I’ve never been a natural sportsman.’

‘You actually went to sleep. That’s sacrilege.’

‘I apologise. The truth is that I’d been up most of the night.’

‘Were you called out by a patient?’

Penhallurick smiled. ‘You could put it like that.’

He tried once again to persuade his friend to moderate his intake of rich food and strong drink. The advice was studiously ignored. Harvester was not a man to change the habits of a lifetime. They were in the library of his London home. Bookshelves covered most of the wall space but a large painting of a cricket match hung above the marble fireplace. Harvester strolled across to it.

‘This match was held at Thomas Lord’s present ground when it was first opened. I was there at the time,’ he went on, pointing to the myriad spectators. ‘Somewhere among those delighted onlookers are me and my friends. Nobody in the whole ground, I
can assure you, committed the sin of falling asleep.’

‘You’ll never let me forget that, will you?’

‘Sir Humphrey thought it was an appalling thing to do.’

‘I know. I had to tender my apologies when I saw him this morning.’ He tapped the bottle of medicine. ‘Take a spoonful of this every day and it should do the trick.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’

‘I’ll keep my knife well sharpened,’ said the other, jokingly.

‘Your surgical operations have not always been a success,’ observed Harvester with implied criticism.

Penhallurick was caught on the raw. ‘There are unforeseen hazards sometimes.’

‘David Bellmain never recovered from your ministrations.’

‘He was the exception to the rule, Julian,’ said the other, unhappy at being reminded of a failed operation. ‘He came to me too late. Nobody could have saved him. All that I could do was to prolong his life by a few weeks.’

‘Is that what your medicine will do for
me
– keep me alive for another few weeks?’

‘Oh, I think you’ll last a bit longer than that. My medical opinion is that you’ll have several years left to watch cricket matches and exert your firm but invisible pressure on the government of the day.’ He saw the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I must away, Julian. I have another patient waiting.’

‘I’ll see you out.’

As they went into the hall, the butler was standing by to open the front door. Harvester was surprised to see a coach standing outside on the drive.

‘Isn’t that Sir Humphrey’s coach?’

‘I borrowed it for the day.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I needed to create an impression on someone, Julian.’

‘Why didn’t you borrow my coach?’ asked the other. ‘It’s even bigger and better than this one. You’d have cut a dash in that.’

‘I’m sure that I would have, but your coach has one defect.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘It has your coat-of-arms emblazoned on the doors,’ said Penhallurick, putting his hat on. ‘If I travel in
this
coach, I can look as if I own it. Anybody seeing me in
your
vehicle would assume that I was Julian Harvester, one of the wealthiest men in the realm. That would not be sensible.’

Back at the print shop, Peter Skillen had managed to convince Tite and the servants that they were not actually on the verge of being killed. With the confidence he’d instilled in them, they went into the garden to clear up the debris. With Diane Mandrake at his side, Peter looked through the window at them.

‘I think they’ll stay the night now,’ he said. ‘I doubt if they’ll sleep, mark you, but they’ll be on the premises.’

‘How did they start the fire?’ asked Diane. ‘That’s what puzzles me. How did they get into my garden?’

‘They must have climbed over the fence.’

‘But how did they get into the garden at the rear of mine, Peter?’

‘If they were agile – and if there were, indeed, two of them – then hopping over a six-foot fence would have been quite easy. It was also their escape route. Once the fire was well established, they’d have fled, convinced that they’d done exactly what they’d been told to do. They probably don’t realise that the blaze was actually put out. It will come as a rude shock to them.’

‘Nowhere near as rude as the shock that
I
got last night when I heard someone bellowing outside in the street,’ she said. ‘It made
me leap out of bed as if the fire was directly beneath me.’

‘Was it Yeomans who actually called out to you?’

‘No, it was a member of the foot patrol. His name was Ruddock, as I recall.’

‘Chevy Ruddock,’ he told her. ‘We’ve had dealings with him before.’

‘He was fearless in the face of that blaze.’

‘What about Yeomans?’

‘He was a Trojan as well, Peter. I have to give him credit for that. The fire burnt off part of his eyebrows. That must have been painful.’

‘His pride will have been badly wounded by that. He’s cultivated those eyebrows for years.’

‘Let’s put him aside,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘I’ve something very important to ask you.’

‘Go on,’ he invited.

‘Do you think that Virgo is aware of what’s going on?’

‘He must be. Since he kept in touch with Mr Paige all the time, he’ll certainly know that his partner was murdered.’

‘Then why hasn’t he been in touch with
me
?’

‘He must have his reasons,’ said Peter, guardedly.

She put her face close. ‘I think you might know what those reasons are.’

‘Why do you say that, Mrs Mandrake?’

‘I’ve been checking up on you and your brother, Peter. Together with Gully Ackford, you have an astonishing record of success. If anyone in London could track down Virgo, it’s you or Paul. Am I right?’

It was a moment that Peter had known would come sooner or later. She was a woman of great intuition. Preoccupied with events at the shop, she hadn’t been able to ask him about the search for the
cartoonist. But she hadn’t forgotten it and she wanted an answer. They had deliberately held back the information before but Peter could not lie to her now. Since she’d sold Virgo’s prints for so long, she deserved to know who he actually was.

‘Yes,’ confessed Peter, ‘you are right. We did run him to ground.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You had enough on your plate as it was, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘I don’t accept that.’

‘Then I apologise. It was Paul who first met him.’

‘And what’s his real name?’ she demanded.

‘It’s Virgil Paige.’

‘Paige? Then he’s—’

‘He was Mr Paige’s brother.’

‘I didn’t even know that Leo
had
a brother,’ she said, peevishly. ‘He lodged with me all that time yet he never once talked about his family.’

‘Well, he did have one sibling and they produced the
Parliament of Foibles
between them.’

‘That’s very enterprising. I just wonder why I wasn’t let in on the secret much earlier. Why has this brother been hiding his light under a bushel? In the wake of the murder, I expected him to come forward.’

‘That’s rather difficult, I fear.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s in prison.’

Virgil Paige walked up and down the room to relieve his anxiety, occasionally going to the window to look out. Though his army service had given him the ability to defend himself, he couldn’t do that if he was up against unfair odds. His enemy knew who he was and where he lived. There was no escape. Someone was keeping
him there for a purpose. It was only a matter of time before they struck.

Paul Skillen watched him for minutes then offered his advice.

‘Go to the marshal and explain the situation,’ he suggested.

‘I told you. He wouldn’t see me.’

‘What about the turnkeys? After all your time in here, you must have got to know them fairly well.’

‘I have, Mr Skillen.’

‘Choose the most reliable of them and explain your dilemma to him.’

‘What can a turnkey do?’

‘He’d have access to the marshal.’

‘It’s pointless,’ said Paige. ‘Nobody would pay heed to my predicament. Someone called at the prison and ruined my character by giving trumped-up evidence against me. That’s what the marshal is acting on. Put yourself in his position, Mr Skillen. If you’re given contradictory information by a prisoner and a person of considerable standing, which are you going to believe?’

‘You don’t
have
to be a prisoner.’

‘I do now.’

‘You said that you had enough money to discharge your debts.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Then you can buy your way out of here immediately.’

‘It’s not as straightforward as that,’ explained Paige. ‘First of all, the money is not here. It would have to be obtained from the bank where it’s kept. Second, I chose to stay here as a matter of honour.’

Paul was perplexed. ‘What honour is there in imprisonment?’

‘You don’t understand the situation. I only have one outstanding debt but it’s a sizeable one. It’s claimed that I owe three hundred pounds to someone who’s the biggest scoundrel I’ve ever met. Under the guise of friendship, he loaned me a much
smaller amount of money then presented me with a bill that showed exorbitant interest. When he took me to court, his lawyer managed to convince everyone that I was deliberately refusing to pay off my debt as an act of spite. As a result,’ he went on, waving a hand to take in the whole room, ‘I ended up here. And I’m damned if I’m going to give that bloodsucker three hundred pounds to which he’s not entitled.’

‘So you’re staying in here on a point of principle.’

‘And because – believe it or not – I
like
it here.’ He looked out of the window again. ‘At least, I did until today.’

‘We’ve got to get you out,’ decided Paul.

‘That’s impossible now. Even if I did try to discharge the debt, I’d not be allowed to do so. Someone else has a bigger claim on me. The only way that I can pay him off is with my life.’

‘Then the man who visited the marshal must be one of our suspects.’

‘If he owns a coach, we have some idea of his position.’

‘Which of them is he?’ wondered Paul, counting the names off on his fingers. ‘Is it Sir Humphrey Coote, Gerard Brunt, Julian Harvester or Dr Penhallurick?’

‘It might be all four of them together.’

‘No, I don’t think that’s the case.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I had the good fortune to meet Sir Humphrey. Strangely enough, I sat next to him at a cricket match. He wasn’t there with any of the others even though Harvester and Penhallurick were in the ground. If the three of them were engaged in a conspiracy,’ Paul continued, ‘you’d have expected them to sit cheek by jowl.’

‘What about Gerard Brunt?’

‘My brother, Peter, claims that Brunt is the main suspect now.’

‘That’s not much help to me, Mr Skillen. Whichever one of
them wants my pelt as a trophy, he’s going the right way about it. He’s got me penned in here with nobody but Snapper on my side.’

‘There’s me as well, remember.’

‘What can
you
do?’

‘I can get you out of here,’ said Paul, looking him up and down.

‘They’d stop me at the gate.’

‘They might stop Virgil Paige but they’d have no cause to refuse to let Paul Skillen out. Dressed like that, you’d be turned away. Dressed like me, however, you’d ride out of the King’s Bench like the visitor you are.’ A look of hope was kindled in Paige’s eye. ‘My clothes might be a tight fit on you but does that matter if they’re able to get you to safety?’

‘Yes, but in saving me, you’ll put your own life at risk.’

‘I want the men who killed your brother and who assaulted Jem Huckvale,’ said Paul, sternly. ‘The chances are that they’ll be sent here on a mission to murder you.’

‘Then you’ll be caught like a rat in a trap.’

‘I’m the one laying the trap. My brother and I have been searching all over London for these villains. Instead of looking for them, I simply have to stay here and they’ll come to me.’

They’d sat in a brooding silence for the best part of an hour. Higlett kept drinking from the flagon of ale but Fearon left it untouched. He was still trying to work out how the print shop had escaped their arson attack. Failure had robbed them of a substantial amount of money and subjected him to an ordeal in the back of a coach. Fearon knew that there’d be terrible repercussions if they let their paymaster down again. He suddenly remembered a detail that he hadn’t passed on to his friend.

‘There was something else, Sim.’

‘What was it?’

‘He talked about after.’

‘After what?’

‘When we’ve done all that he wants us for.’

‘That’s what I was asking you about,’ said Higlett. ‘What happens next?’

‘He says that we have to leave London altogether.’

‘Where are we supposed to go?’

‘He’ll arrange that,’ explained Fearon. ‘We’re to go abroad. It may be to America or somewhere else.’

‘I was hoping we’d turned our back on the sea.’

‘We’d not be going as sailors. We’d be passengers. He’s got friends who own vessels that sail the globe. We’d have money in our purses and a chance to start a new life.’ His smile froze. ‘But only if we obey orders. If we fail …’

Higlett blenched. ‘I know. We’ll be skinned alive.’

‘Which country would you prefer to go to?’

‘America would be my choice. I’ve sailed into Boston harbour twice.’

Fearon was about to recount some of his own reminiscences of a voyage across the Atlantic when they heard a rustling sound. Glancing across at the door, they saw that a letter had been slipped under it. Fearon went over to snatch it up and opened it. He read the instructions then looked up.

‘We’re going to prison.’

Higlett was disturbed. ‘Is he sending us back to Newgate?’

‘No, Sim. It’s the King’s Bench this time.’

‘Why do we have to go there?’

‘We have orders to kill someone.’

Though he’d never particularly liked him, Penhallurick knew that he had to befriend Gerard Brunt. The latter was universally spoken of as a coming man in Parliament. In time, when Penhallurick was elected to represent a constituency in the House of Commons, he would need to align himself with people like Brunt. The man would be a definite asset. For that reason, he manufactured a smile of welcome.

‘Good evening,’ he said, offering his hand.

Brunt shook it. ‘Hello, Penhallurick.’

‘I haven’t seen you at the club for a while.’

‘I’ve been rather preoccupied with parliamentary matters.’

‘Is it true that you’re devising a means of getting cartoonists off our back?’

‘Left to me, they’d be submerged in boiling oil,’ said Brunt, malevolently. ‘And yes, I’ve been canvassing support for my latest Amendment.’

‘I’d give it my endorsement without even seeing it. I know that you and I are of the same mind when it comes to the libel laws.’ He saw a waiter approaching. ‘Let me buy you a drink, Mr Brunt.’

They were soon seated side by side in leather armchairs with a brandy apiece on the table between them. Brunt was pleased by
the other man’s attention. As a rule, it was he who spent his visits to the club smiling obsequiously at people he needed to cultivate. Being treated with exaggerated respect was a pleasant change for him.

‘How is the world of medicine?’ he asked.

‘It keeps me busy.’

‘I’m told that you look after Sir Humphrey Coote. There are lots of fat fees to be earned there, I suspect.’

‘I never discuss my patients,’ said Penhallurick. ‘They’re entitled to expect confidentiality.’

‘My physician keeps advising me to take more exercise,’ said Brunt smirking. ‘No need to say that to Sir Humphrey, is there – the one thing he’s not short of is vigorous exercise.’

‘Chacun à son goût.’

‘The wonder is that you’ve not had to treat him for the pox.’

‘His treatment is strictly a private affair.’

‘His luck must run out in time. The law of averages dictates that, sooner or later, he’ll seduce the wrong woman and wake up with a nasty rash and a persistent itch. How does he find the
time
for his nocturnal antics?’

‘I’ll not be the one to throw the first stone,’ said Penhallurick, tolerantly. ‘We all find time for things that really obsess us. In your case, it’s a mission to repair the glaring faults in the statute book.’

‘That’s the work of a lifetime.’

‘In my case, it’s a desire to keep my patients alive and well.’

‘It’s the way it
looks
that bothers me,’ said Brunt.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Sir Humphrey is a Member of Parliament. He should behave like one.’

‘As far as I know, the position doesn’t involve a vow of chastity. The House of Commons is an organ of government and not a
monastic institution. As for Sir Humphrey,’ he went on, ‘he’s very selective with regard to his conquests.’

‘Yes,’ said Brunt with a disapproving sniff, ‘he was indiscreet enough to boast that his haul included a countess, the wife of a privy counsellor and the daughter of a bishop. One never knows, of course, if he’s telling the truth.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t lie about things like that, Mr Brunt. He’s very proud of his tally. He once told me that he’d stalk his target for a year, if need be. That’s what he’s been doing with one of his latest prospects.’

‘And who might that be?’

‘Do you ever go to the theatre?’

‘I’d never dream of it, sir. It’s too full of riff-raff.’

‘Yet it’s also patronised by the aristocracy.’

‘I don’t care. It’s a complete irrelevance to me.’

‘Then you’ve missed seeing one of the wonders of the age. She’s an actress who can even challenge Sarah Siddons as a queen of her profession. The lady I speak of is Miss Hannah Granville and Sir Humphrey is besotted with her.’

‘Then she has my sympathy.’

‘On the face of it,’ said Penhallurick, ‘Miss Granville is way out of his reach. She’s repulsed his overtures thus far and is already spoken for but that won’t hold him back. He’s even prepared to overcome the final hurdle.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Miss Granville is reported to be in Paris at the moment, way beyond Sir Humphrey’s grasping hands. You’d imagine that he’d be deterred by geography, but not a bit of it, Mr Brunt. The last time I met him, he was talking about sailing to France in order to court her there.’

Brunt pursed his lips. ‘Is there no limit to the man’s debauchery?’

‘I fancy that he’d describe it as a romantic impulse.’

‘Then Sir Humphrey Coote’s capacity for self-delusion is greater than I’d thought.’ Brunt rose to his feet. ‘Please excuse me a moment. I’ve just seen Kirkwood come in. I need to have a word with him …’

Paul Skillen was also gripped by the urge to go to France in order to be with Hannah Granville but that was out of the question for a time. He was now entombed in the King’s Bench with the rest of the prison population. A long, cold, lonely and very uncomfortable night beckoned. He took consolation from the fact that he’d managed to get Virgil Paige out of danger. It had taken some time to transform the artist into a passable likeness of Paul Skillen. To start with, there was the age difference between them. Paige had shaved carefully, concealed his hair underneath the hat and tilted it sharply to hide the scar on his cheek. Mounted on a horse and with Snapper there to distract the gatekeeper, he’d been let out of the establishment. All the gates were locked now and the prisoners had retired to their respective rooms. To all intents and purposes, Paul was now Virgo.

As a result, he had the disagreeable experience of wearing the other man’s shabby clothing and putting on ill-fitting shoes that pinched his feet. Thinking about Hannah helped him to escape the multiple shortcomings of his accommodation. His overriding concern was for the undisclosed problems that she was facing in Paris. Before she’d set sail, he’d made her promise that, in the event of a crisis, she’d send for him and he wondered if, in a covert way, she was doing that. Having read her last letter so many times, he knew it by heart and realised that the words could be interpreted in a number of ways. The only sure means of finding out what Hannah was really trying to tell him was to go to her. Since that
option was denied him, all that he could do was to worry, speculate feverishly and resolve that they’d never be apart for so long again.

For a man who relished his freedom of action so much, being locked up was a trial for him, but it was a necessary evil. Snapper had schooled him in the prison routine. When the turnkey had come to check on him that evening, therefore, Paul lay face down on the mattress under a blanket as if fast asleep. All that he was spared was a cursory glance before the turnkey moved on. Somebody would come in due course for the purpose of silencing Virgo. He was certain of that. Sleep was therefore out of the question. The killer might come at night or by day so Paul had to be on continuous guard. His only ally was Snapper and he couldn’t expect the boy to forfeit his sleep entirely. In essence, he was on his own.

Virgo might have adapted completely to life in a prison but Paul found none of the virtues talked about by the other man. Being in the King’s Bench was a twilight existence. In spending a night away from it, he expected, Virgil Paige might come to realise what he was missing.

At the shooting gallery, meanwhile, the former prisoner was facing a volley of questions. Seated in the office, he was surrounded by Gully Ackford, Jem Huckvale and Charlotte. While they were quick to offer him food and shelter, they were also keen to hear details of the person who’d replaced him in the King’s Bench.

‘Was it Paul’s idea to get you out of there?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Yes, Mrs Skillen,’ replied Paige. ‘It would never have crossed my mind.’

‘He must have thought you were in real danger,’ said Ackford. ‘Paul is very vain about his appearance. He wouldn’t have surrendered his clothes and hat like that unless he thought that danger was imminent.’

‘It is.’

‘Does he have anyone to help him in there?’ said Huckvale.

‘Yes, he does – Snapper.’

‘But he’s only a boy, isn’t he?’

‘Don’t be fooled by the lad’s age,’ said Paige. ‘He’s as sharp as a razor and quite fearless. He won’t let Mr Skillen down.’

‘How certain are you that your life was under threat?’ said Charlotte.

‘Absolutely certain.’

‘Mr Paige served in the army,’ remarked Ackford, ‘like me and his brother, Leo. You develop a strong sense of when you’re in danger, believe me. It’s been my salvation more than once.’

‘It didn’t save Leo,’ Paige reminded him.

‘Too true.’

‘That was my fault,’ confessed Huckvale. ‘I was hired as his bodyguard. Because of that, he felt that he didn’t have to watch his back.’

‘Don’t start blaming yourself again, Jem.’

‘I’m bound to, Gully.’

‘Nobody else blames you.’

‘I certainly don’t,’ said Paige, looking with sympathy at his bandaging. ‘You got injured trying to protect my brother. I’m very grateful to you.’

‘It’s Paul who needs protection now,’ said Charlotte, worriedly.

Ackford smiled confidently. ‘He’ll cope with any situation.’

‘But he’s completely on his own in there.’

‘You’re forgetting Snapper,’ said Paige. ‘He’s a good lookout.’

‘Did Paul send any message?’

‘Yes, Mrs Skillen. He said that you should look after me and stop fretting about him. Also, he promised that Mr Ackford would find me some clothing that actually fitted.’

‘I can certainly do that,’ said Ackford, sizing him up.

‘I still think Paul needs help,’ said Huckvale.

‘What do you suggest, Jem?’

‘At least we can stop the killer getting in during the night. We could go armed and stand outside the gate.’

‘Southwark is not a place you want to be doing that,’ warned Paige. ‘Hazards lurk at every corner after dark.’

‘We can’t just leave Paul at the mercy of an assassin.’

‘I fancy that the assassin will be at Paul’s mercy,’ said Ackford with a grin. ‘Besides, you’re assuming that the man will strike at night.’

‘That’s the most likely time, isn’t it?’

‘It’s much easier to get inside the King’s Bench during the day,’ said Paige. ‘When night falls, it turns into a fortress.’

‘But you told us that someone had sufficient influence with the marshal to revoke your licence to walk outside the prison,’ recalled Charlotte. ‘Couldn’t that same person get hold of a pass to gain entry to the King’s Bench at night?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Then we ought to be on sentry duty,’ insisted Huckvale.

‘You could be too late.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re forgetting something.’

‘What’s that, Mr Paige?’

‘The killer could already be inside.’

Peter Skillen had been politely insistent that he should spend the night at the print shop. His presence, he hoped, would still the fears of everyone there. Diane Mandrake was pleased and dismayed, glad to have a handsome man on the premises at night yet upset because it meant that her much-vaunted independence
had to be sacrificed. She’d always lived her life on the principle of being able to cope on her own with any circumstance that fate decreed. The fire had disposed of that illusion. She needed help and – since Tite and the servants were unable to supply it – Peter Skillen was there as a line of defence.

The two of them sat alone together in the back room. While Peter enjoyed the comfort of a high-backed chair, Diane was revelling in the company of a man with considerably more charm and practicality than Benjamin Tite.

‘You don’t have to stay up, Mrs Mandrake,’ he said. ‘The others have chosen to have an early night. You could do the same.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone.’

‘After the ordeal of last night, you need your sleep.’

‘And I’ll get it – all in good time.’

‘I wasn’t trying to give you orders.’

‘I should hope not. This is my home.’

Peter found her company pleasant. She was an intelligent woman with good conversation and a variety of interests. He sought to learn more about the man whose death had brought them together in the first place.

‘Tell me about Mr Paige,’ he said.

‘Which one – Leo or Virgil?’

‘You’ve only met one of them, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘I feel that I know Leo’s brother as well. Having spent so much time studying his work, I’ve got an insight into his character. I look forward to meeting him.’

‘I’d like to hear more about his brother.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Where shall I start?’ she wondered. ‘I suppose that you’d like to know how we first met, wouldn’t you? It was completely by accident. I was trying to get into my curricle when a dog frightened my horse and it bolted. Leo leapt into the
street and grabbed its bridle to slow it down. I remember thinking how brave he was. Then he kicked the dog and I thought how cruel he was.’

As she let her memories flow, Peter gained a lot of new information about the murder victim. Though she described him as her lodger, she never for a second hinted at a closer relationship and Peter felt slightly embarrassed that he knew Paige had been her lover for a while. Light was starting to fade now and, as she talked, she lit the candles. She was just settling into her chair again when there was a loud knock on the door. Peter leapt to his feet and pulled out his pistol.

‘Go upstairs, Mrs Mandrake,’ he ordered. ‘Leave this to me.’

She folded her arms. ‘I’m staying here.’

Peter went to the door, pulled back the bolts and turned the key in the lock. He then opened it cautiously and saw Jem Huckvale standing on the threshold. Lowering his pistol, he opened the door wide.

‘What are you doing here, Jem?’

‘I’ve brought news about Paul.’

The play being performed that night at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden was
The Duenna
by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. During the interval, Sir Humphrey Coote was part of a swirling crowd in the foyer. When he saw the familiar face of Julian Harvester, he went across to the man.