A Date with the Executioner

by Edward Marston

  ‘That’s a brilliant notion, Gully.’

  Ackford grinned. ‘I have them from time to time.’

  ‘He clearly painted a self-portrait of a hero when he first courted Miss Somerville,’ said Paul. ‘How true a representation was that?’

  ‘Between the pair of you, you should be able to find out.’

  ‘Right,’ said Peter to his brother. ‘You tackle Hamer and I’ll repair to the Home Office. I’m quite sure that Viscount Sidmouth will help us.’

  Before they could leave, the door opened and Charlotte came in.

  ‘I’m sorry that I’m late,’ she said, ‘but I had a visitor as I was about to leave the house. Paul can guess who it was.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it was Hannah. I told her to speak to you about the problem.’

  ‘Thank you for having so much faith in me. I’m not sure I was altogether worthy of it. I know nothing at all about the way that the world of theatre operates.’

  ‘You’d give her uncritical support, Charlotte. That’s what she needed.’

  ‘May we know what all this is about?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Hannah is grappling with a difficult problem,’ explained Charlotte. ‘She’s reached a turning point in her career.’

  ‘Put succinctly,’ said Paul, ‘she wants to murder a man by the name of Abel Mundy.’

  Lemuel Fleet was known, paradoxically, for his slowness. Short, plump and in his fifties, he looked as if he carried the worries of the world on his shoulder, bearing down on him so hard that the fastest speed he could manage was a laboured trudge. Whenever he made the slightest physical effort, his flabby face would glisten with perspiration and the wig that covered his bald pate would shift to and fro from its mooring. While his body was sluggish, however, his mind could move like lightning and it was often required to do so. As manager of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, he had the immense responsibility of helping to entertain London and he knew only too well how fickle audiences could be. One mistake in the choice of a drama or the casting of a central character and they would howl the play off the stage, forgetting the endless delights he’d offered them in the past. A single failure could eclipse fifty successes.

  When he called on Hannah Granville, he was carrying a sheaf of plays under his arm. The additional weight made him sweat more obviously than usual. Though she agreed to speak to him, Hannah laid down the rules at the outset.

  ‘Do not dare to ask me to apologise to that man,’ she declared.

  ‘It would never occur to me to do so.’

  ‘If an apology is in order, he should be making it to me.’

  ‘You’re being unkind to Mr Mundy,’ he said, shuffling the plays. ‘He came to us with the highest recommendation.’

  ‘From whom, may I ask?’

  ‘Theatre managers in different parts of the country.’

  ‘It arose purely from their relief at having got rid of the fellow,’ she said, acidly. ‘Did any of them ever put The Piccadilly Opera on their stages?’

  ‘Of course not, Miss Granville, that was new-minted for you. What they did present was The Jealous Husband, The Provok’d Wife, Love’s Dominion and The Fair Maid of Marylebone – all of them triumphs written by Abel Mundy. And there are three others here from his talented pen.’ He set the plays down on the table. ‘I’ve brought copies of them for you to peruse.’

  ‘I am grateful to you, sir. We are always in need of paper kindling for the fire.’

  ‘Read them, I beg you. They are proof positive of his rare talent.’

  ‘Oh, he does have a rare talent, I grant you that. Unfortunately it’s for writing tedious drivel. His plot is ridiculous, his characters have no depth and the dialogue suggests that English is a foreign language to him. I am used to playing in the greatest dramas ever written, Mr Fleet. You are asking me to appear in one of the worst.’

  ‘That’s a harsh judgement, Miss Granville.’

  ‘Whatever made you commission this dross?’

  ‘I was inspired by the quality of his earlier plays,’ he said, indicating the pile. ‘And when he told me that The Piccadilly Opera would be his finest work, I was quick to seize on it for my theatre.’

  ‘And now?’ she asked, pointedly. ‘Did he deliver what he promised?’

  ‘Not exactly … but the work still has merit.’

  ‘I’ve been unable to detect it.’

  ‘Let’s not argue over that,’ said Fleet, attempting a benign smile that somehow degenerated into a leer. ‘I come as a peacemaker. There must be a way out of the impasse.’

  ‘Yes – you must release me from my contract.’

  ‘That’s out of the question. You are the toast of London, Miss Granville.’

  ‘I was when I last trod the boards at your theatre,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘I had Mr William Shakespeare to thank for that. All that Mr Mundy will do is drag me down to his own banal level. I’ll not bear such disgrace, sir.’

  ‘We need you,’ he cried.

  ‘Then change the play.’

  ‘Don’t even suggest it, dear lady!’

  ‘Bury this one before it buries both of us.’

  ‘The piece does have some virtues.’

  Sensing that she had the upper hand, Hannah delivered her ultimatum.

  ‘Make your choice, sir. Either Mr Mundy goes – or I do.’

  He was quivering with fear. ‘You can’t mean that.’

  ‘I stand by what I say. Send that charlatan on his way or I’ll quit the company forthwith. But let me warn you of one thing, Mr Fleet. Offer the leading role in The Piccadilly Opera to someone else and there’s not an actress in the whole realm who will lower herself to accept it.’ Grabbing the plays, she thrust them violently back into his hands. ‘Take this offal away before its stink pervades the whole house!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Peter Skillen was glad of an excuse to visit the Home Office. Apart from anything else, he knew that he’d receive a cordial welcome. He’d not only undertaken many assignments during the war at the Home Secretary’s instigation. In its wake, Peter had also unravelled one plot to assassinate Viscount Sidmouth and another to kill the Duke of Wellington. As a result, both men had written effusive letters of thanks to him. As he approached the building, he remembered the hidden secrets he’d earlier found inside it. Peter was in search of another secret now.

  Three people were waiting impatiently to see the Home Secretary and they were annoyed when Peter’s name was enough in itself to move him to the front of the queue. Sidmouth even opened the door of his office in person, stepping out to shake the visitor’s hand.

  ‘Do come in,’ he invited. ‘You’re most welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Peter, stepping into the room.

  ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr Skillen. Everyone else brings me problems. You alone trade in solutions.’

  ‘I’ve come in search of one this time, my lord.’

  ‘To what does it pertain?’

  ‘It relates to a brutal murder.’

  ‘Take a seat and tell me all.’

  They settled down opposite each other and Peter told his tale. As usual, he was concise, articulate and free from pointless digression. Sidmouth listened intently. He was a tall, slim man in his fifties, visibly worn down by the cares of state but retaining a quiet dignity. Earlier in his career, he’d been prime minister but had not excelled in the role, acting, as he did, in the long shadow of Pitt the Younger to whom he was often compared unfavourably. Even when ridiculed mercilessly by word and by caricature, he’d somehow maintained his composure. Peter admired him for that.

  ‘Well,’ said Sidmouth, sitting back, ‘it’s a desperately sad story. I can’t pretend that I believe a duel is the most civilised way to resolve an argument. If we all reached for a weapon every time someone irritated us, the population of this country would soon be halved.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Yet one has to be impressed by the unexpected bravery of this Mr Bowerman in challenging a man who’
s made a profession out of bearing arms.’

  ‘It was an unfair contest from the start.’

  ‘Did your brother make no effort to avert it?’

  ‘Paul did everything in his power, my lord, but Mr Bowerman was adamant.’

  ‘He seems to have been a decent, upstanding gentleman who was given a glimpse of happiness that helped him to shake off his erstwhile gloom. The lady herself must be in despair.’

  ‘My brother said that she swooned on receipt of the news.’

  ‘It’s a blow from which she may never recover,’ said Sidmouth, seriously, ‘but I sense that you came in pursuit of something. This gruesome narrative was the preface to a request, was it not?’

  ‘It was indeed, my lord. We seek more information about Captain Hamer. He arrived out of nowhere to interrupt the burgeoning romance between Miss Somerville and Mr Bowerman. Where had he been until then? The War Office will have a record of his service to the regiment. In brief, what sort of soldier was he?’

  ‘That’s a very reasonable enquiry, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Will you be able to oblige me?’

  ‘I’ll do more than that,’ said the other, reaching for his quill and dipping it in the inkwell. ‘I’ll draft a letter this very minute and you shall bear it to the War Office in person. Leave it there and await developments.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, my lord.’

  ‘You once saved my life, Mr Skillen. Writing a letter is the least I can do for you in recompense. As soon as I get a reply, I’ll communicate the information at once. Will that content you?’

  Peter got up. ‘It will, indeed.’

  ‘I can, however, forewarn you of one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Sidmouth looked up at him. ‘All that you will learn from the War Office,’ he said, ‘is that Captain Hamer was an exemplary soldier. We are talking about the Royal Horse Guards, remember. They expect the highest standards of their officers.’

  A duel of another kind was troubling Lemuel Fleet. Though the enmity between his playwright and his leading lady had only sparked a war of words so far, he feared that in time they might resort to more dangerous weapons. After a lifetime in the theatre, he’d met many oversensitive authors and tempestuous actresses but none as determined to have their respective way as Abel Mundy and Hannah Granville. Neither of them showed the slightest inclination to compromise. The play had been advertised and substantial interest had been aroused. Fleet shuddered at the thought that The Piccadilly Opera might have to be cancelled.

  Having tackled Hannah, he’d been shaken by her ultimatum. To keep her, he had to get rid of the play altogether. That was unthinkable. In the vain hope that Mundy might be amenable to a suggestion or two, he called on the playwright at the house where he was staying throughout rehearsals. When the manager was shown into the room, Mundy leapt to his feet and ran across to him. He was a tall, angular man in his forties with a scholarly appearance.

  ‘Have you seen that raving she-devil?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ve not long left her.’

  ‘Did you give her my stipulations?’

  ‘Not exactly, Mr Mundy—’

  ‘I’ll not budge an inch. I hope you told her that.’

  ‘Miss Granville understands your position.’

  ‘I’m not sure that she does,’ said Mundy. ‘She needs to be reminded that without people of my profession, unlettered hoydens like her would have no work.’

  Fleet adjusted his wig. ‘That’s grossly unfair, sir,’ he said, trying to assert his authority. ‘She is neither unlettered nor a hoyden. Miss Granville is an actress capable of the most taxing roles. During her season in Paris, she played Lady Macbeth in French.’

  ‘It’s a language more suited to her excitability.’

  ‘As for having to rely on men who follow your calling, I have to correct you. If every living playwright were to die this instant, the theatre would still thrive because we would be able to call on its rich heritage. Given the choice, I might as well tell you, Miss Granville would be happy to spend her entire career performing plays written two hundred years ago by the Bard of Avon.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should remind her that Shakespeare had an advantage that we who follow him do not. He wrote exclusively for male actors,’ said Mundy, ‘and did not have to put up with the tantrums of hysterical women.’

  Feeling that he’d scored an important debating point, he sat down with his arms folded. Fleet was a tolerant and forgiving man, making him a rarity in a contentious profession, but even he could not bring himself to like Abel Mundy. While he was ready to boast about his own talent, Mundy showed scant respect for that of other people. As far as he was concerned, actors were like toy soldiers taken out of a box and told where to move and what to say. In short, they were totally in his control. He denied them any right of protest. Mundy believed that they should be so grateful to take part in one of his dramas that they would succumb willingly to any of his requirements. Someone like Hannah Granville, who challenged him outright, was anathema.

  ‘I believe that she is susceptible to reason,’ said Fleet, forcing the lie out between clenched teeth. ‘I am hoping that you may feel able to meet her halfway, so to speak.’

  ‘I have no wish to meet that screeching shrew anywhere.’

  ‘Miss Granville has legitimate grievances with regard to your play.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mundy, nastily, ‘so you’ve taken her side, have you?’

  ‘I am completely impartial, sir. My only concern is to put something on the stage that is at once entertaining and uplifting. The Piccadilly Opera, I believe, is both of those things, once a few minor modifications have been made.’

  Mundy stiffened. ‘Modifications, Mr Fleet?’

  ‘Let’s call them refinements.’

  ‘I don’t care what you call them. They are wholly unnecessary.’

  ‘Miss Granville disagrees.’

  ‘The lady is disagreeable by nature.’

  ‘She has a large following, Mr Mundy.’

  ‘As do I,’ retorted the other, nostrils flaring. ‘My play, The Provok’d Wife, was the talk of Bristol.’

  ‘Provincial success is no guarantee of general approbation here in the capital. London audiences are harsher critics. Many plays that have won plaudits in places like Bristol, Bath and Norwich have shrivelled into miserable failures when put to the test here. I am not saying that your work will suffer the same fate,’ he went on, quickly. ‘It has enormous promise. But you are unknown here, Mr Mundy. That is why I engaged Miss Granville. Her name adds lustre to any play.’

  ‘Unhappily, that is all it adds. Her real gift is for subtraction. When she speaks my lines, she takes away their poetry and their pathos. She robs my work of all the elements that give it truth and vitality.’

  ‘You exaggerate, sir.’

  ‘And what about her?’ demanded the other. ‘She goes through life in a veritable cloud of hyperbole.’

  ‘One must make allowances for Miss Granville.’

  ‘Upon my word, I’ll not make a single one!’

  ‘Then we are surely doomed,’ said Fleet, removing his wig to scratch his pate. ‘You wish for her to be removed from your play and Miss Granville urges with equal passion for the summary withdrawal of The Piccadilly Opera.’

  ‘That’s a scandalous idea!’

  ‘Your own solution is just as impractical.’

  ‘Get rid of that damnable harpie and all will be well!’

  ‘If only it were that simple. Consider my dilemma. I have undertaken to offer drama that will please the palates of the most discerning audience in the world. Together, you and Miss Granville might conjure up something magical. Apart, you will only create a disaster. Is that what you and she really want to do? Is it your joint endeavour to crucify me in public and bring my theatre to its knees?’ He replaced his wig and struck a pose. ‘Come to composition with the lady,’ he urged. ‘Find a means of working harmoniously together or The Piccadi
lly Opera will never leave the pages on which it was written.’

  While Alfred Hale was still looking at the corpse with intense curiosity, Micah Yeomans was examining the murder weapon. The coroner’s assistant took the opportunity to display his knowledge.

  ‘It’s a Toledo blade, sir.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I recognise it by its quality. Roman soldiers did the same. That’s why they chose Toledo steel for their swords.’

  ‘You seem well informed.’

  ‘I am only passing on what the other gentleman told me.’

  Yeomans glowered. ‘Other gentleman?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he called here earlier – a Mr Skillen.’

  ‘He’s done it yet again,’ complained Hale. ‘Whether it’s Peter or Paul, they always seem to know something that we don’t.’

  ‘Those confounded brothers should have been strangled at birth,’ said Yeomans, vengefully.

  ‘Why do they always hold the whip hand over us, Micah?’

  ‘I’ll snatch it from them and use it to flay them alive!’

  ‘Then you’ve more courage than sense. I’ve seen them in action. It would be madness to take on either of the Skillen brothers. With sword, pistol or bare fists, they are invincible.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to choose some other weapons, Alfred.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We are upholders of the law,’ said Yeomans, grandiloquently. ‘It’s high time we let the two of them feel its full force.’

  With a sudden downward jab, he left the dagger embedded in the table on which the body lay. It was still vibrating as they left the room.

  ‘They arrested you?’

  ‘Yes, they did, then the dolts accompanied me to Bow Street as if I was the lowest criminal.’

  ‘This is insupportable, Stephen.’

  ‘I made that point in the choicest language I could find.’

  ‘Could they really imagine that you’d ever stab a man in the back?’

  ‘Patently, they could.’