‘Someone must have introduced him to Miss Somerville.’
‘That would be Sir Geoffrey Melrose.’
‘How did he come to know the lady?’
‘I have no idea, sir.’
‘Was he a close friend of Mr Bowerman’s?’
‘He called here occasionally,’ said Roe, ‘and very few people did that.’
‘Your master confided to me that he first saw Miss Somerville at a dinner party. Presumably, Sir Geoffrey Melrose was the host.’
‘That’s my understanding.’
‘And, I daresay, you noticed a change in Mr Bowerman.’
‘Indeed, we did,’ said the butler, failing to keep the disapproval out of his reply. ‘We were all very much aware of it.’
Paul questioned him for some time and was disappointed to learn that Roe had no idea of Sir Geoffrey’s London address. On another front, too, he was thwarted.
‘You told me that, on the day of the murder, Mr Bowerman received a letter.’
‘Yes, sir, it was from Miss Somerville.’
‘How could you be certain of that?’
‘Her correspondence always had a pleasing aroma.’
‘Did you actually see the handwriting?’
‘I saw it and recognised it, Mr Skillen.’
‘So you’d seen examples of it before, obviously.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Given the strength of feeling he clearly had for the lady,’ said Paul, carefully, ‘he’d certainly have kept her billets-doux.’ Roe nodded. ‘Might I see them, please?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘All that I ask is to have a quick peep at them.’
‘That will not be possible,’ said Roe, firmly.
‘But they may contain valuable clues helpful to my investigation.’
‘It was private correspondence, sir. Nobody will ever see it.’
‘I was hoping for more cooperation from you, Mr Roe.’
The butler straightened his back. ‘I know where my duty lies, sir.’ He regarded Paul quizzically. ‘May I ask if you are married, sir?’
‘As it happens, I am not.’
‘But there is a lady in your life, I dare swear.’
‘There’s a very special lady,’ confirmed Paul.
‘Then ask yourself this, Mr Skillen. How would you feel if a stranger was allowed to read letters sent by her for your eyes only?’
‘I’d feel very angry.’
‘You’d have every right to be so, sir,’ said Roe. ‘I’m sorry to turn down your request but perhaps you’ll understand why now.’
Paul accepted that the butler was protecting the privacy of his late master and he admired him for that. He was about to put more questions to him when the doorbell clanged. Voices came along the corridor and Paul identified one of them at once. As the Runners came into the room, he spread his arms in a mock welcome.
‘Ah,’ he said, grinning mischievously, ‘you’ve got here at last. Speed was never your forte, Mr Yeomans, was it?’
‘That’s the third time in a row,’ said Hale. ‘Garden, morgue and here – he always gets there first.’
‘Someone has to show you the way. Though I have to correct you with regard to the morgue – it was my brother, Peter, who went there.’
‘You’ve no business being under this roof,’ said Yeomans, features twisted into an ugly scowl. ‘I must ask you to leave.’
‘I’ll go in my own good time.’
‘You’ll not tarry when you hear what happened at the shooting gallery.’
Paul tensed. ‘Why – what have you been up to now?’
‘We’ve been doing our duty and upholding the law,’ said Hale. ‘When we had reports of a fugitive at the gallery, we descended on the place and searched it.’
‘There are no fugitives there, man!’
‘Yes, there was. We found him skulking upstairs and arrested him. His name is Jem Huckvale and we’ve a witness who will depose that he saw the little wretch steal a leg of mutton.’
‘Jem is no thief!’ yelled Paul. ‘He’s as honest as the day is long.’
‘He’s cooling his heels in Bow Street,’ said Yeomans, enjoying Paul’s discomfort. ‘It’s not like you to consort with criminals, Mr Skillen.’
‘This is an example of pure spite. It’s an act of shameless retaliation.’
‘Our job is to clean up the streets of London.’
‘Then you might begin by rounding up all the villains who pay you to ignore the way they make their living. Everyone knows how corrupt you are. How dare you accuse Jem Huckvale of a crime when the pair of you flout the law every day.’
‘Do you want to end up in the same cell as your friend?’ taunted Yeomans.
‘I want him released immediately.’
‘You’re in no position to make demands, Mr Skillen.’
‘We have a very good lawyer,’ said Paul, warningly.
‘Then he’s going to be extremely busy in the future.’
‘Why do you say that, Mr Yeomans?’
‘I have a strange feeling that we’ll get other reports of fugitives going to ground in your gallery,’ said the Runner, ‘don’t you, Alfred?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Hale. ‘You’re going to be seeing a lot of us, Mr Skillen.’
As he left the room, their sniggers followed him all the way to the front door.
True to her profession, Hannah Granville was bereft when she had no audience. With only the servants in the house, she felt that any performance she gave was bound to be unappreciated. She therefore hired a carriage to take her to the gallery where she could be assured of a sympathetic hearing. On her way there, the driver obeyed her instruction to take her past the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, so that she could feast her eyes on a place that had been instrumental in advancing her career in the past. It had become, to some extent, her spiritual home and she drew strength simply from looking at it. As the carriage drove on, however, other thoughts flooded into her mind. Having been an inspiration to her, the Theatre Royal might now become a scaffold on which her reputation could die. Thanks to Abel Mundy, her long years of toil and dedication would be meaningless. She was facing execution.
Arriving at the gallery, she told her friend how concerned she was.
‘Why don’t you talk to the manager again?’ advised Charlotte.
‘I’ve already done that. He called on me earlier.’
‘Had he spoken to Mr Mundy?’
‘I’m not sure if he had the opportunity to speak,’ said Hannah. ‘When he came to me, Mr Fleet was like a beaten dog. When he left me, he was going to confront Mundy once again. At their first meeting, that ogre made excessive demands.’
‘Your own have not exactly been marked by restraint,’ said the other, gently.
‘They’ve been calm and sensible, Charlotte.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘All I ask is the removal of this hideous man and his hideous play.’
‘And what is to replace them?’
Hannah tossed her head. ‘Who cares?’
‘Everyone cares,’ said Charlotte, reasonably. ‘The manager cares because his livelihood is threatened, you care because you require a play commensurate with your talent and the audience cares because it has been starved of the pleasure of seeing Hannah Granville onstage for a while and wants to welcome their favourite actress back. Then, of course,’ she went on, ‘there is the rest of the company to consider. What is their opinion of The Piccadilly Opera?’
‘That’s irrelevant. My opinion is the only one that matters.’
Charlotte was about to point out that her friend was being rather selfish when they heard feet running down the corridor. The door opened and Paul came into the room. Hannah instinctively threw herself into his arms.
‘Thank God you’ve come, Paul! I need you.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘We’ve been discussing Hannah’s latest play,’ said Charlotte.
‘Let’s put that aside for a minute.’
Hannah stamped a foot. ‘I won’t have it put aside for a single second.’
‘Something of more immediate importance has come up, my love,’ he said, planting a consoling kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ve just heard some disturbing news from Yeomans. Is it true that Jem has been arrested on a trumped-up charge?’
‘Yes,’ replied Charlotte.
‘He must be set free at once.’
‘Peter is already taking care of that.’
‘Apparently, the Runners intend to raid the gallery again.’
‘Gully is considering measures to prevent that. It may even be necessary to close the place for a few days.’
‘I wish someone would raid the Theatre Royal,’ said Hannah, petulantly, ‘and arrest Abel Mundy for breaking all the laws of drama. The Piccadilly Opera is an act of criminality in itself.’
‘With respect,’ said Paul, gently squeezing her arm, ‘Jem’s situation is more critical than yours. If it were proved – by means of arrant lies – that Jem did steal a leg of mutton, it would be the end of him. At best, he’d face transportation; at worst, he’d be given a death sentence.’
Hannah was for once forced to think about someone else’s plight.
‘Is it really that serious, Paul?’
‘It could be.’
As it happened, Peter Skillen did not have to invoke the name of the Home Secretary to secure the release of his friend. When Jem Huckvale was taken to Bow Street, the chief magistrate heard the details of the case in the privacy of his office. Since he was the supposed witness to the crime, Chevy Ruddock gave his testimony, saying that he’d seen Huckvale sneaking away from the market with the mutton tucked inside his coat. It did not take long for Eldon Kirkwood to dismiss the case on the grounds of insufficient evidence. Much as he regretted doing so, he ordered Huckvale’s release. Peter had brought a spare horse to Bow Street. Riding side by side with his friend, he expressed his sympathy.
‘I’m sorry that they picked on you, Jem,’ he said. ‘Paul and I were the real targets. We were lucky that the chief magistrate is so meticulous. He soon found holes in the witness’s testimony.’
‘I was scared,’ admitted Huckvale. ‘I thought I was done for. And I was shocked that Chevy Ruddock could tell such barefaced lies.’
‘He was suborned. You could tell that.’
‘I’ve always thought he was the best of the Runners. He’s a decent man at heart. When he tried to keep watch on Paul, I pushed Ruddock in the Thames. There were times when I regretted that. Today, I wished I could do it all over again.’
‘He’ll think twice before he arrests you again.’
‘How many times must it have happened before?’ asked Huckvale.
‘What – someone bearing false witness?’
‘Yes, Peter.’
‘It does happen occasionally, I fear.’
‘If Mr Kirkwood had believed him, I might have …’
‘You might have suffered the fate of other innocent victims,’ said Peter, finishing the sentence for him. ‘Fortunately, the chief magistrate is not easily fooled. Ruddock will get a roasting for what he did.’
‘Mr Yeomans is the real culprit.’
‘That fact won’t go unnoticed.’
‘Is he going to keep on raiding the gallery?’
Peter grinned. ‘I have a feeling that he might be dissuaded from pursuing that particular line of attack on us,’ said Peter. ‘He’ll get more than a rap on the knuckles from Mr Kirkwood.’
Heads bowed and cheeks red, Yeomans, Hale and Ruddock stood in front of his desk like three felons awaiting sentence in court. They were united by a collective sense of shame. The chief magistrate kept them waiting for a few minutes and let his fury simmer. When he suddenly rose to his feet, they took an involuntary pace backwards.
‘Who was the author of this travesty of justice?’ he demanded.
‘I was, sir,’ confessed Yeomans, ‘but it was no travesty. We did have legitimate grounds for suspicion. Ruddock did actually witness the theft of that leg of mutton.’
‘It’s true,’ said Ruddock. ‘I’d swear it.’
‘And the thief looked uncannily like Huckvale.’
‘I’d swear to that as well.’
‘It was Chevy who set us in motion,’ said Hale, attempting to shift the blame to their younger colleague. ‘If he hadn’t reported what he’d seen, the arrest would never have taken place.’
‘Be quiet, Hale,’ ordered Kirkwood. ‘In my view, you are all equally culpable. I have three observations to make. First, when you saw the crime taking place, why didn’t you arrest the thief on the spot?’
‘I tried to do so, sir,’ said Ruddock, ‘but he ran off. I gave chase and would certainly have caught him had not his accomplice, lurking outside the market, tripped me up. I still have the bruises from the fall.’
‘Don’t expect sympathy from me.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Second, all this happened a week ago.’ He transferred his gaze to Yeomans. ‘Why did it take you seven days to arrest the man Ruddock claims to have seen at the market?’
‘We’ve been very busy, sir,’ said Yeomans.
‘A case like this should have taken priority.’
‘We realise that now.’
‘If Huckvale had been the thief, he’d have had a whole week to leave the city and hide somewhere well beyond your grasp. Strike while the iron is hot. That’s my rule. When you suspect someone, arrest him immediately.’
‘We usually do, sir.’
‘Third – and this is a damning indictment of your behaviour – the butcher whose mutton was stolen reported the theft. I took the trouble to look at the record and read what he said. All that Ruddock saw of the man was his back as he fled the scene. The butcher, on the other hand, was face-to-face with him. Do you know how he described the malefactor?’
Yeomans ran his tongue over dried lips. ‘No, sir.’
‘He said that the man was tall, skinny and rat-faced.’
‘Huckvale is skinny, sir.’
‘And he’s rat-faced as well,’ added Hale.
‘That’s why I was convinced it was him, sir,’ explained Ruddock.
Kirkwood narrowed his lids. ‘How could you confuse a tall man with a very short one?’ he asked. ‘Or are you going to suggest that Huckvale has lost six or seven inches since the crime? Is this the effect that eating a leg of mutton has on a man? His body shrinks in size? Is that your claim, Ruddock?’
‘No, sir,’ said the other, meekly.
‘What about you two?’
‘No, sir,’ said Yeomans.
‘No, sir,’ said Hale.
‘At least we’re all agreed on that,’ said Kirkwood. ‘I put it to you that you used this alleged sighting of a thief in the market as a pretext for raiding the shooting gallery where Huckvale works. While there, Mr Skillen assures me, you made an alarming amount of noise and caused actual damage to the property. And all of this was done in the search for a tall, skinny, rat-faced man who was not even on the premises. Is that an accurate account of today’s farcical intervention?’
‘We went there with the very best of intentions, sir,’ said Yeomans.
‘You went there to cause havoc and to upset the Skillen brothers.’
‘That was not our primary purpose.’
‘You also threatened further raids on the gallery.’
‘It’s the only way to keep them under control, sir. They are a nuisance and are already impeding the murder investigation.’
‘Then the best way to establish your superiority is to solve the crime ahead of them. How can you do that when you waste time descending on their premises and seizing an innocent man? Mr Bowerman’s killer must be caught but, I’ll wager, the last place you’re likely to find him is at the gallery.’
‘We’ve made progress to that end, sir.’
>
‘What end?’
‘The hunt for the killer,’ said Yeomans. ‘We called at the victim’s home.’
‘Not before time, I may say!’
‘His butler told us something of what lay behind the duel with Captain Hamer. And we were given a much deeper insight into his master’s character.’
‘Did the butler have any idea who might have murdered him?’
‘None, sir. Mr Bowerman was a man with no known enemies.’
‘What about Captain Hamer? He qualified as an enemy.’
‘That’s precisely why we arrested him.’
‘Yes,’ said Kirkwood, cynically, ‘it was another of your blunders. Try to arrest people who will actually remain in custody, not those we have to set free with abject apologies for your over-exuberance. I suppose that I should be thankful you didn’t accuse the captain of stealing a leg of mutton as well.’
‘It couldn’t have been him, sir,’ Ruddock put in, helpfully. ‘He’s too handsome to be called rat-faced.’
‘Going back to the murder victim,’ said Yeomans, ‘we feel that we can see the path that the investigation must follow. As a next step, we must introduce ourselves to Miss Somerville.’
‘You should already have done that. It’s what I advised.’
‘We’ll go there at once, sir.’
‘I must first extract a promise from you.’
‘You shall have it, sir.’
‘Whatever else you do,’ said Kirkwood, scornfully, ‘don’t arrest the lady as well. In fact, don’t arrest anybody. Your record in that regard has been lamentable. Gather evidence as patiently as you can and try, I beg of you, to be tactful for once. Mr Bowerman was on the brink of proposing marriage, you tell me. That being the case, Miss Somerville must be looked at as a grieving widow. Tread very carefully. She will be fragile.’
Seated on the ottoman in her boudoir, Laetitia Somerville untied the pink ribbon around the letters she’d received from Mark Bowerman and began to read them in chronological order. It had been a slow courtship at first but had soon picked up pace. The letters became longer and increasingly affectionate. They were infused with a tentative passion that matured into something far stronger. Written by a man who’d never expected to find love again, each one marvelled at his good fortune in meeting her. It was impossible not to be touched by the poignancy of it all. He was not simply dead, Bowerman had been cruelly murdered. What troubled Laetitia most was that a missive, allegedly written by her, had been used as the bait. Who had committed the forgery and how could they possibly have known it would entice him out of the safety of his house? Impelled by the hope of seeing her again, Bowerman had answered the summons and gone to a designated place where someone lay in wait for him.
A Date with the Executioner Page 7
