‘The manager is a reasonable fellow. Discuss changes with him.’
‘I demand to change the whole play.’
‘That’s no basis for a proper discussion.’
‘Do you want me to be pilloried?’ she howled, jumping to her feet. ‘Are you pleased at the thought that I’ll be jeered until the entire audience flees the theatre in disgust? Have you no pity on me?’
‘I have the greatest pity,’ said Paul, enfolding her in his arms, ‘but I also have faith in your powers as an actress. You can make the most banal lines sound like the work of a Marlowe or a Shakespeare. And when you sing, the silliest of ditties become arias from Handel. There’s no risk whatsoever of derision, Hannah. You sprinkle magic on every play in which you appear.’
Hannah was sufficiently mollified to let him kiss her. She even agreed to sit down again. The manager’s second visit had given her food for thought. She had no quarrel with Fleet himself and every reason to deal kindly with a man who’d given her so much help and support. Hannah felt sorry that she’d sent him off twice with a flea in his ear. He deserved better. At the same time, however, she resolved that she was not going to appear in what she considered to be a threadbare play written by an egregious playwright. Simply by letting her pour out her heart, Paul had been helpful. Hannah saw that it was unkind of her to keep him up any longer.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ she suggested.
‘I’m not sharing it with a third person,’ he warned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I get between the sheets, I don’t want to find that you’ve invited Abel Mundy to join us. Leave him downstairs, Hannah. We’ve talked about him enough. I’m not going to let him come between us. Is that agreed?’
She kissed him full on the lips. Paul had his answer.
Peter Skillen did not mind in the least that he’d been pulled from his bed in the dead of night. If there was a crisis at the gallery, he wanted to be there. After saddling his horse, he galloped off with Huckvale trying to keep up with him. By the time they got to their destination, Ackford had tied up the unconscious dog and already repaired the broken doors. They could offer stiffer resistance if attacked by a sledgehammer now. As a precaution, Ackford had also reloaded his musket and kept it within reach. Having heard Huckvale’s account of what happened, Peter heard a more measured description of events from Ackford.
‘Who was responsible for the attack?’ asked Peter.
‘Jem has a theory,’ said the older man.
‘Yes, I know. He thinks that the Runners are to blame.’
‘It’s their revenge,’ argued Huckvale. ‘They were livid that I couldn’t even be held in custody for a while. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Yeomans and Hale were swinging those sledgehammers.’
‘I would,’ said Peter. ‘They’d never stoop to anything like this.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Peter is right,’ said Ackford. ‘The Runners might ruffle our feathers but they’d stop well short of launching an assault on the gallery. It was lucky that I had my old Brown Bess musket when I met those dogs. It’s the one I first fired at the Battle of Yorktown when I was a raw recruit in the British army and it probably saved my life. If I hadn’t dealt with those ravening curs, they’d have torn me to bits. This is not simply a matter of damage to property. It was a case of attempted murder. Yeomans and Hale would never condone that.’
‘So who would?’ asked Huckvale.
‘I wish I knew, Jem.’
‘Is it someone we helped to put in gaol? Did one of them ask their friends to attack us out of spite? Is that what happened?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Ackford, pensively.
‘It’s more than possible, Gully.’
‘What’s your opinion, Peter?’
‘It could be connected to some villain we put behind bars,’ conceded Peter. ‘Most of them threaten to get even with us one day. But I incline to the view that that’s not the case here. The key lies in the timing.’
‘That’s why I thought it was the Runners,’ said Huckvale. ‘They boasted about making our lives more difficult – and then this happens.’
‘Something else has happened, Jem. A blameless man was stabbed to death because he had the misfortune to fall in love with a beautiful woman. She already had an admirer and he’s the person we should start looking at.’
‘Captain Hamer?’
‘He resents the fact that Paul is investigating the murder. My brother had a frosty reception when he called on the man. The one thing Hamer knows about Paul is that he works here at the gallery and taught Mr Bowerman how to fire a pistol. It’s a natural assumption on Hamer’s part that my brother also lives here. I think that tonight’s ugly business was a warning. It was telling my brother to stop trying to find Mr Bowerman’s killer.’
‘Nobody can stop Paul from doing what he thinks is right,’ said Ackford. ‘As for frightening him off, the attack will only make him more determined to press on. And the same goes for the rest of us.’
‘Perhaps I should have brought Paul here as well,’ said Huckvale.
‘I told you it was unnecessary.’
‘Let him have his sleep, Jem,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll speak to my brother first thing.’
‘He’ll be very angry. He doesn’t have your self-control, Peter. When he hears what happened here, he’ll fly into action.’
‘My feeling is that Paul will reach exactly the same conclusion as me. Captain Hamer is behind this attack. The burning question is this: how do we respond?’
After a night of heavy drinking at Carr’s club, Stephen Hamer had reeled home and been put to bed by the servants. He lapsed into a deep sleep and might well have stayed in bed for hours had he not heard – or thought he’d heard – a persistent whining outside the front door of the house. As he occupied the front bedroom, he was closest to the noise. Hamer tried to ignore it but it was impossible. There was a note of pain and pleading that eventually forced him to investigate. Pulling himself out of bed, he padded across the room and drew back the curtain. It was sometime after dawn and there was enough light for him to see clearly. What he saw directly below the window made him gasp.
Two dogs were on the ground. One was so motionless that it looked dead. The other had his legs tied together and wore a muzzle that restricted him to the piteous whine. Hamer remembered something that Rawdon Carr had boasted about the previous evening. It had involved two dogs.
Stomach heaving, he began to retch.
CHAPTER NINE
Leonard Impey always arrived early at the bank in the morning so that he could supervise its opening. Because he was anticipating the return of Hester Mallory, he turned up with a decided spring in his step. They’d had a most satisfying discussion on the previous day and he felt that he’d convinced her to do business with his bank. He had not relied entirely on the letter of introduction she’d brought from a friend. As with every new client, he’d asked a series of searching questions. All of them had been answered in a way that reassured him. He felt that it would be a pleasure to serve Mrs Mallory and tried to think of ways that would prolong her visit to his office. As each of his employees arrived, he took the opportunity to step outside the building and look up and down the street, even though the bank would not actually be open for almost an hour. His behaviour did not escape the notice of the others and they traded sly giggles. All of them had seen the woman when she’d first arrived and been struck both by her evident charm and by its effect on the manager.
When the last member of his staff came in, Impey seized the chance to slip once more out of the bank. The chief clerk appeared at his shoulder.
‘Are you looking for someone, sir?’ he asked.
‘No, no,’ replied the other. ‘I just wanted some fresh air.’
‘Does that mean you’re not feeling well, Mr Impey?’
‘I feel perfectly well.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, sir. Do you have any specific orders for me today?’
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‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ said Impey. ‘You saw Mrs Mallory visit us yesterday. If she’s decided to do business with us, she could be an important client. When she returns, have her shown into my office immediately.’
Paul Skillen had been horrified to hear of the attack on the gallery and, as his brother predicted, he singled out Stephen Hamer as the likely culprit. It was his idea to leave the two dogs outside the man’s front door, giving him a shock and letting him know that he’d been identified as the culprit. When Peter called on him for the second time that day, his brother’s fury had not subsided.
‘We should have smashed down the doors of his house and let in a whole pack of wild dogs,’ said Paul, vehemently. ‘Gully and Jem might have been seriously hurt.’
‘Luckily, they weren’t.’
‘We have to fight back somehow, Peter.’
‘We did that when we left the dogs outside his home.’
‘It’s not enough. I’ll go and confront him this morning.’
‘You’ve a more pressing duty before you do that,’ said his brother. ‘Thanks to one of your acquaintances from that gambling hell you once patronised, you know where Sir Geoffrey Melrose may be found. Unfortunately, he’s not here in London at the moment. Ride out to his estate and pass on the bad tidings about Mr Bowerman. It’s likely that he’s unaware of the murder. His reaction to the news will be interesting.’
‘He’ll be upset. He was a friend of Mr Bowerman.’
‘We need to know the nature of that friendship.’
‘Very well,’ said Paul, ‘but we mustn’t let Hamer off the hook.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘I’ll call on him at once.’
‘No, Paul, I can do that. While you visit Sir Geoffrey, I’ll go to Hamer’s house and take him to task for what occurred last night. As it happens, I have another reason for meeting the fellow.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes,’ said Peter, ‘someone brought a letter from the Home Secretary earlier this morning. It contained the reply that he got from the War Office.’
‘What did it say about Captain Hamer?’
‘See for yourself.’
Taking a letter from his pocket, he passed it to Paul. He was amused to see his brother’s eyes widen in amazement as he read the contents.
‘I was as surprised as you are,’ said Peter.
‘I suppose that I shouldn’t have been. This is typical of Hamer. I’d love to see his face when you wave this under his nose. It will take the swagger out of him.’ After finishing the letter, he handed it back. ‘Watch out for that friend of his, Rawdon Carr. He’s the oily devil who acted as second at the duel and tried to make Mr Bowerman tender an apology in exchange for his life. Carr is one of Hamer’s hangers-on.’
‘I’ll give the two of them your regards, Paul.’
‘I’ll still want to meet them face-to-face.’
‘You can do that when you’ve spoken to Sir Geoffrey. Find out if he was deliberately playing the matchmaker when he invited Mr Bowerman and Miss Somerville to dinner.’
‘I’ll also ask him why he thought that two such different people would ever be attracted to each other.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste, Paul.’
‘I learnt that when I first met Hannah. She seemed hopelessly beyond my reach. I was ensnared at once but it never crossed my mind for a second that I’d have the slightest appeal for someone like her. Miraculously, I did somehow.’
‘I still can’t understand it,’ teased Peter. ‘Being serious, there’s something I must ask on Charlotte’s behalf. She spent a fair amount of time yesterday listening to Hannah’s woes about this play she’s acting in. Charlotte wants to know if any decision has been made.’
Paul rolled his eyes. ‘Thankfully, it has.’
‘Has she pulled out?’
‘No, she eventually agreed to attend a rehearsal this morning. It took me hours to persuade her to do that. The theatre is her lifeblood. When she meets the other actors again, she’ll be among friends. It might help to soften her stance against Abel Mundy.’
‘Is he really the fiend she describes?’
‘Hannah calls him the Prince of Darkness.’
The rehearsal got off to a promising start. The moment that Hannah entered, the rest of the cast rose to their feet and gave her a spontaneous round of applause. She was touched and even permitted a few welcoming kisses on her cheek. Simply being back in the theatre was a tonic for her. It brought her fully alive. Lemuel Fleet was at her elbow immediately, thanking her profusely and promising her that alterations and additions would be made to The Piccadilly Opera.
‘There are parts of the play that will pass muster,’ he said.
She arched an eyebrow. ‘I’ve never seen any of them.’
‘You look upon it with a jaundiced eye, Miss Granville.’
‘Not to mention a queasy stomach,’ she added, raising a laugh from the others. ‘But you may be right, Mr Fleet. Perhaps I am being too critical. No play is entirely beyond redemption. All that this one needs is a change of title, a change of plot, a new cast of characters and, above all else, a skilful playwright.’
‘Mr Mundy may yet rise to that level.’
‘He has a desperately long way to go.’
Fleet changed his tack. ‘Let us at least rehearse the first scene.’
‘It’s too flat and leaden,’ she claimed.
‘That’s why I’ve decided to open with a fanfare. It will secure the attention of the audience and prepare them for your entrance. There are several other points in the text where I’ve introduced additional music.’
‘Will there be songs worth singing?’
‘We will lose those in the play and replace them with ones that will meet your approval. I want more jollity and sprightliness in the performance. Do you hear that, everyone?’ he went on, raising his voice. ‘Let a sense of enjoyment fill the theatre.’
‘It’s to be a real comedy, then,’ she observed. ‘That will be an improvement.’
There was general agreement. Unlike Hannah, most of the cast were not in constant demand so they had to suppress any mutinous feelings about a play. If any of them were singled out as being in any way rebellious, they would be viewed askance by theatre managements. Forced to hold their tongues, they were delighted to have a mouthpiece in Hannah. She was able to point out the many shortcomings of the play that they’d all discerned. It turned her into their heroine.
The rehearsal began and there was a new feeling of optimism. Scenes that had hitherto been limp and tedious now became brighter and more entertaining. There was a laughter that had never existed before. In spite of her objections, Hannah found herself relishing the experience of being back onstage again. The new songs she was given to sing made her even happier. All of the changes enhanced the play beyond measure. There were moments when she actually forgot how much she hated The Piccadilly Opera. The amended version made it almost presentable.
The euphoria could not last. Without warning, the joyful mood was shattered. Unbeknownst to anyone, Abel Mundy had walked in. Transfixed by what he saw, it took him minutes to find his voice. He used it to emit a high-pitched scream of rage.
‘Stop, stop, stop!’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing to my play?’
‘We’ve made a few slight changes,’ said Fleet, ‘that’s all, Mr Mundy.’
‘You’ve savaged my work.’
‘It’s what it required,’ said Hannah, boldly. ‘We put some life into it.’
‘This is all your doing, Miss Granville,’ said the playwright. ‘I write a serious drama and you turn it into an inconsequential little squib. You could never reach the heights that my work demands.’
‘Now, now,’ said Fleet, jumping in before Hannah could reply. ‘Let’s keep the debate on a friendly level. Hot words leave bad feelings in their wake.’
‘So do incompetent plays like this one,’ murmured Hannah.
‘I’ll broo
k no insults,’ howled Mundy.
‘Then you’ll best leave while you may, sir, or I’ll tell you what I really think of this dull, dreary, lifeless piece of theatrical mediocrity that dares to call itself a play.’
‘This is insufferable!’
‘The door is behind you, Mr Mundy.’
‘There’ll be repercussions from this.’
‘Yes, we’ll finally have something worth performing.’
‘That’s enough!’ yelled Fleet, removing his wig and throwing it to the floor. ‘This is disgraceful behaviour. Differences of opinion should be settled in private. A true compromise can only be reached if there is moderation on both sides.’
‘Look for no moderation from me,’ said Hannah, pointing at Mundy. ‘I only have to see that hideous visage and I begin to feel sick. Look at him, everyone! What you see before you is the death’s head of British drama!’
It was her last jibe and it struck home. Before she could add even more abuse, the quivering playwright swung round and ran out as if something had just set fire to his coat-tails. There was an ominous silence.
Fleet retrieved his wig. ‘The rehearsal is over,’ he growled.
In response to the summons, Rawdon Carr rode quickly to his friend’s house. The first thing he saw on arrival was the gardener, loading a dead dog into a barrow before wheeling it around to the rear of the property. A servant came out to take care of his mount. Carr went into the house and found Hamer in the dining room, seated at the table with a half-empty decanter of claret in front of him.
‘I’ve just seen someone wheeling a dead dog into your garden,’ said Carr.
‘He’s going to bury it.’
‘Whose animal was it?’
‘Yours, Rawdon.’
‘Don’t be absurd!’
‘You hired those two men to release dogs into that shooting gallery. What you just saw was one of the animals. I had the other put down as well. Its whining was giving me a headache.’
‘I’m not sure that I follow you, Stephen.’
A Date with the Executioner Page 9
