‘Let’s look back over the last year, shall we?’ he said.
‘A lot of people have stayed here during that time, Mr Skillen. I can’t pretend to remember each and every one of them.’
‘This lady would assuredly stay in the memory.’
‘Under what name was she supposed to be a guest here?’
‘That’s what I’m endeavouring to find out.’
Peter went on to give him the description of her that he’d got from Impey. He emphasised the woman’s unassailable buoyancy and the quality of her attire. Something of a dandy himself, the manager seized on the details of her appearance.
‘I do believe I recall the lady in question,’ he said.
‘What was her name?’
‘My memory is sound, sir, but it is not encyclopaedic. While her name escapes me, her reason for staying here does not. She was a guest for a few days before going on to Ascot.’
‘That would mean she stayed here last June.’
‘I can give you the exact date, if you wish.’
‘I’d be most grateful.’
Peter followed him into the reception area and waited while the man went behind the counter and turned back the pages of a ledger. When he came to the relevant place, he ran his finger down the list of names.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘I’ve found her for you.’
‘Was she staying here as Mrs Mallory?’
‘Oh, no,’ replied the other.
‘Then what name was she using?’
The manager looked up at him. ‘Miss Arabella Kenyon.’
Unable to placate the playwright, Lemuel Fleet decided against another futile appeal to Hannah Granville. He employed a different tactic altogether and caught Charlotte by surprise. When he turned up unexpectedly at the gallery and introduced himself, she was taken aback.
‘Have you come for lessons in fencing, boxing, archery or shooting?’ she asked in wonderment.
‘I’d love to be proficient in all of them,’ he said, grimly, ‘then I’d be able to kill the pair of them in four different ways. Let me explain, Mrs Skillen. That is your name, I believe?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘I’ve heard it often on Miss Granville’s lips and, I gather, her beau is your brother-in-law. I need to speak to one or both of you.’
‘Then you’ll have to settle for me,’ said Charlotte. ‘Paul is not here and, in any case, is not able to prevail upon Miss Granville.’
‘What about you?’
‘I might have marginally more influence, Mr Fleet.’
‘That’s why I came. Talking to Mr Mundy is like banging my head against a brick wall. Talking to Miss Granville is akin to putting it inside the mouth of a lion.’
‘You’ve no need to recount what happened today, sir. I already know.’
‘What you heard was wildly prejudicial.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘I allowed for that, sir.’
‘In brief, the situation is this …’
Fleet spoke slowly and painfully. What Charlotte heard was a version of events that differed considerably from the one that her friend had given her. Entirely new facts emerged. Hannah, it transpired, had been a destructive force from the very start. She had two of the actors dismissed from the company – one man, who kissed her in the course of the play, had bad breath; the other, who tried to kiss her in the dressing room, had bad judgement. There was an endless litany of complaints. Hannah wanted this scene removed from the play and that song inserted in its place. She’d quarrelled with the costume designer. She’d insulted one of the stage hands. When he got on to Abel Mundy, the manager was able to reveal a catalogue of crimes. He accepted that he was at fault in putting actress and playwright together. They were archetypes of incompatibility.
When he paused for breath, Charlotte offered a comment.
‘Miss Granville is my friend,’ she began, ‘but I can’t defend some of the behaviour you’ve described. What I can suggest, Mr Fleet, is that her outbursts are symptoms of the fact that she is very unhappy.’
‘Does that give her licence to make us all suffer?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘Then why has she turned into the company tyrant?’
‘That may be overstating the case,’ said Charlotte, reasonably. ‘When she arrived at the rehearsal today, she was given a rapturous welcome.’
‘The ovation was a sign of the sheer relief we all felt.’
‘When did you first engage her, Mr Fleet?’
‘I’m beginning to wish that I’d never done so, to be honest.’
‘It was two years ago, wasn’t it? Hannah was in The School for Scandal.’
‘And she was magical,’ he said.
‘Did you have trouble from her in rehearsals?’
‘We had none whatsoever.’
‘Did she scatter insults wherever she went?’
‘No, Mrs Skillen, she spread compliments far and wide.’
‘What of the playwright? Did they come to blows?’
‘Miss Granville adored Sheridan,’ he said, ‘and he worshipped her. It was a marriage of true minds in every sense. That’s what made it a pleasure to employ her.’
‘She is still that same talented actress,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘Hannah has not lost one jot of that magic you noted. She’s simply unable to bring it to The Piccadilly Opera because she thrives on enthusiasm and this play fails to enthuse her.’
Lemuel Fleet was struck dumb by her articulate comments. He’d come to appeal to Charlotte to intercede with Hannah on his behalf. Where he could only offer threats or concessions to the actress, a close female friend might be more persuasive. Charlotte’s analysis of the problem was impressive. Though she understood little of the workings of the theatre, she sensed the emotional turmoil in which Hannah was caught up. Fleet dared to hope that he might have found an emissary.
‘Could I ask a very special favour of you, Mrs Skillen?’
‘I’m honoured that you deigned to approach me, sir.’
‘I’d be prepared to offer you a fee.’
‘It would only be returned,’ she said, firmly. ‘If I can help in any way, I’ll be happy to do so but I’ll not take a penny.’
‘You’re my one hope of salvation.’
‘Then it’s only fair to warn you I’ve so far failed to make Hannah view the situation in a more impartial way.’
‘Would you try to do so again?’
‘I’d try anything to bring peace and harmony, Mr Fleet.’
‘Then you have my undying thanks. We need Miss Granville as a ship needs a mainsail. It may be that this vessel does not have the high quality to which she is accustomed but it is still seaworthy. Convince her of that and all will be well.’
‘I can make no promises.’
‘None will be demanded, Mrs Skillen. You spoke of peace and harmony. Having listened to you, I’m confident that both can be restored.’
Hannah Granville was more restless than ever. Nothing could divert her or hold her attention. She had tried resting on the bed, reading a novel, singing her favourite songs and accompanying herself on the piano. She soon lapsed back into a deep misery. What she wanted most was Paul’s company because he was the only person who could raise her spirits. Unfortunately, he had commitments elsewhere. It might be hours before she saw him again. Bored, sulking and rudderless, she walked to the front window and stared out.
Seconds later, the glass was shattered by a stone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tiny shards of glass were scattered across the room. Several of them hit Hannah’s body but it was the few that struck her face that threw her into a panic. As she felt blood trickling down her cheeks, she let out a hysterical scream. It brought the servants running to see what the trouble was. Hannah was quivering all over.
‘I might have been blinded!’ she cried. ‘I could have been disfigured for life.’
‘Come away from the window,’ advised one of the women, leading her into the hall. ‘I
t will be safer out here.’
‘I can feel blood. Have I been scarred for life?’
‘There are only a few scratches, Miss Granville.’
‘It feels as if my whole face is on fire.’
‘What happened?’
‘Someone threw a stone at the window.’
‘It might not have been aimed at you, Miss Granville. Whoever threw it might not even have known you were in the room.’
‘They saw me,’ insisted Hannah. ‘When I stood in the window, it suddenly burst into smithereens. Someone was trying to kill me.’ She shrank back. ‘What if they’re still there?’
‘I don’t think they will be.’
In fact, the manservant had already run out into the street in search of the assailant. He looked up and down but saw nobody at all. He came back into the house.
‘They’ve gone,’ he announced. ‘It may have been children, having fun.’
‘Fun!’ exclaimed Hannah, dabbing at the wound. ‘Is this their idea of fun? It’s deplorable. A person can’t even look out of a window with impunity.’
‘I’ll clear up the mess in the drawing room,’ he volunteered.
‘Thank you, Dirk,’ said the servant who still had a supporting arm around Hannah. ‘Why don’t we go into the dining room, Miss Granville? You’ll be perfectly safe in there.’
‘I don’t think I shall ever feel safe in this house again.’
She allowed herself to be led into the other room. Breaking away from the servant, she went straight to the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece to examine her face. Still in shock, she was horrified to see three red scratches on one cheek. Blood had only oozed from one of them but that was enough to alarm her.
‘How do you feel now, Miss Granville?’ asked the servant, solicitously.
‘I feel dreadful,’ she replied, dabbing at the blood with a handkerchief.
‘I’ll ask someone to go to the houses opposite and ask if there are any witnesses to what happened. It must have been horseplay of some kind. I can’t believe that anyone would deliberately try to harm you.’
‘Oh, yes, they would,’ said Hannah, calming down sufficiently to make a considered judgement. ‘I think I know who hurled that stone at me.’
‘Who was it?’
‘It’s a nasty, vicious man named Abel Mundy.’ Pulling a face, she put the handkerchief to her cheek again. ‘It stings so much.’
‘Would you like me to send for a doctor?’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘I’ll get someone else to look after you.’
‘No, no, I’m much better now. Fetch the doctor and don’t worry about looking for witnesses. Mr Mundy hurled that stone. I’ll wager anything on it.’
The servant headed for the door. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Left alone, Hannah inspected herself in the mirror yet again. One of the shards had grazed her cheekbone. When she saw how close it had been to her left eye, she shuddered. An actress lived by her looks. The partial loss of her sight and the ugliness of a damaged eye would spell ruin for her. That had been his intention, she believed. Mundy was not simply trying to frighten her, he wanted to drive her from the stage altogether and he might well have succeeded. Caught up in her plight, she didn’t hear the sound of approaching hooves. Hannah was still staring into the mirror when the door opened and Paul rushed in to throw protective arms around her.
‘I’ve just heard what happened,’ he said.
‘It was terrifying, Paul. The glass went everywhere.’
Holding her at arm’s length, he scrutinised her. Dozens of shards had lodged in her dress but he didn’t notice them. His gaze was fixed on the facial wounds and the specks of glass stuck in her hair.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Mr Mundy watched me standing in the window and threw a stone.’
‘Did you actually see him?’
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but who else would do such a thing? He’s so obsessed with getting his play on the stage that he’s trying to force me out of the company for good. I could have been killed, Paul.’
‘I don’t think your life would have been in danger,’ he said, ‘but your career might have been. This is appalling, Hannah. If Mundy is responsible for this, he’ll finish up behind bars and I’ll be the one to put him there.’
‘Don’t leave me just yet,’ she begged, clutching at him.
‘I’ll stay as long as you wish.’
‘I’ve sent for a doctor but you’re the best medicine. I feel better already.’
‘Do you feel able to tell me in detail exactly what happened?’
‘No,’ said Hannah, nestling against his chest. ‘To tell you the truth, I want to forget all about it. You’ve no idea how utterly defenceless I felt.’
They stood together in silence for several minutes. Paul could feel her heart still racing. Chiding himself for not being there to look after her, he realised that he had to balance her needs against the murder investigation that was taking up so much of his time. Paul was not entirely convinced that Mundy had been the culprit but he wasn’t going to upset her by disagreeing with her claim. All he wanted was to comfort and reassure her.
When she came into the room, Charlotte Skillen dispensed with greetings.
‘Your front window has been smashed,’ she said, then noticed the tiny wounds, ‘and what on earth have you done to your face, Hannah?’
On the principle that the bank manager was in dire need of some support, Peter Skillen returned to Impey’s office and told him what he’d found out. The manager was gratified that he’d taken the time to make initial enquiries and was interested to hear that the woman who’d persuaded him to advance one thousand pounds against a bond worth over twice that amount had been in London before. She’d been calling herself Miss Arabella Kenyon on that occasion but was now operating under the guise of a new name. Peter made a suggestion.
‘The lady can change her identity as easily as she can change her hat,’ he said. ‘It would be a kindness to your rivals if you warned them to be on guard against her. You may not wish to help people with whom you’re in competition, of course. I’m not sure what the protocol is in your profession. But I feel sure that Mrs Mallory is not here to make one strike before fleeing the city. That warning would be appreciated by people in your position.’
‘Quite so, Mr Skillen.’
‘Does that mean you will spread the word?’
Impey sat back in his chair and breathed in deeply through his nose. There was a problem, he realised. In warning other bankers that there was a forger at work, he’d be admitting that he’d been taken in by her wiles. People might thank him for alerting them but they would also laugh up their sleeves at the thought that Leonard Impey, one of the most experienced bank managers in the city, had been swindled and humiliated by a scheming woman. In the banking community, he’d be ribbed about it for months afterwards. He reached his decision.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, evasively.
‘You would be glad of such a warning, sir.’
‘That’s true but there are other factors to consider here. Apart from anything else, it might be entirely in vain. Having made a killing here, Mrs Mallory may have left London altogether. In fact,’ he continued, trying to persuade himself as well as Peter, ‘that’s her most likely course of action. If she was here last June, she might well have played the same trick on another bank before going on to Ascot to place some of her ill-gotten funds on the horses. That is the way she works, I believe. Her method is to hit and run. Though the manager in question refused to make it public, she probably swindled another bank last year before disappearing. This year it was our turn. Thank you for your good counsel, Mr Skillen, but I’d prefer to keep our troubles to ourselves. No other bank is in danger. Mrs Mallory is too wily to take risks.’
Had he seen her at that moment, Impey might not have recognised her as the woman whose forged credentials had deceived him. A totally different dress and the
careful application of cosmetics had changed her appearance markedly. The dark, curly wig and the wide-brimmed straw hat with its explosion of feathers completed the transformation. When she walked into the bank, even wearing a veil, she was the immediate cynosure. There was a sense of style and wholesomeness about her that was captivating. The manager noticed it at once. Emerging from his office, he first glanced then stared with unashamed curiosity. She glided across to him.
‘Mr Oscott?’ she enquired, sweetly.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘I had a feeling you were the manager. You have an air of seniority. I’ve come for my appointment, Mr Oscott.’
‘Then you must be …’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘My name is Kenyon – Miss Arabella Kenyon.’
He offered her a polite bow and inhaled her bewitching perfume.
‘This way, please,’ he said, indicating the door. ‘Come into my office, Miss Kenyon. We have a lot to discuss.’
Charlotte’s arrival was timely. While the incident had disturbed her, she was by no means persuaded that Abel Mundy was the person who’d thrown a stone at the window. At Hannah’s instigation, Paul was ready to ride off at once to challenge Mundy but he had no idea where the man was lodging. Charlotte stepped in to suggest that he should first go to the manager. He could report what had happened and, if Fleet felt a visit to the playwright was justified, get the address from him.
‘What if he refuses to give it?’ asked Hannah.
‘I think that’s highly unlikely,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’ll be as keen to know the truth about the incident as we are.’
‘We already know the truth. It was Mundy’s doing.’
‘I still think there’s some doubt about that,’ said Paul.
Hannah shot him a look. ‘Are you disagreeing with me?’
‘I’m merely suggesting that we should get more evidence of his involvement before we accuse him. Don’t worry, Hannah. If he’s the culprit, he’ll be made to pay handsomely for it. I can promise you that.’
A Date with the Executioner Page 14
