She pointed at her face. ‘Not when I look like this.’
The front door opened and they heard voices in the hall. All three of them rushed out of the room to greet Paul, asking what he’d found out. When he’d established a degree of calm, he took them all back into the dining room and made them sit down around the table. Hannah frothed with impatience.
‘Has he been arrested and put in chains yet?’ she demanded.
Paul shook his head. ‘No, my darling, he has not.’
‘But he committed a terrible crime.’
‘Someone did but I’m satisfied that it was not Mr Mundy.’
‘Don’t believe a word he said.’
‘It was his wife who did most of the talking,’ explained Paul. ‘What none of us knew is that Mundy is a deeply religious man. He attends church every day. His wife is the daughter of a country vicar and as devout as her husband. At a time when the window was broken, Mundy was in church. I know that for a fact because I took the trouble to go there. He was in conversation with a priest. They were discussing theological niceties.’
Hannah was deflated. ‘And he’d been there a long time?’
‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘Mrs Mundy spent time with him in church as well.’
‘That means it must have been … someone else.’
‘Whoever it was, I’ll catch him somehow. You have my promise. Meanwhile, I suggest that you keep away from the front window.’
Hannah was too distraught even to reply. Forced to accept that Mundy was not responsible, she had to accommodate the unsettling truth that someone else despised her enough to want to inflict injury. Seeing that the actress was in need of love and reassurance, Peter took his wife into the other room so that Paul was left alone with Hannah. They needed time together. Charlotte, meanwhile, told Peter about the plea from the theatre manager and how she’d done her best to talk Hannah round to the view that she had somehow to overcome her objections to the play and the playwright. It was well over a quarter of an hour before Paul joined them to say he’d persuaded Hannah to retire to bed. Peter seized his moment.
‘Before you take her upstairs,’ he said, ‘I have important news for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Mr Roe called to see you at the gallery. Disappointed that you weren’t there, he instead passed on the information to me. It seems that he was rather more than a butler. He was the trusted friend and confidante of Mr Bowerman. He often dealt with his master’s lawyer on his behalf.’
‘Go on, Peter.’
‘The lawyer came to visit the house today. He told Roe something that shook him. It appears that Mr Bowerman was so enchanted by Miss Somerville that he changed his will to make her the main beneficiary. In the event of his death,’ said Peter, ‘she was to inherit the bulk of his fortune. Don’t you find that interesting?’
Along in her boudoir, Laetitia read his letter yet again then held it to her breast. It contained Bowerman’s promise to amend his will in her favour. She knew that he would keep his word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As he rode through the dark streets with Peter beside him, Jem Huckvale voiced his reservations. Having a great respect for the law, he was reluctant to break it.
‘Is there no other way you can find out who owns that house?’
‘No, Jem. The agent refused to tell me.’
‘What about the neighbours? One of them might know.’
‘All they know is that a succession of tenants have stayed there. The gardener said the same thing. He hasn’t a clue who actually owns the property because he’s never met the person. He takes his orders from the agent.’
‘I’m still unhappy about breaking in there.’
‘You’ll be in and out in a flash. You’re not really stealing anything. You’re simply there to get hold of something that should be public knowledge. Why is the agent being so secretive?’
‘Perhaps it’s what the owner wants.’
‘That’s all the more reason to discover his name.’
Huckvale remained uneasy. Though he knew that Peter would never willingly endanger him, he still feared that something could go awry with the plan.
‘I won’t know where to look.’
‘The details we want are locked away in one of the cabinets.’
Huckvale was fearful. ‘That means I’ll have to cause damage.’
‘There may be a way of opening the lock with a knife. It’s a very simple design. I took note of that.’ He reached out a hand to touch his friend’s shoulder. ‘Calm down, Jem. You’re going into an office, not into a bank vault.’
On their way there, they passed the garden in which Mark Bowerman had been murdered and Peter felt a pang of sympathy for him. In all probability, the victim had never been to the house before. Blinkered by love, it had never struck him as odd that he’d been asked to meet Laetitia there rather than at her home. He’d gone to his death with a pathetic eagerness.
When they reached their destination, Peter first carried out a close inspection of the area to make sure that nobody was about. He then tethered the horses at the rear of the property and led Huckvale to the window he’d picked out.
‘I’d never get through that,’ whispered the other.
‘Yes, you would.’
‘It’s too high up even to reach.’
‘You can stand on my shoulders, Jem. Go in head first.’
‘But how do I open the window?’
‘You’re being very awkward,’ said Peter. ‘Ordinarily, you’d never ask a question like that. You’d simply work out a way to do something and get on with it.’ He undid his saddlebag and took something out. ‘This is a jemmy,’ he went on, passing the tool over to him. ‘It will get you in through the window and, if you can’t open the cabinet with your knife, then you’ll have to force it open with this.’
‘When I get inside, how will I see?’
‘I’ll pass you the lantern by sitting astride my horse.’ Huckvale was still unconvinced. ‘If it were not important, I wouldn’t ask you to do this. Yes, breaking and entering is a crime but it pales beside murder. Inside that office is a piece of information that may help us to identify the killer. We need your help to find it, Jem. Don’t let us down.’
‘No,’ said the other, committing himself at last, ‘I won’t.’
‘Then climb on my back and stand on my shoulders.’
‘I will.’
‘Once you’re inside, you’re quite safe. There’s nobody else in the building.’
‘What if somebody turns up out here?’
‘I’ll deal with that eventuality,’ said Peter. ‘Now let’s get you in through that window. It will be child’s play to someone as agile as you.’
Unable to sleep, Hannah lay propped up on the pillow. Paul was beside her but nothing he could say was able to take away her demons. She was afraid. Someone had tried to harm her, even to inflict permanent injury, and the most worrying feature of the situation was that it had not been Abel Mundy’s doing. His proven innocence was like a physical blow to her and she searched for a means of involving him somehow in the attack on her. While he hadn’t been responsible himself, she thought, he could easily have hired someone to loiter outside the house in the hope that she’d eventually appear in the window. That theory had a lot of appeal to her until she remembered that he’d been revealed as a man of Christian conviction. In response to her verbal assaults on him, he might revile her with words but that was all. Religion would hold him back from anything else.
Hannah had another enemy. The fact that he was unknown made him even more frightening. Would he strike again and, if so, where would he do it? It was unnerving. By virtue of her talents, she’d earned herself a vast number of admirers. Wherever she went, onstage or elsewhere, she was showered with praise. Hannah had been so accustomed to uncritical approval that she’d begun to take it for granted. It was one of the reasons for her feud with Mundy. He’d actually dared to criticise her performance. But the new development
was a more sinister one. Someone reviled her as a person. He wanted blood.
‘Try to get some sleep,’ advised Paul.
‘I daren’t close my eyes.’
‘You’re in no danger when you’re beside me, Hannah.’
‘Then why do I feel so perturbed?’
‘You have a vivid imagination, that’s why.’
‘Are these scratches imaginary?’ she asked, pointing to her face. ‘Did I dream up the pieces of glass in my clothes and hair? They were real, Paul.’
‘I know, and I apologise.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I’ll soon find out.’
‘And why is he picking on me?’
‘You’re the most gorgeous woman in London,’ he said, kissing her gently on the side of the head, ‘and you have a legion of would-be suitors. It could be that one of them is unable to accept your rejection of him. In living with me, you exclude him from ever getting close to you. A rebuff like that would fester with some men.’
‘That wouldn’t make them turn on me,’ she argued. ‘You would surely be the target because you stand in the way of someone else’s happiness. That stone would have been aimed at you, Paul.’
‘There’s merit in that argument,’ he conceded. ‘But I still refuse to believe that you could stir up real hatred in someone’s heart. You’re the kindest woman alive.’
‘Abel Mundy hates me.’
‘He dislikes you, Hannah, but he must respect your talent. And part of him must admire you as a woman.’
‘Heaven forfend!’
‘Under that crusty exterior, he’s a normal human being. When he gazes at someone as dazzling as you, he’s bound to look askance at that plain, homely, dull, unexciting wife of his. Anyway, enough of him,’ he continued. ‘Mundy was not to blame. That’s certain. Is there anyone in the company who might wish to hurt you?’
‘No, Paul, they’ve all been a delight to work with.’
‘Then we must look elsewhere.’
‘Where do I start?’ she wailed. ‘The very thought that he’s still out there makes my stomach churn. To be honest, I’m terrified to leave these four walls.’
‘But you must do so, Hannah. Don’t let him see that he’s frightened you. Be on your guard at all times, naturally, but don’t let a stone through a window ruin your life. You’re far too brave to do that, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said with an attempt at firmness.
But, in the darkness, he could not see the naked fear in her eyes.
It was easier than Huckvale had imagined. Standing on Peter’s shoulders, he jemmied open the window then went through it head first, curling up as he reached the floor and rolling forward like a ball. Peter lit the lantern and, by dint of mounting his horse, reached up to pass it through the window to his accomplice. Huckvale had another pleasant surprise. His knife unlocked the first cabinet without difficulty. Inside was a pile of ledgers. Holding one of them beside the lantern, he saw that it contained a list of the properties handled by the agency. He was about to search through them when he heard two sounds that made his blood run cold.
Peter reached up to tap on the window, a prearranged signal that somebody was coming. And Huckvale heard both horses moving away. Extinguishing the lantern, he crouched under the table in the dark and wished that he was still in bed back at the gallery.
Peter, meanwhile, was dealing with what might be an emergency. Hearing the approach of footsteps, he decided that the first thing he had to do was to lead the newcomer away from the building. He therefore took both horses around a corner and along a lane that ran between the houses. The footsteps behind him quickened and he was relieved that he’d only have to deal with one person. Finding a post to which he could tether the horses, he did so swiftly then dived into the doorway of a walled garden. Secure from sight, he waited.
The prowler was cautious. The footsteps slowed then stopped. Ears pricked, Peter listened for more sounds of movement. There were none. He came to believe that the stranger had backed off and gone on his way. It was only when he heard the sound of a leather strap being undone that he realised the man was very close to him, trying to open a saddlebag in search of booty. Peter came out of his hiding place at once, saw the hazy outline of the thief and flung himself at the man. While set on overpowering him, Peter was conscious that too much noise would only rouse people from their beds. He therefore clapped one hand over the man’s mouth and used the other arm to drag him across to the wall.
The man responded by pounding away with both elbows and trying to shake Peter off but he was held too firmly. He was an older man in rough garb with a greasy cap that was knocked off in the struggle. Strong and determined, however, he bit Peter’s fingers to make him pull his hand away from the mouth. A stream of expletives poured out, accompanied by the noisome stink of beer. Peter decided to end the brawl quickly. Grabbing the man by the hair, he smashed his head into the brick wall and sent blood cascading down his face. It took all the fight out of him. He was unable to do anything more than to flail wildly. When his head was banged against the wall a second time, he fell unconscious to the ground. Peter knew that they needed to complete their task and get away before the man woke up and started rousing the neighbours with a cry of rage. Valuable minutes had already been lost. There was no more time to waste.
He led the horses swiftly back in the direction from which they’d come, hoping that nobody else was abroad. A stray rider or pedestrian could ruin the whole enterprise.
Jem Huckvale was almost certain that he’d be caught. Someone had come. Peter might have been able to elude him but Huckvale was trapped. As soon as the open window was seen, his plight was settled. They’d know he’d entered the premises illegally. Being in the pitch-dark intensified his feeling of dread and vulnerability. He’d not only be caught, he’d have failed in his bid to get a telling piece of evidence. No magistrate would accept that he was committing one crime in order to solve a more heinous one. Huckvale had no legal right to be there.
When he heard knuckles banging on the window, his heart constricted. Someone had come in search of him. It was only when Peter hissed his name that he realised his friend was back. Huckvale leapt to his feet.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘It is now. Light the lantern again.’
‘I haven’t found what I’m after yet.’
‘Keep trying,’ said Peter. ‘And please hurry up.’
Huckvale did as he was told. With a glow in the lantern once more, he went through the first ledger but found it unhelpful. He therefore pulled out the drawer again and saw that there were three others in there. Which was the one he needed? Or did he have to open one of the other drawers? Peter had assured him he’d be in and out in a matter of minutes. It already seemed like an hour.
He began to leaf through the pages as if his life depended on it.
Hannah Granville was too tired to stay awake yet too anguished to fall asleep. The only way that Paul could persuade her to drift off was to promise a search of the exterior house where, she feared, someone was waiting for a second opportunity to injure her. As soon as he got out of bed, her eyes closed and her breathing changed. By the time he eased the bedroom door gently open, she was already slumbering.
In his opinion, the search outside was a pointless exercise. The person who’d aimed the stone at Hannah had disappeared at once. Knowing that the whole house would now be on guard, he would not return. Paul nevertheless honoured his promise. He peeped out through windows in unoccupied rooms upstairs, then he went slowly down the steps. Expecting to find nothing at all threatening, he was alerted by the clip-clop of a horse. The noise took him quickly into the drawing room. Though most of the window was boarded up, some panes had been untouched by the stone. Paul was therefore able to see out. What he could discern in the gloom was a sturdy figure dismounting from the horse and creeping up the path towards the house.
Paul ran quickly into the hall and grabbed his sword from its sc
abbard. There was a slight rustling noise as something was pushed under the front door. Pulling back the bolt, he flung the door open, put a bare foot on the crouching man’s chest and pushed him to the ground. Before the visitor could move, the sword was at his throat and Paul loomed over him.
‘Who the devil are you?’ demanded Paul.
‘It’s me,’ said Peter, holding up both arms in surrender. ‘It’s your brother.’
Paul lowered the weapon. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was trying to leave a message without disturbing you. I had no idea that you were lurking behind the front door. You gave me a real fright.’
‘You were the one who alarmed me,’ said Paul, reaching out a hand to help him to his feet. ‘Why on earth are you abroad in the small hours?’
‘Jem and I have been at work.’
‘Ah, yes, I’d forgotten. You wanted to break into that office.’
‘That’s exactly what happened.’
‘Did everything go well?’
‘The burglary was not without incident,’ said Peter, retrieving his hat from the ground. ‘Poor Jem reckons that his heart stopped at least four times.’
‘And did you get what you were looking for?’
‘I got rather more than that, Paul. My intention was simply to find out who owned the property and to see if he had any connection to the people with whom the murder has involved us.’
‘What did you discover, Peter?’
‘That house – or garden, to be more precise – was not chosen purely by accident. It was singled out.’
‘Who actually owns the property?’
‘Stephen Hamer.’
When his servant opened the bedroom curtains that morning, Hamer saw that light rain was falling out of a leaden sky. He ignored the weather. He was simply grateful that there were no dogs left outside his front door. It was an image printed indelibly on his brain. It reminded him that the Skillen brothers could not be intimidated. There’d always be reprisals. What he didn’t notice from his bedroom was that someone was watching the house from a vantage point across the road.
A Date with the Executioner Page 16
