Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  His tears began to trickle. ‘I thought I’d lost her.’

  ‘She’s come back to you.’

  Opening the door, Charlotte stayed long enough to see him enter the room and let out a cry of joy as Clemency ran to embrace him. It was an affecting scene. Conscious that she was intruding on a private moment, Charlotte gently closed the door.

  In the letter containing the ransom demand, Hannah had been told to hand her reply to the hotel manager. She’d obeyed the order. Who collected it, she didn’t know but it obviously reached its intended recipient because she had a reply. It was delivered to her room by the manager.

  ‘Who brought this?’ she asked.

  ‘It was a youth,’ he replied. ‘He said that a man paid him to hand it over, but has no idea of his name.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Will there be anything else, Miss Granville?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  Thanking the manager, she shut the door behind him and opened the letter. Jenny Pye watched her face as she read it. Hannah blanched.

  ‘He wants to meet me within the hour.’

  ‘Where do you have to go?’

  ‘A cab will pick me up outside the hotel.’

  ‘What if it’s a trick?’ asked Jenny. ‘He’s just trying to lure you out of the safety of the hotel.’

  ‘He gives me a firm promise that that’s not the case. Read what he says.’ She handed over the letter. ‘I’m inclined to believe him.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. I don’t trust him.’

  ‘He spared me when he robbed the coach, Jenny. Remember that.’

  ‘You won’t be so lucky next time.’ After she’d read the letter, she handed it back. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  ‘I fear for Paul.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Jenny. ‘I don’t believe they’ll release him at all.’

  ‘I’m looking at it from his point of view,’ Hannah told her. ‘Paul will be mortified that I’ll see him at someone else’s mercy.’

  ‘He’ll be even more upset at the price you’re asked to pay.’

  ‘Hopefully, I won’t have to pay it. If I can cause a delay, Peter will get here eventually.’

  ‘Your courier won’t reach him for hours yet.’

  ‘I told you before. He may not be needed.’

  Keeping his horse at a gallop, Peter Skillen ignored the discomfort of the long ride and relied on his knowledge of geography. Somewhere before too long, he’d need to change to a fresh mount. He tried to remember where the next coaching inn would be. Speed was of the essence. His brother was in jeopardy.

  During the short time when there was some illumination in the cellar, Paul had made a quick note of his surroundings. He’d been particularly interested in the position of the wine racks. Though they were several feet away to his left, he knew that he had to reach them if he wanted any chance of escape. Paul began to rock to and fro in the chair, building up a steady rhythm until two of the legs began to leave the floor each time. He kept going until he was on the point of toppling over altogether. It took a final lurch to his left to achieve his aim. As he crashed to the floor, he banged his head and bruised his shoulder, but he was more than willing to endure the pain.

  He now had some movement. It was slow and laborious. By twisting and turning, he inched along the floor towards the wine rack. His efforts soon made sweat break out on his face and stream down his body. From time to time, he collected a mouthful of dust from the floor, spitting it out with disgust. Paul was less worried about his agonising progress than in the filth soiling his clothes. By dint of his snail-pace movement, he finally reached the wine rack and paused for a respite. When he felt strong enough, he swung his head around so that he came into contact with the neck of a wine bottle. After a few minutes of experimentation, he managed to hook the edge of his gag around the glass neck. By working at different angles, he eventually contrived to pull the gag away from his mouth. The relief was overwhelming. He could breathe properly at last.

  Rewarding himself with a rest, Paul came to the most difficult bit. He got his mouth around the neck of the bottle and pulled it towards him in tiny instalments, each time having to back away a little. Every muscle was throbbing now. Every movement brought a stab of pain. It was the thought of what might happen to Hannah that drove him on. He cursed himself for letting himself get into such a humiliating situation and knew that he could only find redemption by escape. There was some way to go, however, and it involved real danger.

  Working in the dark made everything more difficult. With the bottle in his mouth, he went into reverse and edged himself away until he came to what he believed would be a bare stone wall. His aim was to smash the bottle. It might leave him with a bad injury in his mouth or even damage to his eyes. At the very least, he feared, there’d be facial lacerations. They had to be suffered. Broken glass was vital if he was to cut through his bonds. There was a lot of painstaking manoeuvring before he got the bottle parallel to the wall. Holding it as tightly as he could in his mouth, he tried a practice swing. The bottle thudded against the wall, jarring his mouth. He tried again, putting more effort into it this time. Sweat was pouring out of him now and his mouth was on fire but he had to keep going. The image of Hannah being molested by the highwayman gave him extra power and courage. He closed his eyes, swung his head as far to one side as he could, then brought it back hard in the opposite direction. Striking the brick wall, the bottle burst apart and glass went everywhere.

  Paul lay on the floor in a pool of liquid, not knowing if it was wine or his own blood.

  Evening shadows were starting to blend into darkness as Peter mounted the fresh horse. The ostler holding the reins for him pointed out that a coach would be leaving soon and that it might be sensible to travel with it for safety. Spurning the advice, Peter kicked the horse into action and galloped off.

  When the cab arrived at the hotel to pick her up, Hannah was in for a surprise. She found a woman with a veiled face waiting for her. From the sound of her voice, Hannah could tell that she was young and well educated. Refusing to answer any questions, the woman conducted Hannah and Jenny out to the waiting vehicle. After they’d climbed in, the newcomers were each handed a blindfold.

  ‘Please put them on,’ instructed the woman. ‘We don’t want you to see where we’re going, do we?’

  Having used the broken glass to cut himself out of his bonds, Paul rubbed his sore wrists and ankles. He then began to assess the damage, feeling gingerly for any wounds. There were minor cuts on his face, but it was his hands that had taken the real punishment. Both had gashes from which blood was still oozing. Tearing the gag in half, he wound a piece of the material around each hand to stem the flow. When he tried to get to his feet, he realised how bruised and unsteady he was. Aching all over, he took time to loosen his limbs and regain his balance.

  While he was at last free from the gnawing ropes, he was still locked in a dark cellar with a bolted door between him and liberty. If they simply left him there, he’d have no means of getting out. Then he remembered what the highwayman had told him: Hannah would be allowed to see him. The prospect horrified Paul. He hated the idea that Hannah would view him in that condition, dirty, dishevelled and with blood on his hands, face and clothing. He would feel shamed.

  After the initial joy of the reconciliation, Jan van Emden decided that it might be better to leave his wife alone with her father. They had a lot of unhappiness and misunderstanding to repair. Two people who’d been deliberately kept apart were now back together again, all their earlier differences forgotten and forgiven. Closing the door gently behind him, van Emden joined Charlotte and Huckvale in another room.

  ‘It’s a miracle,’ he said. ‘I never dreamt that this would ever happen. Mr Parry has been brought back from the dead.’

  ‘That’s the literal truth,’ said Charlotte. ‘There was a time when we were all convinced that he really was in his grave. Jem has been telling me how they tried to convince us of that.’


  Huckvale took his cue. ‘Haines was behind it all,’ he explained. ‘He was responsible for preventing any letters from passing between father and daughter. And it was Haines who sent that message to Mrs van Emden about her father’s supposed death. Mr Parry was right not to trust him. He was sly and cunning. He knew that his master had been working all hours on an important new project and he managed to sneak into the study to look at the designs. Even though he didn’t know much about engineering, he could see that Mr Parry had invented something very special.’

  ‘But he didn’t have the money to develop his ideas,’ said Charlotte, ‘so he tried everything he could to raise it, forced eventually to gamble all that he had on it.’

  ‘Once he’d lost the house,’ resumed Huckvale, ‘he was in despair. He turned to drink to block out the shame of it and eventually ended up on the streets.’

  ‘What did Haines do in the meantime?’ asked van Emden.

  ‘He went in search of someone who’d be evil enough to steal Mr Parry’s invention and make a fortune from it. In the end, he found Mr Alderson.’

  ‘The first thing they had to do,’ said Charlotte, ‘was to rescue Mr Parry from the streets and convince him that they’d come to save him.’

  ‘Instead of that, they kept him locked up on a farm and made him work on his invention. If it had been a success, he wouldn’t have got a penny for it. Alderson would have pocketed all the money.’

  ‘What about Mr Parry?’

  ‘Once Mr Parry had done what they wanted,’ said Huckvale, ‘Peter thinks that Alderson would have had him killed.’

  ‘The ruthless devil!’ exclaimed van Emden.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Charlotte, ‘he’s been rescued and is back with someone who loves him. I’m sure that Clemency will nurse him back to full health.’

  ‘We both will, Charlotte.’ He shook Huckvale’s hand. ‘Thank you so much for what you did. You and Peter have been heroic.’ Jan van Emden looked around. ‘By the way, where is Peter?’

  Riding towards the crest of a hill, he could see a fingerpost silhouetted against the sky. He reined in his horse so that he could peer at the numbers carved into it. Peter was relieved to see that he was over halfway to his destination. It gave him the encouragement he needed to carry on at the same furious pace.

  It was only when they were inside the house that they were allowed to remove their blindfolds. Hannah and Jenny blinked for a few moments, then looked around. They were in the hall of what seemed to be a gracious residence. Still veiled, the woman beckoned them along a passageway, then indicated a doorway. Making an effort to still their nerves, the two of them went into the drawing room to face the man they’d met once before. He was leaning nonchalantly against the marble fireplace and wearing a mask that he touched with a finger.

  ‘It’s a necessary precaution,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you understand why. But have no fears, Miss Granville. When we’re alone together, I will, of course, remove it in the darkness of the bedroom.’

  ‘Where is Paul?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t be so hasty. Why not sit down and relax?’

  ‘I want to see him now.’

  He smiled indulgently. ‘I’m amenable to all your requests.’

  When he turned towards a corner of the room, they realised that there was someone else there and that he, too, was wearing a mask. Hannah and Jenny recognised him as one of the other highwaymen. Both were jolted at the sight of the pistol in his belt. In response to a gesture, the man left the room.

  ‘Mr Skillen will join us in a couple of minutes,’ said their host. ‘Now, may I offer you a glass of champagne?’

  Paul was poised and ready. Much of the pain had eased and he could now move freely. When he heard the bolt being drawn back above, he quickly hid himself in an alcove. Someone came down the steps with a lantern, then stopped in amazement at the bottom of the flight. He stared at the upturned chair, the broken bottle and the discarded ropes. Before he could even begin to work out what had happened, he was struck from behind by Paul, who smashed a bottle of wine against his skull and sent him pitching forward on to the floor. Snatching the pistol from the man’s belt, Paul used the butt to knock him out completely. He then picked up the ropes to tie him securely and put the gag in place.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if you can escape, shall we?’

  Pistol in one hand and lantern in the other, he crept up the steps.

  Seated beside Jenny on a sofa, Hannah seemed very composed when she was, in fact, trembling inside. She had resolved to show no weakness. The highwayman was tall, debonair and possessed of a kind of natural authority that was hard to resist. Hannah tried to assert herself.

  ‘If Paul is injured in any way,’ she warned, ‘the ransom is out of the question.’

  ‘You’re not in a position to haggle with me, Miss Granville. I hold the advantage here and I mean to use it.’ Hannah and Jenny quailed. ‘And it’s no good expecting help to come. The servants have been given the evening off. Apart from my accomplice whom you just met, the only person in the house is my sister. She came to fetch you, but she won’t be taking you back tonight.’

  Hannah was angry. ‘Would you dare to hold me against my will?’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I wish,’ he said, with a smile.

  ‘I looked for some consideration from you.’

  He strolled across to her with a taunting laugh and put a hand to the side of her face. She tossed her head to get clear of his touch. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her to her feet without the slightest effort, then held her by the chin, intending to kiss her.

  ‘Leave go of her!’ shouted Paul.

  They turned to see him in the doorway, holding the pistol. Alarmed at the state he was in, Hannah let out a scream. The highwayman stepped away from her and regarded Paul with a measure of admiration.

  ‘It seems that I underestimated you,’ he said.

  ‘That was bad judgement on your part,’ said Paul, motioning with the pistol. ‘Move right away from Miss Granville or I’ll shoot.’

  The highwayman raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, then made a sudden dart towards Hannah, getting behind her so that she became his shield. Arm around her neck, he applied enough pressure to make her protest.

  ‘Put that down or I’ll break her pretty neck,’ he said. When Paul levelled the pistol at him, he laughed contemptuously. ‘You wouldn’t dare to fire it in case you hit Miss Granville.’

  Paul took a step to his left, aimed at the man’s ear and pulled the trigger. He hit the target perfectly. With a howl of pain, the man released Hannah and put a hand to the side of his head to feel the blood-covered remains of his ear.

  ‘I should have told you,’ said Paul. ‘I work at a shooting gallery.’

  The highwayman was enraged. One hand to his ear, he ran to the fireplace and picked up the poker with the other hand. He came charging at Paul and swung his weapon vengefully. After stepping nimbly out of the way, Paul leapt forward to attack the man, punching him so hard to the face and the body that he made him drop the poker. All that the other man could muster was token resistance. With blood still streaming down the side of his face, he was soon lying unconscious on the floor. Hannah ran across to Paul.

  ‘What have they done to you?’ she asked, worriedly.

  ‘I did most of it myself,’ he told her, ‘and it’s not nearly as bad as it looks. Let’s round up the sister I heard him mention. That will be three of them to hand over. I daresay there’ll be a large reward coming.’

  ‘I’ve already got my reward,’ she said, hugging him.

  ‘There’ll be another one for you. He told me that he was going to give you that pendant I bought you. I’ll be able to do that myself now.’

  Walking across to the highwayman, he tore off his mask. ‘You won’t need this any more, my friend. Your days of robbing coaches are over.’

  When the gallery closed at the end of the day, Gully Ackford went straight to the house
to hear what had happened. He was delighted that George Parry had been found and returned to his daughter, albeit in poor health. Huckvale explained how they’d rescued him from the farm. He, Ackford and Charlotte were together in the dining room.

  ‘What was the machine like?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘It was the most peculiar thing,’ said Huckvale, ‘but it can travel at over ten miles an hour.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ claimed Ackford.

  ‘Don’t be so sure, Gully. We saw it puffing away. On the drive back here, Mr Parry told me he was inspired by the steam engines he’d studied at mines in Cornwall and in Wales.’

  ‘What about his other inventions?’

  ‘He’d been forced to sell most of the patents. The only one he kept was for his steam locomotive. He’d pinned all his hopes on that. At least he now owns the patent again.’

  ‘I never thought that you’d ever find him.’

  ‘They persevered,’ said Charlotte. ‘That was their secret.’

  ‘Peter was suspicious about that makeshift coffin,’ said Huckvale. ‘That’s how it all started.’

  ‘Where is Peter?’ asked Ackford. ‘Is he with Mr Parry?’

  ‘No, Gully,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’s on his way to Bath. Paul is in difficulty.’

  ‘What sort of difficulty?’

  ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘It must be serious if Peter is haring off to help him.’

  ‘I just hope that he gets there safely,’ said Charlotte. ‘I don’t like the thought of him riding alone through the night.’

  Having returned to the hotel, Paul had taken his clothes off so that Hannah could bathe his wounds. For the most part, they were superficial and, once the blood was washed away, the scratches were largely invisible. The gash in one hand was more serious and they’d sent for a doctor to come and attend to it. Left alone, they adjourned to bed and celebrated their reunion. They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Paul had always been a light sleeper. Hearing a rustling sound early next morning, he was instantly awake and got out of bed to investigate. A letter had been pushed under his door. He picked it up and was startled by the familiar handwriting. It belonged to his brother. After reading the letter, he dressed quickly and slipped out of the room quietly so as not to disturb Hannah.