Steps to the Gallows

by Edward Marston

  Alfred Hale’s reaction to the news was a dry laugh and a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Are you surprised?’ he said.

  ‘I’m very sorry for the lady.’

  ‘It’s amazing that nobody has smashed her window before. Let’s be honest, Micah. When we looked at those prints the other day, you’d have been tempted to grab a brick and throw it through the glass.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ retorted Yeomans. ‘I have respect for property. I’d never dream of damaging that shop or any other.’

  ‘Why are you so concerned about Mrs Mandrake all of a sudden?’

  ‘I fear for her safety, Alfred.’

  ‘But she was not on the premises when the stone was thrown.’

  ‘She’ll certainly be there in the event of a second attack and I have a feeling that it’s likely.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Hale. ‘Just because someone tears down a poster, it doesn’t mean that the shop is in imminent danger. The poster might have blown off in the night or been ripped off the boarding by mischievous children. It may just be that it was never fixed securely to the wood in the first place.’

  ‘It was another warning,’ asserted Yeomans.

  ‘Need it concern us?’

  ‘Yes, it should. As Runners, we’re charged with the protection of property and with the safety of our citizens. The print shop is under threat and so is its owner. Has it not yet dawned on you that the person who ordered the killing of Mr Paige is the same man who had Mrs Mandrake’s property attacked?’

  Hale’s mouth fell open. ‘Is that really the case?’

  ‘Who sold Paige’s drawings?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘How do you stop Paige from producing those caricatures?’

  ‘You have him silenced.’

  ‘What if they continue to be on sale in the print shop?’

  ‘You try to scare the owner of the shop.’

  ‘Well done, Alfred,’ said Yeomans, sarcastically. ‘You are making the right deductions at last. Make one more deduction for me, if you please. What should we be doing tonight?’

  ‘We must keep watch in Covent Garden until those two villains roll up with their tongues out and their pricks throbbing.’ He saw the look of contempt on the other’s face. ‘You tell me, then.’

  ‘If there’s to be another attack on the shop, it will be at night. Mrs Mandrake and her assistant are on guard during the day. Forewarned is forearmed. At night, however, she is more vulnerable. When I offered my help, she refused it outright. Now, isn’t it logical to suppose that the men hired to dispose of Paige will also be engaged to cause some sort of damage in Middle Row?’

  ‘I never thought of it like that, Micah.’

  ‘You never thought at all.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ll maintain some surveillance in Covent Garden,’ said Yeomans, ‘but I’ll also deploy men in Holborn. The print shop must be guarded all night.’

  ‘We should take on that task ourselves.’

  ‘No, we shouldn’t. It’s work for someone with sharper eyes and quicker legs than ours. You can guess who I mean, I think.’

  ‘Oh, I do – Chevy Ruddock.’

  The irony was that, in other circumstances, Paul Skillen might have relished the occasion. He loved the game of cricket and he found his companions uniformly amiable. When they heard that he’d helped to prepare Gilbert Reddish for a duel, they accepted him at once and insisted on paying for everything he needed. Swept into the largest of the marquees, Paul was plied with drink and urged to make a wager. He was in a situation that was familiar to him, hobnobbing with the sort of people he’d met dozens of times in a gambling den. What made him even more popular with his new friends were his insights into the game. He knew the worth and potential of every player on both sides and was happy to give advice before anyone placed a bet. It was not long before all four of them were deferring to him.

  When the game finally started, Sir Humphrey Coote insisted that Paul sat beside them so that he could savour his observations. He was a tall, lean man of middle years with piggy eyes and an aquiline nose markedly increased in size in all the caricatures of him. His laugh was a high-pitched cackle of pure joy. He was so generous and good-humoured that Paul had to remind himself that he could be talking to a man who’d instigated a murder.

  ‘I’m so glad that we met,’ said Sir Humphrey, patting him on the thigh. ‘I may have need of your services one day. In the course of my favourite recreation, I have cuckolded an untold number of husbands. Sooner or later, one of them will want his revenge in a duel. You, Mr Skillen, will act as my instructor and as my second. Is it agreed?’

  ‘It’s agreed, Sir Humphrey,’ said Paul, forcing the words out.

  ‘If you saved Reddish’s life, you can do the same for me.’

  ‘I hope that the need never arises.’

  There was a loud noise as the batsman hit the ball with fearsome power and sent it hurtling in their direction.

  ‘Look out!’ exclaimed Reddish, bending down with his hands over his head.

  ‘Good lord!’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘What a mighty blow!’

  He, too, took evasive action when he saw the ball descending out from the sky. There was general commotion as it sped towards them. Paul was the only one of the group to stand up and keep a careful eye on the missile. When it got within a few yards of them, he shot out a hand, caught the ball with ease and gained a small ovation. Acknowledging the applause, he tossed the ball to the fielder who’d come to retrieve it. His new friends showered him with praise.

  ‘Excellently done, sir!’ shouted Sir Humphrey.

  ‘You should be playing in the match,’ said Reddish.

  ‘I could never do anything like that.’

  ‘Your skills are with balls of a different kind, Sir Humphrey.’

  There was general hilarity among his friends and he didn’t seem at all perturbed. Next moment, he was applauding another fine shot. His dedication to the game was genuine and he was well informed about its rules. Paul and he spent some of the time discussing new rules that might be introduced to make the game even more exciting. Sir Humphrey gave him a nudge.

  ‘What I’d enjoy seeing most,’ he said, licking his lips, ‘would be a match between ladies. When I watched Hampshire and Surrey lasses playing each other at Newington Green some years ago, I was transported by the sight of all that grace and energy. It was magnificent, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Paul.

  ‘They played with real heart.’

  ‘And the standard was high, it’s said.’

  ‘The only rule I’d insist upon is that they were not wearing those unbecoming dresses and bonnets. The female body is a source of great beauty. I’d have them playing naked for my delectation.’ He cackled merrily. ‘And I’d engage an artist to paint the scene so that I could hang it in my bedroom as a souvenir.’

  ‘I know the perfect artist for the commission,’ announced Reddish.

  ‘Who’s that, Gilbert?’

  ‘A man who has portrayed you many times and always with a sense of your virtues – I talk of Virgo.’

  It was meant as a joke and the other two men laughed but Sir Humphrey drew no amusement from the remark. His affability vanished in a flash to be replaced by a towering rage. Swinging around to confront Reddish, he jabbed him angrily in the chest.

  ‘You are behind the times, Gilbert,’ he said with vehemence. ‘Virgo is no longer alive to torment me. I have it on good authority that his candle has been snuffed out. That man was anathema to me and to friends in the House. I rejoice that he was killed. My regret is that I wasn’t there at the time. It would have been an absolute pleasure to commit the murder with my own hands.’

  Paul shuddered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Charlotte Skillen was waiting for them when they got back to the gallery. She was interested to hear what had happened at the funeral. Peter and Ackford took it in turns
to give her an account of it.

  ‘There was one disappointment,’ said her husband.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked.

  ‘I half-expected that the man who’d ordered Mr Paige’s murder might turn up to gloat. It’s happened before in cases like this. People derive a ghoulish fascination from seeing their enemies lowered into the ground.’

  ‘In the event,’ said Ackford, ‘the man we want didn’t appear.’

  ‘I think that he did, Gully, but it was not at the funeral.’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘In the pages of Hansard,’ said Peter. ‘Gerard Brunt is so incensed at the caricatures of him that he actually wants to change the law of libel. That’s the effect that Mr Paige and his brother have had. They’ve provoked someone into demanding new legislation.’

  ‘They might regard that as an achievement,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘One of them does, my love. I told him about Brunt.’

  ‘What sort of man is Virgil Paige?’

  ‘He’s very reserved. When it was all over, he was quick to leave.’

  ‘It’s unusual in a soldier,’ said Ackford. ‘We’re a friendly breed, as a rule. There’s no room for privacy in the army. Perhaps that’s why he tired of it.’

  ‘But why seek solitude in a prison?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It may be some kind of penance, Gully.’

  ‘He didn’t strike me as an overly religious man.’

  ‘The sad thing is that Diane was unable to be there,’ observed Charlotte. ‘After all, she organised the funeral. Given his situation, that was something Mr Paige’s brother was unable to do. But custom decrees that ladies have no place at the graveside. As a sex, it is assumed, we’re too frail – though I’ve yet to meet anyone less frail than Diane Mandrake.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Peter. ‘She asked for a report of the event. I must get over to Holborn to deliver it to her.’

  ‘Persuade her to come and stay with us.’

  ‘Wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag her away from that shop.’

  ‘She must consider her safety. Talk to her, Peter.’

  ‘I’ll try my best, Charlotte, but I know her response already.’ Putting on his hat, he moved away. ‘Do please excuse me. I’ll ride over to Holborn at once.’

  When he opened the door of the office, he was surprised to see someone standing there. Meg Rooke was carrying a basket laden with food. She looked as if she’d been there for some time but had been too shy to knock. After inviting her in, Peter went off to find his horse.

  ‘I thought that I would call in,’ said Meg, nervously.

  ‘You’re always welcome here,’ Ackford told her.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘But there’s no need to pretend that you came to see us,’ said Charlotte with an understanding smile. ‘Jem is alone in the shooting gallery.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Why don’t you go and find out? It’s upstairs.’

  ‘Is that possible?’ she asked, turning to Ackford. ‘I don’t wish to be in the way, sir.’

  ‘You’ve come at a perfect time, Meg,’ he said. ‘He’ll be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Try to convince him to come back to us,’ suggested Charlotte.

  Meg nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh, I will, Mrs Skillen.’

  ‘Off you go, then.’

  The maidservant scampered out of the room.

  ‘Don’t be too free with your invitations,’ said Ackford, chuckling. ‘The house will soon fill up if you do. You’ve already offered accommodation to two people. How many more will you recruit?’

  ‘I haven’t recruited any so far, Gully. Diane will spurn our offer and so will Jem. Unless, of course,’ she said, glancing towards the door, ‘the invitation comes from someone else.’

  Huckvale had just finished the task of whitening the target when he heard the door open behind him. Swinging round, he was amazed to see Meg Rooke. For a whole minute, neither of them was able to say anything. They just stared at each other with a blend of affection and discomfort. Huckvale found his voice first.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I wanted to see how you were, Mr Huckvale.’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you.’

  ‘You don’t look very well,’ she said, putting her basket on the floor and crossing over to him. ‘You’ve got more colour but you’re still not yourself.’

  ‘My head does still ache sometimes,’ he conceded.

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘The pain disappears when I’m working.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be working at all, Mr Huckvale.’

  ‘We have to keep the gallery open, Meg.’

  She looked around. ‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise that the place was so big. Is this where you teach people how to shoot?’

  ‘It is,’ he replied. ‘We have other rooms for boxing, fencing and archery.’

  Meg was impressed. ‘You teach all of those things?’

  ‘I will do when I’m fully recovered.’ He became uneasy. ‘It was very kind of you to pop in but this is no place for a woman.’

  ‘Yes, it is – Mrs Skillen works here.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘When the gallery is full, there’s a lot of noise and danger. People sometimes get hurt in the boxing ring. I’d hate you to hear the language they use. It’s the same during a fencing lesson. It’s a man’s world in here, noisy and violent.’

  ‘Then I won’t intrude any longer, Mr Huckvale.’

  ‘You don’t need to call me that. Call me what everyone else does – Jem.’

  ‘May I?’ She smiled at what she saw was a sign of progress. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much … Jem.’

  ‘And thank you for coming, Meg.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you were still staying with us.’

  ‘I’m needed here.’

  She walked back to the door to pick up the basket but he got there first.

  ‘I’ll carry it out for you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘As for my injury,’ he assured her, ‘it’s not as bad as it looks.’

  ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘Nobody else would.’

  ‘Goodbye, Meg.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr … goodbye, Jem.’

  After the outburst of anger at the cricket match from Sir Humphrey Coote, the mood had changed abruptly. There was a general awkwardness among them. His friends had done their best to smooth his ruffled feathers and Reddish apologised time and again. What restored the conviviality at once was another massive hit by the imperious Lord Beauclerk, an aristocrat of the game in every way. As the ball came speeding towards him, he timed his stroke perfectly, hooking it with such force that it sailed way over the heads of the spectators and out of the ground. Sir Humphrey laughed and cheered as much as the rest of them.

  Paul Skillen had the urge to slip away but that was impossible now that he was a feted member of the group. Besides, there was some exquisite cricket to watch and some delicious refreshments at hand. Betting was brisk throughout the game and it took a real effort for him to hold back. He resigned himself to finding as much about Sir Humphrey as he could. When play finally ended, he thanked his new-found friends for the pleasure of their company. There was genuine affection in their farewells. Gilbert Reddish took him aside.

  ‘You must forgive Sir Humphrey,’ he said.

  Paul shrugged. ‘I see no need to do so.’

  ‘He has a temper and I inadvertently sparked it off.’

  ‘I was not aware of it, Mr Reddish.’

  ‘That’s very tactful of you.’

  ‘I was enjoying the game too much,’ said Paul, discreetly, ‘all the more so because I was in such pleasurable company. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Your comments were a source of interest throughout.’

  ‘All I gave you were my humble opinions.
’

  ‘They were far more pertinent than any we could muster,’ confessed Reddish with a laugh. ‘Ah,’ he went on as he saw someone approaching through the crowd, ‘everyone of consequence is here today. Do you know Mr Harvester?’

  ‘If it’s Mr Julian Harvester, then I’ve certainly heard of him.’

  ‘He’s as rich as Croesus and generous with his wealth.’

  It was an unexpected bonus and Paul was quick to take advantage of it. Reddish exchanged greetings with Harvester then introduced him to Paul.

  ‘Without the help and encouragement of Mr Skillen,’ he explained, ‘I might not be standing here today.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Harvester.

  Reddish went on to boast about his success in the duel and earned Paul a glance of approval from Harvester. The newcomer was an elegant man in his fifties with a benevolent smile. Not without envy, Paul admired his suit, hat and general appearance. Harvester was an ageing dandy with a twinkle in his eye. Since he obviously took great care with his attire, Paul wondered why the man had allowed snuff to drop on to the front of his coat.

  ‘What did you think of the cricket, Mr Skillen?’ asked Harvester.

  ‘It was even more exciting than I’d hoped it would be,’ said Paul.

  ‘Beauclerk was magnificent.’

  ‘He always is,’ interjected Reddish. ‘Mr Skillen, here, is quite an expert on the game and, indeed, on all forms of physical exercise.’

  Harvester declared himself pleased to hear it and engaged Paul in a long discussion of what they’d seen that day. Evidently, he was a devotee of the game and loved talking about it. He was duly impressed by Paul’s knowledge of the finer points of cricket.

  ‘I wish that you’d been sitting next to me, sir,’ said Harvester, tetchily. ‘Your advice might have saved me from losing a hundred guineas. I bet that Lillywhite wouldn’t take a single wicket and the fellow bagged four of them. But at least he bowled in the proper manner.’

  ‘The game is bound to evolve.’

  ‘Then let it do so in the correct way.’