‘What’s that?’
‘Peter Skillen got to Sir Humphrey’s house before we did.’
‘Did he winkle the same information out of the butler?’
‘It seems that he did, sir.’
‘Then he’ll undoubtedly have gone in pursuit of Sir Humphrey.’
‘That was the sad conclusion we reached.’
‘So why did you waste a whole night before telling me all this?’
‘I was here the second you appeared, sir.’
‘You should have banged on my door and roused me from my bed,’ said Kirkwood, hotly. ‘When there’s a chance of catching Sir Humphrey, you must seize it with both hands. Instead of leaving it to someone else, you should have been galloping through the night to Dover.’
Yeomans was shaken. ‘Well, yes … I suppose that I should have, sir.’
‘Didn’t you hear me, man? Go to France now by the swiftest means possible. And make sure you get to Sir Humphrey Coote first! Don’t just stand there with your mouth open – away with you!’
As soon as he’d set foot on French soil, he felt safe. Nobody would find him there. Sir Humphrey was therefore able to move at a more leisurely pace, taking the time to enjoy the scenic magnificence or making a detour for some other reason. He estimated that it would take him the best part of a day to reach Paris. Once there, he would be able to sample its multifarious delights. Chief among them, he reminded himself, was Miss Hannah Granville.
The flight from England had been necessary because he feared that a hue and cry would be set up. Now that he was out of danger, he could take a more considered look at the situation. Nobody could link his name to those of Fearon and Higlett and they’d been kept ignorant of it themselves. He’d passed himself off as Dr Penhallurick at the King’s Bench but the marshal need never know his true identity. Sir Humphrey had such a low opinion of the Runners that he refused to believe that they could identify him as being party to a murder and come in pursuit.
He therefore stopped seeing himself as a fugitive and began to behave as a foreign visitor. Paris was his ultimate destination and Hannah his destined prize.
When the two women arrived at the theatre that evening, he was waiting for them at the stage door. Jenny was all for hustling her into the building but Hannah felt obliged to stop and talk to the man. Since the conversation was in French, the dresser couldn’t understand a word of it but M. Pernelle, the actress’s self-appointed guardian, was so expressive with his gestures that Jenny picked up the essence of the exchange. Hannah first thanked him for coming to her rescue on the previous evening. Pernelle raised his cane upright against his chest as if presenting a sword and offering his service. He then gave a low bow, indicated the door and watched until they both went through it. After exchanging a greeting with the stage doorkeeper, the women went through to their dressing room. Two more large baskets of flowers had arrived. Hannah sniffed at some of the blooms.
‘M. Pernelle sent these,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘It’s because he’s just a charming old gentleman.’
‘He looked to me as if he’d been a soldier at one time.’
‘Yes, he was, but it was many years ago.’
‘Why does he keep bothering you?’
Hannah smiled. ‘You obviously didn’t realise what he said. M. Pernelle was offering to protect me from people who did bother me. That’s what he did last night, Jenny. All he wants in return is my gratitude.’
The dresser was cynical. ‘What form is that gratitude supposed to take?’
‘Don’t be so suspicious. All men aren’t the same.’
‘All Frenchmen are.’
They’d lost track of him. Somewhere along the way, he’d gone off the main road. Peter and Paul had assumed that he’d travel post-haste in a fast, light carriage but Sir Humphrey seemed to have chosen another means of transport. When they’d arrived that night in Paris, it was far too late to search for him and the performance of Macbeth was long over. All that the brothers could do was to find accommodation and bide their time. After so long in the saddle, they found the beds in their tavern supremely comfortable. They talked by the light of a candle.
‘Where can I take Hannah?’ asked Paul.
‘You won’t have time to take her anywhere,’ replied his brother. ‘We’re here to arrest someone and he takes priority. Besides, Hannah will not be available of an evening. She’ll be onstage, plotting to seize the Scottish crown for her husband.’
‘We’ll find a moment to dine together.’
‘You’ll need more than a moment. French cuisine can’t be rushed. It must be eaten slowly and savoured. As for restaurants, the most celebrated when I was here was that of Beauvilliers in the rue de Richelieu. It’s like being in a gilded palace and the food is delicious. Another place of note is the Rocher de Cancale in the rue de Bandar. It’s run by M. Borel who used to be chef to no less a person than Napoleon.’
Paul was amazed. ‘Did you eat at these places when you were here?’
‘Heavens, no – I survived on meagre fare. If I’d dined at either of the places I mentioned, I’d have drawn attention to myself. My task was to stay largely invisible. As a result, I had to make sacrifices.’
There was a long pause. Paul rolled over in bed and Peter thought that he’d dropped off to sleep. A few minutes later, however, Paul spoke again.
‘Where do you think Sir Humphrey will be?’
‘The sort of friends he has would live in the more salubrious quarters.’
‘Do you think he knows we’re stalking him?’
‘I think he feared it when he took to his heels,’ said Peter. ‘He just wanted to get out of the country fast. Now that he’s here, the panic is over. He’ll regard himself as just another English sightseer.’
‘Yes,’ said Paul, bitterly, ‘and we know one of the sights he’s keen to see.’
‘Lady Macbeth.’
‘What was she like?’
‘Superb – there’s no other word for it.’
‘Yet she’s acting the part in French.’
‘She did so like a native Parisian. I couldn’t fault her.’
‘Where is she staying?’
‘Miss Granville is living at the home of the theatre manager.’
‘A hotel would be more suitable for my purpose.’
‘Half of the young bloods in the city have tried to entice her into one but she’s turned them all down. You have competition, Sir Humphrey.’
‘That’s never troubled me in the past.’
When he’d arrived after dark in the French capital, Sir Humphrey knew that he’d be given a cordial welcome by his old friend and drinking companion, Lancelot Usborne. True to form, Usborne was carousing with an attaché from the British Embassy when his visitor suddenly appeared on the doorstep. Sir Humphrey was whisked inside, given a warm embrace and introduced to the other man. All three of them drank deeply until they heard the chimes of midnight. When the attaché had withdrawn, Sir Humphrey was able to ask about the woman who’d occupied his mind from the moment he’d landed in Calais. Usborne, an obese, red-faced, middle-aged man whose spreading contours had hampered his career as a voluptuary, had seen Hannah Granville give a dazzling performance. With wine dribbling down his chin, he listed her many virtues as an actress.
‘Enough of her ability onstage,’ said Sir Humphrey, irritably. ‘How would she perform in the bedchamber?’
‘She’d be an absolute joy,’ said Usborne, smirking. ‘The problem you’ll have is getting her there in the first place.’
‘That problem is not insurmountable. Oh, the very thought of her excites me, Lancelot. I haven’t had a woman for days. I’m positively bursting with lust for Hannah Granville,’ he said with an obscene gesture. ‘I simply must have her.’
Gully Ackford had just unlocked the gallery when the first visitor of the day arrived. It was Virgil Paige and he looked subtly different. They went into the office and sat down. Ackford noticed that
the other man had taken rather more care with his appearance than usual and was reminded of the time when he’d turned up in Paul Skillen’s clothing after his unauthorised exit from the prison. The reason for the close shave and the well-brushed hair soon became clear.
‘I had a long talk with Mrs Mandrake,’ volunteered Paige.
‘That’s an achievement in itself,’ said Ackford. ‘Whenever I tried to have a conversation with her, she did all the talking and I merely did the listening.’
‘I think she’s a remarkable lady.’
‘Oh, I’d agree on that.’
‘She did something that I’d never have believed possible. Diane, as I was invited to call her, shook me out of my torpor. When my brother died,’ said Paige, soulfully, ‘Virgo died with him. I had neither the urge nor the talent to go on without Leo. At least, that’s what I thought.’
‘Has Mrs Mandrake changed your mind?’
‘She’s very close to doing so. My brother was an inveterate scribbler. He was always noting down something disparaging about politicians, either in the form of articles or in verse. It was a compulsion. I’d assumed that he kept all his papers at his lodging but that wasn’t true at all.’
‘Where else did he keep them?’
‘Whole sheaves were left at the print shop when he moved out of there. Diane said that they were a treasure trove. When she moved her stock to Peter’s house for safety, my brother’s papers went with her.’
‘That was very sensible.’
‘We’ve arranged to meet this morning so that I can see what she has of Leo’s.’
‘Are you hoping that it will inspire you to carry on?’
‘To some extent,’ confided Paige, ‘Diane has already done that. She made me see that it’s what my brother would have wanted.’
‘So Virgo may rise from the dead.’
‘We can’t let corrupt politicians off the hook – that’s what she says.’
‘While you’re here,’ said Ackford, ‘there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ He indicated the framed cartoon on the wall. ‘Mrs Mandrake gave it to Peter as a present and he thought that this was the best place to hang it because it ridicules our old foe, Micah Yeomans. It’s only a sketch but it’s obviously him. How could you draw him so accurately?’
‘I’ve seen him more than once.’
‘Really?’
‘If you inhabit the King’s Bench, you’ll catch sight of Runners from time to time. They’re always coming in search of someone or other. Yeomans was pointed out to me years ago and once you’ve seen him,’ said Paige with a grin, ‘you never forget him. Those bushy, black eyebrows of his are a sort of trademark.’
What remained of the eyebrows had come together to form an angry chevron. As they bumped and rattled their way along the Dover Road in a light carriage, Yeomans and Hale were bounced up and down. The driver seemed unable to avoid potholes.
‘This is a nightmare,’ complained Yeomans.
‘There may be worse to come,’ said Hale. ‘If the sea is choppy, we’ll have a terrible crossing. I hate sailing.’
‘In the cause of justice, we’ll have to endure it.’
‘What’s the point, Micah? The Skillen brothers may already be in Paris.’
‘Yes, but they won’t know where to find Sir Humphrey, will they? He’ll go to ground somewhere and we’ll be the ones to sniff him out. I’ll put up with any amount of discomfort for the thrill of hauling him back to England to meet his fate.’ The carriage hit another pothole and they were thrown inches into the air. ‘Be more careful, man!’ he yelled at the driver. ‘We’d like to get there without any broken bones.’
While he had no idea where their quarry might be, Paul Skillen knew exactly where to find Hannah Granville because her letters had contained her address. She and her dresser were staying with the theatre manager and his wife in their house. It was in one of the more desirable quarters of the city and he was impressed by the size and charm of the edifice. When Paul rang the doorbell, a manservant opened the door. Having been taught a little French for the occasion by his brother, Paul tried to get his tongue around the words but could not make himself understood. The sound of his voice, however, gained him entry. Hearing it through the open door of the dining room, Hannah came running on tiptoe into the hall and threw herself into his arms.
‘Quelle bonne surprise!’ she exclaimed.
‘Do you mind talking in English?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s force of habit.’ Standing back, she looked him up and down. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
‘I was anxious to see you, Hannah. Your last letter worried me. Without actually saying so, you seemed to be troubled about something.’
‘It must have been written during rehearsals,’ she said, ‘when I was having doubts about my performance. That usually happens at some point. I sent a letter explaining that. Evidently, you haven’t received it yet.’
‘No matter, darling. I’m here now and I can see how well you look.’
‘It’s so kind of you to come all this way.’
‘I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Hannah,’ he said, squeezing her hands. ‘Though, if I’m honest, there’s a secondary reason to be in Paris.’
‘Is there?’
‘Peter and I have come in pursuit of a fugitive. He needs to be taken back to England to face trial. While I have the supreme pleasure of a reunion with you, my brother is trying to find him.’
The search began at the British Embassy. When Peter got there, he was shown into an office occupied by two attachés. The senior of them offered the visitor a seat then took details of his request. Having come in expectation of help, Peter was baulked. The attaché, a gaunt, beak-nosed man of indeterminate age was brusque.
‘Do you have a warrant for the arrest?’
‘Well. Not exactly …’
‘Do you have any authority for being in Paris?’
‘Sir Humphrey incited a murder,’ affirmed Peter. ‘That’s our authority.’
‘His guilt or otherwise can only be established in a court of law, Mr Skillen, and you have no legal right to take him there. This is a foreign country. It has its own legal system and we have to respect that.’
‘Are you suggesting that a criminal should be allowed to go free?’
‘Firstly,’ said the man, ‘I’m not convinced of his criminality. Secondly, you are a British citizen and, as such, not qualified to do what you set out so recklessly to do. And thirdly, I don’t have a clue where Sir Humphrey Coote might be. What I can tell you is that he’s a Member of Parliament and enjoys certain immunities.’
‘He’s party to murder and arson, man!’
‘There’s no need to shout at me, sir. I’m simply reminding you that there’s such a thing as parliamentary privilege.’
Peter rose to his feet. ‘Even politicians don’t have the right to kill people without being punished,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Good day to you, sir.’
He stalked out and left the two attachés to trade a glance. The man who’d interviewed Peter then turned to some documents. He was too preoccupied to notice that his colleague was writing a hasty letter to a close friend.
They were enjoying a late breakfast when the letter arrived. After reading it, Usborne passed it to his guest with a mixture of dismay and disbelief.
‘There’s no truth in this, surely?’
‘Damnation!’ cried Sir Humphrey as he read it.
‘Those allegations are preposterous.’
‘Of course they are, Lancelot. There’s not a scintilla of evidence to support them. And who is this fellow, Peter Skillen? I know a Paul Skillen. We watched a cricket match together and he was splendid company.’
‘This is a timely warning,’ said Usborne. ‘That’s the value of drinking with someone from the Embassy. When you met Wragby last night, I’ll wager you didn’t think he’d come in so useful.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said the other with relief. ‘It was a pleasing coinc
idence that I made his acquaintance. I must find a way to thank Mr Wragby.’
‘The saving grace is that this man, Skillen, has absolutely no idea where you are. Paris is like a rabbit warren. It would take him months to search every last burrow. Even if he did run you to earth, he has no authority to arrest you on such absurd charges. Nevertheless,’ said Usborne, ‘my suggestion is that you stay here until he gets tired of looking.’
Sir Humphrey was deeply upset, though he took care to hide his fears from his friend. The complacency that had set in when he reached France had suddenly been shattered. He had been followed, after all, and he was in danger. But for the accidental encounter with an attaché at the British Embassy, he might have paraded around Paris without a care and been spotted by someone who’d come after him. His apprehension was tempered by his urge to see and possess Hannah Granville. It had reached the level of desperation. He refused to be thwarted.
While he had come to Paris for the prime purpose of seeking his beloved, Paul Skillen was mindful of the demands of her profession. He knew how tense she became before a performance and how she needed plenty of time alone to prepare for it. Having spent much of the day with her, therefore, he let her go off to the theatre with Jenny and went in search of his brother. Peter was waiting in the tavern where they’d spent the night. Over a drink, he recounted the experience he’d had at the British Embassy.
‘That’s truly dreadful,’ said Paul. ‘Is Paris to become a safe haven for any fugitive from England? A criminal should be liable to arrest in any country.’
‘I agree,’ said Peter. ‘We ignore the advice from the Embassy and go our own sweet way. Sir Humphrey is here – I feel it. We’ll take him back somehow.’
‘Then we need Shakespeare to help us.’
‘Are you certain that he’ll attend a performance?’
‘Having spoken to Hannah, I’m utterly convinced. When I mentioned Sir Humphrey’s name, she shivered with disgust. He’s been harassing her for months in various ways.’
Steps to the Gallows Page 30
