Gallows Court

by Martin Edwards

  ‘But not – about Juliet Brentano?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Not about her.’

  ‘If only Harold Brown hadn’t seen you in the kitchen that day. He’s the only person who’s ever realised you aren’t…’

  She raised a hand. ‘Enough.’

  ‘Brown talked to Tom Betts. Suppose he let him into your secret.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Without being paid? Not him.’

  ‘What if he told someone else about you? What if…?’

  ‘Today is what matters.’ She exhaled. ‘Let tomorrow take care of itself.’

  It was four o’clock, precisely twenty-four hours after her supposed suicide, and they were strolling around the roof garden of Gaunt House. On an unseasonably warm afternoon, a dipping sun streaked the blue-grey sky with orange. In the terracotta tubs, snowdrops and yellow crocuses were coming into bloom. Through the glass walls enclosing the heated swimming pool, Rachel could see Jacob in the water, on his fourth length. Seated in rattan chairs by the pool’s edge, Hetty Trueman was knitting a cardigan, while Martha’s head was buried in a novel, The Way Things Are. Wine glasses and tumblers stood on a table, alongside bottles of Merlot and Chablis, and a tankard of Guinness for Trueman.

  He said, ‘Martha reckons you’ve taken a shine to Jacob Flint.’

  ‘Martha is a born romantic.’

  ‘Hetty isn’t, and she agrees with Martha.’

  ‘You think he’s soft, don’t you?’

  ‘He shook like a leaf at Gallows Court.’

  ‘Forgivable, surely, in the circumstances?’

  ‘So you are sweet on him?’

  Rachel laughed. ‘You’re as bad as Hetty, and she enjoys matchmaking almost as much as prophesying disaster. Why does she want to marry me off to someone so credulous as to fall for my supposed half-sister? Jacob’s a pleasant young man, and I’ve met precious few. I feel for him – what’s Mr Fitzgerald’s nice phrase? – a sort of tender curiosity. Leave it at that.’

  She slid open the door in the glass wall. Martha was tapping bare feet to a record playing on the gramophone: the Casa Loma Orchestra, performing ‘Happy Days are Here Again’. As she stepped into the warmth of the conservatory, Jacob clambered out of the pool, and picked up a fluffy white towel. Rachel slipped off her fur jacket, and poured everyone a drink.

  ‘To just deserts,’ she said, raising her glass.

  Now out of the pool, Jacob savoured the tang of the wine. ‘Thank you again. For saving my life, and then for putting me up here.’

  ‘We could hardly let you stay in Edgar House or Carey Street,’ Rachel said. ‘Keeping company with dead women’s ghosts. You’re welcome to recuperate with us for a day or two, while you look for somewhere to live. A chief crime correspondent needs a place of his own, somewhere to plot his next scoop.’

  He put his glass down, and towelled his wet hair. ‘Gomersall is happy with my story about Sara Delamere.’

  ‘Tragic death of female illusionist in freak accident. Not quite the stuff of banner headlines.’ Rachel shrugged. ‘A sorry epitaph for a self-styled elitist. Her final performance was relegated to page five.’

  ‘You’ve taught me the value of discretion,’ he said. ‘I want you to feel you can place your trust in me.’

  She smiled. ‘Patience, Jacob. I’m not ready to bare my soul. Just as the Clarion’s readership isn’t ready for anything quite as ludicrous as Apega the automaton.’

  ‘You did promise to satisfy my curiosity about your supposed suicide. After all, you shared your plans with Oakes. How did you persuade him to co-operate?’

  ‘He knew nothing about the Damnation Society, though he suspected a conspiracy between men of power and influence. His mistake was to believe poor old Sir Godfrey Mulhearn was part of it. Equally, Oakes’ rapid promotion made me wonder if he was hand-in-glove with Chadwick, but the truth is simply that he’s a good detective. Once I was confident we were fighting on the same side – more or less – it made sense to pool our efforts. Not that I shared everything I knew.’

  ‘And your fall onto the railings?’

  ‘After the Hannaways died, Oakes came to see me. I said criminals responsible for the deaths of Thomas Betts and Levi Shoemaker were manipulating you.’

  The gramophone record had come to an end. Jacob took a long draught of wine. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘You asked me to be honest,’ Rachel said. ‘I told Oakes I needed you and Sara Delamere to believe I was dead. I said she was my half-sister, and that she’d inherited the Judge’s madness. I simply needed her to reveal herself in her true colours.’

  ‘Once Vincent Hannaway was out of the way. Her last rival for leadership of the Damnation Society.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But what about the Hannaways’ butler? Destined for the gallows, condemned for a crime he didn’t commit?’

  ‘In his time, he’s raped at least three women. One of them drowned herself and her newborn child.’

  He was abashed. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Some things it’s better not to know,’ Rachel said. ‘Yes­terday, when I summoned you here for four o’clock, I hoped Sara Delamere would insist on accompanying you. The Damnation Society’s Golden Jubilee meant as much to her as it did to me. She meant to lure me to Gallows Court. I required time and space to catch her in flagrante. So I staged an illusion for her benefit.’

  ‘How?’

  She yawned. ‘Conjurers are like detectives: their expla­nations are an anticlimax. The first night you stayed here, Hetty planted the seed in your mind, by letting slip that I might kill myself.’

  He opened his eyes very wide. ‘That was deliberate? Part of a script?’

  ‘Sara was bound to be sceptical, and you needed to be taken in, so as to convince her I really was dead, and she had nothing else to fear.’

  Jacob grunted. ‘Glad to be of service.’

  ‘Don’t be grumpy, Jacob, it doesn’t suit you. That morning, Martha allowed Hetty to cut her lovely hair. A sacrifice in a noble cause. When you and Sara and Oakes arrived, she pranced around up here to attract your attention, wearing a wig and a duplicate of a favourite outfit of mine. After dodging out of sight, she let out a piercing cry, and pretended to fall. I’d already arranged myself as an impaled corpse, complete with fake blood. Oakes and his men, along with the ambulance driver, lent the picture a touch of authenticity. And Hetty wailed miserably, as only Hetty can.’

  Henrietta Trueman snorted. ‘You think you’re so clever.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘But Martha joined us in the alleyway…’

  ‘She came straight down in the electric lift, slipping off the fur coat that covered her uniform, and putting on the same wig she’s wearing now.’

  ‘No wonder she was out of breath.’ Jacob groaned. ‘And Mei emptied the bullets from Sara’s pistol?’

  ‘Yes. She and two sisters were shipped to England eighteen months ago. The eldest of the three girls raised the alarm with the police, but Chadwick saw to it that the report went missing. Hannaway turned her execution into entertainment on 29 January last year, pour encourager les autres. Believe me, once Martha befriended Mei, recruiting her to our cause was simplicity itself.’

  Jacob leaned back in his chair. ‘I’d like to know more about Charles Brentano and Yvette Viviers.’

  Rachel said carefully, ‘I can assure you, I was not responsible for their deaths.’

  ‘Sara made that story up?’

  ‘Harold Coleman,’ Rachel said quietly, ‘had a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  Trueman shifted in his chair. Abruptly, Martha put her book down, and went out through the door in the glass wall, closing it firmly behind her.

  Jacob frowned. ‘Sorry. Did I speak out of turn?’

  ‘Coleman – or Brown, as we knew him then – was lower than vermin. He lusted after Martha, who was the same age as me, though much lovelier. She was protected by the presence of Charles Brentano an
d his mistress. In his youth, Charles ran wild. He was a gambler and a debauch, but the affair with Yvette was the making of him. He adored her, and made sure no harm came to her or their child. But then the Judge… turned against them, and Coleman seized his chance. At the Judge’s bidding, he drugged the pair of them, and drove them down to London, where he handed them over to William Keary and the Hannaways.’

  Her voice trembled, something unique in Jacob’s experience of her. She took a gulp of wine.

  ‘Sara told me they were punished by the Damnation Society,’ he said. ‘But the death certificate said heart failure.’

  ‘Rufus Paul’s euphemism of choice to explain away ritual sacrifices conducted at Gallows Court. Hannaway feared that Charles would broadcast his cowardice to the world, and bring down the Society. So he had him tortured, and then hanged, drawn, and quartered in front of Yvette’s eyes. A public execution, just like the old days at Gallows Court. Except that the spectators were a select group, present by special invitation. Once Charles was dead, the members took their pleasure with Yvette before subjecting her to the same fate.’

  Rachel paused, and took a moment to compose herself. ‘What was left of them was cremated.’

  ‘So,’ Jacob said slowly, ‘in the way that Keary and the Hannaways died, there was a touch of… poetic justice?’

  Her expression was as cold and distant as the moon. ‘When Harold Brown came back to Gaunt, he took advantage of the fact that Cliff was sick to assault Martha. She fought like a tiger, and tore his face with her nails. His revenge was to hurl acid at her. When Cliff began to recover, Brown fled. He changed his name to Coleman, and took up a new identity. For a long time there was no trace of him. But we never gave up the search.’

  Trueman glared at Jacob. ‘In the end, justice was done there, too.’

  ‘Sara Delamere wasn’t alone in employing the Rotherhithe Razors,’ Rachel said. ‘Their leaders are true capitalists; they serve the highest bidder. And they kept their bargain. Coleman’s last few hours felt like a lifetime.’

  Jacob shivered as he gazed through the glass at Martha. ‘I think she is still beautiful.’

  ‘So do we,’ Rachel said softly.

  ‘What happened to Juliet Brentano?’

  Rachel looked him in the eye. ‘She died a natural death.’

  ‘I see.’ Jacob had no choice but to take her word for it. ‘So you spent another ten years on Gaunt, with the Judge.’

  ‘The old man was incapable.’ Hetty Trueman stood up, and refilled their glasses. ‘Rachel took charge. Nobody we didn’t trust was allowed anywhere near. People on the mainland reckoned it was impossible, just the three of us and an elderly nurse, looking after an old madman and his… daughter. But we got by.’

  ‘You spent that time educating yourself, preparing for the day when the Judge died and you inherited his fortune,’ Jacob said.

  Rachel inclined her head. ‘The Judge persisted in trying to kill himself. When we hid his pills, he tried to starve himself to death. But we refused to allow the end to come too soon. He was forced to wait until I was almost twenty-five.’

  Her expression gave no clue to what was in her mind, and Jacob decided not to ask.

  ‘Did the Judge confide in you about the Damnation Society?’

  ‘The lucid intervals became rare,’ Rachel said. ‘Fortunately, he’d hoarded all his old papers, and over the years I deciphered them.’

  ‘They were in code?’

  ‘Members of the Society delighted in using the Playfair cipher. It became their private language for sensitive communications. They called it playing fair. The term tickled their sense of humour, just as it amused them to have a brothel and a sadist’s dungeon camouflaged as a gentlemen’s chess club. Fortunately, the Judge’s library was a cornucopia of knowledge. I trained myself in the essentials of cryptography, and began to unlock the Society’s secrets. I came across the names of Pardoe, Linacre, and Keary. Every hateful detail I read hardened my resolve to destroy them. Yet it took time and money to put my plan into practice. The Damnation Society’s resources seemed infinite. I needed to inherit the Judge’s estate in order to fulfil my dream.’

  ‘So you waited.’

  ‘And prepared. When I arrived in London, I began to communicate with Pardoe and the others. Using their own code to sow uncertainty, discord, and fear. The black pawn found close to his body served the same purpose. When the time was right, I talked to Vincent Hannaway about playing fair. He understood then that I was privy to their secrets.’

  Jacob drank some more wine. Rachel’s use of the cipher was surely connected with the fates of Linacre and Pardoe. But she was right. Ignorance was sometimes bliss.

  ‘The Damnation Society was twisted and corrupt,’ she said. ‘Crime was legitimate, so long as it benefited pillars of the establishment. To commit a murder – the more shocking, the better – was a badge of honour. To a man like Linacre, the life of sweet, stupid Dolly Benson counted for nothing. The same was true of Mary-Jane Hayes. Pardoe took a shine to her, but that didn’t stop him killing her, and cutting off her head. Dressing up such crimes as the work of a maniac was the Damnation Society’s hallmark.’

  ‘Tom Betts got on the trail. He talked to Coleman.’

  ‘Betts was on my trail too,’ Rachel said. ‘I warned him to keep his nose out of my affairs. He should have taken that advice.’

  An idea struck Jacob. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’

  She gave him a cold stare. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re the one giving his widow financial support?’

  Rachel allowed herself a smile. ‘Mrs Betts overestimates the generosity of the Clarion, I’m afraid. You mustn’t disabuse her.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He was conscious of her leisurely scrutiny of his semi-naked body. ‘Even Levi Shoemaker didn’t quite realise what he was up against.’

  ‘What he learned about Chadwick, McAlinden, Thurlow, and the Dowd women was invaluable. He even suspected that Sara Delamere and Chiara Bianchi were one and the same, but he failed to see the significance. Men of his generation underestimate women. It’s a habit.’

  ‘So you knew she posed as the Widow Bianchi?’

  ‘Sara was a gifted actress,’ Rachel said. ‘But not as brilliant as she believed. Her constant comings and goings at Carey Street gave her away. Once it became clear that she would enter, and the Widow Bianchi would leave, the inference was obvious.’

  ‘So Martha enlisted Mei’s support?’

  ‘Mei described how Sara and that animal Gaudino treated her. She and her sister had nobody to turn to. Until we came along.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve noticed it’s your modus operandi. Turning servants against their masters and mistresses.’

  ‘I see it differently,’ Rachel said. ‘Employers who forfeit any claim to loyalty must pay the price. Speak to Cliff and Hetty privately. After the trouble I’ve caused them, you may find they take the same view.’

  ‘Get away with you,’ Hetty said.

  Martha came back in from the roof garden. Her eyes were red. She went over to Rachel, who clasped her hand. Nothing was said.

  Jacob emptied his glass. ‘What about the Orphans’ Home?’

  ‘The Oxford police are swarming over the place as we speak,’ Rachel said. ‘Mrs Mundy was unwise to invest her retirement fund in diamonds smuggled from Rotterdam. While she’s under arrest for handling stolen goods, the police can build a case to send her to prison for the rest of her life.’

  ‘But Leivers, Paul, and Heslop?’

  ‘Their punishment is to live in constant fear of exposure. Waiting for the knock on the door. The same is true of Alfred Linacre, McAlinden senior, and their friends.’

  ‘I see.’

  Rachel released Martha’s hand. ‘The hydra has many heads, Jacob. Cut off one, and another grows.’

  ‘Isn’t that a counsel of despair?’ he said boldly.

  ‘We live in the world as it is, not as we would wish it to be
. Every society conceives its own elites. What matters is that they are subject to justice. Imposed through the legal process or…’

  ‘Extra-judicially?’

  She nodded. ‘Oakes balked at the prospect of throwing the Prime Minister’s right-hand man into prison, to say nothing of the most popular trade union leader, our most famous doctor and forensic pathologist, and a stray bishop. The police presence in Gallows Court alerted early comers to the fact that their junket was to be disrupted, and they ran for cover.’

  ‘So the police were out in force at Gallows Court?’

  ‘Absolutely. What if something had gone wrong under­ground? Hetty feeds me so well, I might have got stuck in that absurd contraption, and then where would you be? Mei warned me to expect a tight squeeze. She’s even thinner than me, but she’s never spent more than ten minutes inside that monstrosity Apega. Oakes couldn’t take the risk that you might actually be sacrificed.’

  Jacob shivered.

  ‘Wipe off that sad spaniel expression.’ She tapped Martha’s hand. ‘Would you like to put on a record? We can admire Cliff and Hetty’s foxtrot. And I’m in the mood for a dance myself. Come on, Jacob, Martha and I will share you.’

  As Martha moved towards the gramophone, Jacob laughed.

  ‘All right, you win.’

  ‘She always does,’ Hetty Trueman said.

  Rachel Savernake stood up, and beckoned him.

  ‘Be warned,’ Jacob said. ‘I’ve got two left feet.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Rachel said. ‘I know how to deal with inadequate men. Come on. This is my favourite song. Let’s do it.’

  We hope you enjoyed this book.

  Martin Edwards’s next book is coming in summer 2019

  Acknowledgements

  About Martin Edwards

  An Invitation from the Publisher

  Acknowledgements

  This book represents a departure for me as a novelist. I’d like to thank all those who helped and encouraged me during the writing process. I was given information and suggestions by a considerable number of people, too many to mention individually, but I’d like to thank Catherine, Jonathan, and Helena Edwards, Kate Godsmark, Ann Cleeves, Geoff Bradley, and Moira Redmond for particular help. My thanks as ever go to my agent James Wills, and I’m also grateful to Nic Cheetham, Sophie Robinson, and the team at Head of Zeus for showing faith in my writing and in this novel.