Shadow of the Hangman

by Edward Marston

  ‘You did well.’

  ‘It was costly. I had to give a large deposit to Ackford. It was the only way to convince him that I was in earnest.’

  ‘You’ve had ample recompense, Simon. There’ll be more money when we finally catch the pair of them trespassing in Mayfair.’

  ‘They’ll argue that Hobday engaged them to look after the house but he’s a hundred miles away. When he gets back, he’ll depose that he’s never seen or heard of the Skillen brothers before.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ said Yeomans, ‘the other Everett Hobday has gone back to being Simon Medlow and will have disappeared from sight altogether.’ He took another sip of ale. ‘I hope you asked for both of them.’

  ‘I did, Micah. You’ll nab Peter and Paul Skillen.’

  ‘I’ve waited ages to put salt on their tails.’

  ‘How many men will you bring?’

  ‘I’ll bring plenty,’ said Yeomans. ‘I know how slippery they can be.’

  The Bow Street Runner was still sorely wounded by the way that the brothers had arrested Ned Greet and claimed the reward for his capture. Determined to strike back at them, he’d hatched a plot. Yeomans had been charged with the task of looking after Hobday’s property in Upper Brook Street while the man and his servants were away in the country. He’d arranged for an old acquaintance, Simon Medlow, to impersonate Hobday and lure the Skillen brothers to the house. At a given signal during the night, Yeomans and his men would let themselves into the property and arrest Peter and Paul for trespass and attempted burglary. Medlow had been the ideal person to employ. He was a confidence trickster who owed the Runner a favour because the latter had turned a blind eye to his activities in the past. Medlow was not the only criminal with whom Yeomans had a mutually beneficial arrangement. In return for immunity from arrest, a number of them paid him a regular fee. Those who refused to do so had enjoyed no such indulgence from him and his colleagues. They were hunted down relentlessly until they were caught.

  ‘Gully Ackford is a wily character,’ said Yeomans. ‘Only someone like you could have pulled the wool over his eyes.’

  ‘He’ll be implicated as well, of course.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of it. Ackford will have to appear in court and admit that he was taken in by the bogus Mr Hobday. It will be a humiliation for him. When word gets out that he and his detectives were so easily taken in, people will not be so keen to engage their services and the Runners will be cocks-of-the-walk again.’

  ‘It’s a clever ruse, Micah.’

  Yeomans smirked. ‘I swore that I’d get my revenge.’

  Esther Ricks was a short, dark-haired, roly-poly woman in a plain dress that failed to conceal her spreading contours. She lived in a small terraced house off Oxford Street. When he called there that morning, Peter Skillen put her age at around forty and could see that she must have been an attractive woman when younger and slimmer. As soon as she heard that he’d been asked to investigate the disappearance of her sister, she was so pathetically grateful that she clutched his arm.

  ‘Oh, do please find her, sir. Anne is very precious to me.’

  ‘I’m sure that she is, Mrs Ricks.’

  ‘We lost both of our parents and have no other family beyond each other. When Anne’s husband died, we pressed her to come and live with us but she’s very independent. She preferred to rent a room elsewhere. Anne said that she didn’t want to impose on us. The truth of it is that she’d have felt too confined here.’

  ‘Describe her for me,’ said Peter, easing her gently away.

  Given the invitation, Esther seized it with both hands, talking lovingly and at length about her younger sister. What emerged was a portrait of a hard-working woman in her thirties, turned out by the landlord on the death of her husband and forced to fend for herself. Though the menial job at the Home Office did not pay well, it gave Anne Horner an enormous sense of pride to be working, albeit in a lowly capacity, for the government. Dedicated to her role, she had never missed a day or been anything other than thorough in her duties. To the outsider, hers might seem a strange and very limited existence but it was – her sister argued – the one she chose and liked.

  ‘That’s why it’s so unusual, Mr Skillen,’ she said. ‘Only something very serious could keep my sister away.’

  ‘You say that she was in excellent health.’

  ‘Yes, Anne was hardly ever ill. As a child, I was the family invalid, always catching some disease or other. Besides,’ she went on, ‘if she’d been sick or injured, she’d have sent word to the Home Office that she was unable to get there. Instead of that, she simply didn’t report for work.’

  ‘Did she have any special friends she may have visited?’

  ‘No, no,’ replied Esther, ‘Anne kept herself to herself. She’s always been a very private person.’

  ‘What about enemies?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Anne didn’t have any, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘How can you be so certain?’

  ‘She would have told me.’

  ‘Yet, according to you, the pair of you met infrequently. Your sister had a life that was quite separate from yours and it might contain all sorts of things and people about which you know little.’

  ‘If she’d fallen out with someone,’ Esther insisted, ‘I’d have sensed it. If you’re very close to someone, you don’t need to see them every day to know how they’re faring.’

  ‘That’s true,’ conceded Peter, thinking of his brother.

  ‘Anne just doesn’t make enemies. She’s such a friendly person.’

  ‘Someone may have taken advantage of that friendliness.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’

  Peter did his best to reassure her that her sister would be found but she remained in a state of quivering apprehension. While touched that the Home Office had procured the services of a detective to search for its humblest employee, Esther had persuaded herself that a terrible fate had befallen her sister. Something else worried her.

  ‘If you do find Anne alive and well …’

  ‘I’m confident of doing so, Mrs Ricks,’ he told her.

  ‘Will they take her job away from her?’

  ‘Why on earth should they do that?’

  ‘She’s let them down, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘That may be through no fault of hers. Mrs Horner will have been impeded in some way. The Home Office will surely take that into account.’

  ‘How long will it take you to find her?’

  ‘I can’t put an exact time on it,’ he said, cautiously. ‘What I can promise is that I’ll give the search for your sister the priority it deserves.’

  Esther was simultaneously relieved and disturbed.

  ‘What will happen until Anne returns?’ she asked.

  ‘I daresay that they’ll have a temporary replacement.’

  Bernard Grocott felt the absence of the necessary woman more than anyone at the Home Office. Most of his colleagues were apostles of order; punctilious men who left their desks impressively tidy at the end of the day. Grocott, on the other hand, always left papers scattered about or cupboards open, confident that the former would be stacked neatly and the latter firmly shut by the time he got there the following morning. Confidential documents were invariably locked away in drawers. It was routine paperwork that cluttered his office and made him utterly reliant on Anne Horner. Since her disappearance, his desk had been a complete mess that waited to accuse him at the start of each day. Finding someone to take over her duties was thus of prime importance to him, so he was delighted when a woman was recommended by an acquaintance.

  ‘Have you done this kind of work before?’

  ‘Yes, I have, sir.’

  ‘And you know what’s involved?’

  ‘It was explained to me in full, sir.’

  ‘When can you start?’

  ‘Don’t you wish to see my references, sir?’ she asked, waving a sheaf of letters at him. ‘I’ve had a lot of experience.’

  ‘Someone has a
lready spoken up on your behalf and his word is good enough for me. All that we have to decide is when you can take up your duties and what kind of remuneration you expect.’

  ‘As to the first question, sir, I can start at once if you wish.’

  Grocott let out an involuntary cry of joy. ‘That’s wonderful!’

  ‘As to the second question, sir, I’ll take the same wage as … the other woman. I’m sure it will be fair payment. I’m just glad to help you out, sir.’ She looked across at his untidy desktop. ‘I can see that I’m needed.’

  ‘I am hopelessly inclined towards chaos,’ he confessed.

  The undersecretary could not believe his luck. He had expected to have some difficulty finding a new cleaner but he had soon stumbled on one serendipitously. While confiding his problem to a group of friends at his club, he was given the name of a possible candidate and interviewed the woman in question the next day. Ruth Levitt was older, plainer and altogether more submissive than Anne Horner. Significantly, she was eager to step into the breach. Grocott was not only delighted to engage her, he knew that he could expect congratulations from his colleagues. Viscount Sidmouth, in particular, would be pleased. In solving a thorny problem, Grocott would earn the Home Secretary’s gratitude and admiration. They were factors that might one day ensure the undersecretary’s promotion.

  ‘What time would you like me to start, sir?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘As soon as we quit the building,’ he replied. ‘There’s a lot to do, I fear.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of hard work, sir.’

  ‘Then I suggest that you start here in my office.’

  She gave a pale smile. ‘I was about to say the same thing, sir.’

  When he called at her lodging, Peter Skillen was quick to realise that there were two Anne Horners. The woman’s landlady described her in a way that was markedly at variance with the account given by Esther Ricks. Peter had been led to believe that the necessary woman spent most of her time alone in her rented room. Joan Claydon, the landlady, told a different story. To begin with, it transpired that Anne had disappeared for days before – though always after forewarning Joan. Where her lodger went, the landlady didn’t know but she explained that Anne always fulfilled her duties at the Home Office during her periods away from the house.

  ‘There is another thing, Mr Skillen,’ added Joan.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She usually brought a small gift for me.’

  ‘That was kind of her.’

  ‘Anne is more of a friend than a lodger.’

  ‘What of Mrs Ricks?’ asked Peter.

  ‘She and her sister hardly ever see each other.’

  ‘That’s not what I was told.’

  ‘Then you was told wrong, sir,’ said Joan, wagging a finger. ‘Anne never really got on with her sister. When they were younger, Mrs Ricks used to bully her a lot. She was always trying to tell Anne what to do.’

  ‘Is that why Mrs Horner refused to move in with her sister?’

  ‘That was one of them.’

  Joan Claydon was a large, expressive, motherly woman in her early fifties, surprisingly well groomed in view of her limited resources. As well as coping with two female lodgers in the modest dwelling, she had to nurse a sick husband and look after a medley of pet dogs and cats, yet she did it all without complaint. Even in repose, she seemed to be smiling and positively exuded amiability. Having met her sister, Peter could see why Anne Horner had chosen the companionship of the landlady before that of Esther Ricks. While the sister would have exerted a measure of control over Anne’s life, Joan was much more understanding and tolerant. She simply wanted everyone under her roof to be contented.

  ‘I suppose that I shouldn’t say this, Mr Skillen,’ she began, lowering her voice to impart a secret, ‘but you might as well know the truth. When Mrs Ricks invited her sister to live there, it wasn’t as a favour.’

  ‘Why was that, Mrs Claydon?’

  ‘She expected Anne to pay twice what I ask in rent.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Peter, ‘so it wasn’t simply a question of filial loyalty.’

  Joan blinked. ‘What does that mean, sir?’

  ‘She wasn’t merely acting out of sisterly love.’

  ‘Oh, I think that dried up years ago.’

  ‘Did anyone – apart from Mrs Ricks, that is – call here for Mrs Horner?’

  ‘No, they didn’t.’

  ‘So you saw no sign of any … admirers?’

  ‘I never pried into her private life, Mr Skillen. It’s not my place to do that. On the other hand,’ she said with a confiding glint, ‘you were bound to wonder. I mean, Anne is still a lovely woman and she’s kept her figure – not like Mrs Ricks, for instance. Men would look at her in a way they wouldn’t look at her sister, if you follow me and I’m sure you do. But – hand on heart – I can’t honestly tell you that any of them did more than look.’

  After talking to her for several minutes to win her confidence, Peter asked if he might see the missing woman’s room. The landlady became very protective, saying that it would be wrong for anyone – especially a stranger – to conduct a search.

  ‘It’s something I’d never dream of doing myself,’ she affirmed.

  ‘My position is somewhat different, Mrs Claydon. My appointed task is to track down Mrs Horner and I need any assistance that I can get. It may be – and this is conjectural, of course – that there is something in her room that might give me a clue as to her whereabouts. Surely, you’d raise no objection if that clue led indirectly to her safe return.’ He could see her resolve weakening. ‘You’re welcome to be present. I’ll touch nothing that you feel is sacrosanct.’

  Joan blinked again. ‘That’s another word I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘You can tell me where it’s indelicate of me to look.’

  There was a long pause, as she pursed her lips and weighed everything up in her mind.

  ‘Are you married, Mr Skillen?’ she asked at length.

  ‘I’m very happily married, Mrs Claydon, so a lady’s bedchamber is not exactly a novelty to me. I’ll accord Mrs Horner’s belongings the same respect that I show to those of my wife.’

  Folding her arms, she studied him shrewdly. Reluctant to let anyone into rooms occupied by her lodgers, she saw that she might have to break her rule. Anne’s safety was paramount and – if there was anything upstairs that might indicate where she’d gone – it ought to be available to the man searching for her. Having seen enough of Peter to gauge his sincerity, she capitulated.

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ she said, ‘but you’ll have to be quiet. My husband will probably be asleep in the next room.’

  ‘I’ll tread carefully,’ he promised.

  She led him up the stairs, took him along the landing then opened the door of the front bedroom. Since it was the largest in the house, Peter could see that Anne Horner was the favoured lodger. As befitted a woman who worked as a cleaner, the place was spick and span. The few garments she owned were carefully hung in the wardrobe, the surface of the dressing table was glistening, the mirror shone and the whole room had a feeling of spotlessness. Snug and organised, it spoke of the quiet self-reliance of someone in straitened circumstances.

  Peter felt slightly embarrassed to be intruding but necessity soon eclipsed his discomfort. Under the watchful eye of the landlady, he looked in the wardrobe and in the chest of drawers but found nothing of interest. When he lifted the cushion on the little armchair, all that appeared were a pile of out-of-date newspapers. Since Anne was highly unlikely to have bought them, he surmised that they’d been discarded by someone at the Home Office and rescued from the wastepaper basket. If she could read The Times and The Morning Post, then she obviously had an enquiring mind. What surprised Peter was that any of the clerks at the Home Office should be readers of the monthly periodical, Lady’s Magazine or Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex. Joan Claydon, too, was startled by the discovery that her lodger owned something so unlikely for
a person of her means.

  It was when Peter got down on his hands and knees that she raised a protest.

  ‘There’s no need to look under the bed, sir.’

  ‘It will only take a second.’

  ‘I can tell you what you’ll find there.’

  Before she could stop him, Peter lifted the valance and found himself staring at a mottled chamber pot. Tucked away behind it was a wooden box. He had to stretch an arm to retrieve it.

  ‘Have you ever seen this before, Mrs Claydon?’ he asked, getting up.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t think I should be looking at it now. It belongs to Anne. We’ve no right to open it.’

  ‘But it may contain letters or something else that could give the search for her some direction. I can’t just leave a possible clue unexplored.’

  It took time to persuade her, but eventually she consented. Peter lifted the lid and peered into the box. There were a couple of letters inside, written in a spidery hand by her late husband, but it was the rest of the contents that intrigued him. What they were both staring at was a small pile of banknotes.

  He turned inquisitively to the landlady.

  ‘How much do they pay her at the Home Office?’ he wondered.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Whenever she stepped out onstage, Hannah Granville had an astonishing presence. It lifted her effortlessly above any of the other actors in the play. Offstage, however, she was a different person, subdued, languid and capricious. As she reclined on the bed in a flamboyant gown of Japanese silk, she snapped her fingers and pouted.

  ‘I need you again tonight, Paul,’ she said, peevishly.

  ‘You shall have me at your command, my darling,’ he assured her, ‘but I’ll be unable to meet you after the performance this evening.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I have a commitment I must honour.’

  ‘What about your commitment to me?’

  ‘That’s as deep and unswerving as it’s been since we first met.’

  ‘Then you must prove it. What kind of a gentleman leaves a lady at the mercy of that bellowing herd of suitors, some of whom are old enough to be my father?’