Shadow of the Hangman

by Edward Marston

  When they tumbled out of The Peacock that night, Micah Yeomans and Alfred Hale had drunk so much that they needed the assistance of a wall to remain upright. After staggering the best part of a hundred yards, they rested against the window of a tailor’s shop. Yeomans was offended.

  ‘The Doctor has done it again,’ he complained. ‘He’s giving someone else undeserved credit. We had to listen to him praising the Skillen brothers for rescuing that woman when he should have been berating them for letting the villains get away to cause even worse trouble. Luckily, we’re the ones who’ll be guarding the Doctor at the celebration. We’ll show Peter and Paul how it should be done.’

  Hale was worried. ‘We could be in danger ourselves, Micah.’

  ‘We live with that danger every day.’

  ‘This is different,’ said the other. ‘We know the streets of London. Wherever we go, we can take care of ourselves. There’ll be thousands of people in Hyde Park on the great day. An attack could come from any of them. We can’t possibly keep an eye on them all.’ He gave a shiver. ‘I don’t fancy being shot in the back with a poisoned arrow.’

  ‘That won’t happen, Alfred,’ said the other, contemptuously. ‘That warning about a poisoned arrow was nonsensical. It was dreamt up by Peter Skillen to give the Doctor a fright.’

  ‘But they found a bow and arrow and a bottle of poison.’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘According to the apothecary who examined it, that poison would have been fatal. Just imagine that, Micah.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ said Yeomans with an extravagant gesture. ‘And I certainly don’t believe that Mrs Levitt is involved in the conspiracy. She’s there to clean the rooms, for heaven’s sake. She probably can’t even read or write.’

  Bernard Grocott also had doubts that Ruth Levitt was in any way responsible for the theft of secret information from the Home Office. Having found and appointed her, he felt that he knew her better than anybody. He’d also enjoyed the praise of his colleagues for replacing Anne Horner so soon and with such an efficient deputy. Grocott refused to believe that his judgement had been so fallible. When he let himself into the building early the next morning, he expected to find every room as clean as it usually was and every desk gleaming. Entering his office, however, he had a profound shock. It was exactly as he’d left it the previous evening. The place had reverted to its earlier chaos. She was gone. Ruth Levitt had not been anywhere near the Home Office.

  Grocott slumped in his chair and braced himself for the collective censure of everyone with whom he worked. Admiration would very quickly turn to reproof. The woman he’d brought into the Home Office had been there as a spy. Colleagues would taunt him about that for a long time to come. The question that they – and the Home Secretary, for that matter – would ask was who had recommended her to Grocott in the first place. He searched his memory like a dog digging frantically for a bone but a name failed to appear. Grocott accepted the awful truth.

  He didn’t know.

  Ruth Levitt was seated in the drawing room of her house with her guests. She had shed the crumpled dress she’d worn as a cleaner and was now wearing fine attire that altered her appearance completely. Her hair had been brushed and she had a dignity absent during her time at the Home Office. Having done what she was paid to do, she was distressed to hear that the information she’d gleaned had been lost. In her eyes, it meant that her time as a servant had been wasted. She was bitter.

  ‘After all that effort, we have nothing to show for it,’ she protested.

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Diamond. ‘Losing that list of names was a pity but I did have a chance to study the seating plan at the celebrations. I know exactly where our target will be sitting now.’

  ‘What use is that if they’re aware of your plan, Vincent? You were followed to the house by someone who’d certainly have searched it afterwards. If they’re clever enough to find you, they’d have the intelligence to work out what you had in mind.’

  ‘Then we simply amend the plan,’ argued Jane. ‘I know how you must feel, Ruth. It was demeaning for you to pretend to be a cleaner when you have servants at your beck and call here.’

  ‘I did it because I believed in our cause.’

  ‘And because you were extremely well paid,’ Diamond pointed out.

  ‘I earned my money,’ she retorted. ‘You didn’t. Thanks to your blunder, you lost everything that you’d extorted out of Beyton.’

  ‘Forget about him. He betrayed us and we did as we threatened. His wife now knows all about his antics. He’d have got a frosty welcome home yesterday.’

  ‘They’ll be searching for us now,’ said Jane.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘we must be very careful.’

  ‘Well, they won’t find me,’ insisted Ruth, ‘because the house is in my late husband’s name. And they’ll never work out that my maiden name was Regine Le Vite, hence the change to Levitt. Like both of you, I had a French father and an English mother.’

  ‘My father died years ago,’ he said, ‘fighting against the British army.’

  ‘Mine never lived to see France defeated,’ said Jane, ‘and I’m glad of it. It would have broken his heart to watch Napoleon being humbled and the royal family restored to the throne by our enemies.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on our plan,’ suggested Diamond. ‘Since they found the bow and arrow, we’ll have to abandon that mode of attack. It had the advantage of being unexpected but that’s no longer the case.’

  ‘What will we do?’

  ‘It’s more a question of what you and Ruth do.’

  ‘I’ll do anything I’m asked,’ said Ruth, ‘as long as it doesn’t involve cleaning and polishing. A night at the Home Office used to leave me exhausted.’

  ‘They’ve seen Jane and me,’ he told her. ‘They’ll be on the lookout for a man and a woman. The sight of two women is unlikely to get a second look. You’ll be at the celebrations together and I’ll tell you exactly where to go.’

  ‘The important thing is to have our escape planned,’ said Jane.

  ‘I’ll take care of that. Within the week, we’ll be back in France.’

  ‘I’m staying here,’ said Ruth. ‘For the most part, I hate the British but I have to admit that life is London is very comfortable.’

  ‘That’s your decision,’ said Jane.

  There are still many details to work out,’ said Diamond, ‘but we have days to go yet so I have plenty of thinking time. I might even be able to solve the mystery that’s been plaguing me ever since yesterday.’

  Ruth was puzzled. ‘What mystery is that?’

  ‘How can I see a man out of the front window on the opposite side of the road then bump into him again when I run out of the garden gate? There’s no way that he could have got there in time. It defies logic.’

  Even if they’d stood side by side, nobody would have taken them for twins. Peter and Paul Skillen had used effective disguises. Both were dressed as gardeners with hats pulled down over their faces. Peter was wearing a false grey beard and moving at a speed commensurate with old age. Paul was pushing a wheelbarrow, stopping to pick up anything he found on the lush green sward in Hyde Park. It was two days before the celebrations and rehearsals were taking place. Marching in strict formation, the band practised one of its stirring military anthems. Peter knelt beside a flower bed and pretended to weed it.

  The brothers were within a relatively short distance of the main platform. It was on that raised area, festooned with flags and bunting, that Viscount Sidmouth would be sitting with His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, the Prime Minister and senior members of the government. Peter had reasoned that anyone with serious intentions of assassination would be certain to get the lie of the land in advance. Now that everything was finally set up, the rehearsal could be watched and the disposition of soldiers noted. Scores of people were about, drawn by curiosity and anxious to see the place where the celebrations would be held. It was impossible
for Peter and Paul to pick out everyone who merited a closer inspection so they selected only the most obvious cases. All of the people who had so far been taking a more than casual interest in the main platform had turned out to be quite harmless.

  Peter then spotted something of concern. A horse and cart pulled up on the road running alongside the park. Two men alighted and walked towards the main platform. There was nothing sinister about the pair. They might have been out for an afternoon stroll. It was the driver who alerted Peter. On a warm day, he was wearing a hood that all but obscured his face. What were still clearly visible, however, were the driver’s black hands. Peter rose to his feet and removed his hat briefly by way of a signal to his brother. Leaving their work, they converged slowly on the platform. The two men from the cart didn’t notice them at first. They were too absorbed in looking at the platform and walking around it.

  Before they challenged the men, Peter and Paul made sure that they got between them and the cart, thereby cutting off their means of escape. When they got close enough, they heard Irish accents. It was the confirmation they needed.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr O’Gara,’ said Peter.

  ‘And the same to you, Mr Fallon,’ added Paul.

  The greetings had an immediate effect on the men. Their instinct was to run back to the cart but their way was blocked. They therefore tried to run around the brothers in a wide arc. Peter and Paul were far too quick for them, sprinting after a man apiece until they got within reach. Peter tackled O’Gara around the legs and brought him crashing to the ground, dazing him in the process. Paul jumped on Fallon’s back and was carried a dozen yards before his weight was too much for the Irishman. A fierce fight developed between them. The advantage was very much with the detectives because they were working with the Bow Street Runners for once. Yeomans and his men had been lurking in some bushes in case they were needed. When they saw what was happening, they broke cover and ran towards the action.

  Peter dragged O’Gara up by the scruff of his neck and handed him over to Yeomans and Hale. Intending to help his brother, he saw that Paul already had an able assistant. Ruddock had grabbed Fallon from behind and pinioned his arms. Both Irishmen had been caught. Attention now shifted to the horse and cart. Enraged by what he’d seen, Moses Dagg set out to rescue his friends. He flicked the reins and reinforced the command with a loud yell. The animal began cantering across the grass. When Dagg reached the little group, he hauled on the reins and the cartwheels threw up a series of divots as they ground to a halt.

  Dagg reached inside his coat for his pistol but he was too slow. Paul had already leapt up onto the cart and seized him by the wrist so that the weapon pointed upwards. There was a ferocious struggle with O’Gara and Fallon urging on their man. Unaware of its implications, a small crowd gathered to watch the fight but it was soon over. The pistol went off, discharging its bullet harmlessly into the air, and the horse bolted. With the two men still grappling madly, the cart went careering across the grass and scattered everybody in its way. The horse was galloping towards some trees. When it got close, it suddenly veered off to the left, overturning the cart in the process and throwing its two occupants to the ground.

  Releasing his hold on the other man, Paul did several impromptu somersaults before coming to a halt on the grass. He leapt up at once to continue the fight then saw that it was already over. Hurled from the cart, Dagg had fallen awkwardly and now lay motionless.

  Viscount Sidmouth was so pleased with the turn of events that he walked up and down his office with barely subdued glee.

  ‘All three of them were caught,’ he said. ‘O’Gara and Fallon are in custody and, since he broke his neck in the fall, Dagg will no longer be of concern us. The Skillen brothers have removed a terrible weight from my shoulders.’

  ‘The Runners did their part,’ Grocott reminded him. ‘A word of praise to Yeomans and Hale will not come amiss, my lord.’

  ‘Indeed, it won’t.’

  ‘And while one problem has been solved, another still remains.’

  ‘I’m very cognisant of that.’

  ‘It has caused me much soul searching,’ said Grocott. ‘I was unwittingly embroiled in the plot and am stricken with remorse.’

  ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ advised the other.

  ‘But I must, my lord. I should have realised that it was too great a coincidence. We lose one servant and another one drops into our hands straight away. Had I not been so unguarded at my club, a great deal of anguish would have been spared. As it is, I’ve finally remembered who put the name of Levitt in my ears.’

  ‘You thought it might have been Sir Roger Hollington.’

  ‘I checked with him,’ said Grocott, ‘and he denied it. The person he nominated was Joss Crowther, barely an acquaintance of mine. I’ve no means of furthering that acquaintance because he has withdrawn to an estate he owns in Normandy. In short, I’m ashamed to confess, he was a co-conspirator.’

  ‘There are French spies everywhere, Grocott. That’s why I employ so many agents of my own to counter their activities. Peter Skillen is the best of them.’

  ‘Let’s hope that he can frustrate the designs of these people.’

  ‘I’m sure that he’s working on a way to do just that.’ Sidmouth took his seat behind the desk. ‘Meanwhile, of course, we have the good news that Horner is to return to her duties. After recent events, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d wanted to shake the dust of the Home Office from her feet for ever.’

  ‘I’m told that she was determined to resume work.’

  ‘She wants to put the horrors of the past behind her.’

  He picked up some papers from the desk and looked through them. That was usually the signal for the undersecretary to leave so Grocott moved to the door.

  ‘One moment,’ said Sidmouth, raising his head, ‘there’s something I meant to ask you. Have you seen Beyton today?’

  ‘Why do you ask, my lord?’

  ‘I passed him on the stairs earlier on and he was completely cowed. He hardly noticed that I was there. Is he ailing in some way?’

  ‘I really don’t know, my lord. Now that you mention it, however, Beyton has been rather taciturn of late. When I told him that he was in line for a promotion, he was delighted. He should be revelling in the news.’

  David Beyton was the first to arrive at the Home Office the next morning. Letting himself in, he went straight to the room that he shared with the other senior clerks. A shock awaited him. The desks of his three colleagues had been cleared of any papers and polished to a high sheen by Anne Horner. She’d not tidied away anything on Beyton’s desk. Instead, she’d put a wastepaper basket on it. When he looked inside, it contained the pile of banknotes he’d once given her by way of a belated apology. In the wake of his domestic turmoil, it was a wounding blow. Removing the object from the desk, Beyton sat down, took out a sheet of paper and began to write a letter of resignation.

  ‘The situation has changed,’ said Diamond.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ argued Jane.

  ‘You read the report in the newspaper. In the light of what happened with those fugitives from prison, security arrangements have been reviewed. That means far more guards will be around the main platform and the seating will be changed. We’ll have no idea in advance where our target will be.’

  ‘I agree with Vincent,’ said Ruth. ‘We must adapt our plan.’

  ‘But we’d lose the very essence of it,’ asserted Jane.

  ‘That can’t be helped.’

  ‘The whole point of the exercise was that it would take place in public in front of a vast audience. It was to be a visible demonstration that France is not without its true patriots. We’d be sending a message that would echo around Europe.’

  ‘We will still do that, Jane.’

  ‘But not in the most effective way.’

  ‘The matter is settled,’ declared Diamond. ‘We follow the new plan. Apart from anything else, it makes it far easier to ensure t
he safety of all of us. In a huge crowd in Hyde Park, we’d have had no real control. With the new plan, we do.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Jane, moodily, ‘I agree to the change, but it’s against my better judgement.’

  He enfolded her in his arms. ‘You say that now but, when it’s all over, you’ll want to celebrate just as much as we do. Vive la France!’

  ‘Vive la France!’ said the women in unison.

  Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, was a figure of towering importance. Victories achieved in India and Portugal had made him a national hero but his success at Waterloo, when outnumbered by the French, had sealed his reputation as a soldier of the highest order. Having fought off the many English politicians who wanted to dismember and, thereby, weaken France, he was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the forces occupying Paris but was brought back to London to be at the heart of the celebrations in Hyde Park. A grateful nation was ready to acclaim their saviour.

  As a man, however, he had faults. He had a brimming self-confidence that allowed him to ignore the advice of others and pursue his own objectives. Impatient, restless, occasionally irresponsible, he was too ready to pour contempt on some of the men serving under him. Iron discipline had helped him to control a turbulent coalition army and it defined the man. He was straight-backed, imperious and striking in appearance with an aquiline nose that had earned him the nickname of Old Hooky. It was his firm belief that the finger of God was upon him and he ascribed his success to the intervention of the Almighty. That did not prevent him from feeling a sense of entitlement and he luxuriated in the honours that were showered upon him. The celebrations that day were an act of homage to him and he intended to enjoy every moment of them. There would be speeches in his honour, martial music, military manoeuvres, lavish refreshments and, to cap it all, a grand firework display. It would be a memorable occasion in every way.