Rage of the Assassin

by Edward Marston

‘I wonder if I might have access to his room?’

  ‘Why? What interest can it hold for you?’

  ‘I’m curious, that’s all,’ said Paul, not wishing to divulge the fact that he’d actually been present when Mellanby was shot. ‘I will only need a minute.’

  ‘The room is completely empty, Mr Skillen. Some Bow Street Runners searched it earlier and took his luggage away with them.’

  ‘Did you watch them while they did so?’

  ‘I most certainly did. We always safeguard our guests’ property. That’s why I insisted on taking an inventory of everything Sir Roger had brought with him. It’s not that I don’t trust the Runners but … one cannot be too careful.’

  ‘A glance at that inventory will save me the trouble of looking at the room,’ said Paul. ‘It’s not only personal interest that’s brought me here. I’m acting on behalf of someone who travelled from Nottingham with Sir Roger Mellanby and who is even now on his way to convey the sad tidings to his family.’

  ‘He’s stayed here on many occasions and there has never been a whiff of trouble. Sir Roger has been a perfect guest – except for one small blemish.’

  ‘Oh – and what was that?’

  ‘He spurned the greatest treat we have to offer.’

  Paul grinned. ‘You’re talking about the dining room.’

  ‘Jacquiers is the finest chef in the whole of London,’ insisted Treen. ‘Before he came to this country, he was in royal service. French cuisine is incomparable and Jacquiers is the absolute master of it.’

  ‘I agree. I’ve always enjoyed superb food here.’

  ‘So why did Sir Roger plan to eat elsewhere both last night and this evening?’

  ‘He had his reasons, I daresay.’

  ‘They died with him, alas. However,’ said Treen, taking him by the elbow, ‘you asked to see that inventory. Let’s go to my office …’

  A long sleep had revived Hannah Granville. Since she liked to get to the theatre hours before a performance was due, she took a cab late that afternoon. The journey gave her time to reflect on what had happened the previous day. A murder had taken place outside the stage door. Immediately afterwards, the Prince Regent had suddenly arrived in her dressing room to pay homage and plant a moist kiss on her hand. He’d made it plain that he desired much closer contact than that and – had Paul not spirited her away – some kind of invitation might well have been offered. Repulsive as she’d found the man, she was unsure whether it would be wise to refuse a royal summons. Whatever happened, she resolved to be on guard and to avoid situations from which even Paul might be unable to rescue her.

  Arriving at the theatre, she was relieved to discover that there was no missive from the palace and no lavish gifts awaiting her in the dressing room. Hannah dared to hope that the Prince Regent had already forgotten her and gone off in pursuit of other possible conquests. Moments later, Jenny Pye came into the room to help begin the long process of turning her into Lady Macbeth again.

  ‘After what happened last night,’ Jenny began, ‘I feared that you might not wish to come back this evening.’

  ‘I could never let an audience down,’ said Hannah, piously. ‘Besides, nothing would have prevented me from fulfilling my contractual obligations.’

  Jenny turned away to hide her smile. As well as being her dresser, she was Hannah’s trusted friend and advisor. No woman was closer or knew her better. She remembered only too well that, during rehearsals for a new work at Drury Lane Theatre, Hannah had developed such a loathing for the man who wrote it that she threatened to tear her contract to bits. Because she had no compunction about letting him down, her antics had reduced the manager to a gibbering wreck. Her headstrong behaviour had been carefully erased from Hannah’s mind but it was an indelible memory to her dresser.

  ‘The house is full again tonight,’ said Jenny.

  ‘It always is when I grace its boards.’

  ‘Dorothea Glenn told me that she wished she could be in the audience one night so that she could watch your performance.’

  ‘Then she needs to be reminded that she is an actress. Her place is onstage. She cannot only enjoy my performance there, she’s in a position to enhance it. I like the girl very much,’ said Hannah, ‘but she still has much to learn.’

  ‘Dorothea is fortunate. There’s no better teacher than you.’

  ‘It’s one of my many virtues.’

  Jenny sighed.

  Peter Skillen was highly conscious of his companion’s unease. Seated in a mail coach with three immaculate gentlemen, Seth Hooper was squirming. He had neither the confidence nor the education to take part in a conversation with the others so he sat there in silence and cursed his social inferiority. The coach stopped every ten or fifteen miles in order that the horses could be changed. It was at the third stop that Hooper finally found his voice again. He and Peter were in the courtyard of a coaching inn, stretching their legs and getting some fresh air.

  ‘I were shaken,’ Hooper confided. ‘When they told me where Sir Roger had been killed, I simply had to go straight to the place where it happened. Honest, I were that shocked.’

  ‘Was there a pool of blood?’

  ‘No, Mr Skillen, it weren’t the area outside the stage door that upset me. It were Covent Garden itself. I’d never seen the like. I’ve been to markets before but not like this one. It were full of beggars and thieves and wild-eyed men, not to mention women wi’ no shame. I’m a married man, sir,’ he went on, ‘and I go to church every Sunday wi’ my wife on my arm. I blushed at some of the things those powdered harlots offered me – in broad daylight, too. It were indecent, Mr Skillen. If this is what London is really like, I’m glad I don’t live here.’

  ‘Parts of the city have become the haunts of pleasure-seekers,’ admitted Peter, ‘but there are many respectable districts. I’m sorry that your first visit to the nation’s capital was so disappointing.’

  ‘There were so much noise and bustle and that awful stink is still in my nostrils. Forgive me for speaking out, sir. I’ve no wish to offend.’

  ‘You’re the person who’s been offended, Mr Hooper, and you have my sympathy. In our own small way, my brother and I try to police the city. It’s like trying to drain a sea of crime with only one bucket between us.’

  ‘That’s why I’m so grateful you’re taking on this case.’

  ‘Sir Roger’s family deserve to know what happened,’ said Peter, ‘and I’ll be able to pass on the details that my brother gave me. I won’t be the first to break the dreadful news, however. They’ll have dispatched a courier by now. By riding hard and changing horses regularly, he’ll get there ahead of us. Besides, it will be dark by the time our coach finally arrives.’

  ‘You’ll need somewhere to stay,’ said Hooper, shuffling his feet in embarrassment. ‘We’ve only a small house but you’re welcome to a bed if you need somewhere to lay your head tonight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll gladly accept that kind offer.’

  ‘There’s one more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘When I’m at the Black Horse wi’ my friends, I can make a speech at the drop of a hat. Words just gush out of my mouth. It were different wi’ Sir Roger. In his company, I were always tongue-tied. It’ll be the same wi’ his family. My voice will disappear again. When we meet them,’ said Hooper, ‘do you think that you could do the talking?’

  Peter gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Leave it to me.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  When he heard the clang of the doorbell, Hector Golightly hoped that the Runners might have returned to his house with good news about the manhunt. He was disappointed to learn that his visitor was a complete stranger. However, he was impressed by the sight of the tall, lithe, handsome figure of Paul Skillen when the latter stepped into the drawing room. Dismissing the butler who’d admitted the newcomer, Golightly let Paul introduce himself and explain why he’d come. The older man subjected him to a penetrating gaze.


  ‘You say that you’re here in connection with the death of Sir Roger Mellanby,’ he observed. ‘Could you be more specific?’

  ‘I was there at the time, Captain Golightly.’

  ‘Really? Are you claiming that you were part of that motley crew outside the stage door?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Paul. ‘Everyone else was there to admire Miss Granville, the famous actress who plays Lady Macbeth. My job was to escort her safely through the crowd. I do that every night. If you doubt me, Miss Granville will confirm it.’

  ‘Are you employed by the lady?’

  ‘We are … close friends.’

  ‘I see.’

  Golightly waved Paul to a chair and sat opposite him, still maintaining his intense scrutiny of his visitor’s face.

  ‘I want a detailed account of what happened,’ said Golightly. ‘I’ve already had one version of events from a Runner by the name of Yeomans. It was rather garbled.’

  ‘Micah Yeomans is not famed for his clarity.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘We are in constant touch,’ said Paul with a twinkle in his eye.

  He went on to give an account of what had occurred the previous night. It was both succinct yet comprehensive. Golightly was pleased because it had the lucidity and accuracy of a military report. All of the supplementary questions he went on to aim at Paul were answered honestly and satisfactorily. The captain sat back in his chair and relaxed slightly.

  ‘Why did you come to me?’

  ‘I was told that you were a close friend of Sir Roger’s.’

  ‘It’s true. We were due to attend a meeting of the Hampden Club this afternoon before coming back here for dinner. Who gave you my name?’

  ‘It was a man named Hooper who came here from Nottingham with Sir Roger. He was due to speak at the meeting you just referred to. Instead of that, he’s now travelling back home with sad tidings. Hooper had heard mention of your name by Sir Roger but had no idea where you lived.’

  ‘Then how did you find me?’

  ‘I went to Stevens’ Hotel in Bond Street. Since it’s a haven for army officers, I felt that someone was bound to have heard of Captain Golightly. In fact, you were well known to most of the officers there.’

  ‘That was very enterprising of you, Skillen.’

  ‘It was important to locate you.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What can I possibly do?’

  ‘Without realising it,’ said Paul, ‘you might have some idea who was behind the murder.’ Golightly shook his head. ‘Consider this. In order to fire the fatal shot, the assassin had to know where and when he could find his target. In short, the person who hired him had to be familiar with Sir Roger’s habits. He knew that he would attend last night’s performance in Covent Garden and that he’d feel impelled to go to the stage door for a glimpse – if not more – of Miss Granville.’

  ‘What are you telling me?’

  ‘I’m telling you what you already know about Sir Roger’s character. As soon as he arrived in London, he sought diversion. After all the effort of getting here, you’d have expected him to need a restorative meal and a long rest. Yet he disdained the cuisine of the celebrated Jacquiers at the Clarendon Hotel and went off to the theatre.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you follow my reasoning, Captain?’

  ‘I’m beginning to, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘We could be looking for someone within Sir Roger’s circle.’

  ‘I dispute that,’ said Golightly. ‘His friends are unswervingly loyal.’

  ‘One of them could have been overheard making an unguarded remark about Sir Roger’s fondness for the theatre and his interest in a particular actress. I can’t imagine that Nottingham could provide him with someone remotely like Miss Granville or, if it did, that he’d be allowed anywhere near her. It was only when he was in London,’ suggested Paul, ‘that he was – let me put this politely – unfettered by family obligations.’

  ‘Sir Roger was happily married.’

  ‘Most of those who cluster around that stage door are the same. I see them every night, remember. When they are with their wives, they are all happily married. After watching a play unaccompanied by their spouses, however, they tend to become lusty bachelors.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Theatre is not to my taste.’

  ‘When did you last see Sir Roger?’

  ‘It was some weeks ago.’

  ‘Since you are such a good friend, I’d have thought he’d be in touch with you the moment he arrived here. He might even have invited you to join him in a meal at the Clarendon Hotel. Instead of that—’

  ‘There’s no need to labour the point,’ said the other, tetchily.

  ‘All I’m saying is that your friend had priorities.’

  ‘And so do I, Skillen. An appalling crime has taken place. My priority is simple. I want it solved quickly.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here, Captain. With your permission, I need to ask some questions that may indirectly lead to an arrest. Do you have any objection?’ After a few moments, Golightly shook his head. ‘Thank you. Let’s begin, shall we?’

  At the end of the working day, Charlotte was tidying everything up at the shooting gallery. Gully Ackford came into the room, rubbing one arm.

  ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ he complained. ‘A couple of hours with a sword in my hand tires me out completely.’

  ‘You should let Jem give all the fencing lessons.’

  ‘He’s got enough to do as it is, Charlotte. Since I’m losing Peter and Paul for a while, I’ll have to take on more of the work myself. If there’s too much to cope with, I’ll have to bring in help.’

  ‘We’ll just have to hope that this case doesn’t take up too much time,’ she said. ‘I’d prefer my husband to be here, not charging off to Nottingham. However, Peter has to go where he might find evidence.’

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘Paul is still in London, grappling with two very difficult jobs. One of them is to track down the assassin and the other, as we know, is equally demanding. He has to protect Hannah from the attentions of the Prince Regent. Knowing her, I think she’ll feel frightened at the idea that he might come back to make impossible demands. She needs Paul as a shield.

  ‘After the events of last night,’ she continued, ‘His Royal Highness’s ardour may have cooled somewhat. The fact that someone was shot dead outside the theatre right next to him might make him afraid to go anywhere near Covent Garden. As for the hunt for the killer, Paul is supposed to stay well away from it.’

  ‘Who told him that?’ asked Ackford.

  ‘Micah Yeomans delivered the message, but it actually came from the Prince Regent himself. He was infuriated by the speed with which Paul snatched Hannah away from under his nose. My brother-in-law is being restrained by royal command.’

  Ackford laughed. ‘Nothing can restrain Paul,’ he said. ‘It will only have made him more determined to bring the assassin to justice. That will not only give him great satisfaction, there’s the question of a reward. He’d love to get his hands on that. It’s bound to be substantial.’

  Since he featured in them so regularly, Harry Scattergood always kept a close eye on any reward notices that were put up. When he saw the latest one pasted to a wall, he gasped at the amount of money on offer. Scattergood was a slender, wiry, quick-witted man in his forties who was surprisingly nimble for his age. His unrivalled success as a thief enabled him to dress well, eat heartily and enjoy the kind of dissolute life that appealed to him. He was always alert to the possibility of a new source of money. Looking at the reward notice, he believed that he’d just found one.

  After noting the details, he went off laughing to himself.

  Speaking with a mingled affection and regret, Golightly talked at length about his friendship with Mellanby, emphasising the latter’s determination to give a voice to those people denied one. Paul kept feeding him questions until he eventually ran out.r />
  ‘Thank you for being so honest, Captain Golightly,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no reason to be anything else. Sir Roger had his flaws – which of us does not? – but he was, at heart, a people’s champion. Though he stood for Parliament as a Whig, he was really one of Nature’s revolutionaries.’

  ‘And what of you?’ asked Paul.

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Why have you espoused the same causes? A career in the army rarely imbues a man with sympathy for the lower orders, still less for revolution. What makes you so different?’

  ‘I can give you the answer in two words.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Orator Hunt.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Paul, ‘I’ve heard Henry Hunt speak. He held a crowd of thousands utterly spellbound. He was talking about the Corn Laws, except that he called them Starvation Laws because that’s what they amount to.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. They were passed by a mean-spirited Parliament of landowners who couldn’t bear the idea that the price of bread would go down at the end of the war. To maintain their high profits, they banned the import of wheat. The result is that, all over this country, people are dying of hunger because they can’t afford to buy bread at exorbitant prices. Lord Liverpool and his iniquitous Tory government do nothing whatsoever to relieve their distress. On the contrary,’ said Golightly, wagging a finger, ‘they intensify it by bringing in repressive laws and − worst of all − by suspending the Habeas Corpus Act.’

  ‘It’s shameful.’

  ‘Sir Roger was much more eloquent on the subject than I am.’

  ‘That eloquence may have cost him his life.’

  ‘I fear that may be true, Skillen. Hampden Clubs were established in major cities so that people had a forum for debate. The Tories are already claiming that they exist solely to foment rebellion. That’s an arrant lie. Freedom of speech must be allowed, surely. It’s a basic right. That was always Sir Roger’s battle cry.’