‘So?’
‘All I have to do is to whisper your name and I’m a rich man.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ challenged the other.
‘Yes, I would – if you drive me to it.’
‘You’d only put yourself in danger as an accessory.’
‘There are ways to get around that inconvenience. I’d use a friend to speak to the Runners, then let him have a small share of the proceeds. Unless, of course …’
Having left his club with an air of quiet triumph, the man was now extremely worried. Patently, it was no idle threat. The actor he’d used really was in a position to imperil him. He couldn’t simply be shrugged off or silenced with a dire warning.
‘Very well,’ he said at length. ‘How much do you want?’
‘Two hundred and fifty pounds.’ The actor sniggered when he saw the expression of alarm on the other man’s face. ‘I could get a lot more if I name you as the assassin. Remember that.’ He stepped in closer. ‘Is it agreed?’
After a long pause, his companion gave a reluctant nod.
‘That’s settled, then,’ said the other, grinning.
‘You may have to wait a little.’
‘I want the money now.’
‘I can’t just conjure it out of the air.’
‘You killed a well-known member of the aristocracy. Someone must have paid you a great deal to do that. I want a share of it.’
‘Give me a few days.’
‘No – I won’t let you have a chance to disappear. I need it today.’
‘That’s going to be difficult.’
‘Then I’ll get the money from elsewhere,’ warned the actor, starting to walk away. ‘Farewell.’
‘Wait!’ said the other. ‘I’ll get it today somehow. I swear it.’
The actor came back to him. ‘Where and when shall we meet?’
‘I’ll send a message to your lodging.’
‘How do I know that I can trust you?’
‘I speak as one gentleman to another,’ asserted the man, looking him in the eye. ‘My word is my bond.’
He extended a hand and, after a few moments, the actor shook it.
The Reverend David Mellanby was an ascetic man with a soft voice and deep commitment to his chosen path in life. In becoming a parish priest, he’d willingly renounced all the privileges he’d hitherto enjoyed. When he heard why the visitors had come, he gave them a cordial welcome and invited them into the drawing room. Though Peter settled comfortably into his chair, Hooper sat stiffly on the edge of his with the look of a man who felt that he was trespassing and in imminent danger of ejection. Since Paul Skillen had actually been present at the scene of the murder, David wanted to hear every last detail passed on to his brother. He was touched that Peter and Paul had joined the search for the assassin of a man neither of them knew, even though their involvement could put them in jeopardy.
‘I’m also grateful to you, Mr Hooper,’ said David. ‘My father often spoke of you as being wonderfully supportive to him in his work.’
‘Oh,’ said Hooper, surprised by the praise, ‘it were very kind of him to say so. I worshipped him.’
‘I would question your choice of the word “worship”. Much as I loved my father, I reserve worship solely for our supreme Father in heaven. He is the source of all being. No human can begin to compete with him.’
‘Mr Hooper is a God-fearing Christian,’ said Peter in the man’s defence. ‘When I slept in the bedroom he and his wife so kindly vacated, I did so under a sampler made by Mrs Hooper. It had a text from the Bible. All that he meant to say was that Sir Roger was a beacon of hope to people like himself.’
‘That’s true,’ echoed Hooper.
David smiled. ‘Forgive me for being so pedantic.’
The mood was sober and the conversation, albeit muted, was pleasant and unforced. The tone changed markedly when Barrington Oxley arrived. He was a fleshy man of sixty with a bald head fringed by white curls. He had a scholarly hunch, a sizeable paunch and a pair of dark green eyes that peered intently over the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Peter felt the full force of the suspicion in his gaze. Oxley dismissed Hooper with a mere glance. It was left to David to introduce the visitors to his father’s closest friend.
‘Did I hear aright, Mr Skillen?’ asked Oxley, eyebrows arched in incredulity. ‘You have taken it upon yourself to undertake a search for Sir Roger’s killer?’
‘It’s true,’ confirmed Peter.
‘May I ask what possible right you have to do so?’
‘I asked him, sir,’ muttered Hooper.
‘Be so good as to remain silent. Mr Skillen can answer for himself.’
‘Oh … beg pardon, sir.’
‘Mr Hooper is correct,’ said Peter. ‘He made contact with me on behalf of the association to which he and Sir Roger belong. You’ll remember that the two of them travelled together to London to speak at the Hampden Club.’
‘I’m well aware of Sir Roger’s movements,’ said Oxley, sharply.
‘Then you’ll be equally aware of the faith he placed in Mr Hooper.’
‘That’s irrelevant.’
‘I feel that we should be grateful to Mr Skillen,’ said David.
‘The matter should be kept firmly in more official hands. When a crime takes place in London, surely it’s the business of the Bow Street Runners to solve it.’
‘Then where are they, Mr Oxley? It was they who dispatched a courier with the dreadful news of my father’s death, but there’s no sign of them actually coming here to keep us abreast of developments.’
‘Nor will there be,’ explained Peter. ‘London is awash with crime and the Runners simply do not have enough men at their disposal to police the city with any real effect. They certainly have none to spare on a visit here. We are seasoned rivals of theirs. Where they falter, my brother and I have been in the fortunate position of taking their place and achieving success.’
‘I beg leave to doubt that,’ said Oxley with a sniff. ‘If you are such skilful detectives, why are you and your brother not in the capital together this very moment searching for the killer?’
‘We have divided our forces. While Paul is on the trail of the assassin in London, I am hunting for his paymaster.’
Oxley’s cheeks reddened. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that the plot to kill Sir Roger was hatched here in Nottinghamshire,’ he cried. ‘That’s a ludicrous suggestion. Your journey here has been a complete waste of time.’
‘Not at all,’ said David. ‘I’m very grateful to Mr Skillen for coming all this way to give me the precise details of my father’s death. It shows consideration. My brother and my sister will be equally grateful.’
‘I hope to meet them both in due course,’ said Peter. ‘All three of you can provide me with information about Sir Roger that could be significant in a way that you’d never imagine. And the same goes for you,’ he continued, turning to Oxley. ‘In view of the close relationship you had with Sir Roger, your assistance will be of paramount importance. I do hope that I may count on it.’
Oxley spluttered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Paul’s visit to Captain Golightly the previous day had eventually borne fruit. As a result of his persistence, he’d managed to get three names out of him of people who could be considered as Mellanby’s arch enemies. Two were fellow Members of Parliament who despised him for what they saw as his unforgivable political stance, and one was a man who’d made the mistake of fighting a duel with him. Paul was still trying to analyse all the information he’d gathered from Golightly and from his prickly conversations with the trio of possible suspects. Over a late breakfast with Hannah, he told her about the duel.
‘What provoked it?’ she asked.
‘The man believed that Sir Roger had designs on his wife.’
‘And did he?’
‘Captain Golightly claimed that his friend was innocent of the charge. But when someone challenges you to a duel, he can’t be
ignored. Sir Roger, it seems, was very proficient with a sword in his hand and could have sliced the fellow to ribbons. In the event,’ said Paul, ‘he contented himself with inflicting wounds that were utterly humiliating. His accuser, Hugh Denley by name, more or less crawled away and would have had great difficulty sitting down.’
‘That would have left him embittered.’
‘When I spoke to him, Denley refused to be drawn on that point.’
‘Was he still angry?’
‘He had good cause to be, Hannah. Losing the duel was bad enough but, when his wife realised that he’d thought her capable of encouraging another man’s interest, she took umbrage and stormed out of the house.’
‘Who can blame her?’
‘Would you have done the same in similar circumstances?’
‘I’d never have been stupid enough to marry a man who couldn’t hold his own in a duel. So,’ she said, ‘you now have three suspects. It’s a start.’
‘Captain Golightly has promised to come up with some other suggestions today. Now that I’ve won his trust, he’s ready to cooperate.’
‘That’s good news, Paul, but you mustn’t assign the entire day to him. We have our final performance this evening and I need you to accompany me to the party afterwards.’
‘I’ll be there, my love.’
‘To be honest, I’m not looking forward to it.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Paul. ‘After your triumph on that stage, you must be sad at the prospect of parting company with Lady Macbeth.’
‘Far from it!’ she retorted. ‘I’ve never discarded a role more willingly. It’s been a bane in every sense. Then there’s the small matter of the invasion of my dressing room by no less a person than the Prince Regent, as ugly and odious a man as I’ve ever seen at close quarters. I felt threatened, Paul.’
‘You can forget him, my love.’
‘What if he pursues me?’
‘That’s highly unlikely to happen. It’s common knowledge that Lady Hertford is his mistress and that the two of them are rarely apart.’
‘They were apart two nights ago.’
‘He’s probably forgotten that he ventured anywhere near Covent Garden.’
‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘He frightened me. As for that grisly Scotswoman, I’ll be delighted to see the back of her. Lady Macbeth is the personification of evil and it’s not in my nature to enjoy such a role.’
‘A much more suitable one awaits you, Hannah.’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes,’ he told her. ‘After a week’s rest, you start rehearsals for a production of Measure for Measure in which you are set to shine brightly as Isabella. Shakespeare could not have tailored a part that reflects your character more precisely.’ He gave her a teasing grin. ‘Isabella has just entered a nunnery.’
Hannah let out a yell of rage and snatched up the pepper pot, but she was far too slow. Paul had already fled from the room, his laughter echoing in the hallway.
On an errand that morning, Jem Huckvale caught sight of the reward poster relating to Sir Roger Mellanby’s murder. He was astonished at the amount on offer and, when he got back to the shooting gallery, told Ackford and Charlotte what he’d seen. Both were impressed.
‘I could retire in luxury on an amount like that,’ said Ackford.
‘You’d never give this place up,’ argued Charlotte. ‘In spite of the effort involved, you love this kind of life. It fits you like a glove.’
‘And me,’ said Huckvale.
‘That’s true, Jem. You and Gully are two of a pair.’
‘We’ll have to hope that Peter and Paul earn at least some of that reward money,’ said Ackford. ‘It will compensate them for the dangers both of them will face. They’re up against someone who will obviously stop at nothing.’
‘They are not like Sir Roger Mellanby,’ said Charlotte. ‘They’d never be caught off guard as he was. When it comes to danger, they each have a sixth sense. I’ve learnt to put my trust in it, Gully.’
‘But if Peter is right that the person who ordered the murder might live near Nottingham, it will make him more difficult to find. He’ll be on unknown territory there. Here, in London, he’s familiar with all the dark corners and would be on home ground.’
‘I think the killer and his accomplice are here,’ said Huckvale.
‘What about the person who hired them?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, Gully.’
‘He or she is here as well,’ declared Charlotte with confidence. ‘I’ve been thinking it through. Look at the circumstances. If someone had wanted Sir Roger killed, it would have been much easier to arrange the murder in some quiet place with nobody else around. Instead of that, the stage door of the Covent Garden Theatre was deliberately chosen as the venue. My feeling is that it was selected by the paymaster rather than the assassin.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Huckvale.
‘So do I,’ added Ackford, ‘and I wish I’d paid more attention to the actual scene of the crime. It tells us something. Most murders take place in private so that the killer can make his escape without being seen. This was, in effect, a public execution. Why?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Charlotte, ‘but you take my point, don’t you? Whoever is behind this assassination chose the theatre for a purpose and could count on Sir Roger being there at a particular time. How on earth could they do that?’
‘Are you saying that Peter is wasting his time going to Nottingham?’
‘Not at all, Gully. Who knows? There may well be enemies there who are party to the murder and who need to be called to account. But the person leading the conspiracy – if that’s what it is – lives here in the capital and is keenly aware of how Sir Roger behaves whenever he comes here. That made it possible to set a trap for him. It was surely a pure coincidence,’ she went on, ‘that the Prince Regent happened to come along at the same time.’
‘Without meaning to,’ said Ackford, ‘he actually helped the killer. That’s what Paul told me. The moment Prinny arrived at the stage door with the Runners, all eyes turned to him. The man with the pistol couldn’t believe his luck. He struck almost immediately.’
‘Sir Roger must have been a very important man,’ said Huckvale. ‘You can see that by the amount of reward money being offered. It’s bound to arouse a lot of interest.’
‘It certainly will, lad. At this very moment, a queue is probably forming in Bow Street. It will consist of deep-dyed rogues ready to tell any lie to get a slice of that cash.’
Harry Scattergood had made a conscious effort to move up in the world. As his income had swelled, so did his social aspirations. Having habitually lived amongst the dregs of society, he spurned the rat-infested accommodation in which he’d often been forced to hide and instead acquired a comfortable lodging in a respectable area of the city. He now ate better food, slept in cleaner sheets and wore smarter clothing. To pass himself off as a gentleman, he behaved with the necessary airs and graces, carefully rehearsed in front of a mirror. Most of the work was spent on his voice, altering its timbre, perfecting educated vowels and learning ease of speech. His appearance had also changed. Gone were the straggly hair and the pinched cheeks. A well-trimmed beard transformed his face enough to fool someone as eagle-eyed as one of the Skillen brothers. Emboldened by that success, Scattergood felt that his mask gave him total anonymity.
It was time to go in pursuit of the reward money.
Seeing his friend’s palpable discomfort, Peter Skillen took pity on Hooper and suggested that he should return home and go back to work. Peter promised to report any findings to him later in the day. Relieved to escape, Hooper drove off in the trap. Peter was the only person who noticed that he’d gone. As far as Oxley was concerned, Hooper was never really there in the first place. Notwithstanding his hostility to Peter, Oxley talked freely about Sir Roger’s political career and how the man’s ideas had evolved over the years. David Mellanby supplied an occasional rider but, once
started, Oxley was difficult to interrupt.
It fell to Edmund, the elder brother, to bring him to an abrupt halt. Flinging open the door, he strode into the drawing room with a whip in one hand and his hat in the other, his riding boots shedding mud with every step he took. His voice was harsh, his eyes aglow and his manner unfriendly. After nodding to his brother and to Oxley, he switched his gaze to Peter.
‘And who might you be, pray?’
‘This is Mr Skillen,’ replied David, ‘and he’s taking part in the search for those involved in the murder of our father.’
‘Have any arrests been made yet?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ said Peter.
‘Why is there such a delay?’
‘Before we can apprehend those responsible, we have to identify them.’
‘Then why aren’t you in London doing just that?’
‘Mr Skillen has this absurd idea,’ said Oxley, rolling his eyes, ‘that the person behind the outrage might live here in Nottinghamshire.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ growled Edmund.
‘That was my view.’
‘We can’t rule anything out,’ suggested Peter, reasonably.
‘Someone killed my father. Go back to London and find him.’
‘There’s no need to shout, Edmund,’ said his brother. ‘You haven’t been properly introduced to our visitor yet. Why don’t you put your things down and take a seat? You’ve just ridden the best part of ten miles to get here.’
‘Where’s Mother?’
‘She’s taken to her bed. Our dear sister is with her.’
‘How are they coping with the news?’
‘To be frank, they’re not. Mother is distraught.’
‘Then your place is beside her, David. Since you took the ill-conceived decision to become a shepherd, why aren’t you offering succour to the most important member of your flock?’
David flushed. ‘I find that remark in the worst possible taste, Edmund.’
Rage of the Assassin Page 6
