After returning home to shave, change and consume a hasty breakfast, Peter went straight out again. Instead of going to the shooting gallery to make his wife and the others aware of his return, however, Peter rode straight to the Home Office. It was situated in Dorset House on Whitehall and was a place he’d visited many times in the past. While he was anxious to speak to the Home Secretary, he knew that he might have to wait some time – some days even – for an appointment. Since he was no longer employed by Sidmouth as an agent, he could no longer expect to be accorded special treatment.
Fortune smiled on him. The first person he met as he entered the building was the Parliamentary Under-Secretary. John Hiley Addington was the Home Secretary’s brother and confidant. He recognised Peter immediately.
‘How nice to see you again, Mr Skillen,’ he said with genuine cordiality. ‘My brother didn’t tell me that you were coming to see him today.’
‘I haven’t made an appointment yet,’ explained Peter, ‘but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to do so. I’m fully aware of how busy the Home Secretary is. You and he are famous for your capacity for hard work.’
‘We are well matched by you and your brother, I fancy. The two of you have a reputation for being embarrassingly industrious.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘Your triumphs have not gone unnoticed,’ said the other. ‘And yes, it’s true that, like me, Henry is knee-deep in government business. But there’s always room for manoeuvre where old friends are concerned. Let me have a quiet word with him. If I tell him that Peter Skillen is here, he’ll be more than curious.’
‘I’m most grateful to you.’
‘Am I right in thinking that only a matter of some importance would have brought you here like this?’ Peter gave a firm nod. ‘Leave it to me. Find yourself a seat and keep your fingers crossed.’
After the trials of the journey back to London, it looked as if Peter’s luck might have changed. It was a fillip he certainly needed. Until he’d confronted the Home Secretary, he’d never have peace of mind.
Because he was conscientious and proud of his position as a guardian of the law, Chevy Ruddock was often given difficult assignments. When it was explained to him at the Peacock Inn, the latest one sounded particularly demanding.
‘Am I to work entirely alone?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Yeomans. ‘This is a task ideally suited to you.’
‘That’s why you were chosen, Chevy,’ added Hale. ‘We have faith in you. See it as a badge of honour.’
‘But I’m not sure where to start,’ admitted Ruddock.
‘We’ve given you a detailed description of Giles Clearwater and told you that he’s given to visiting theatres. Begin your search in Covent Garden.’
‘Clearwater is a dandy,’ said Yeomans, ‘and such men love to strut around the city to be noticed. You’ll soon pick up his scent.’
‘I’ll try my best,’ said Ruddock.
‘It’s important that we catch and shake the truth out of him. This fellow is actually daring to go in search of Sir Roger Mellanby’s killer in order to claim the reward money and make us look foolish.’
‘That won’t happen, Mr Yeomans.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mr Clearwater will never catch the assassin before the Skillen brothers. They always seem to be better at solving murders than anyone else.’
‘Forget them,’ snarled Yeomans. ‘I’ve already warned Paul Skillen to keep out of this investigation. The killer belongs to us. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then get out there and find Clearwater. When I get my hands on that cunning devil, I’ll put the fear of God into him. I’m not letting him steal the glory that rightly belongs to us.’
‘If I do find him,’ said Ruddock, hopefully, ‘and he does give us information that leads to an arrest, does that mean I get a share of the reward money?’ The stony face of Micah Yeomans was an answer in itself. ‘I’d better be on my way, then …’
In the interests of his safety, he fled from the inn.
They found Dorothea Glenn at her lodging, a rather grim, cheerless room at the top of a crumbling house. In concealing the truth from her, Paul and Hannah felt that they were being cruel in order to be kind. They were also being practical. If they’d told her that her beloved had been stabbed to death in an alleyway, the young actress would have been inconsolable. She’d have been in such despair that they’d have been unable to get the crucial information they needed out of her. Since she refused to believe that Price would ever let her down, she’d come to accept that something serious must have happened to delay him. Hannah soon convinced her that it was wrong to put herself through the agony of waiting alone in the vain hope that he’d turn up, and that she should return to their house where she’d have someone to look after her. Paul, meanwhile, would go in search of the truth about what had actually happened to Orsino Price. The promise brought tears to Dorothea’s eyes.
‘Would you really do that, Mr Skillen?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I would,’ said Paul.
‘But you hardly know me. Why should you care about somebody like me?’
‘You’re a friend of Hannah’s. That’s enough for me.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she cried, grasping his hands.
‘Paul will need your help,’ said Hannah. ‘If he’s to track down Orsino, he’ll want details about him that only you have. We’ve no wish to intrude on your private life, Dorothea, but I’m afraid that it’s unavoidable.’
‘I’ll tell you everything.’
‘That’s very sensible.’
‘First of all,’ said Paul, ‘let’s get you back to the house. We can offer you comforts that this lodging of yours clearly lacks. More importantly, you’ll have friends beside you to help you through whatever lies ahead.’
Even with the intervention of the Home Secretary’s brother, Peter had a wait of half an hour before he was conducted to the appropriate office. As he approached it, he passed the man who’d just left Sidmouth. Peter gave him no more than a cursory glance but, in return, he was the object of close scrutiny. The man stopped, stared and exuded an immediate hostility. When Peter turned to face the other visitor, the latter made a dismissive gesture with his hand, then walked off. Peter was bewildered.
The moment he entered the office, however, the incident was forgotten because Sidmouth came across to greet him with an outstretched hand.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Skillen,’ he said.
‘Affairs of state have to be dealt with, my lord.’
‘My brother and I seem to work all the hours that God sends us, yet we still make little impact on the problems that loom up before us on all sides. Political life is simply a well-dressed version of slavery. However,’ he went on, indicating a chair, ‘you didn’t come here to listen to my woes. I suspect that you have some of your own you wish to ventilate.’
‘I do, indeed, my lord.’
Sidmouth was a tall, square, rather bony individual of sixty with wispy grey hair. Not having seen him for some time, Peter was surprised at how much he’d aged. The lines on his face had increased in number and depth and his shoulders had become more rounded. What was unchanged was the air of decency and affability that Peter had always encountered in the past. Looking at him now, he couldn’t believe him guilty of the charges Seth Hooper had hurled at him.
‘Well,’ said Sidmouth, ‘what’s brought you here?’
‘I’ve taken an interest in the murder of Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘He was a fine politician. I disagreed with most of what he had to say but I admired him for his commitment and fighting spirit. He came from Nottingham, I believe. They breed strong men in that part of the country.’
‘I know, my lord. I’ve just come from there.’
Sidmouth’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Really?’
‘I was acting on behalf of a friend of his,’ said Peter. ‘The t
wo of them had come to London to speak at the Hampden Club. Unfortunately, Sir Roger was killed on the eve of the meeting.’
‘He’ll be a great loss to his family and friends.’
‘And to the cause that he championed, my lord. Nottingham worshipped him. The whole city is now in mourning.’ There was a long pause. Peter took a deep breath before continuing. ‘At a meeting of the local Hampden Club, your name came in for some … unkind treatment.’
‘What a pleasing euphemism that is,’ said Sidmouth with a laugh. ‘It’s not one that Sir Roger would have chosen. Whenever we talked in private, he used much more colourful language.’
‘I felt obliged to defend you.’
‘There was no need. Insults run off my back like so much rain.’
‘They were more serious than mere insults, my lord,’ said Peter. ‘Accusations were made against you. I objected strongly to them.’
‘Then I’m very grateful to you for doing that.’ Sidmouth leant forward across his desk. ‘What exactly were these accusations?’
‘It was said that you gave direct orders for the proposed march of the Blanketeers to be stopped in its tracks by dragoons. People were badly wounded in the process, my lord. They blame their injuries on you.’
‘That’s both untrue and unfair.’
‘I used those very words in your defence, my lord.’
‘Reports of the clash did eventually reach me, of course, and I was pleased to see that the magistrates behaved correctly in breaking up that march. One can’t have marauding bands of disaffected workers on the loose.’
‘We are talking about a peaceful demonstration, my lord,’ said Peter with a sudden passion in his voice. ‘The men from Manchester took great care to operate within the law and so did those whom I met in Nottingham. They are not unruly insurrectionists. They have legitimate concerns that they wish to have laid before Parliament.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like one of them,’ warned Sidmouth.
‘I take no sides in the matter. I just want the truth to be heard.’
‘And what do you conceive of as the truth?’
‘Having the advantage of knowing you in person,’ said Peter, ‘I refused to accept that you had sent spies to places like Manchester and Nottingham so that you were aware of what people were planning.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I couldn’t believe that the local magistracy was responding to direct orders from the Home Office.’
‘They know their job. I let them get on with it. As you can see from the way that my desk is covered,’ said Sidmouth, pointing to the piles of documents, ‘I have more than enough work to keep me busy. Where would I find the time to take a close interest in northern towns beset by dissidents?’
‘Sir Roger Mellanby was no dissident, my lord.’
‘Indeed, he wasn’t. He was a civilised man with a gift for debate that made him stand out from the general herd of parliamentarians.’
‘Some in that herd might have wanted him silenced.’
There was an awkward pause before Sidmouth rose to his feet.
‘Thank you for coming, Mr Skillen,’ he said. ‘It’s always a delight to see you because it revives pleasant memories of times when we worked so well together. That is something we can’t do on the matter you’ve brought before me today. Let me be clear. Agitators are at work throughout the country, trying to stir up trouble for us. As Home Secretary, I get reports on a regular basis from what are deemed to be places of incipient rebellion. I sent no spies to infiltrate those communities,’ he emphasised, ‘and resent being accused of doing so.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Peter, getting to his feet. ‘You’ve told me all that I’d hoped to hear. I bid you good day.’ After heading for the door, he suddenly paused. ‘May I ask who was in here with you before me?’
‘That was Mr Oswald Ferriday, the President of the Board of Trade.’
‘I see.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Skillen – and thank you for coming.’
Peter was hurt. There was no hint of sincerity in the farewell.
Now that he’d dispatched Chevy Ruddock on his search, Yeomans felt that he could afford to relax. He and Hale had the greatest confidence in the younger man. When he’d first joined a foot patrol, Ruddock had been raw and inexperienced. They were defects he soon eradicated, going on to become one of the most efficient men under Yeomans’ command. He was powerful, dedicated and tireless. In choosing him, they felt, it was only a matter of time before Clearwater was dragged to the Peacock to be interrogated by the senior Runners.
‘Chevy is the best man we have,’ said Hale.
‘I agree,’ said Yeomans. ‘It’s because I trained him so well.’
‘He thrives on action, Micah. In some ways, he reminds me of how I was when I was that age. I loved it when villains resisted arrest because it gave me the right to use real violence.’
‘Ruddock has only one vice.’
‘I don’t think he knows what vice is,’ said Hale with a snigger. ‘He’s never even sniffed the vices that we’ve enjoyed. Chevy’s too wedded to that wife of his.’
‘His vice is that he respects the Skillen brothers too much.’
‘He’ll grow out of that in time.’
‘Well,’ said Yeomans, ‘you heard him earlier. He told us that Clearwater wouldn’t claim that reward because Peter and Paul Skillen would grab it before him and – this is what upset me – before us.’
‘They won’t do that this time, Micah. You warned Paul Skillen off this case and his brother hasn’t been seen for days. For the first time in ages, we have no real competition – except what we’re getting from Clearwater, that is.’
‘We’ll soon crush his ambitions, Alfred.’
‘I’ll enjoy doing that.’
They replenished their tankards of ale and returned to their table. It was not long before they were interrupted. The door of the inn opened and in strode William Filbert, the oldest member of the foot patrols, a rather doddery, pipe-smoking man with an abundance of unwashed hair. Panting heavily, he’d obviously been running. His face was awash with sweat. He offered a letter to Yeomans.
‘I was told to give you this,’ he said.
Yeomans snatched it from him. ‘Who sent it?’
‘The chief magistrate – Mr Kirkwood said it was urgent.’
Tearing open the missive, Yeomans read it then let out a howl of such fury that everyone in the inn took a precautionary step backwards. The Runner was shaking all over as if in the grip of a fever.
‘What does he say, Micah?’ asked Hale.
‘He says that he’s just had a visit from Sir Roger Mellanby’s son who wants to know if we’ve caught his father’s killer yet or if Peter Skillen is likely to do that before us. And do you know why he asked that?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘It’s because Peter Skillen went all the way up to Sir Roger’s house in search of evidence. The son was outraged. He said it was our job to lead the investigation.’
‘He’s quite right.’
‘Do you see what this means?’ said Yeomans, grinding his teeth. ‘We’ll not only have the son breathing down our necks from now on, we’ll have the Skillen brothers to worry about as well.’ Tearing the letter to pieces, he threw it in the air so that it descended on Filbert like a minor blizzard. ‘This is your fault, Bill. Everything was going so well until you came through that door.’
‘I was only obeying orders,’ complained Filbert.
‘Well, here’s another order to obey.’ Grabbing him by the neck, Yeomans opened the door and flung him uncaringly into the street. ‘Get your disgusting old carcase out of here.’
‘Don’t blame him,’ protested Hale. ‘He was only the messenger.’
‘That letter has put me right off my ale.’
‘Bill Filbert didn’t write it.’
‘That makes no difference.’
‘What are we going to tell Sir Roger’s son?’
‘
I’ll think of something.’
‘The truth is that we’ve nothing at all to show for our efforts. That will make Sir Roger’s son very angry.’
‘Forget him for the moment,’ said Yeomans, flapping a hand. ‘We have a far bigger problem in the Skillen brothers. They’ve been conducting their own inquiry behind our backs, and you know where that may end.’
‘Yes, Micah. They might show us up once again.’
‘We can’t let that happen. It will take all the gloss off our reputation. Dealing with Peter and Paul Skillen must be our first priority. Whatever it takes, we have to stop them interfering once and for all.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Once they’d taken her back to the house, Dorothea Glenn seemed to calm down slightly. Though still tense and anxious, she was no longer desperate and tearful. Grateful that they’d come to her rescue, she was ready to cooperate with Paul and Hannah in any way they suggested. Once the three of them had settled down in the drawing room, Paul let Hannah do most of the talking because Dorothea had complete trust in her.
‘It’s clear from what you told me earlier,’ said Hannah, ‘that Orsino was entranced by you.’
‘He was,’ confirmed Dorothea. ‘You saw the letters he wrote. They came from the heart. Unlike other gentlemen who’d taken an interest in me, Orsino was kind and considerate. He never tried to … lead me astray.’
‘I’m sure that he was the perfect gentleman you describe. But there were several things you didn’t tell me about him. For instance, where did he live?’
Rage of the Assassin Page 14
