‘According to his younger brother, he’s long coveted a seat in Parliament. That might be why Paul met him outside the House of Commons. It’s conceivable that he’d gone there to gloat.’
‘He might equally well have wished to meet members of his father’s party. From what you’ve told me, the Whigs have lost their crusader. Perhaps the elder son wanted to offer himself as a replacement.’
‘Edmund Mellanby never offers, Gully – he simply takes.’
‘People of that class often have the same attitude.’
‘What sticks in my mind about him is that he and the family lawyer have gone out of their way to hamper my investigation. Why? Are they afraid that I might find out family secrets that could embarrass them? Is that the reason they’ve dismissed me as an irrelevance?’
Ackford cackled. ‘Then they certainly don’t know Peter Skillen,’ he said. ‘The more they try to brush you aside, the more determined you become.’
‘It’s true. Anyway, thanks for letting me air my thoughts. It’s enabled me to get them into perspective.’
‘Will you be seeing Mr Denley again?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Then pass on a message to him. The next time he decides to fight a duel, advise him to take some lessons from me beforehand. I can at least teach him the rudiments of swordplay.’
When he called at the house, Paul fully expected to be sent on his way. To his amazement, he was invited in. It was almost as if his arrival had been foreseen. He was ushered into the drawing room where Oswald Ferriday was ensconced in a leather armchair.
‘I had a feeling that you’d show up again, Mr Skillen,’ he said. ‘How did you get hold of my private address?’
‘I’m used to finding things I regard as important, sir.’
‘Evidently,’ said Ferriday. ‘I saw you briefly at the Home Office. You looked as if you had no idea who I was.’
‘I’ll think you’ll find that it was my twin brother, Peter, who went to see the Home Secretary. He worked as one of his agents in France.’
Ferriday was surprised. ‘There are two of you?’
‘Yes, and we’re both engaged in this enterprise.’
‘So your brother was one of those brave men who worked behind enemy lines, was he? I’m impressed. Espionage is an important tool of government.’
‘Is that why innocent members of Hampden Clubs are under surveillance?’
‘I’ll ignore that jibe and suggest that you sit down.’ Paul settled into a chair opposite him. ‘Now, please don’t abuse my hospitality.’
Ferriday was a middle-aged man who looked much older than his years. Time had twisted his body out of shape and given him a pronounced hump. His face was colourless and criss-crossed with deep lines. His voice, however, was crisp and his gaze searching.
‘I’m sorry that I shrugged you off earlier,’ he said. ‘Sir Marcus Brough scolded me for doing so. We may have fought against everything Sir Roger stood for but, in spite of that, we had a sneaking fondness for him. And we certainly want his killer brought to justice very quickly.’
‘It will take more than a few pious words to achieve that end.’
Ferriday was stung. ‘Do you doubt my sincerity?’
‘I’ve seen no sign of it so far, sir.’
‘Then what would you have me do?’
‘Cooperation with me and my brother would be a good place to start,’ said Paul, ‘and you’ve so far treated me like a leper.’
‘That was a mistake for which I’ve already apologised.’
‘It was only because Sir Marcus chided you. Without his intervention, you’d have kept me at arm’s length indefinitely.’
‘Listen, Mr Skillen,’ said the other, controlling his irritation, ‘I’ve agreed to speak to you even though I’m under no obligation to do so. If you have any questions for me, please ask them but don’t you dare badger me.’
‘I’ll do my best not to do so.’
‘Thank you.’
‘May I ask if you know a man named Hugh Denley?’
‘He’s not a close friend of mine, if that’s what you mean.’
‘But you are aware of who he is.’
‘Anyone who enjoys a glass of wine as much as I do is aware of Denley. I get my supplies from his company on a regular basis.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Ferriday. ‘I think it unlikely somehow. Mr Denley is in trade and – despite my position in the Cabinet – I never invite people like him into my social circle. What on earth would he and I talk about?’
‘So you know nothing of his family?’
‘Why should I? A wine merchant exists to sell wine. That’s enough for me. I don’t require an insight into his private life.’
‘Let’s turn to Sir Roger,’ said Paul, watching him carefully. ‘I understand that you and he had some battles in the House of Commons.’
‘I’m a Tory and he was a Whig. Disagreements between us were inevitable.’
‘I accept that. However, I’ve been told that there was rather more than a disagreement between the two of you, sir. It’s my understanding that you and he clashed over the imposition of the Corn Laws. Sir Roger launched a personal attack on you.’
‘He did that to anyone who didn’t agree with him, including members of his own party. I was one of many who felt the lash of his tongue.’
‘Why were you picked out?’
‘It was for no particular reason,’ said Ferriday, airily. ‘I was a member of Lord Liverpool’s government. That made me fair game.’
‘Oh, I fancy that it went deeper than that. He pilloried you time and again. Because you own extensive farmland, you represented everything he despised about the Corn Laws. You stood to gain from legislation that caused misery in the general population. Sir Roger hounded you.’
Ferriday’s face darkened. ‘You’ve been talking to Sir Marcus, haven’t you?’
‘He was more approachable than you.’
‘Sir Marcus is a good friend of mine but he does have a love of hyperbole. If you take his words too literally, you’ll be led completely astray. Besides, what possible connection can there be between my support of the Corn Laws and Sir Roger’s murder? Unless, of course,’ he added with a cautionary glint, ‘you’re alleging that a few harsh words from him provided me with a motive to have him killed.’
‘I didn’t say or imply that.’
‘Then what is your position regarding me?’
‘It’s not my position that brought me here,’ replied Paul, ‘but that of Sir Roger himself. The three politicians he regarded as his arch enemies were the Home Secretary, Sir Marcus Brough and you. It’s only natural that I would take an interest in all three people.’
‘I could name you dozens of other politicians who loathed Sir Roger.’
‘I’m only interested in the trio he specified.’
‘And what’s your conclusion?’ asked Ferriday. ‘Your brother has spoken to the Home Secretary and you have interviewed Sir Marcus and me. Have you obtained any evidence that the three of us were engaged in an assassination plot?’
‘It’s too early to say.’
‘Then the answer is that you haven’t and, I can assure you, that you never will because such evidence doesn’t exist. Not to put too fine a point on it, we regarded Sir Roger Mellanby as no more than a parliamentary nuisance. His oratory enlivened debates but we’ll manage quite well without it, thank you very much. Can you hear what I’m telling you?’ he continued. ‘We had no conceivable motive to silence his voice. It was simply a disagreeable noise in our ears.’
‘The people of Nottingham viewed him as a hero.’
‘That’s their prerogative.’
‘They’ll mourn him for a long time.’
‘Then perhaps they should take a closer look at the circumstances of his death,’ said Ferriday, nastily. ‘What was a married man doing outside the Covent Garden Theatre that night? Why was their hero hoping for a glimpse
of one of the most beautiful women in London? That’s how the so-called Radical Dandy should be remembered – as a pathetic figure in the grip of his sexual fantasies.’
Paul got to his feet and left abruptly.
While their arrest of Peter Skillen had been a mistake, Yeomans and Hale did have some reason to be pleased. They’d managed to convince Edmund Mellanby that they were getting ever closer to his father’s killer and that it was only a matter of time before he was caught. Back at the Peacock Inn, they had to face facts.
‘We haven’t really made much progress,’ admitted Hale.
‘Yes, we have. Fresh information comes in every day.’
‘It’s also coming in to the Skillen brothers. Perhaps it was a mistake to turn that man, Seth Hooper, away. We could have learnt a lot from him, Micah.’
‘He’s irrelevant,’ said Yeomans. ‘We have someone who can be of practical use because he was actually there when Sir Roger was shot.’
‘But Giles Clearwater has refused to help us.’
‘Yes, Alfred, and we know why. He has his greedy eyes on that reward. Well, we won’t let him get away with it. That’s why I set Ruddock on to him.’
‘That was several hours ago. He should have been back by now.’
‘Don’t panic, man. Buy me a pint of ale while we wait.’
They were soon settling down with their drinks. Hale was becoming increasingly pessimistic but he rallied when he saw Ruddock coming in through the door. He rushed over to him.
‘Thank goodness you’ve come, Chevy. We need you.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so, Mr Hale.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘Giles Clearwater, of course.’
‘We were hoping you’d bring him here,’ said Yeomans, joining them. ‘We need to have a serious talk with the man.’
‘That won’t be possible, Mr Yeomans,’ said Ruddock. ‘I could find neither hide nor hair of him. Nobody had ever heard of Clearwater, let alone befriended him.’
‘Are you daring to tell us that you failed?’
‘It was not for want of trying, sir. I spoke to hundreds of people.’
‘Clearwater is the only one who interests me.’
‘He’s vanished into thin air, Mr Yeomans.’
Hale was aghast. ‘Didn’t you find out where he lived?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t.’
‘We expected more from you than this, Chevy.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I kept at it for hours.’ He brightened. ‘There is one small ray of sunshine, however. In the Golden Crown, I met an old man who said that he vaguely remembered the name.’
‘What use is that?’ demanded Yeomans. ‘We need more than some old fool with a bad memory.’
‘He felt sure that it would come back to him. He asked me to leave my name and address so that he could send word when his mind cleared. I told him to contact me here.’
‘Who exactly is this man?’
‘His name is Simeon Howlett. He’s a retired actor.’
‘I’ll wager that he tried to cadge money off you.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ said Ruddock. ‘It was a drink.’
‘And you were stupid enough to buy it for him, I daresay.’
‘You’re far too soft-hearted, Chevy,’ said Hale. ‘People take advantage of you. This old man you talk about used you. He’s never heard of Clearwater and he’s not going to send you a message to confirm that he’s remembered something about the man. You were well and truly hoodwinked.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Hale,’ said Ruddock, head bowed in apology. ‘I did my best, sir. The truth is … he made me believe in him.’
Yeomans laughed cruelly and Hale rolled his eyes. They were about to admonish him together when the door opened and, right on cue, a boy entered.
‘I’m looking for a Mr Ruddock,’ he said.
‘That’s him,’ said Hale, pointing.
‘I’m to deliver this letter from Mr Howlett.’
‘There you are,’ said Ruddock. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘You’re to read the message and I’m to take your reply back to him.’
He handed the letter over and waited. Ruddock opened it and read what had been written in a spidery and barely decipherable hand.
‘Well,’ said Yeomans, ‘what does the fellow say?’
‘He says that he’s finally remembered who Giles Clearwater is.’
‘And who is he?’
‘He’ll only tell me if I go to the Golden Crown.’
‘It’s a trick,’ sneered Yeomans. ‘He just wants to get another free drink out of you. Tear up the letter and give this lad a clip around the ear for being party to this deception.’
‘It’s no deception, sir,’ said the messenger. ‘My parents own the Golden Crown. We know Mr Howlett very well. I’ve taken messages for him before. He’s always ready to help people. He said that Mr Ruddock was kind to him.’
‘I was,’ agreed Ruddock. ‘He deserved respect.’
‘So what are you doing to do, Chevy?’ asked Hale.
‘I’m going to walk back to the Golden Crown with this lad and see what Mr Howlett has to say. In sending this message, he’s kept his word. He obviously wants to pass on the information to me in private. So – if you’ll excuse me – I’ll be on my way.’
‘Report back as soon as you can,’ ordered Yeomans.
‘I will, sir.’
‘And don’t you dare buy the old devil a drink.’
‘If he tells me what I want to know,’ said Ruddock, defiantly, ‘I’ll buy him two glasses of whatever he chooses. I’m as anxious as you are to find this man and Mr Howlett knows exactly who Giles Clearwater is.’
Alan Kinnaird was beginning to lose heart. A light shower had driven him into the shelter of a doorway. For over an hour, he’d been keeping vigil on Newgate Prison, the most feared gaol in the entire city. Having adopted a more suitable disguise, Harry Scattergood had deliberately started an argument with two of the turnkeys and got himself locked up for his pains. It was supposed to be a demonstration of how easy it was to escape from the prison but, Kinnaird believed, his friend had for once failed. Instead of walking out of the place, Scattergood would be taken before a magistrate and given a sentence to make him show more respect to those employed to keep villains behind bars.
When the shower turned into rain, it was as if the weather was confirming Scattergood’s failure. The demonstration was over so there was no need to lurk outside the prison. Keeping to the shadows, Kinnaird made his way home, arriving there soaking wet. Having unlocked the door of his lodging, he went gratefully in.
‘What kept you?’ asked Scattergood, reclining in a chair.
Kinnaird gaped. His friend had done exactly what he’d promised. No prison could hold Scattergood for long. The demonstration had been a success, after all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When he took a cab to his club that evening, the first person Captain Golightly met was a man he’d once put forward for membership. Stephen Quine had been the doctor in Golightly’s old regiment and the two had become firm friends. After leaving the army, the doctor had been given a series of promotions and was now in charge of the most urgent post-mortems carried out in the city. His cheerful disposition was unusual in a surgeon but he always claimed that the dissection of the human body was an uplifting and educative experience and that he felt privileged to be involved in medical science.
Ordinarily, he rarely talked about his work when at the club because most of its members found a discussion of death to be far too morbid a subject over a companionable brandy. Golightly was the single exception. Having witnessed carnage on the battlefield, he had developed a thick skin. Quine was delighted to know someone to whom he could pass on what he felt was a significant discovery.
Once they’d ordered drinks, they sat side by side in armchairs.
‘How is life treating you?’ asked Golightly.
‘Very well,’ replied the
other, ‘but death – that’s been giving me the real excitement of late. However, you may not be in the mood for tales from the morgue. Please stop me if you find the subject inappropriate.’
‘That depends what the subject is.’
‘Guns.’
‘In that case,’ said Golightly, ‘talk as long as you like. Guns and rifles have saved my life on more than one occasion. I regard them as friends.’
‘You wouldn’t find this particular gun friendly.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s in the wrong hands.’
‘Could you be more precise?’
‘I stumbled on an extraordinary coincidence.’
‘Then please let me hear about it …’
His visit to Robert Vane’s lodging had been profitable. In addition to giving in to the opportunity to wreak his revenge on a man who’d tried to kill him, the assassin had recovered much of the money taken from his own lodging and was able to confiscate Vane’s small collection of weapons. There was an even greater bonus. Sifting through a pile of correspondence, he found a letter from the man who’d actually hired him to murder Mellanby. It gave details of how and when he himself was to be disposed of in St James’s Park. Unlike the missives he’d received from the same man, this one had an address. It put him one step closer to the person who had originally devised the plot to have Mellanby shot dead.
Once he’d made his escape from Vane’s house, he went to the address he’d found to weigh up the possibilities of breaking into it. It was a large, detached property with a garden at the rear. The rain was his accomplice, keeping many people off the streets. Under the cover of the darkness now falling, he climbed into the garden and inched forward towards the house so that he could try to work out the disposition of rooms. His paymaster had been in his thirties. He’d have a wife and, most probably, some children. There’d also be servants to bear in mind. The assassin had to move with care. He reasoned that the only safe place to enter the building was by means of the study. It would probably be on the ground floor and, since the man to whom it belonged had been so secretive by nature, it would certainly be locked. If he could gain access to it, the assassin might well be undisturbed. That, at least, was his hope. He was intending to make only a hasty visit. Once he’d found the name he was after, he would search for the money that should have been paid to him for his services.
Rage of the Assassin Page 19
