Shadow of the Hangman (5 page)

‘Where in the world
are
they?’ yelled Yeomans, puce with rage.

‘They won’t get far, Micah,’ said Hale. ‘We’ve got the place surrounded.’

But another fifty men would not have been enough to catch Peter and Paul Skillen. Having escaped over the roofs of the adjacent houses, they’d already climbed down to the ground and were calmly making their way back to those awaiting them.

Fortune favoured the sailors. Though much smaller than the vessels to which they were accustomed, it was well built and scudded through the waves. A stiff breeze helped them to maintain good speed, so they were able to watch the shore move steadily past them. Moses Dagg was concerned.

‘You said we’d complain to the Prime Minister, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘We don’t even know his name.’

‘I do,’ said Tom O’Gara. ‘I asked one of the soldiers. It’s Lord Liverpool.’

‘Why should a lord bother with a couple of escaped prisoners?’

‘We haven’t really escaped, Moses. As soon as the peace treaty was signed, it was our right to be released. They shouldn’t have kept us in Dartmoor. It’s a point we’ll make when we write to Lord Liverpool.’

‘I think we’ll just be pissing in the wind.’

‘Well, we’ve done enough of that in our time,’ said O’Gara with a laugh. ‘Trust me. The British have got their faults – and lots of them – but they believe in justice. That’s all we’re asking for. We may be free but all of our friends are still there, being punished by Captain Shortland and his men. The governor is cruel. He enjoys
throwing prisoners in the Black Hole. I should know – I was one of them.’

‘Jake Hendrick was another. He went mad when they locked him away in the dark for a couple of weeks. When they let him out, he was still screaming.’

‘I walked out of there with a smile on my face,’ boasted O’Gara. ‘I wasn’t going to let the governor think he’d hurt me.’

Having sailed throughout the first night, they’d kept going until they came in sight of the Isle of Wight. Since they hadn’t eaten for over twenty-four hours, they looked for somewhere to land. A deserted cove allowed them to slip unseen ashore and to haul their craft onto the beach. They then climbed a rock face and took their bearings. There was a farmstead in the distance. After waiting until light began to fade, they approached stealthily and watched until their chance came. While O’Gara stole food from the kitchen with practised deftness, Dagg grabbed a bucket of water that stood beside the pump. They went hundreds of yards before they dared to fill their bellies and slake their thirst. Keeping some of the stolen rations, they made their way back to the boat and set sail once more.

Fate was less kind to them on their second night. Without warning, the wind dropped so they were forced to float for much of the time. More worryingly, dark clouds obscured the moon and stars so that they had no idea where they were or in what direction they were moving. When the wind suddenly freshened, it brought driving rain at its back and the two combined to create a storm of gathering ferocity. During their years in the navy, O’Gara and Dagg had weathered many a tempest but only in a frigate with a trained crew to battle the elements. This was a much more threatening experience altogether. Buffeted by the wind, lashed by the rain and tossed helplessly up and down by the heavy swell, they were
effectively sailing blind. Neither man had the slightest idea that another vessel was bearing down on them in the inky darkness. One moment, the sailors were bravely coping with their multiple problems; the next, they were struck by something large and powerful enough to smash their boat in two.

Flung into the sea, O’Gara and Dagg were soon swimming for their lives.

They gathered at the shooting gallery to discuss the events of the previous night. When Peter Skillen explained what had happened, Gully Ackford and Jem Huckvale shook with mirth as they envisaged Medlow dangling from a beam. Charlotte, however, was less amused by the account of her husband’s nocturnal exploits. She had already heard one version of it and repetition did not impress her any the more.

‘You’re courting danger if you take on the Bow Street Runners.’

‘It was they who set up the encounter,’ said Ackford. ‘They sent someone here in the guise of Everett Hobday to draw Peter and Paul into that house. I had the sense to let Jem trail the impostor back to Mayfair. As it happened, the property was indeed owned by the man whose name I was given.’

‘That contented me at first,’ explained Huckvale, taking over, ‘but I thought it best to be doubly sure. When I spoke to a second neighbour, I learnt from him that Hobday was an old man who suffered badly from gout.’

‘We soon got Medlow’s real name out of him,’ recalled Peter. ‘When you’re trussed up like a turkey and hanging by your feet, you have an incentive to answer questions honestly. Before we gagged him, Simon Medlow revealed the full dimensions of the plot and enabled us to turn the tables on Micah Yeomans.’

‘Bravo!’ cried Ackford, slapping the desk for emphasis.

‘I raise my hat to Peter and Paul!’ said Jem, whipping it off his head.

‘I see no cause for congratulation,’ said Charlotte. ‘Peter and his brother committed a crime. What will happen if this Simon Medlow sues them for assault?’

‘He would first have to answer for his own crimes, Charlotte,’ said Ackford, ‘and there are plenty of those. In committing the latest, he posed as Hobday and entered the man’s house when he had no legal right to do so. I don’t think he’d
dare
recount the circumstances that led to him being given the treatment he deserved.’

‘And you must consider the position of Micah Yeomans,’ added Peter. ‘He was the author of the conspiracy. Do you imagine for a moment that he will want anyone to know that he gave Medlow, a known swindler, two keys to the property entrusted to him by the real Mr Hobday? If it came out that Yeomans had employed a wanted man to dupe us, it would not only damage his reputation, it might well cost him his position as a Runner. In short,’ he went on, ‘Paul and I are in the clear.’

‘More to the point,’ said Ackford, holding up a purse, ‘we made a profit on last night’s entertainment. This was the deposit given in return for our services.’ His grin broadened. ‘I doubt that Yeomans will think it money well-spent.’

‘He won’t have the gall to ask for it back,’ said Huckvale.

‘No, Jem, to do that he’d have to admit that he was behind the ruse.’

‘Micah Yeomans will never admit anything,’ warned Peter, ‘but secretly he must be fuming. He invested several pounds and all he got in return was a naked scoundrel, named Simon Medlow, whom we’ll arrest the next time we clap eyes on him.’

The three men laughed afresh at the Runner’s humiliation. Once again, it was Charlotte who offered a more detached appraisal of the situation.

‘Two things alarm me about last night’s escapade,’ she said, ‘so I’m unable to find any humour in it. First, we must remember that Peter and Paul escaped by clambering over the roofs of the other houses. Think how easy it would have been for one of them to fall to his death. It would have been far more sensible to stay away from that house altogether and leave them to realise that their wicked little scheme had been foiled.’

‘We needed to make that point more forcefully,’ said Peter.

‘Did you need to risk your life in doing so? Second,’ she continued, ‘your triumph is only temporary. Yes, you routed Micah Yeomans last night but you forget that he has friends in high places. If you taunt him, he can make life very difficult for all of us. Savour your victory, if you must,’ she said. ‘Yet be prepared for serious trouble from Mr Yeomans. Of one thing we can all be certain – he’ll be back.’

When he arrived at the Home Office that morning, Viscount Sidmouth inhaled the pleasing odour of fresh polish. Every desk, table and chair seemed to glow. The carpets had been straightened, windows cleaned, ornaments and picture frames dusted and the wastepaper baskets divested of their contents. It was as if a dozen necessary women had spent the night cleaning the place. Since it had fallen to Bernard Grocott to seek a replacement, Sidmouth went off to the undersecretary’s office to thank him. That, too, looked as if it had been given a complete overhaul. Grocott sat behind a desk that had neat piles of letters and documents on it. When he saw the Home Secretary enter, he rose to his feet.

‘Good morning, my lord.’

‘I come to sing your praises.’

‘That’s always reassuring to hear.’

‘You have excelled yourself, Grocott, and – given the impossibly high standards you maintain – that is in the nature of a phenomenon. Wherever did you find this creature?’

‘Levitt came to us by recommendation.’

‘Who whispered her name into your ear?’

‘To be candid,’ replied Grocott, ‘I can’t be entirely sure. I was talking to a group of friends at my club and bewailed the loss of our necessary woman. Someone – it may or may not have been Sir Roger Hollington – plucked the name of Ruth Levitt from his memory. Later that evening, a piece of paper was thrust into my hand bearing the details of how she could be contacted.’ He ventured a smile. ‘The result is what you see all around you.’

‘Yes,’ said Sidmouth, surveying the room, ‘she has waved her magic wand in here and in every other part of the building. Her industry is remarkable.’

‘The night watchmen told me that she didn’t leave the premises until four o’clock this morning.’

‘What time did she start work?’

‘The moment the place was empty, Levitt took over. She’s much quieter as a personality than Horner but has the same urge to please. There is no better way of doing that, of course, than by creating a good first impression.’

‘She has most certainly done that.’

‘It’s very gratifying.’

‘All credit must go to you.’

‘That’s overstating the case, my lord,’ said Grocott with a
self-deprecating
smile. ‘I had providential help.’

Sidmouth’s brow furrowed. ‘Now that we are back once more in an environment conducive to thought,’ he said, ‘we can confront some of the dilemmas that assail us. Chief among those is this wretched business at Dartmoor.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Prison mutinies are always unsettling. Escaped convicts send a shiver of fear down every spine.’

‘They may have escaped but are they really convicts?’

‘Can there be any doubt of that?’

‘It’s a legal quibble, my lord. Technically, they were not convicted of anything but holding American citizenship.’

‘If one must be pedantic, they were war criminals who fought against this country. That makes them eminently worthy of confinement in my estimation. And this ringleader who was mentioned …’ He groped in vain for the name. ‘Assist me, please. Your memory is more reliable. All that I can remember is that he was of Irish extraction.’

‘I believe that he was called Thomas O’Gara.’

‘That’s the name.’

‘Have he and his accomplice been recaptured yet?’

‘Unhappily, no,’ said the other. ‘The latest news that’s reached me from Devon mentions that a small boat was stolen from somewhere on the southern coast of the county. While it may not have been taken by the fugitives, mark you, it’s logical to suppose that two sailors might opt for that particular mode of transport.’

‘They’d never cross the Atlantic in a vessel like that, my lord.’

‘Granted, but they might make for a port where they were likely to find a ship bound for America. That would be my theory, anyway. Captain Shortland, I know, would disagree.’

‘What is his opinion?’

‘Well, there’s clearly been some kind of personal feud between the governor and this disruptive Irishman. Shortland’s letter mentions O’Gara a number of times. He believes that the fellow will endeavour to use his freedom in order to cause severe embarrassment to everyone guarding the prisoners at Dartmoor.’

‘O’Gara will be wasting his breath,’ said Grocott, dismissively. ‘Nobody will pay the slightest heed to his voice. He is of no consequence here, my lord.’

‘I concur.’

‘Have you spoken with the Prime Minister?’

‘He and I are of the same mind,’ said Sidmouth. ‘He wants an investigation into the affair to be swift and decisive. That’s a view shared by the Admiralty. A joint commission is therefore being set up with a representative from the United States alongside our own. In a matter as sensitive as this, we have to be seen to be even-handed.’

‘Do you still believe that the result will be a foregone conclusion?’

‘Most assuredly – Captain Shortland will be exonerated and the outcry from our political opponents will gradually fade away. We can then get back to our normal day-to-day business. Thanks to Levitt,’ he went on, ‘we’ll be able to do it in an atmosphere of bracing cleanliness.’

‘Can this be true?’ asked Hannah, wide-eyed.

‘I would never dare to tell you a lie.’

‘You and your brother escaped over the rooftops?’

‘It was the best way,’ explained Paul Skillen. ‘There were far too many people waiting for us in the streets below. Peter and I counted well over a dozen on our way there. They lurked in every thoroughfare.’

‘But you could have been killed!’ she protested.

He gave her a low bow. ‘Happily – as you see – I was not.’

‘I’m serious, Paul! Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that you were about to take such a risk?’

‘I didn’t say a word because you would have tried to talk me out of it. And I made no mention of it when I returned here last night because I was preoccupied with the pure joy of your company.’

‘It was my right to know,’ she insisted.

Paul blew her a kiss. ‘And it was my right to choose the moment
when I should tell you,’ he said. ‘That’s why you first heard about it this morning.’

They had just finished breakfast at the house where Hannah was staying. After a night in each other’s arms, they’d awoken in a mood of drowsy ecstasy. It had just been shattered by Paul’s revelation. Though he did his best to calm her down, she remained anxious and resentful. After another triumphant performance onstage, she’d fought off her admirers, gone back to the house and waited for him. The moment he came back, they fell into bed together and everything else was put aside. It was only now that he chose to tell her the truth about his activities in Upper Brook Street.

‘How often do you do this sort of thing?’ she asked.

‘I skip across the rooftops every night,’ he joked.

‘This is no laughing matter, Paul. I had no idea that you diced with death so recklessly. Did you have no concern for me at all?’

‘Yes – that’s why I didn’t tell you beforehand. I didn’t want you to worry.’

‘My anxiety is all the more intense now that I know what you kept from me. I
care
for you. These past few days have been heavenly. I have felt true happiness at last.’ Her tone hardened. ‘Now I learn that my happiness could be snatched away any moment because you tempt Fate so wilfully.’

‘Hear the full story and you’ll not fret quite so much,’ he told her.

‘I’m not fretting, Paul – I am driven to distraction.’

Getting up from his chair, he bent down beside her and took her hand between his. He then gave her an attenuated account of the plot devised by Micah Yeomans, explaining how it had been discovered and frustrated. Paul pointed out that he and his brother were well able to perform difficult feats and had done so many times before.

‘We took a coil of rope with us, you see. That later became the
staircase that allowed us to descend to the ground. All that Peter and I had to do was to tie it around a chimney and climb down it.’

‘What if you had fallen?’

‘Then we would not be having this conversation.’

‘No,’ she said, tartly, ‘I’d be talking to the undertaker instead.’

She got up abruptly, walked to the window, pretended to be looking through it and took out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Paul went after her and put both hands on her shoulders. He whispered endearments in her ear but they were met with a cold silence. He eased her around to face him.

‘If you knew how many times Peter and I have done this sort of thing,’ he said, airily, ‘you wouldn’t have a moment’s disquiet. We were
born
to it, Hannah. We are natural acrobats.’

‘You’ve frightened me.’

‘I hoped that you’d be impressed, my darling.’

‘What is impressive about someone falling to his death?’

He spread his arms. ‘But I
didn’t
fall. The evidence stands before you.’

‘Stop taking this so lightly,’ she reproached. ‘I’m serious, Paul.’

‘I know.’

When he tried to hug her, she stiffened and pushed him away. He offered her an apology but she was well beyond its reach. Hannah was fully roused.

‘You told me that your brother is married,’ she said.

‘That’s true – to a dear lady named Charlotte.’

‘Did he tell
her
what he was intending to do last night?’

‘Probably not,’ he replied. ‘Why upset her when there was no need? Peter would have told her afterwards when the danger was past and she could see that he was unharmed.’

‘
You
were not unharmed by that tussle in the warehouse. I saw
the marks on your body. They were hideous.’

‘I explained that, Hannah. I had an accidental fall.’

‘You might well have had another last night and I would have been left alone to mourn you. It’s possible that Charlotte would have been mourning your brother as well. I didn’t realise that the pair of you were such madcaps.’

‘Some women might find that appealing,’ he contended.

‘Well, I am not one of them, Paul.’

When he tried to embrace her again, she stepped back out of his reach. He was perturbed. After the intimacy they’d shared, rejection was painful. Every time they’d been alone together before, she’d been warm and receptive. In the hope of winning her over, he offered a compromise.

‘You are right, Hannah,’ he admitted. ‘I should have told you.’

‘I’m glad you accept that.’

‘In future, I promise, I’ll be more considerate of your feelings.’

‘That would not come amiss.’

‘Next time,’ he vowed, ‘I’ll warn you if I have to face danger. You have my word of honour. Will that content you?’

‘No, sir,’ she said with biting anger, ‘it will not. You insult me by suggesting that it would. I’ll not stand idly by when you tell me that you are embarking on something that might conceivably end in your death. What kind of woman do you take me to be? Because she is married to your brother, Charlotte has no choice but to suffer whenever her husband walks towards danger. I am under no such compulsion regarding you.’

Rocked by her fury, all that he could do was to gesture his remorse.

‘There will never
be
a next time,’ she stipulated. ‘If you truly want me, you must give me proof of your love by giving up these
daring adventures. I am in earnest, Paul. Put me and my needs first,’ she went on, her voice acquiring a searing edge, ‘or you may take yourself out of my life for ever.’

Paul felt as if he’d fallen from a rooftop and hit the pavement hard.

While her husband took a leading role in the various investigations that came their way, Charlotte Skillen was no mere bystander. Unusual as it was for a woman in her position, she, too, worked at the gallery as part of what had become a thriving detective agency. Her role was largely clerical, the main elements in it being the listing of the various clients and the upkeep of a record book of criminals with whom they came into contact. As she sat at the desk that morning, she tried to ignore the sounds of gunfire from the upstairs room where Jem Huckvale was teaching someone how to discharge a pistol with a degree of accuracy. Having listened to Gully Ackford’s description of Simon Medlow, she added some details she’d gleaned from Peter. Though she had never seen the man, she was now confident of recognising him from the pen portrait she’d been given.

‘Of course,’ said Ackford with a chuckle, ‘Peter and Paul saw rather more of him than I did. He was dressed in his finery when he came here. Stripped of that, I daresay he’d find it more difficult to cozen anybody.’

‘This is an excellent description,’ she said as she read it through. ‘Had it been to hand when he first appeared, you’d have known him immediately.’

‘He was too sure of himself, Charlotte. That’s what alerted me.’

‘Medlow is in our record book now – right after Ned Greet.’

‘You may have to cross
him
out altogether very soon. Whether it’s to the scaffold or to Australia, Ned will be going where he can’t trouble any of us again.’

It had been Charlotte’s idea to compile the record book. A gallery of ruffians, thieves, forgers, fraudsters, fences, cracksmen, killers, cardsharps and those who ran disorderly houses had been created over the years by her elegant calligraphy. In cases where she’d actually seen an individual, she’d even added a little sketch of the person. Inevitably, men occupied the bulk of the book but there were some women who qualified for inclusion as well.

‘That collection of yours is a godsend,’ observed Ackford. ‘Someone walked in here last week and I
knew
I’d seen him before. Yet somehow I just couldn’t put a name to a face. So I resorted to that priceless book of yours and there he was in all his glory – Will Bickerton.’

‘Peter and Paul were chasing him a year ago.’

‘They’ll have to keep on chasing, Charlotte. When Bickerton realised I was suspicious, he vanished quicker than a rat down a drain.’

‘Why did he come here?’

‘He wanted someone to teach him how to shoot straight. That can often mean that someone is about to fight in an illegal duel but not in Bickerton’s case. He’d never have the courage to take part in a fair contest. A sly weasel of a man like him would prefer to shoot someone in the back.’