Shadow of the Hangman (16 page)

‘He thought I was
you
, Paul,’ said his brother, ‘and he all but fainted when I tapped him on the shoulder. It was almost as if Yeomans had failed to warn the poor oaf that there were two of us.’

‘What he hopes to gain by standing out there is beyond me,’ said Paul. ‘I led him a merry dance the other day, then Jem dipped him in the river for his pains.’

‘Leave him to his own devices. We have more important things to discuss than a lame-brained Runner.’

They were seated opposite each other, enjoying a cup of coffee. Paul was unusually subdued but Peter was animated. After another sip, he jabbed a finger.

‘My mind keeps coming back to that money,’ he said.

‘What money?’

‘The banknotes I found under Anne Horner’s bed.’

‘If I’m in a woman’s boudoir,’ said Paul with a grin, ‘then the real treasure is in the bed itself. I’d never waste time looking underneath it. Flesh and blood is much more enticing than paper money.’

‘How did it get there?’ asked Peter, ignoring the digression.

‘Perhaps she stole it.’

‘There’s no question of that, Paul. The woman has a spotless reputation.’

‘Some people have secret lives.’

‘Mrs Horner is not one of them. She’s no thief so you can dismiss that explanation. Nor did she obtain the money by blackmail,’ Peter went on, ‘or by selling her favours. Both hypotheses are wildly out
of character. It would be like you becoming Pope or me flying to the moon and back on a broomstick.’

‘Strangely enough,’ teased Paul, ‘I’ve always had leanings towards the Old Religion. And there’s something curiously appealing about the papacy. Being serious, however,’ he said, ‘I think you should forget Mrs Horner until these men are caught.’

‘They take priority – and rightly so – but I can’t just flush the woman from my mind. Her abduction is in some way linked to the Home Office and I want to find out how. She needs rescuing.’

‘Let’s turn to the fugitives first. I still feel that Nason might lead us to them. That’s why I sent Jem to that address you gave me. If the scrivener goes to see those men, Jem will follow him like a bloodhound.’

‘He’s wasting his time,’ said Peter, ‘just like that fellow watching you. Nason is too frightened to go anywhere near O’Gara and Dagg and they certainly wouldn’t tell him where they’re hiding. He’s served his purpose and they’ve cast him aside.’

‘Then we should arrest him.’

‘What’s the point?’

‘He helped them frame their demands, Peter. He’s an accomplice.’

‘Nason helped them against his will. He’s a miserable little man with nothing to recommend him but I don’t think he deserves to hang for his part in the business.’

‘Hand him over and we’d get a reward.’

‘Spare him and we’ll feel we showed generosity of spirit.’

Paul laughed. ‘Since when do we let
that
get between us and our job as detectives?’

‘Nason is irrelevant now,’ said Peter. ‘He told me where to find them and that’s the last we’ll hear of him. Let the poor wretch slip back into obscurity.’

‘What do we do in the meanwhile?’

‘We keep looking for them and we count the days.’

‘Why should we do that?’

‘It’s not all that long before we have the celebrations to mark the victory at the Battle of Waterloo. Every politician of note will be there, Paul. If you had a grudge against the Home Secretary, what would
you
do?’

Paul grinned. ‘I’d wait until he came out in the open and I’d kill him.’

‘That’s why we must count the days until the event takes place.’

After his latest foray into the city, Dermot Fallon came back to the ship with two presents for them. The first was the news that a fight had been arranged later that week but that one of the contestants had been forced to withdraw because of illness. By using all his charm, Fallon had persuaded the stakeholder that Moses Dagg – rechristened the Black Assassin – would be the perfect substitute. Having found out all he could about the other boxer, Fallon was confident that the American would have no difficulty in beating him. Tom O’Gara was delighted with the news but Dagg still had reservations about appearing in public. It took a long time for them to persuade him that there would be no risk of being identified as a wanted man.

‘You said that you had two gifts for us, Dermot,’ recalled his cousin.

‘That’s right, Tom.’

‘What’s the other one?’

‘It’s here in my pocket,’ said Fallon, extracting a scrap of newspaper. ‘I tore this out when I saw it. It’s a gift from the gods.’

‘Show me,’ said O’Gara, taking it from him to read.

‘What does it say?’ asked Dagg.

‘Let me finish it first.’

‘Is it about us?’

‘No,’ said O’Gara, waving the paper in the air, ‘it isn’t directly about us but it’s just what we need. The Battle of Waterloo is going to be celebrated in Hyde Park with huge crowds milling around. The Home Secretary is bound to be there. Can you guess what I’m thinking, Moses?’

‘Yes, I can,’ said Dagg, chuckling. ‘It’s our chance.’

‘Take it,’ urged Fallon.

‘We will.’

O’Gara tapped the piece of paper. ‘Let’s make a note of this date because it could well be the day when he dies. If Viscount Sidmouth hasn’t answered our demands by then,’ he vowed, ‘we’ll assassinate him as we promised and show this whole damn country that we mean to get our way.’

Like his brother, Peter Skillen was punctilious about keeping himself extremely fit and maintaining his proficiency with various weapons. Adept at fencing, he could always match Gully Ackford without ever quite being able to win a bout against him. When they finished their practice that afternoon, both were perspiring slightly but it was Peter who was breathing more heavily.

‘You always make me work so hard, Gully,’ he complained.

‘Attack is the best form of defence. You fought me off very well. When I last crossed swords with Paul,
he
was the one launching attack after attack. It was all I could do to cope with him.’

‘Paul likes to spice his swordsmanship with aggression.’

‘He was almost demented.’

‘I think I can see what’s coming,’ said Peter with an understanding smile. ‘You want an explanation of my brother’s fiery temper but I simply don’t have one. Charlotte is the person to ask.’

‘I approached her,’ said Ackford, ruefully, ‘and I was rightly slapped down for being so nosy. Charlotte doesn’t break confidences.’

Peter beamed. ‘I’d entrust her with any secrets.’

‘I didn’t know that you had any. Paul, however, is a different kettle of fish. He’s a man of many secrets.’

‘Ladies seem to find that a source of attraction.’

‘Perhaps that’s why I have little appeal to the gentler sex,’ said Ackford with a world-weary sigh. ‘I lack any whiff of secrecy. I’m an open book.’

Peter patted him affectionately on the back. ‘It’s one that’s always profitable to read, Gully.’

Charlotte came into the room with the news that a visitor was asking to speak to him as a matter of urgency. Her husband showed immediate interest.

‘Did he give his name?’

‘He refused to do so,’ she replied.

‘Did he say what it concerned?’

‘It is for your ears only, apparently.’

‘I think I smell secrecy in the air,’ said Ackford.

‘What manner of man is he?’ asked Peter.

‘He’s well spoken and well dressed. But he’s rather furtive. He was shocked when he saw me and realised that a woman was employed here. I thought for a moment that he was on the point of leaving.’

‘Then I’d better grab him before he goes,’ said Peter, slipping on his coat. ‘Thank you again, Gully.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ said Ackford.

Leaving them together, Peter went downstairs and went into the room used as an office. The stranger was hovering beside the desk, and seemed unsure whether to stay or go. He was a tall, slim, fidgety man in his early forties with side whiskers covering both cheeks and heavy eyebrows beneath which a pair of darting eyes could be seen. Peter had the feeling that he’d seen the man before but he couldn’t
remember where. He’d certainly never been introduced to him and was not about to learn his name now.

‘If you wish for instruction,’ said Peter, ‘the person to talk to is Mr Ackford. He owns and runs the gallery.’

‘I only wish to speak to you, Mr Skillen.’

‘May I know your name, sir?’

‘I first have to establish if you’re able to help me. Only then can I disclose more detail about myself.’

‘Why did you seek me out?’

‘You were highly recommended.’

‘Can I at least know the identity of the person who spoke up for me?’

‘It will become clear in due course,’ said the man, appraising him shrewdly. ‘If, that is, I decide to engage your services.’

‘I am already at full stretch, sir,’ said Peter, ‘and am unable to take on new assignments. If you’ve come in search of a detective, I am not the only one here. Mr Ackford taught me all I know and Jem Huckvale, his assistant, is equally astute in matters of detection. Either of them would render you good service. Then, of course, there is my brother, Paul.’

The visitor was categorical. ‘I am only interested in
Peter
Skillen.’

‘I am not available, I fear.’

‘When you hear what I have to say, you may change your mind.’

Heavy footsteps went past in the corridor outside and startled the man. Peter led him across the room and indicated a chair. When they sat down, Peter spent a few minutes trying to calm him and stop him looking over his shoulder all the time. He looked at the man’s hands. They were clenched tight and his whole body was tense. Evidently, it had taken a supreme effort for him to come forward. Peter had to draw the answers out of him.

‘I can see that you are in some kind of trouble,’ he said.

‘It’s true,’ admitted the man.

‘And you’ll only give me the details if absolute discretion is guaranteed.’

‘I was told that was what you’d provide, Mr Skillen.’

‘Then your mystery informant did not mislead you.’ Peter waited for him to speak but the man was tongue-tied by shame and embarrassment. ‘Are in you any danger, sir?’

The visitor’s head drooped. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Have you received a death threat?’

‘That’s what it amounts to,’ said the other with a flash of anger. ‘If I don’t comply, they’ll destroy me. I’ll lose my family, my friends and my position.’ He reached out to grab Peter’s wrist. ‘You must help me, Mr Skillen!’ He released his hold as if he’d just touched red-hot metal. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’ve no right to impose on you like this.’

‘You’ve every right,’ said Peter. ‘When I first came in here, I had an idea that I might have seen you before and I’ve now remembered where.’ The man was aghast. ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t reveal the fact that you sought my help to anybody. A lot has already been explained to me. I know, for instance, who recommended me.’

‘He must
never
know of this conversation,’ pleaded the man.

‘He will not do so from me.’

‘Do I have your word?’

‘You may have it in writing, if you so wish.’

The man subjected him to a long, searching stare then chewed his lip before speaking. He told his story in the third person as if it had happened to someone else altogether. Peter heard of a man of good education and unflagging industry who’d worked his way up to a respectable position as a result of his service to the state. He’d
married, been a devoted spouse and helped to raise two children. His wife was then struck down with a wasting disease and he nursed her lovingly until the point when he could no longer cope on his own so he’d brought a woman into the house to provide care.

Peter guessed rightly that this paragon would have a weakness. And so it proved. The man was under such unbearable pressure that he needed some support and he found it in drink. At home and at work, he began to rely on a regular nip of brandy. While it gave him the strength to carry on, it also befuddled him slightly. When he’d had too much to drink on one occasion, temptation had crossed his path.

The man pressed on, confessing his sin yet absolving himself at the same time. What he’d done was, in his opinion, at once appalling yet forgivable, a betrayal that should arouse condemnation while at the same time being an act of redemption.

It did not take Peter long to put a name to one of the central characters in the story. He finally understood why there’d been so much money under her bed.

Anne Horner was now so consumed by guilt that she barely thought about anything else. Instead of seeing herself as a victim, she came round to the view that she was serving a sentence that had been rightly imposed on her. It was a form of penance. She no longer complained or dreamt of escape. Even though it had diminished in quality and quantity, she accepted the food with gratitude. Her gaolers noted the difference in her. When she brought in a meal that day, the woman was curious.

‘Something has happened, hasn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes, it has. I’ve been thinking.’

‘And what have you decided?’

‘I know why I’m here.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.’

‘This is my punishment, isn’t it? Someone put me in here deliberately.’

‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘we did but it was not to punish
you
. Our intention is to punish someone else.’

Anne was bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’

‘All will become clear one day.’

‘Who are you and why does that man never speak to me?’

‘That’s the way it has to be.’

‘Why pick on me?’

‘It’s quite simple,’ said the woman, smiling. ‘You’re an asset.’

Peter Skillen listened to the long narrative attentively, even though he’d worked out the
denouement
well before it was reached. In his story, the visitor stressed that nothing improper had actually taken place between the man and the woman. Temptation had flickered but been resisted. What had grown up was a deep and loving friendship that in no way threatened the man’s marriage or the solemn vows by which it was protected. Throughout his tale, the visitor made much of the concept of respectability. He did everything in his power to convince his listener that he had in no way deviated from it.

‘Perhaps we could abandon this charade,’ said Peter, pointedly. ‘We both know that you’re a clerk at the Home Office. I remember passing you on the stairs one day. The unnamed woman in your story is Mrs Horner and she’s enduring great suffering because of you. All that you have to contend with is a ransom demand. Her problems are far more serious.’

‘Do you think I don’t realise that, Mr Skillen?’

‘You claim that nothing untoward occurred between the two of you.’

‘On my honour, it didn’t.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about. Tell your wife what you’ve told me and the problem disappears. If they are in no position to cause you embarrassment, the kidnappers will lose their bargaining position.’

‘But Anne – Mrs Horner, that is – might be hurt as a result.’

‘That’s a separate matter. I first want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you’d have no qualms about repeating what you told me to your wife.’ The man’s eyelids fluttered like butterflies. Peter was blunt. ‘I think that you’re being less than truthful, sir, and on that basis I must turn down your request.’

‘No, no, I beg you to help me.’

‘I am already hired to find Mrs Horner. She
deserves
my help.’

‘So do I,’ cried the man. ‘Look, I apologise if I’ve been overly mysterious. My work means everything to me, you must appreciate that. If I were dismissed, untold misery would alight on me and my family.’

‘What is your damn name?’ demanded Peter. ‘There’s no point in hiding it from me now. I can easily find it out by enquiries at the Home Office.’

The man nodded in defeat. ‘It’s Beyton.’

‘Then please stop trying to arouse pity in me, Mr Beyton. You may as well know that I value Mrs Horner’s safety at a far higher price than I do your domestic harmony. If she’d not been led astray by you, she wouldn’t now be in such danger.’

‘I didn’t exactly lead her astray, Mr Skillen.’

‘Let’s not quibble about phrases, shall we? Suffice to say that something of significance took place between you and this is the outcome. Mrs Horner is being held somewhere and you’ve had a ransom demand. May I see it, please?’

‘Of course,’ said Beyton, pulling a letter from his pocket and handing it over. ‘As you can see, if the money is not paid, Mrs Horner may be harmed.’

‘And your wife will learn some unpalatable truths about her loving husband,’ said Peter, sharply.

He read the ransom demand. It was short but explicit, asking for a certain amount of money and threatening repercussions if it were not paid. Beyton had been given a short time in which to collect the ransom. Details of when it was to be handed over would be sent to him before too long.

Peter handed the letter back. ‘This is very troubling.’

‘Yes,’ groaned Beyton, ‘and the worst thing is that it’s entirely my fault.’

Burying his head in his hands, he began to sob quietly. Peter felt no sympathy for him. What he saw was a snivelling clerk who had taken advantage of a servant then insisted that nothing inappropriate had taken place. There was a yawning social gap between them. Peter refused to believe that Anne Horner had either the skill or the inclination to seduce him. The initiative must have come from him and – whether out of pity for the man or from fear that she might lose her job if she refused – she had complied. In trying to introduce elements of romance into his account of the relationship, Beyton had gone too far for Peter. The cleaner had been set on simply because she was there. Frustrated by an arid domestic life and inebriated with brandy, Beyton had lusted after a woman. The clerk finally admitted it.

‘I had a power over her,’ he murmured, ‘and I used it. But it was only once or twice,’ he went on, gesticulating with both hands. ‘I was so driven by desperation that I couldn’t help myself. Mrs Horner didn’t dare to resist but she didn’t welcome my advances either. It
was shameful, I know. When it was all over, I was disgusted. I
forced
myself on the poor woman.’

‘Then you paid her to keep her mouth shut afterwards.’

‘No, no, she refused to take a penny.’

‘Then how did the money get into her hands?’

Beyton was staggered. ‘You
know
about that?’

‘I was allowed to search Mrs Horner’s lodging. It was under her bed.’

‘I posted the money to her,’ he explained. ‘She tried to give it back to me a couple of times but I rejected it. I thought I owed it to her, Mr Skillen.’

‘You owe her a lot more than that,’ said Peter, flatly.

Beyton was distraught. ‘What must I do?’ he asked. ‘How can I get out of this deep pit I have dug for myself?’

‘The first thing you must do is to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mr Beyton. That will advantage nobody.’

‘I agree, I agree.’

‘You must regain some composure, sir. If you behave like this at the Home Office, you will soon give yourself away. You have many perceptive colleagues, Mr Grocott among them. Let him see you in this state and you are doomed.’

‘You are right. I must exercise care.’

‘Discharge your duties in the normal way.’

‘What about the ransom?’

‘You must pay it.’

‘But my savings will disappear completely, Mr Skillen.’