Steps to the Gallows (23 page)

‘She has no such right, sir,’ said Yeomans.

‘Then why did you bow to her wishes?’

‘Mrs Mandrake is a rather forthright lady, sir.’

‘Then she needed to be put firmly in her place.’

‘That’s a rather problematical task, Mr Kirkwood.’

‘Nevertheless, it should not have been shirked. The simple fact is that you allowed one of the Skillen brothers to take priority over you. That’s unacceptable. Get back to that shop, Yeomans, and assert your authority.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I will not have you treated as shabbily as this.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Find out what actually happened there last night,’ concluded Kirkwood, ‘and, above all else, evict Skillen from that print shop. Mrs Mandrake is all
yours
.’

Fired by the prospect, Yeomans emitted a maniacal laugh.

They were both allowed into the coach this time. Higlett was struck by its plush interior and by its relative comfort. He was also struck by the peremptory manner of their paymaster. He repeated the orders he’d earlier given to Fearon.

‘I’ll brook no mistakes this time,’ he said, menacingly.

‘There won’t be any, sir,’ said Fearon.

‘Are you both armed?’

‘We both have daggers and I have my special weapon.’ Fearon pulled a coil of rope from inside his coat. ‘This is what I used to garrotte Paige. It will serve to strangle the life out of his brother as well.’

‘If it doesn’t,’ said Higlett, sniggering, ‘I’ll stab him through the heart.’

‘It must be done as quickly and quietly as possible.’

‘If he has a room of his own, it will be easy.’

‘Fearon told me that burning down the shop would be easy,’ said the other, rancorously. ‘That proved to be a hollow boast. If you fail again, you know what to expect. I’ll have the pair of you skinned like rabbits.’ Fearon and Higlett quailed. The man produced a letter from his pocket. ‘This is a pass to get you into the King’s Bench. All you have to do is to find him and murder him.’

‘Where will you be, sir?’ asked Fearon.

‘I’ll be waiting outside the prison. When you come out, raise a hand to show me that Virgo is dead.’

‘He will be – dead as a doornail.’

‘That’s all I ask.’

Higlett smirked. ‘What about our reward?’

‘You get that when you kill Mrs Mandrake as well.’

The glazier and his apprentice arrived on site early. Having taken down the boarding, they assessed the damage. The large stone hurled with force through the window had broken many of the glazing bars and shattered most of the small windows. Repair would be lengthy and laborious. Diane Mandrake stood over them, issuing commands and urging them to be as quick as possible. Her attention was then diverted by the sight of two men walking towards the shop. In any other part of the capital, Micah
Yeomans and Alfred Hale sauntered down a street as if they owned it. Their gait was more tentative now. It was almost as if they were trespassing.

‘Good morning, Mrs Mandrake,’ said Yeomans, lifting his hat.

She was inhospitable. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We’ve brought a message from the chief magistrate.’

‘Then deliver it and be on your way.’

‘We represent law and order in the city,’ said Hale. ‘Mr Kirkwood wanted us to impress that upon you.’

‘In other words,’ added Yeomans, ‘you have no right to clear us away from your property. If we believe that a crime is imminent, we’re entitled to go wherever we wish. This is not meant as a criticism of you,’ he went on, trying to pacify her with a gruesome smile. ‘We admire your courage in the face of a possible threat, but we insist on being able to patrol this area without interference.’

‘Is that all?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, Mrs Mandrake.’

‘Then here’s my reply to the chief magistrate. When London is awash with crime, why does he permit the Bow Street Runners to spread themselves so thinly? The men on duty here last night would have been better used in districts of the city that are crawling with burglars and infested with harlots. I already had someone protecting me,’ she said, ‘and his presence was far more reassuring than that of you and your cohorts.’

Yeomans cringed. Wanting to be more forceful, he was held back by his adoration of the woman. When, as now, she was roused, there was a tension in her body and a fire in her eye that made her even more attractive to him. He wanted to reach out and embrace her but the only way he might be allowed that privilege was to catch those who’d tried to burn her alive. Glancing at the house, he was shaken afresh by the realisation that Peter Skillen
had actually spent the night there. The pangs of envy made him gasp for a moment.

‘I need to speak to Mr Skillen,’ he said, recovering his composure.

‘I will pass on any message to him, Mr Yeomans.’

‘We need to see him in person,’ said Hale, speaking with more authority than Yeomans was prepared to do. ‘Mr Skillen and his brother have a nasty habit of ignoring any messages passed on to them. We must confront him face to face.’

‘Then you will need to find him.’

‘Is he not still here?’

‘Mr Skillen left a while ago.’

‘Where has he gone?’ asked Yeomans.

‘He’s gone to do what you and your men should be doing,’ she said, sharply. ‘Mr Skillen is hunting the killers.’

Paul Skillen had a definite advantage in daylight. The window of his room looked down on the main courtyard. Since he commanded a good view of the gate, he’d stationed Snapper there as his lookout. The boy was gregarious and very popular among the other denizens. During the years he’d been in the King’s Bench, he’d got to know all of the turnkeys. When he lingered near the gate, therefore, he was able to chat idly to his friend, the keeper, while taking note of everyone who entered the prison. The two men who now presented a letter to the gatekeeper awakened his suspicion at once. One of them – a stocky individual with a square jaw and eyes unusually far apart – appeared to fit the brief description that Paul had given the boy. When he overheard the man asking where Virgil Paige could be found, Snapper walked swiftly away and gave his signal. Paul had been warned.

Fearon and Higlett followed the directions they’d been given. Higlett was uneasy.

‘I hate being behind prison walls again,’ he muttered.

‘There’s a difference this time, Sim. We can just walk out.’

‘What if he’s not here?’

‘He’s bound to be here. Paige is not allowed to leave.’

‘Who is that man in the coach, Abel?’

‘He’s the person who’s going to make us rich.’

‘How does he have the power to decide who goes in and out of prison?’

‘Just be grateful that we were the ones who got released.’

‘I don’t trust him,’ said Higlett. ‘He looks down his nose at us.’

‘Who cares? He filled our purses last time. There’ll be even more money when we get rid of Paige and that woman.’ They’d reached a door and halted. ‘His room is on the third floor. Let’s go up.’

‘Have you got the rope ready?’

‘Yes – keep a hand on your dagger.’

Paul heard them coming up the stairs. He stood outside his room, lounging against a wall with graffiti scratched into the brickwork. Concealed under his coat was a dagger but he hoped that it would not be needed because he was set on taking them alive. He’d arranged a distraction for his visitors. Everything he could lay his hands on had been piled on to the mattress and covered with a blanket so that it looked as if someone was still there. The footsteps were heavy and urgent. Two figures eventually came into view. The first was unmistakably Abel Fearon. He halted when he saw Paul.

‘We’re looking for Virgil Paige,’ he said.

Paul used his thumb to indicate. ‘He’s in there, fast asleep.’

‘Disappear.’

‘Why?’

Fearon glared at him. ‘Do as I say.’

‘I’m going, I’m going,’ said Paul, retreating.

But he only went down the first flight of stairs. When he heard the door of the room open, he ran swiftly back up the steps on his toes. The two assassins, meanwhile, were grinning as they stood over the body of what they thought was their intended victim. Rope at the ready, Fearon flung back the blanket and bent forward. ‘There’s nobody here!’ he yelled.

‘We’ve been tricked.’

As Higlett turned to face him, Paul snatched up the chair and brought it crashing down on his head, opening up a gash and making him reel. After hitting him again with the chair, Paul tossed it away then kicked him hard in the stomach. Higlett collapsed to the floor in agony.

Fearon was agog. ‘Who, in hell’s name, are
you
?’

By way of an answer, Paul leapt on him and got in a relay of telling punches before Fearon could retaliate. They grappled fiercely in what soon became a trial of strength, moving to and fro and trying to squeeze the resistance out of each other. Though Paul had to endure being spat in the face, he managed to avoid being bitten or headbutted. Fearon was a veteran of many pub brawls but he’d never met anyone as powerful and slippery before. He was slowly losing the fight.

‘Get up, Sim!’ he yelled. ‘I need help.’

‘He split my head open,’ moaned Higlett.

The next moment, Paul got a firm grip on Fearon, caught him off balance and threw him on top of his friend. As he tried to get up, Higlett was knocked to the floor again. Fearon was enraged. Hauling himself up, he pulled out his dagger and lunged at Paul
who evaded the weapon with ease, grabbed Fearon’s wrist and swung him so hard against the wall that the dagger was knocked from his grasp. Paul retrieved it quickly and threatened Fearon with it. Higlett, however, recovered enough to join in the fight. He seized Paul’s ankle and tried to drag him down to the floor. After kicking him viciously away, Paul used the handle of the dagger as a club, smashing it down on his blood-covered head until Higlett lapsed into unconsciousness.

Fearon lost his nerve. Making a dash for the door, he pushed Paul aside and ran out, descending the steps in a series of panic-stricken leaps. Determined to catch him, Paul went off in pursuit but the chase was short-lived. As soon as Fearon opened the door at the bottom of the staircase, he found his way blocked by a man holding a rapier. When he saw the face smiling at him, he reacted as if he’d seen a ghost.

‘I just left you upstairs.’

‘You must be mistaken,’ said Peter Skillen. His brother came charging into view. ‘This fellow had the temerity to accuse me of being
you
, Paul.’ He let the point of the rapier draw blood from his captive’s neck. Fearon gave a yelp, ‘But there’s no mistaking who
you
are, is there? Dear God, you’re even uglier than I thought.’

‘Where on earth did you spring from?’ asked Paul.

‘I sensed that you might need some help.’

‘The other one is flat out upstairs. I’d have caught Fearon as well.’

‘I saved you the trouble, Paul, and I didn’t miss out on the action. Thanks to you, he came running straight into my arms.’ He grinned at Fearon. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your neck, Mr Fearon. Don’t worry – the blood will have dried by the time the hangman puts a noose around it.’

He waited in the coach with increasing dread. Something had evidently gone wrong. A task which should have taken no more than a few minutes had stretched out to well over half an hour. They were not coming back. It was futile to wait for a signal that they’d never deliver. Somehow, he realised, Fearon and Higlett had been caught. That put his life in jeopardy. Grabbing his cane, he used it to bang furiously on the roof of the coach. It was imperative to get away as fast as possible.

‘Then what happened?’ asked Charlotte.

‘We took them before a magistrate,’ said Paul, ‘and they’re now in custody.’

‘So the danger is over?’

‘Fearon and Higlett pose no threat whatsoever now.’

‘That’s cheering news,’ said Paige, pumping his hand in congratulations. ‘Well done, Paul! You and Peter have taken a huge load off my mind.’

‘We all feel a sense of profound relief,’ said Charlotte.

Ackford was puzzled. ‘What I can’t understand is how Peter
knew
that you were in need of some help.’

‘It’s just something that happens,’ said Paul. ‘We’re brothers.’

‘Leo was my brother,’ Paige put in, ‘but I didn’t realise the peril
he
was in.’

‘It’s different with twins.’

They were in the office at the gallery, listening to an account of the arrests made at the King’s Bench. The mood was joyous. A shadow then fell on Paige’s delight. He suddenly looked hunted.

‘What sort of punishment will I get?’ he asked.

‘You shouldn’t get any at all,’ said Paul.

‘But I broke the rules by absconding from prison. When that sort of thing happens, the marshal can be very strict.’

‘Don’t have any qualms about him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Peter will sort everything out. He’s gone to see the Home Secretary. If you wish to be pedantic,’ said Paul with a chuckle, ‘then
I’m
the real offender. I aided and abetted your escape, I was a counterfeit prisoner and I instigated a violent brawl. Oh, and you can add on a charge of suborning a child to act as an accessory, because that’s what Snapper was. In all fairness, I should be locked up with you.’

‘Oh, it’s wonderful to be able to breathe freely again,’ said Charlotte. ‘That nagging fear has finally gone away.’

‘Not necessarily,’ her brother-in-law argued. ‘There’s still someone else to apprehend and that’s the man who employed those two killers.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Paige.

‘We don’t know.’

‘Fearon and Higlett must know, surely,’ said Ackford. ‘Didn’t you interrogate them?’

‘We did everything but stretch them on the rack, Gully, but they haven’t a clue as to his identity. He took immense care to conceal it from them.’

‘You can’t let him get away.’

‘He won’t, I promise you. Peter will see to that.’

‘I think we already know his name,’ said Charlotte, confidently. ‘It’s Gerard Brunt. He’s the suspect that Peter picked out, anyway.’

‘My mind is turning towards Julian Harvester,’ said Paul, thoughtfully. ‘Our prisoners told us that he had a sumptuous coach and seemed to be made of money. That description fits Harvester like a glove.’