Steps to the Gallows (21 page)

‘I didn’t realise that you were here,’ he said.

‘I was very well aware of
your
presence, Sir Humphrey. As soon as we entered, I saw you and your entourage up in your box.’

‘Three or four old friends hardly constitute an entourage. I like company when I come to the theatre – and at a cricket match, of course. Incidentally, what did you think of the second day’s play?
It even surpassed the standard set on the first day.’

‘Unhappily, I was not there.’

Sir Humphrey was shocked. ‘You
missed
an event like that?’

‘It was unavoidable.’

‘Nothing would have kept me away.’

‘Duty called, I fear.’ He glanced in the direction of the auditorium. ‘Are you enjoying the performance?’

‘I’m thoroughly enjoying the music and the singing. It was a stroke of genius by Sheridan to make it into a comic opera. Such a pity that he’s not here to bathe in the waves of applause.’

‘Yes,’ said Harvester, ‘he’s a great loss. I attended his funeral earlier this month. Such a sad end for such an extraordinary man! The fellow died in penury. They say that his house was stripped of its furnishings because he’d been forced to sell them off. How can we let our great playwrights sink to such depths?’

‘Sheridan was a fine playwright, I grant you, but he was less successful as a politician. I know that,’ said Sir Humphrey, ‘because I had to sit through his speeches. Some were good and well argued but others … well, they’re best consigned to history. I vow that he’ll be remembered much more for his work in the theatre than for his political career. His last appointment was as treasurer of the navy – without Cabinet rank – and he didn’t distinguish himself in that post because he wasn’t prepared to work hard enough.’

‘Nobody works hard enough in Parliament,’ teased Harvester. ‘You all hold sinecures.’

Sir Humphrey laughed. ‘I’m in too good a humour to rise to the bait.’

‘Then I’ll stop dangling it in front of you.’ He stepped in closer. ‘What do you think of the angel playing Louisa? Isn’t she a perfect darling?’

‘Miss Villmont is competent in the role, Julian.’

‘Come now – she’s much more than that. Look around you, Sir Humphrey. See the covetous smiles on men’s faces. She’s bewitching. Every time she steps on stage, she sets hearts aflutter.’

‘She did nothing whatsoever to mine, alas.’

‘Have you no eyes – have you no ears?’

‘I have the requisite number of both.’

‘Then open them wide, man. This is the performance of the season. I’m astonished that a connoisseur of the fair sex such as you does not appreciate her magnificence. Miss Arabella Villmont is the finest actress in London.’

‘That’s only because someone else has vacated the stage for a while.’

‘Ah,’ said Harvester, realising, ‘you speak of Miss Granville.’

‘I do, indeed,’ said Sir Humphrey with a lubricious smile. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss Villmont is base metal to Hannah’s pure gold.’

Prison was not a place for those who valued peace and quiet. At all hours of the day and night, it reverberated with noise. Paul Skillen heard shouts, screams, violent arguments and unidentifiable bangs. He tried to block out the sounds by thinking about the last time he’d seen Hannah Granville. It had been in the port of Dover when she embarked for France. After an exchange of promises on the quayside, he’d given her a farewell kiss then stayed until the ship set sail. Paul had assumed that she’d win the hearts of the Parisian public as quickly and easily as she’d done so with their English counterparts.

Paul was realistic. When he fell in love with a beautiful woman, he knew that she’d be the object of continual male attention. Even if she were married, she’d find admirers clustered around the stage door and receive unsolicited gifts from those who sought to win
her favours. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Instead of worrying about it, therefore, he saw it as something of which to be proud. Paul relished the envy of other men. He actually enjoyed what so many of them sought. What did trouble him, however, was the way that old roués like Sir Humphrey Coote looked at her. They didn’t see her as the lively, intelligent and gifted woman she was in reality. Hannah Granville was to them simply one more conquest.

He remembered the cartoon that his brother had been given as a present by Diane Mandrake. It depicted Sir Humphrey cavorting with a prostitute while dozens of others waited outside to take their place in his bed. While it had made him laugh, it had also disgusted him and he now squirmed at the memory of sitting beside the man at a cricket match. Sir Humphrey Coote was an amiable monster. There were many others like him. That was why Hannah had turned to someone like Paul. When they were together, she could feel that she had a protective ring of steel around her.

Another aspect of the drawing came to mind and it prompted a grin. It was the sight of Micah Yeomans struggling to keep the queue of harlots in order. It was, in Paul’s view, a telling comment on the Runner’s abilities. All that he was fitted for was to act as a doorman at a brothel and as a pimp for Sir Humphrey Coote. There was no doubting the latter’s generosity. On the table beside the bed was a huge pile of banknotes. Sir Humphrey was ready to pay extravagantly for his pleasures.

What price would he set on the favours of Hannah Granville?

The moment that light started to be sucked out of the sky, Chevy Ruddock was back on patrol in Holborn. Bolstered by his wife’s ecstatic reaction to the news of his heroism in the face of the fire,
he was eager to be given the opportunity to repeat it in a different emergency. He was striding along with his head held high when Yeomans came up to him.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said.

‘Remember what I said, Ruddock.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The moment you see anything remotely suspicious, you come and fetch us.’

‘Why don’t you simply walk up and down with me, Mr Yeomans?’

‘Do as you’re told, man.’

‘I just wondered why you and Mr Hale are lurking around the corner.’

‘There’s a reason for that.’

He refused to tell Ruddock what it was. Micah Yeomans had been expressly forbidden by Diane Mandrake to loiter outside her shop. To win her approval, he accepted her edict. At the same time, he was determined to be on hand in case another crisis occurred.

‘What exactly did he say?’ asked Ruddock.

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘The chief magistrate – you mentioned my name to him.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Yeomans, briskly, ‘I put in a good word.’

‘What was his reply?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘My wife was so impressed. She loves to hear praise of me.’

‘I can’t remember it word for word,’ said Yeomans, evasively, ‘but he said that you were a shining example.’

‘Agnes will love that phrase – a shining example.’

‘He said the same about me, of course. You shared some of my lustre.’

He was about to give further instruction when he saw the
door of the print shop open. Peter Skillen walked across the road towards them. Yeomans was outraged at the thought that his rival was actually inside the house when he was not even allowed to stay outside it.

‘I understand that congratulations are in order,’ said Peter, pleasantly. ‘Mrs Mandrake has told me how grateful she is.’

‘I raised the alarm about the fire,’ said Ruddock.

‘Be quiet,’ hissed Yeomans.

‘Well, I did, sir.’

‘Mrs Mandrake is well aware of that,’ said Peter. ‘The message she’s sent me out to deliver is that she no longer needs you on patrol. I have supplanted you.’

‘You mean that you’re staying in there all night?’ gasped Yeomans.

‘I insisted on it.’

‘But it’s not your place to do so.’

‘We go wherever we’re needed, Mr Yeomans.’

Ruddock peered at him. ‘Are you Mr Peter or Mr Paul Skillen?’

‘Haven’t you learnt to tell the difference yet?’

‘No, sir.’

‘This is Paul Skillen,’ said Yeomans, authoritatively.

‘My brother will not be flattered,’ said Peter. ‘Actually, I’m Peter Skillen.’

‘I had a feeling that you were,’ said Ruddock.

‘Disappear,’ snarled Yeomans. ‘Wait at the end of the street.’

‘Oh, yes … if you say so.’

‘You might as well join him,’ said Peter as he watched Ruddock walk away. ‘There’s no work for you here tonight.’

‘What if there’s another attack?’ asked Yeomans, indignantly.

‘I’ll deal with it.’

‘I have half a dozen men within call.’

‘Then you can assign them to other duties.’

‘Don’t presume to tell me my job, Mr Skillen.’

‘I’m simply passing on a request from Mrs Mandrake.’

‘Has she
told
you what happened during the fire?’

‘Yes,’ said Peter, ‘you and Ruddock have earned her undying gratitude. But she does not wish to glance out of her bedroom window and see either of you on patrol outside. Your presence out here will deter any attack. If the street is empty, however, the person or persons who started that blaze are more likely to return. That will give me the chance to apprehend them.’

‘It’s our job – not yours!’

‘Does it matter which of us does it as long as they’re caught?’

‘It’s of great consequence to me.’

‘Then you should stop pretending that only the Runners have powers of arrest. My brother and I are doing what any right-minded citizens should do and that’s to take any brutal killers off the streets of London so that people can sleep in relative safety. We’ve done it before,’ Peter reminded him. ‘Paul and I have sent a number of villains up the steps to the gallows.’

‘I’d like to send the pair of
you
there,’ said Yeomans under his breath. Aloud, he became pugnacious. ‘I’ve warned you before. Keep out of our way.’

‘We’re only trying to uphold the law.’

‘The chief magistrate regards the two of you as a menace.’

‘That’s strange,’ said Peter, seizing on the chance to slap him down. ‘When I called on the Home Secretary recently, he said how grateful he was for the work that my brother and I do. Please pass that on to the chief magistrate. Good night.’

‘Wait,’ said Yeomans, before Peter could turn away. ‘How do I know that you’re repeating Mrs Mandrake’s instructions? You
could be trying to get rid of us so that you alone are in a position to grab any glory.’

‘Is he still there?’ yelled Diane, opening the window of her bedroom. ‘Don’t you understand English, man? Please go away.’

Peter smiled. ‘Does that answer your question, Mr Yeomans?’

‘Damnation!’ exclaimed the Runner.

‘I heard that,’ said Diane before closing the window.

‘Mrs Mandrake abhors that kind of language,’ said Peter.

‘Then she’d better stay indoors or she’ll hear a great deal more of it.’

Suffused with rage, Yeomans strode off down the street.

Sustained applause greeted the end of the performance at the Theatre Royal. The whole cast took several bows but the undisputed cynosure was Arabella Villmont. In the role of Louisa, she’d captivated the entire audience. As the spectators streamed out into the foyer, it was her name on most of their lips. Julian Harvester was no exception. When he saw the opportunity of a word with Sir Humphrey Coote, he elbowed his way through the crowd to get close to him.

‘What do you say now, Sir Humphrey?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t she divine?’

‘She’s divinely pretty, I’ll own that.’

‘Miss Villmont kept me spellbound.’

‘I found her charms too intermittent.’

‘Then we must agree to differ.’

They chatted about various aspects of the performance until they came out on to the pavement. A long line of coaches and carriages was waiting to spirit people back to their homes. Harvester was reminded of something.

‘I gather that you loaned Penhallurick your coach,’ he said.

‘It was the least I could do. Guy had more need of it than I did.’

‘Did he say why?’

‘If he did, then I’ve forgotten what his answer was. It matters not. The one thing I can tell you, Julian, is that he didn’t make use of it to go to St John’s Wood. Cricket has no appeal for him.’

‘I found that out during the first day’s play.’

‘What do you make of him?’

‘Guy is a brilliant physician and a thoroughly engaging fellow.’

‘How will he fare as a politician, do you think?’

‘He’ll shine at whatever he does.’

‘Of course, he’ll have to win the election first.’

‘Oh, there’s no whisper of a doubt there,’ said Harvester, grandiloquently. ‘I’ve offered my support – financial and literal. I’ve no wish to be a Member of Parliament myself but I like to have a modicum of control in the House. He’ll be the latest addition to my little coterie. What’s your opinion of Guy Penhallurick?’

‘He’ll adorn Westminster,’ replied Sir Humphrey, lowering his voice before he continued. ‘The reason I was happy to give him free use of my coach is that he did me a special favour.’

‘What was that?’

‘He concocted an aphrodisiac of quite unprecented power. You should ask him for some of it, Julian.’

‘My aphrodisiac was up there onstage this evening – Arabella Villmont.’

‘Contrive to be alone with her and all you have to do is to slip some of the powder into her drink. Guy’s concoction is foolproof. It would turn a Mother Superior into the Whore of Babylon.’

Harvester laughed. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘When I give some of it to Hannah Granville,’ said the other, face aglow, ‘she’ll surrender at last and throw herself into my arms.’ As two carriages rolled away, he saw his coach being driven
forward. ‘I’m going to my club for a drink or two,’ he went on. ‘Why not join me for a nightcap?’

‘It’s a kind invitation,’ said Harvester, ‘but it’s one I must decline. The truth is that I have a very important appointment. Good night, Sir Humphrey. I wish you and your aphrodisiac well …’

There was no need to wait this time. When he got to the designated place, the coach was already waiting. Abel Fearon ran the last dozen yards and opened the door to climb in. The man used his stick to bang on the roof of the vehicle and it set off.