Steps to the Gallows (28 page)

‘That was very sensible.’

‘We’ve arranged to meet this morning so that I can see what she has of Leo’s.’

‘Are you hoping that it will inspire you to carry on?’

‘To some extent,’ confided Paige, ‘Diane has already done that. She made me see that it’s what my brother would have wanted.’

‘So Virgo may rise from the dead.’

‘We can’t let corrupt politicians off the hook – that’s what she says.’

‘While you’re here,’ said Ackford, ‘there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ He indicated the framed cartoon on the wall. ‘Mrs Mandrake gave it to Peter as a present and he thought that this was the best place to hang it because it ridicules our old foe, Micah Yeomans. It’s only a sketch but it’s obviously him. How could you draw him so accurately?’

‘I’ve seen him more than once.’

‘Really?’

‘If you inhabit the King’s Bench, you’ll catch sight of Runners from time to time. They’re always coming in search of someone or other. Yeomans was pointed out to me years ago and once you’ve seen him,’ said Paige with a grin, ‘you never forget him. Those bushy, black eyebrows of his are a sort of trademark.’

What remained of the eyebrows had come together to form an angry chevron. As they bumped and rattled their way along the Dover Road in a light carriage, Yeomans and Hale were bounced up and down. The driver seemed unable to avoid potholes.

‘This is a nightmare,’ complained Yeomans.

‘There may be worse to come,’ said Hale. ‘If the sea is choppy, we’ll have a terrible crossing. I hate sailing.’

‘In the cause of justice, we’ll have to endure it.’

‘What’s the point, Micah? The Skillen brothers may already be in Paris.’

‘Yes, but they won’t know where to find Sir Humphrey, will they? He’ll go to ground somewhere and we’ll be the ones to sniff him out. I’ll put up with any amount of discomfort for the thrill of hauling him back to England to meet his fate.’ The carriage hit another pothole and they were thrown inches into the air. ‘Be more careful, man!’ he yelled at the driver. ‘We’d like to get there without any broken bones.’

While he had no idea where their quarry might be, Paul Skillen knew exactly where to find Hannah Granville because her letters had contained her address. She and her dresser were staying with the theatre manager and his wife in their house. It was in one of the more desirable quarters of the city and he was impressed by the size and charm of the edifice. When Paul rang the doorbell, a manservant opened the door. Having been taught a little French for the occasion by his brother, Paul tried to get his tongue around the words but could not make himself understood. The sound of his voice, however, gained him entry. Hearing it through the open door of the dining room, Hannah came running on tiptoe into the hall and threw herself into his arms.

‘Quelle bonne surprise!’
she exclaimed.

‘Do you mind talking in English?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s force of habit.’ Standing back, she looked him up and down. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

‘I was anxious to see you, Hannah. Your last letter worried me. Without actually saying so, you seemed to be troubled about something.’

‘It must have been written during rehearsals,’ she said, ‘when I was having doubts about my performance. That usually happens
at some point. I sent a letter explaining that. Evidently, you haven’t received it yet.’

‘No matter, darling. I’m here now and I can see how well you look.’

‘It’s so kind of you to come all this way.’

‘I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Hannah,’ he said, squeezing her hands. ‘Though, if I’m honest, there’s a secondary reason to be in Paris.’

‘Is there?’

‘Peter and I have come in pursuit of a fugitive. He needs to be taken back to England to face trial. While I have the supreme pleasure of a reunion with you, my brother is trying to find him.’

The search began at the British Embassy. When Peter got there, he was shown into an office occupied by two attachés. The senior of them offered the visitor a seat then took details of his request. Having come in expectation of help, Peter was baulked. The attaché, a gaunt, beak-nosed man of indeterminate age was brusque.

‘Do you have a warrant for the arrest?’

‘Well. Not exactly …’

‘Do you have any authority for being in Paris?’

‘Sir Humphrey incited a murder,’ affirmed Peter. ‘
That’s
our authority.’

‘His guilt or otherwise can only be established in a court of law, Mr Skillen, and you have no legal right to take him there. This is a foreign country. It has its own legal system and we have to respect that.’

‘Are you suggesting that a criminal should be allowed to go free?’

‘Firstly,’ said the man, ‘I’m not convinced of his criminality.
Secondly, you are a British citizen and, as such, not qualified to do what you set out so recklessly to do. And thirdly, I don’t have a clue where Sir Humphrey Coote might be. What I can tell you is that he’s a Member of Parliament and enjoys certain immunities.’

‘He’s party to murder and arson, man!’

‘There’s no need to shout at me, sir. I’m simply reminding you that there’s such a thing as parliamentary privilege.’

Peter rose to his feet. ‘Even politicians don’t have the right to kill people without being punished,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

He stalked out and left the two attachés to trade a glance. The man who’d interviewed Peter then turned to some documents. He was too preoccupied to notice that his colleague was writing a hasty letter to a close friend.

They were enjoying a late breakfast when the letter arrived. After reading it, Usborne passed it to his guest with a mixture of dismay and disbelief.

‘There’s no truth in this, surely?’

‘Damnation!’ cried Sir Humphrey as he read it.

‘Those allegations are preposterous.’

‘Of course they are, Lancelot. There’s not a scintilla of evidence to support them. And who is this fellow, Peter Skillen? I know a
Paul
Skillen. We watched a cricket match together and he was splendid company.’

‘This is a timely warning,’ said Usborne. ‘That’s the value of drinking with someone from the Embassy. When you met Wragby last night, I’ll wager you didn’t think he’d come in so useful.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said the other with relief. ‘It was a pleasing coincidence that I made his acquaintance. I must find a way to thank Mr Wragby.’

‘The saving grace is that this man, Skillen, has absolutely no idea where you are. Paris is like a rabbit warren. It would take him months to search every last burrow. Even if he did run you to earth, he has no authority to arrest you on such absurd charges. Nevertheless,’ said Usborne, ‘my suggestion is that you stay here until he gets tired of looking.’

Sir Humphrey was deeply upset, though he took care to hide his fears from his friend. The complacency that had set in when he reached France had suddenly been shattered. He had been followed, after all, and he was in danger. But for the accidental encounter with an attaché at the British Embassy, he might have paraded around Paris without a care and been spotted by someone who’d come after him. His apprehension was tempered by his urge to see and possess Hannah Granville. It had reached the level of desperation. He refused to be thwarted.

While he had come to Paris for the prime purpose of seeking his beloved, Paul Skillen was mindful of the demands of her profession. He knew how tense she became before a performance and how she needed plenty of time alone to prepare for it. Having spent much of the day with her, therefore, he let her go off to the theatre with Jenny and went in search of his brother. Peter was waiting in the tavern where they’d spent the night. Over a drink, he recounted the experience he’d had at the British Embassy.

‘That’s truly dreadful,’ said Paul. ‘Is Paris to become a safe haven for any fugitive from England? A criminal should be liable to arrest in any country.’

‘I agree,’ said Peter. ‘We ignore the advice from the Embassy and go our own sweet way. Sir Humphrey is here – I feel it. We’ll take him back somehow.’

‘Then we need Shakespeare to help us.’

‘Are you certain that he’ll attend a performance?’

‘Having spoken to Hannah, I’m utterly convinced. When I mentioned Sir Humphrey’s name, she shivered with disgust. He’s been harassing her for months in various ways.’

‘Why didn’t she report it to you earlier?’

‘Hannah felt, quite rightly, that I wouldn’t be content merely to warn him off. I’d have challenged the scoundrel to a duel,’ said Paul. ‘It was the repercussions that frightened Hannah. She feared that I’d be put under arrest for murder. Sir Humphrey has influential friends who might well have ganged up on me.’

‘You can get your revenge now, Paul. If we see him at the theatre, you can have the pleasure of calling him to account.’

‘It will have to be after the play is over,’ said the other, smiling. ‘Hannah would never forgive me if I interrupted her performance. Were I to commit that act of sacrilege, she’d be encouraging Macbeth to stab
me
with the dagger instead.’

Word of mouth and a good critical reception filled every seat at the theatre that evening. There was an anticipatory buzz of excitement. What Peter and Paul observed as they watched the crowd stream in was how many English spectators there were. Shakespeare was not universally popular in Paris. French audiences, reared on Racine and Corneille, were less enthralled for the most part by a translation of a famous tragedy from the country which had humbled Napoleon. Among the many Parisians who did attend, however, was M. Pernelle, as neat and trim as ever. The box in which he sat with friends gave him a perfect view of the stage.

Peter Skillen also chose a seat with an excellent view but it was not the stage that interested him so much. Seated at the rear of the stalls, he was able to keep an eye on everyone in front of him and guard the exit at the same time. Paul had selected a seat in the
dress circle which enabled him to see everyone else in that part of the theatre. If their target did turn up, one of them would see him because Sir Humphrey would be bound to be in one of the more expensive seats or boxes. As it was, there was no sign of him and neither of the brothers sensed that he was there. Deciding that their vigilance would go unrewarded, they settled back to watch the play.

In fact, Sir Humphrey Coote was in the audience. Cleverly disguised, he sat in a box at the side of the stage with Lancelot Usborne and two of his friend’s burly servants. By wearing a wig, a false beard and nondescript attire, he managed to disappear as the flamboyant character he was. No chances had been taken. In case someone did try to arrest him, Sir Humphrey was armed and the loaded pistol was there for another purpose as well.

When the play began, he was perched on the edge of his seat, waiting for Hannah Granville to appear and ignoring the rest of the cast. Every time she stepped onstage, there was a concerted gasp of amazement. Her appearance, deportment and use of gesture set her apart from everyone else but it was her voice that endeared her most. Speaking the language with fluency, she had an extraordinary range, welcoming her husband with soft, seductive words then, later on, exhorting him, in a voice of animal intensity, to commit regicide.

That was the woman he wanted – wild, passionate and indomitable. He could see the full breasts rising and falling beneath her nightgown. When she strode across the stage, he caught a glimpse of her bare legs. Sir Humphrey was enraptured.

The ovation went on longer than ever. Peter and Paul Skillen clapped until their palms hurt. Up in his box, M. Pernelle was beaming like a proud father. Lady Macbeth had surpassed herself and she deserved to bask in the acclaim. When the applause finally
died down and the spectators began to disperse, the two brothers joined in the general exodus and made their way around to the stage door.

Unknown to them, however, another drama was taking place. With the two servants at his shoulders, Sir Humphrey had climbed on to the stage, stepped behind the scenery, walked to the dressing rooms, found the one that had Hannah’s name emblazoned upon it then, without even knocking, opened the door and stepped inside.

Jenny was in the act of helping Hannah to remove her costume.

‘Get out!’ she demanded. ‘I’ll call the manager.’

‘
Sortez!
’ cried Hannah, thinking that the intruder was French. ‘
Sortez!
’

‘I told you I’d come for you one day,’ he said, ogling her.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m the luckiest man in Paris.’

He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at her. Hannah was too scared to utter a word but Jenny emitted a scream of horror. It earned her a violent push that sent her sprawling on the floor. Sir Humphrey grabbed a cloak from its hook and put it around Hannah’s naked shoulders.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered. ‘Come with me to paradise.’

Peter and Paul were approaching the stage door when they heard Jenny’s scream. Pushing their way through the group of admirers waiting for a sight of Hannah, they rushed to the door as the two brawny servants were coming out of it. When they tried to enter the building, the brothers were held back by force. Another piercing screech was heard. Recognising Hannah’s voice, Paul went berserk but he was firmly held and unable to break free. Peter, meanwhile, was getting the
better of his assailant, grappling and punching to weaken the man’s hold. The door was then flung open and Sir Humphrey came out, one arm around a terrified Hannah while the other brandished the pistol. In the interests of safety, everyone scattered immediately. Walking slowly backwards towards a waiting coach, Sir Humphrey dragged Hannah with him and waved his weapon menacingly.

‘Stay back!’ he shouted with a manic laugh. ‘She’s all mine!’

It was too much for Paul. Even at the risk of being shot, he had to rescue her. With a surge of energy, he shoved his adversary against the wall, banged the man’s head repeatedly against the brickwork then lifted him bodily and flung him to the ground. Defying the pistol, he ran straight towards Hannah.