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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Bow Street Rivals
- Sprache: Englisch
1817. Dawn breaks on a summer's day in Chalk Farm, London, and the scene is set for a duel between a lady's two ardent admirers. Paul Skillen has been teaching Mark Bowerman how to shoot properly and, although he is not sanguine of his chances, stands as his second. Although the duel is broken up, the passions behind the duel seem to spill out into the full light of day when Bowerman is stabbed to death in a stranger's garden. Paul and his twin Peter are determined to see justice done and are soon enmeshed in threads of inheritance, treachery and fraud.
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Seitenzahl: 452
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Date with the Executioner
EDWARD MARSTON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
1816
Putney Heath was the chosen location for a death. At that time of the morning, it was deserted. A breeze was making the grass ripple gently. The two coaches arrived at dawn, emerging out of the shadows into the first light of day. They rolled to a halt on either side of the clearing, hidden from sight by the encircling foliage. There was a sense of secrecy vital to the enterprise. Duels were illegal. Those involved were risking punishment. That was why they’d come so far out of the city. Like Leicester Fields, Chalk Farm and Wimbledon Common, the place was a popular choice. Swords had clashed there many times and pistols had often been discharged in anger. Blood had irrigated the Heath. Deaths had occurred in the questionable name of honour.
Paul Skillen had had misgivings from the start about the issuing of the challenge. He was acting as second to Mark Bowerman, who was so incompetent with a pistol in his hand that he’d come to Paul for lessons in how to shoot straight. Bowerman was a fleshy man in his early forties, blessed with wealth enough to live in comparative luxury for the rest of his days. Yet he was prepared to take part in a duel against an adversary who, even at first glance, held many advantages. Paul had urged his friend to extricate himself somehow from the situation but Bowerman would not hear of it. That would not only smack of cowardice, it would lose him the love and respect of the woman he adored. The duel, he insisted, was over an affair of the heart. Having once fought in a similar contest, Paul understood how he must be feeling. The difference was that Paul was an expert with any weapon, whereas Bowerman was clumsy and inexperienced. What drove the latter on was a passion that blinded him to doubt and danger.
‘I’ll die sooner than yield her up to him,’ he vowed.
‘That would be a poor advertisement for my skill as an instructor,’ said Paul, wryly. ‘My chief aim is to keep you alive.’
‘You’ve nothing with which to reproach yourself. Nobody could have taught me so much in so short a period of time.’
‘Follow my orders to the letter and you may yet survive.’
‘I’ll do more than that,’ said Bowerman with a surge of bravado. ‘I mean to kill him for his insolence.’
He glared across at his opponent. Stephen Hamer was a tall, lithe, handsome man of thirty with impeccable attire and an air of supreme confidence. Paul could see that he was extremely fit. The man was at once relaxed yet eager for action. After glancing at Bowerman, he whispered something to his second then sent him across to his opponent.
‘He’s coming to ruffle your feathers,’ warned Paul.
‘Then he’s wasting his time,’ said Bowerman.
‘Hold your tongue and let me give him his answer.’
‘I’ll do my own talking, if you don’t mind, Mr Skillen.’
When the second reached them, he gave a polite nod of greeting. He was a thickset man in his late thirties, well dressed and well spoken.
‘Good morning to you both,’ he said, politely. ‘We had not expected you to turn up, Mr Bowerman, so you deserve congratulations, if only for that. We all know that this is an unequal contest. During his time in the army, Captain Hamer won several shooting contests and more than one duel. He bade me tell you that he has no wish to kill you and offers you the opportunity to withdraw before your fate is sealed.’
‘Never!’ cried Bowerman.
‘You would, of course, have to render an abject apology and give your word as a gentleman that you’ll cease to bother the lady forthwith.’
‘Miss Somerville is mine. I’m here to defend her from that vile rogue.’
‘Is that the message I am to carry back with me?’
‘It is,’ said Paul, stepping in to get rid of the man before Bowerman lost the remains of his self-control. ‘Away with you, sir, and take your insults with you.’
With a gracious smile, the man turned on his heel and went quickly away.
‘Ignore him, Mr Bowerman,’ said Paul. ‘He was sent to vex you.’
‘Hamer will be made to pay for that.’
‘It’s essential that you remain calm and collected.’
But there was no chance of that. Bowerman was throbbing with fury. Hamer, by contrast, was laughing happily with his second. It was as if the whole event was a joke to them. Paul feared the worst. The information that Hamer was an army man was unsettling. Both of the duellists had taken the precaution of bringing a surgeon with them but it was clear to Paul that it was Bowerman’s who would be called upon.
When the light had improved enough, the preliminaries began. The referee, a short, squat man with a rasping voice, called the combatants to order. It was too late to turn back now. Bowerman seemed to realise at last the scale of his task.
‘If, so be it, there is a mishap,’ he said, grabbing Paul by the wrist, ‘I beg of you to tell the lady that I showed courage.’
‘You have my word, sir, though I hope such tidings will be unnecessary. In your own interests, I urge you to put Miss Somerville out of your mind. The only person who matters to you at this moment is the one intending to shoot you.’
The advice helped to steel Bowerman. Pulling himself to his full height, he marched bravely towards the referee. The rules of the contest were recited, the box opened and the duelling pistols revealed. Hamer indicated that his opponent should have first choice of weapon. After dithering for a moment, Bowerman snatched up a pistol. Paul watched helplessly from the sidelines. Beside him, his valise already wide open, the surgeon was poised to run to Bowerman’s assistance. Neither of them gave him an earthly chance of winning the duel because he was up against a proven marksman. They were being forced to witness an execution.
At the referee’s command, the two men stood back to back then walked the requisite number of paces before turning and raising their pistols. Paul closed his eyes and waited for the gunfire. Instead, he heard loud, warning yells and the sound of many feet. Over a dozen men had suddenly materialised out of the bushes to interrupt the duel and to arrest everyone present. Paul recognised the man in command of them instantly. It was Micah Yeomans, a big, hulking man with unsightly features and gesticulating hands. The Bow Street Runner was in his element, enforcing the law by stopping the duel at the crucial moment and relishing the fact that he’d caught one of his sworn enemies. As the duellists were relieved of their pistols, Yeoman ambled across to Paul and grinned malevolently.
‘Good morning,’ he said, gloating. ‘I’ve got you at long last. Am I talking to Mr Peter Skillen or to Mr Paul Skillen?’
Paul beamed at him. ‘Why not hazard a guess?’
CHAPTER TWO
When the news came, they were in the shooting gallery. Gully Ackford, the big, broad-shouldered former soldier who owned the place, had just finished teaching someone the rudiments of boxing. Peter Skillen, as tall, lean and well-favoured as his twin brother, had spent two hours giving fencing lessons. Both men were glad of a respite. It was, however, short-lived. Their leisure was interrupted by Jem Huckvale, who flung open the door and darted into the room.
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ he said, breathlessly.
‘I’m afraid that I will,’ said Peter with a sigh. ‘My brother took his impulsive client to Putney Heath and is bringing his corpse back to the city.’
‘You’re quite wrong.’
‘Are you telling me that Mr Bowerman actually won the duel?’
‘It never took place,’ said Huckvale.
‘Why not?’ asked Ackford. ‘Bowerman would not have run away from the contest. There was far too much at stake for that. Did his opponent fail to appear?’
‘They both turned up and, according to Paul, the duel was about to start when they were interrupted by Micah Yeomans and his men. Everyone was arrested and taken off to face the chief magistrate.’
Peter and Ackford were startled by the information. The diminutive Huckvale enjoyed his brief moment as the bearer of important tidings. As a young assistant at the gallery, his life consisted largely of doing chores and running errands. It was good to be the centre of attention for once.
‘How did you come by this news, Jem?’ asked Peter.
‘I chanced to meet one of the Runners, Chevy Ruddock. He was there when they jumped out of the bushes on Putney Heath. Ruddock was crowing about the fact that Paul was dragged back in handcuffs. So I ran straight to Bow Street to find out the details.’
‘What did you learn?’
‘All that there was to learn,’ replied Huckvale. ‘The parties involved in the duel were bound over in the sum of four hundred pounds each and a figure of half that amount has been set on those in attendance – including Paul.’
‘I’ll get over there and bail my brother,’ decided Peter. ‘He’ll have moaned about the handcuffs but this might be the best possible outcome. Intervention by the Runners has saved Mr Bowerman’s life. In Paul’s opinion, the poor fellow was about to commit suicide.’
‘Then he’s been very lucky,’ said Ackford. ‘He’s been given the chance to repent of his folly in issuing such a bold challenge.’
‘I just hope that he’ll seize that chance, Gully, but I harbour grave doubts. Mr Bowerman is in the grip of an obsessive love that shields him from any acquaintance with reality. So deep is his devotion to the person in question that he’ll take on any rivals for her affections.’
‘Only a remarkable creature could inspire such feelings.’
‘Mr Bowerman described her as a jewel among women.’
‘Is he an authority on the fairer sex?’
‘Far from it,’ said Peter. ‘The only member of it he’s really known is the wife to whom he was happily married. Her untimely death devastated him. He was still mourning her when Miss Laetitia Somerville came on the scene. Mr Bowerman told Paul that she’d resuscitated him.’
‘Is the lady aware that he was about to fight a duel?’
‘Oh, no – she’d have been horrified.’
‘I don’t blame her,’ said Huckvale.
‘What’s the point of being given a new life if he’s ready to throw it away so recklessly? Some women,’ Peter went on, ‘might be excited at the thought of two men fighting over them but, I suspect, Miss Somerville is not one of them. That is why Mr Bowerman and his adversary went to some lengths to conceal the truth from her.’ He moved to the door. ‘But I must be off. Paul will be chafing at the bit.’
After a flurry of farewells, Peter let himself out. Ackford turned to Huckvale.
‘There’s something you didn’t tell us, Jem.’
‘Is there?’
‘The duel was a closely guarded secret. Only a handful of us knew of it.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Then, how on earth did the Runners catch wind of the event?’
Huckvale gulped. ‘I forgot to ask that.’
It was a question that still vexed Paul Skillen and Mark Bowerman. Awaiting their release, they were alone in a private room at the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. The handcuffs had been removed and Paul was rubbing his sore wrists.
‘This is Hamer’s work,’ said Bowerman, sourly.
‘I think not.’
‘Fearing that I’d kill or wound him, he made sure the duel was stopped.’
‘Whatever else you can accuse him of,’ argued Paul, ‘it is not cowardice. When you issued your challenge, it was promptly accepted and Captain Hamer made no attempt to withdraw. He was incensed when the Runners appeared out of nowhere this morning.’
‘So was I, Mr Skillen.’
‘It was not in his interests to halt the duel.’
‘Yes, it was. His nerve failed him at the last moment.’
‘That was patently not the case. The Runners were in hiding before we even got there. They had advance notice of time and place. Hamer must be absolved of complicity. He was not responsible in any way.’
‘Why are you taking his part?’ protested Bowerman. ‘You are my second.’
‘I am, indeed, and my prime commitment is to you. That is why I view the interruption – annoying as it was in some respects – as an unexpected bonus.’
‘Bonus!’
‘You are still alive, sir. For that, I am eternally grateful.’
‘I was prepared to surrender my life.’
‘You’ve been spared that unwise gesture,’ said Paul. ‘The sensible thing is for you and Captain Hamer to settle your differences with a handshake, then each of you can go his separate way.’
‘Am I hearing you aright?’ asked Bowerman, spluttering. ‘You’re counselling me to forget that Stephen Hamer has designs on the woman I love? That’s shameful advice, Mr Skillen, and I reject it forthwith. The issue is quite simple. One duel has been prevented. Another must be arranged.’ His eyes blazed. ‘You’ll understand why I’ll employ a different second next time.’
‘That’s your privilege, sir.’
‘I need someone who knows what it is to risk everything for a woman.’
‘Oh, I’ve been in that position, I do assure you, and I found true happiness as a result. But that’s an irrelevance. Consider this, Mr Bowerman,’ he added, solemnly. ‘What will Miss Somerville think when she hears that you came perilously close to sacrificing yourself on her behalf?’
‘I hope that she will think well of me.’
‘The lady would prefer you to be alive. You’re no use whatsoever to her when you’re dead.’
Bowerman smiled fondly. ‘That is where you are mistaken.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s none of your business, Mr Skillen.’
Before Paul could question him, there was a tap on the door and it opened to admit his brother. Bowerman had met Peter at the gallery but he still marvelled at the uncanny likeness between the twins. He kept looking from one to the other.
‘Good day to you, sir,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sorry to find you in such unhappy circumstances.’
‘They are only temporary, Mr Skillen,’ said Bowerman, airily. ‘I will be out of here in no time at all.’
‘My brother can leave immediately. I’ve arranged for his bail.’
‘Thank you,’ said Paul.
‘This whole affair can now be forgotten, I hope.’
‘Then you hope in vain, I fear.’
‘You do, indeed,’ said Bowerman, thrusting out a defiant chin. ‘I will never let the matter rest until I have killed Stephen Hamer and rescued a dear lady from his unwanted attentions. Mark my words, gentlemen, I am resolved to see this dispute through to the bitter end. It can only be terminated by a death.’
After what they saw as a minor triumph, the Runners adjourned to the Peacock Inn, their unofficial headquarters. Micah Yeomans was soon quaffing a celebratory pint with Alfred Hale, his closest friend. After years of humiliation at the hands of the Skillen brothers, they were delighted to have got their revenge on one of them.
‘He didn’t like being handcuffed,’ said Hale. ‘Nobody else was.’
‘I reserved that treat for Paul Skillen.’
‘He was only the second.’
‘I don’t care if he was a casual bystander, Alfred. I wasn’t going to miss the chance to make him suffer. He was at the site of an illegal duel.’
‘I’d have been inclined to let it go ahead.’
‘We have to enforce the law, Alfred.’
‘We haven’t always done so,’ Hale reminded him, ‘especially where we’ve been paid to look the other way. Everyone knows that duelling is a tradition among the nobs. It wasn’t all that long ago that Viscount Castlereagh, our esteemed foreign secretary, fought a duel against Mr Canning, who is now in the same Cabinet. Would you have dared to interrupt that?’
‘No,’ admitted Yeomans, ‘I’d have had more sense than to interfere. I fancy that Mr Canning still rues the day it happened. All that the foreign secretary lost was a button from his coat whereas Mr Canning was wounded in the thigh.’
‘So why do we ignore some duels and prevent others from taking place?’
‘The chief magistrate had a letter imploring him to take action. That’s why we were dispatched to Putney Heath before dawn. And the effort was well worth it,’ said Yeomans, chuckling. ‘Paul Skillen fell into our hands.’
They clinked their tankards then drank deep.
A solid individual of medium height, Hale was dwarfed by his companion. Yeomans was not only a man of daunting bulk, he’d acquired strong muscles during his years as a blacksmith. The few criminals brave enough to tackle him were still licking their wounds. As the leading Bow Street Runners, they had built up a fearsome reputation in the capital. What irked them more than anything else was that it was overshadowed all too often by the achievements of Peter and Paul Skillen.
‘It’s a pity we didn’t catch the two of them today,’ said Yeomans, punching his chest with a fist before releasing a belch. ‘I’d have found an excuse to keep them behind bars for a whole night. That would have brought them to heel.’
‘It might have done the opposite,’ said Hale.
‘We are charged with policing London, not them. We have the legal right and the proper experience. The Skillen brothers have neither of those things.’
‘Yet they do have an amazing record of success, Micah.’
‘They’ve been lucky, that’s all.’
‘And clever, let’s be honest.’
‘Paul Skillen won’t be feeling very clever after being arrested today. We taught him a lesson,’ said Yeomans, complacently. ‘As a result, he and that odious brother of his will steer well clear of us. From now on, we won’t even get a glimpse of them.’
When the gardener arrived early that morning, he sensed that something was wrong. Though nothing was visible to the naked eye, his curiosity was aroused. He began a systematic search of the whole area, looking at flower beds, shrubs, bushes and trees, and even peering behind the statuary. His instinct was finally rewarded when he reached the arbour. Seated on the wooden bench was a stranger, a gentleman of middle years, apparently asleep. His hat lay on the ground as if tossed there uncaringly. The gardener cleared his throat noisily but it produced no reaction at all. Trying to wake him up, he shook the man vigorously but all that he succeeded in doing was to make him roll off the bench completely. Only then did the dagger embedded in his back come into view. It was surrounded by a large bloodstain.
Mark Bowerman had warned that the dispute could only be resolved by a death. His words had been prophetic.
CHAPTER THREE
Eldon Kirkwood was a small man who wielded a large amount of power. As the chief magistrate at Bow Street, he was an expert on the nature and extent of crime in London. Those who cowered before him in court braced themselves for the tartness of his strictures and the severity of his punishments. He could be neither bribed nor deceived. Anyone who tried to intimidate him got especially short shrift; Kirkwood used the extremity of the law to pound them into submission. Yet it was not only the criminal fraternity who feared him. The Runners were equally afraid of the peppery magistrate. When his summons reached Micah Yeomans, therefore, he responded at once and took Alfred Hale speedily along to Bow Street. Still panting from the race to get there, the two men stood before his desk to await orders.
‘Foul murder has been committed,’ he told them.
‘That’s nothing new,’ muttered Hale.
‘Be quiet!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t speak until you have something worthwhile to say.’
‘No, sir.’
‘And the same goes for you,’ said Kirkwood, flicking his gaze to Yeomans. ‘I have important details to impart. Listen to them very carefully.’
‘We will, sir,’ said Yeomans.
The chief magistrate was crisp and concise. He explained that the murder victim had been found in the garden of someone else’s house. A dagger had pierced his heart. The name of the dead man was Mark Bowerman.
‘We arrested him only yesterday,’ said Hale.
‘You also arrested the person he was about to face in a duel, one Stephen Hamer. He must be your prime suspect. Unable to kill his enemy on Putney Heath, he obviously resorted to another method of attack. Captain Hamer needs to be arrested and interrogated.’ He held out a sheet of paper. ‘Thanks to the fact that he came before me yesterday, we have his address. Hunt him down.’
‘We’ll do so immediately,’ said Yeomans, taking the paper from him.
‘What if it’s not him, sir?’ asked Hale.
‘Then it will be someone set on by him,’ insisted Kirkwood, ‘and that makes him culpable of homicide. It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Hale. By some means or other, Hamer was determined to murder Bowerman. Instead of being shot in the chest, the victim was stabbed in the back.’
‘I agree with your deductions, sir,’ said Yeomans, obsequiously. ‘It has to be Hamer. He was furious when we robbed him of the chance to shoot Mr Bowerman in that duel. It took two men to hold him.’
‘I was one of them,’ said Hale. ‘He’s a strong man.’
Yeomans straightened his back. ‘I’m stronger.’
‘There’s no question about that, Micah.’
‘Use that strength of yours to overpower the fellow and bring him to justice,’ said Kirkwood. ‘We must act swiftly before he has the chance to go to ground.’
‘Leave it to us, sir,’ said Yeomans, leading Hale out.
‘I’m right behind you, Micah,’ said the other, trotting after him.
As soon as they got outside, they paused to exchange a few unflattering remarks about Kirkwood. Much as they loathed him, they had to respect his authority. They were grateful to be given the opportunity to impress him for once. No difficulties could be foreseen by Yeomans. The main suspect in a murder case had just been served up to them on a plate.
‘I wish that all crimes were so easily solved,’ he said, airily. ‘It would make our job a lot less problematical. The beauty of this one is that we won’t have the Skillen brothers getting under our feet.’
‘That’s true.’
‘They’ll see what real policing can achieve.’
‘Suppose they get to hear what’s afoot?’
Yeomans was dismissive. ‘There’s no chance of that happening,’ he said, curling a lip. ‘We’ll have Captain Hamer in custody before word even reaches them that Mr Bowerman is dead.’
It was a hollow boast. Peter and Paul Skillen had already been told of the murder and were hearing the salient details. Seated in the back room at the shooting gallery, they listened intently to Silas Roe, the victim’s butler. Deeply upset by the fate of his master, Roe was on the verge of tears throughout. He was a gaunt, grey-haired old man who’d been with Bowerman for many years and been fiercely loyal to him and to his late wife. Holding his hat in both hands, Roe bent his head and accepted what he saw as his share of the guilt.
‘I should have insisted,’ he said, apologetically. ‘When the message came yesterday evening, Mr Bowerman was so pleased that he left the house at once. It wouldn’t have taken long to send for a carriage but he was too eager to be off. He didn’t tell me where he was going but I could guess who’d sent the letter.’
‘Was it Miss Somerville, by any chance?’ asked Paul.
‘It was, sir. The paper had her fragrance. He was at her beck and call.’
‘You sound as if you were very unhappy about that.’
‘It’s not my place to be happy or unhappy, sir. I was there to do anything I was asked and to … keep a watchful eye on my master.’
‘How did you first hear of the murder?’ said Peter.
‘The gardener who discovered the body came knocking on our door. He’d found Mr Bowerman’s visiting card in his pocket so he ran straight to the house to break the terrible news. It hit me like a thunderbolt, sirs, I don’t mind admitting it.’
‘What was your master doing in that garden in the first place?’
‘That’s the mystery, sir. To my knowledge, he’d never been anywhere near that house. As it happens, the property was empty, awaiting the arrival of new tenants. The gardener had been asked to carry out his duties as usual.’
‘We’ll need to speak to him,’ decided Paul.
‘I thought you might,’ said Roe. ‘I got his name and address for you.’
‘Who reported the crime?’
‘I did, sir. I went to Bow Street in person. That was after I’d been to the garden to verify what had happened, of course. I wouldn’t believe that the master was dead until I’d seen proof with my own eyes.’
‘Did you search him?’ asked Peter.
Roe became defensive. ‘I felt it was my duty.’
‘That wasn’t a criticism. I just wondered if you found the letter that had summoned him there in the first place.’
‘It’s exactly what I was looking for, sir, but it wasn’t there. That was the strange thing. I knew he took it with him because I saw him put it in his pocket. The killer must have removed it.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was anything else missing from Mr Bowerman’s pockets?’ said Paul.
‘No, sir, there wasn’t. Nothing else had been touched – including his purse.’
‘Theft was not the motive, then.’
‘Something else impelled the killer to strike,’ said Peter. ‘He could have been exacting revenge, for instance, or settling an old score.’ He turned to Roe. ‘It was very sensible of you to come to us.’
‘Mr Bowerman spoke so highly of you,’ said the old man, addressing Paul, ‘that I felt obliged to come here. He had great faith in you, sir.’
Paul shrugged. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect him.’
‘I feel the same. I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘The obvious suspect is his opponent in the duel,’ suggested Peter.
‘I agree, sir.’
‘I fancy that you’re both mistaken there,’ said Paul.
‘Are we?’ said Peter.
‘Stephen Hamer had his faults, I daresay, but he’s no back-stabber. He was an army man. He’d want the satisfaction of looking Mr Bowerman in the eyes before shooting him.’
‘You met the fellow, Paul. I didn’t. I accept your judgement.’
‘My master said he was a fiend in human form,’ said Roe, bitterly.
‘That would be going too far,’ said Paul. ‘What I saw during my brief acquaintance with him was an arrogant dandy who’d brush people brutally aside if they stood between him and his ambitions. Hamer would have welcomed a second duel and ensured that it was decisive.’
‘Did you ever meet the man, Mr Roe?’ asked Peter.
‘No, sir, and I had no wish to do so. What he did to my master was nothing short of torture. It was painful to watch.’
Peter had heard most of the details from his brother. In the wake of his wife’s death, Mark Bowerman had largely withdrawn from society. The couple had been childless so he had no other family members living in the house. Fearing that he might turn into a hermit, a friend had invited him to a dinner at which he’d first met a young woman named Laetitia Somerville. In spite of the age gap, there’d been an instant attraction between them. It was not long before Bowerman formed a real attachment to her. He’d confided to Paul that he intended to propose marriage and that she’d already given him indications that she’d willingly accept the offer. Before the relationship could develop to that point, however, another admirer suddenly appeared and – with no encouragement at all from Miss Somerville – began to make overtures towards her. It was too much for Bowerman to bear. Haunted by the prospect that his happiness would be snatched away from him, he’d challenged the interloper to a duel. It was a matter of honour.
Silas Roe added some information that was new to the brothers.
‘There were things I kept from Mr Bowerman,’ he confided. ‘He had enough preying on his mind as it was. So I dealt with the other matters and told the rest of the staff to say nothing to the master.’
‘What sort of things are you talking about?’ asked Paul.
‘It started with trespass. I heard someone walking in the garden at night. I frightened him away but he was back after a few days. This time he pushed a bench into the pond. I kept vigil after that and there was no trouble for a week. Then a trellis was pushed over and flower beds were trampled. I must have dozed off,’ said Roe, ‘because I didn’t hear a sound.’
‘They sound like acts of provocation,’ said Peter.
‘Yes, sir, they were, and Captain Hamer was behind them.’
‘Do you have any proof of that?’
‘No,’ admitted the other, ‘but I’ll wager anything that it was his doing.’
‘It was kind of you to protect your master like that.’
‘As it was,’ said Paul, ‘he didn’t need any more provocation. Hamer’s arrival was sufficiently aggravating in itself. When he saw how distressed Miss Somerville was by the man’s pursuit of her, Mr Bowerman confronted him.’
The brothers were grateful that Roe had come to the gallery. Sad to hear of his master’s death, they were at the same time intrigued by the mystery surrounding it. Having been so closely involved with the man, Paul felt that he had a responsibility to look more closely into the circumstances of his murder. He thanked the old man for coming and assured him that he’d take on the investigation. Relieved to hear it, Roe gave him the name of the gardener who had found Bowerman’s corpse and the address of the house where he stumbled upon it. The butler then took his leave.
Something puzzled Peter. He scratched his head.
‘You never actually met Miss Somerville, did you?’
‘No,’ replied Paul, ‘but I saw her clearly through Mr Bowerman’s eyes.’
‘They were somewhat blinkered by desire, I suspect.’
‘She is, reportedly, a very beautiful woman.’
‘That’s what interests me,’ said Peter, thoughtfully. ‘On one side, we have a jaded widower of middle years with – according to you – little physical appeal; on the other, there is a handsome former soldier who could cut a dash in any hostess’s ballroom. In every way, the two men are unequal. Why did this fabled beauty favour Mr Bowerman when a much younger suitor was at hand?’
Bond Street was a fashionable promenade for the beau monde, a long strip of exclusive shops known for the quality of their stock and the steepness of their prices. The Runners had no time to stare in the windows or to mingle with the throng. Their destination was a neat double-fronted house in a side street off the main thoroughfare. Stephen Hamer’s house suggested money and good taste. Having come with the prospect of arresting a murderer, Yeomans and Hale were dismayed to discover that Hamer was not only absent but that, according to the servant who answered the door, he had spent the night in St Albans. Since he was due back later that morning, the Runners decided to wait. They were conducted into the butler’s pantry and asked to make themselves comfortable.
Hale was worried. ‘If he’s been away from London all night,’ he said, ‘he couldn’t possibly have carried out the murder.’
‘Yes, he could,’ said Yeomans. ‘To begin with, we only have the word of his servant that he went to St Albans. That could well be an alibi devised by Hamer to throw us off the scent. And even if he did go there last night, he could have stabbed Mr Bowerman before he left. I think we’re sitting in the home of a killer, Alfred.’
‘That’s only supposition.’
‘It’s common sense. He wanted the man dead.’
‘Then why bother to go to all the trouble of a duel?’
‘It was a more formal way of committing murder.’
‘I’m not convinced, Micah.’
‘Well, I am and – more to the point – so is the chief magistrate.’
‘It won’t be the first time we’ve arrested the wrong man.’
‘Rely on my instinct. Has it ever let us down before?’
The truthful answer was that it had but Hale lacked the courage to say so. Yeomans had a scorching temper when roused. It was safer to pretend to agree with him. The other Runner therefore kept his doubts to himself.
‘What about the lady in the case?’ he asked.
‘What about her?’
‘She may well be unaware of the murder of Mr Bowerman. I think that she has a right to be told at the earliest opportunity.’
‘We’ll call on her when we have Captain Hamer in custody.’
‘Suppose that he resists arrest?’
Yeomans smirked. ‘One punch will take all the fight out of him.’
The wait gave them time to slip out of the pantry and take a peep at the drawing room. It was high-ceilinged, well proportioned and filled with exquisite furniture. What commanded their attention was the portrait of Hamer above the fireplace. Dressed in the uniform of the Royal Horse Guards, he looked proud, haughty and resolute. When they eventually heard the clatter of hooves outside the window, they went quickly back to the pantry. It was not long before Hamer was admitted to the house by his servant. Dressed in his riding attire, he sailed into the room, whip in hand. It was clear that he’d ridden some distance. There was thick dust on his boots and coat, and perspiration on his face. He looked from one to the other with contempt.
‘There’s no duel to prevent this time,’ he said, pointedly.
‘We’re here on a related matter,’ explained Yeomans. ‘Sometime yesterday evening, Mr Bowerman was murdered. We have reason to believe that you were responsible for his death.’
‘That’s a monstrous allegation!’
‘We must ask you to accompany us, sir.’
‘The pair of you can go to the Devil!’
‘Now, now,’ cautioned Hale, ‘respect our position. As Runners, we have a legal right to make an arrest.’
‘On what possible evidence are you making it?’
‘You had good reason to kill Mr Bowerman,’ said Yeomans.
‘I had an excellent reason but I would only have considered taking his life in the course of a duel. I’d never shoot him otherwise.’
‘He was stabbed to death, sir.’
‘There you are, then. Isn’t that irrefutable proof that I’m innocent of the charge? I didn’t even know how he died. Can you really imagine someone like me resorting to a dagger? It’s unthinkable. When he challenged me to a duel,’ said Hamer, ‘I gave him the choice of weapons – pistols or swords. Those are the weapons of a gentleman. Since neither of you will ever aspire to that status in society, you won’t understand the rules by which we operate.’
‘Our rules are much simpler,’ said Yeomans, stung by the insult. ‘When a crime is committed, we arrest the culprit.’
‘Then go off and find him, you oaf.’
‘We already have, Captain Hamer.’
The Runner glared meaningfully at him. His companion, however, was already wavering. Hamer’s indignant denial had the ring of truth. Having arrested many villains in the course of his work, Alfred Hale had seen how they usually reacted. Most of them protested their innocence but few had ever done so with such blazing sincerity. He remembered the portrait above the fireplace. Could such a heroic individual stoop to a callous act of murder? It seemed impossible.
After a long, bruised silence, Hamer mounted his defence. He spoke slowly, as if talking to people of limited intelligence.
‘When I left Bow Street yesterday morning,’ he explained, ‘I came straight back here and made arrangements for my trip to St Albans. I set off just after noon. The person whom I visited will tell you the time of my arrival and the length of my stay with him. I’ll happily furnish you with his name and address. Since his family was there at the time, you’ll have five other witnesses who will swear that I’ve been telling you the truth. At what time was Bowerman killed?’
‘It was … sometime in the evening,’ said Yeomans, uncomfortably.
‘I have a very long reach,’ said Hamer, ‘but even my arm is not able to touch London from St Albans. Where did the murder take place?’
‘It was in the garden of a house near Cavendish Square.’
‘I have neither friends nor acquaintances in that part of the city and, hence, no reason whatsoever to visit it. How am I supposed to have gained access to the place?’
‘A resourceful man like you would have found a way in.’
‘We are now in the realms of complete fantasy,’ said Hamer with a sneer. ‘Do what you foolishly assume to be your duty, if you must, but remember this: there is such a thing as wrongful arrest. Consequences will follow.’
Yeomans hesitated. Increasingly edgy, Hale turned to his friend.
‘What are we going to do now, Micah?’ he whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR
As he set off to find the lady in question, Paul Skillen had no clear idea of what to expect. Laetitia Somerville was patently a striking young woman. If she could arouse the affections of men as diverse as Mark Bowerman and Stephen Hamer, he reasoned, she had to be a person of rare qualities. During their time together at the shooting gallery, Bowerman had rhapsodised about her and, crucially, provided Paul with her address in case he was shot to death in the duel against his rival. Judged by its nondescript exterior, the house in Green Street was unremarkable. When he was invited in by a servant, however, he found himself in a dwelling of overwhelming charm and with a pervading air of prosperity. The place was so bright, well appointed and filled with delicate colours that Paul felt embarrassed at being the bearer of bad news. He would be besmirching a miniature paradise.
Shown into the library, he was struck by its faint whiff of perfume and by the number of poetry books on the shelves. He was not alone for long. Laetitia appeared magically in the doorway. Paul was momentarily dumbfounded. Since he lived with Hannah Granville, the most talented actress in London, he was accustomed to being alone with a gorgeous woman, but Laetitia’s beauty was of a totally different order than that of his beloved. While Hannah’s arresting good looks could enchant a whole audience for hours on end, Paul was now within feet of an altogether more subdued, almost shy, private beauty. Laetitia was small, slim and graceful with a face of elfin loveliness framed by fair hair that hung in ringlets. She had a demure quality entirely lacking in the actress. She was followed into the room by a maidservant acting as a chaperone.
After an exchange of greetings, she waved him to a chair and perched on one directly opposite. Her sweet smile was evidence to Paul of her complete ignorance of the duel and the fate of one of those involved. He chose his words with care.
‘I come as a friend of Mr Bowerman,’ he began. ‘He held you in the highest regard, Miss Somerville.’
‘His devotion to me is very flattering.’
‘He was distressed to learn that he had a rival suitor.’
‘If you are referring to Captain Hamer,’ she said, softly, ‘then you should know that I would never accept him as a suitor. We were friends in the past but those days are … long gone.’
‘Yet he boasted to Mr Bowerman that the two of you were intimates.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘That was unworthy of him and wholly untrue.’
‘It caused great upset.’
‘I shall apologise to Mr Bowerman on the captain’s behalf.’
‘That … won’t be possible, I fear,’ said Paul.
‘Why not?’ There was a long pause. Her voice now had a tremor. ‘I repeat my question, Mr Skillen,’ she went on, ‘why will it not be possible?’
‘It’s … difficult to explain.’
‘Answer my question, please.’
‘Miss Somerville—’
‘Come, sir. Say what you have to say and don’t prevaricate.’
Paul took a deep breath before speaking. ‘It’s my painful duty to pass on sad tidings,’ he said. ‘They concern Mr Bowerman.’
She was on her feet at once. ‘Has something happened to him?’
‘I’m afraid that it has.’
‘Then please let me hear what it is. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
Paul got up slowly from the chair. ‘Yesterday morning,’ he said, gently, ‘Mr Bowerman took part in a duel with his rival.’
‘Heavens!’ she exclaimed. ‘What madness has seized him? He’d be no match for Captain Hamer.’
‘Fortunately, the duel was interrupted by Bow Street Runners.’
‘Thank goodness for that! He was rescued from certain death.’
‘He met it elsewhere,’ said Paul, moving closer to her. ‘Sometime during yesterday evening, Mr Bowerman was, it appears, in receipt of a letter ostensibly sent from you.’
‘But I never wrote any letter to him. I swear it.’
‘Someone did, Miss Somerville, and its contents were such that he left the house at once in his haste to reach you. His body was found early this morning in the garden of a house near Cavendish Square. Mr Bowerman, I regret to tell you, had been stabbed to death.’
‘No, no,’ she cried, grabbing him by the coat. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’
‘I wish that I could.’
‘Mr Bowerman and I were about to be …’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘He was murdered? That dear, kind, considerate man was killed?’ Paul nodded. ‘Who could do such a dreadful thing? The very thought is unbearable.’
Her face had crumpled and her whole body was trembling. After putting a hand to her throat, she swooned. The maidservant cried out in alarm. Paul was quick enough to catch Laetitia before she hit the floor.
Jack Linnane, the gardener, was a short, stout, round-shouldered man in his fifties with a ragged beard and eyes that were half obscured by bushy eyebrows. He was pulling out weeds when Peter Skillen arrived at the house and let himself in through the unlocked garden gate. Linnane straightened.
‘This is private property, sir,’ he warned.
‘I’ve not come to trespass. I simply want information.’
Peter introduced himself and explained that he’d been given details of what had happened by Silas Roe, servant to the murder victim. Linnane brightened at once. He was ready to talk to anyone who was determined to solve the crime. The story he told was virtually the same as the one passed on by Roe but there were some new details as well. He’d been gardener there for years. Most of the houses nearby were owned by families who lived there on a permanent basis. This one, Linnane told him, had been occupied by a series of short-term tenants. Whether or not anyone was in residence, he was paid to keep the garden in good condition. After looking around, Peter praised him for his thoroughness.
‘Show me where you found the body,’ he asked.
‘I told you, sir,’ said Linnane, pointing a finger, ‘it was over there.’
‘Show me exactly where it was.’
‘Why?’
‘It may be of help to me.’
Linnane did as he was told, even sitting down on the spot on the bench where he’d found Bowerman. Shielded from the rest of the garden by trellises covered with trailing plants, the arbour was a natural suntrap. Immediately behind the bench was a low privet hedge. When Peter stood behind the seated gardener, he realised how easy it would have been for the killer to put an arm around the victim’s neck before thrusting a dagger between the wooden uprights. In the struggle, Bowerman’s hat would have been knocked off and landed on the ground where the gardener found it.
‘This is a nice spot,’ observed Peter.
‘Best part of the garden, sir,’ said Linnane. ‘When I’ve finished my work for the day, I always sit here and smoke a pipe.’ He chuckled. ‘It does no harm if I have ten minutes thinking I own the house.’
‘Who does own it?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I just do what the agent tells me.’
‘You have a key to the garden, obviously.’
‘It’s all I have. I’ve never been in the house itself. Everything I need is out here. I can draw water from the well. I keep my tools locked in the outhouse.’
‘It’s a stout door in a high wall,’ said Peter, looking at the gate. ‘It would be difficult to get in here without a key. I’ll need to speak to the agent to find out how many keyholders there are.’
‘Nobody ever touches my key,’ affirmed Linnane. ‘I look after it carefully.’
‘And so you should.’ Peter glanced up at the house. ‘Before I let myself into the garden, I went to the front door. It was securely locked and there was no sign of a broken window. Nobody forced their way into the property.’ He turned to the gardener. ‘Has anyone else been here to question you?’
‘No, sir, they haven’t.’
‘They will. The Runners will certainly call at some point. When they do, will you pass on a message to them, please?’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll do so gladly.’
‘Tell them that my brother and I are delighted to be working with them again.’
‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Oh,’ said Peter, smiling, ‘that will be more than enough.’
After weighing up the possibilities, Yeomans decided that he’d rather face the wrath of the chief magistrate than worry about the threat made by Stephen Hamer. Since he was at least flirting with the possibility that the man might not, after all, be guilty of the murder, he refrained from actually handcuffing him. He simply arrested Hamer and, after delivering a lacerating tirade, the latter agreed to go with them. They rode to Bow Street in the same jolting carriage. Not a word was spoken during the journey. The atmosphere was tense and Hale writhed in discomfort. Accustomed to manhandling dangerous villains, he was virtually paralysed while seated opposite the fuming Stephen Hamer. All three of them went into the chief magistrate’s office. In less than ten minutes, one of them came out alone. Those who remained were given a verbal whipping.
‘The pair of you are complete idiots!’ snarled Kirkwood. ‘What on earth possessed you to arrest Captain Hamer?’
‘We were only obeying your orders, sir,’ said Yeomans.
‘The fellow was obviously innocent of the charge.’
‘You were the one who said that he was guilty, sir,’ recalled Hale. ‘You told us it was as plain as the nose on my face.’
‘I merely said that there was a faint likelihood that he might be involved. I was assuming – foolishly, as it transpired – that you and Yeomans would exercise discretion. Clearly, that was beyond your meagre capacities.’
‘We’re sorry, sir.’
‘Didn’t you listen? Didn’t you hear what Hamer said? He has reliable witnesses who place him in St Albans at the time when the victim was murdered.’
‘He could still have instigated the crime, sir,’ said Yeomans. ‘It was a point that you made when you sent us off to apprehend him.’
‘I was mistaken,’ said Kirkwood, ‘and I knew it the moment he stepped into this office. He was enraged and rightly so. Didn’t you stop to wonder why?’
‘Nobody likes to be arrested, sir.’
‘We didn’t make a forcible arrest, Micah,’ Hale reminded him.
‘He behaved as if we had.’
‘That was not the reason for his fury,’ said Kirkwood. ‘What upset him was not so much the fact that he was under suspicion. It was because he’d been robbed of the opportunity to kill Bowerman in a second duel. The real target of his ire was the man who wielded that dagger. Captain Hamer’s rival may have been removed but he was not responsible for his death. That rankles with him.’
‘Why didn’t he tell us that?’ asked Hale.
‘You shouldn’t have needed telling. It was writ large all over him.’
‘All I saw was a very angry man.’
‘Now you mention it, sir,’ said Yeomans, hoping to curry favour, ‘there was a strange tone to his protests. He behaved as if something very precious had been stolen from him. It was clever of you to identify it.’
‘I prefer action to congratulation,’ said Kirwood with vehemence. ‘I want proof that you have one functioning brain between the two of you. Hamer can be eliminated from the investigation. Find the real killer.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have you visited the scene of the crime?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Do so immediately.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Question the gardener who found the body.’
‘We will, sir.’
‘Have you been to Mr Bowerman’s house?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Seek out Roe, the butler. When he reported the crime, he left only the bare details. Ask if his master had any enemies.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What of the lady at the eye of this little hurricane?’
‘Are you referring to Miss Somerville, sir?’
‘Who else, man? It was she who unwittingly caused the duel to take place.’
‘We ought to speak to her, Micah,’ said Hale. ‘She might not even know that one of her suitors has met a gruesome end.’
‘There’s one more thing,’ Kirkwood told them.
‘Yes, sir. We need to have handbills printed.’
‘I will take on that task, if only to ensure that it’s done properly. You must do something that should already have been done and that’s to examine the corpse. Search for clues. That dagger is one of them. It may be distinctive enough to be recognised. If so, a description of the murder weapon could be included in the handbill. Above all else,’ said the chief magistrate, raising his voice, ‘act with more celerity.’
‘We already did that, sir,’ confessed Yeomans, ‘and we are rightly chastised for doing so. We apprehended Captain Hamer too hastily.’
‘That’s not why I’m advocating urgency.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Mr Bowerman was a wealthy man. There’ll be a large reward offered for information leading to the arrest and conviction of his assassin. You both know what happens when money is at stake.’
‘Peter and Paul Skillen will come sniffing, sir,’ said Hale.
‘We’ll not be deprived of our lawful prize this time,’ vowed Yeomans.
‘Then get out there and vindicate your reputations,’ said Kirkwood, opening the door wide. ‘Don’t come back until you have redeemed yourselves by solving this crime promptly and leaving the Skillen brothers trailing impotently in your wake.’
‘Yes, sir,’ they said in unison before scuttling through the open door.
Paul Skillen was caught in an awkward situation. As he was lowering Laetitia Somerville gently to the floor, a manservant, alerted by the chaperone’s cry of alarm, burst into the room. What he saw was a stranger bending over his employer as if about to molest her. In his eyes, it was a picture that told its story all too clearly. Without hesitation, the servant grabbed Paul and tried to drag him away. Since he was a strong young man, there was a fierce struggle. Paul’s explanation of what had happened went unheard. All that the servant wanted to do was to defend Laetitia and overpower a man he thought was her assailant. It took Paul a couple of minutes to shake him off then stun him with a blow to the jaw. By that time, Laetitia’s eyelids were starting to flutter.
‘What happened?’ she murmured.
‘I brought some dire news, I fear,’ said Paul.
She saw the manservant. ‘What are you doing here, Robin?’
‘Misconstruing what occurred, he bravely came to your assistance. I’d be grateful if you’d tell him I did not assault you in any way.’
‘No, no, of course you didn’t. Stand off,’ she told the man as he moved forward to grapple with Paul once more. ‘Mr Skillen was no threat to me. He kindly brought me tidings he felt I had a right to know. That was why I collapsed. The shock was too much for me.’ She tried to move. ‘Could you help me up, please?’
Paul and the manservant lifted her carefully to her feet. Robin was anxious.
‘Would you like me to call a doctor?’ he asked.
‘No, no, there’s no need for that. Thank you, Robin,’ she said, dismissively. ‘You may go now. It’s quite safe to leave me.’
‘Call me, if you need me.’
Staring resentfully at Paul, he rubbed his chin as he backed out of the room.
‘I remember it all now,’ said Laetitia, sitting down. ‘You told me that Mr Bowerman had been ready to fight a duel with Captain Hamer but that it was interrupted. Later that evening …’
Her eyes moistened and she bit her lip. When Paul tried to put a consoling arm around her, she raised her palms and he backed away. He could see the anguish distorting her features. Eventually, she regained her composure.
‘What must you think of us?’ she said, apologetically. ‘You come here out of the goodness of your heart and what happens? I collapse at your feet and my servant starts beating you. By any standards, that’s poor hospitality.’
‘What happened is understandable, Miss Somerville.’
‘I think you deserve an explanation.’
‘Are you sure that I’m not intruding?’
‘No, no, not at all – do sit down again, please.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, lowering himself onto a chair beside her.
Laetitia needed a few moments to gather her thoughts. Paul waited patiently until she was ready. Her voice was heavy with grief.
