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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Bow Street Rivals
- Sprache: Englisch
London, 1817. An impatient crowd is gathered outside the stage door of the Covent Garden Theatre, desperate for a glimpse of actress Hannah Granville after her latest performance as Lady Macbeth, amongst them the Prince Regent himself. But before she can appear a gunshot sounds, and a man lies dead on the ground amidst the ensuing chaos. Sir Roger Mellanby MP had been a spearhead for social reform, although his political leanings had made him many enemies within the Westminster elite and even in his own family. But was he really the intended target of the shooting? After a curt dismissal from the Bow Street Runners, Mellanby's friend Seth Hooper engages the services of twin detectives Paul and Peter Skillen to investigate the killing. Elsewhere, the assassin's own problems are just beginning.
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Seitenzahl: 428
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON
‘A master storyteller’
Daily Mail
‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’
Time Out
‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’
Sunday Telegraph
‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’
Historical Novels Review
‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’
The Guardian
Rage of the Assassin
Edward Marston
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
1817
When he set out that evening, Paul Skillen had no warning of the tragedy that lay ahead. He assumed that he’d simply be performing his usual task of escorting Hannah Granville safely through an overexcited mob of admirers. It was one of the penalties that fame had inflicted upon her. Hannah was playing the part of Lady Macbeth in the production of Shakespeare’s play at the Covent Garden Theatre. Night after night, a huge audience watched in wonder. Dazzled by her beauty, roused by her passion, shocked by her murderous ambition yet saddened by her descent into madness, they were completely at her mercy. Paul knew that it would be the same again that evening. When she appeared at the curtain call, a thunderous ovation would greet her.
As he arrived at the theatre, a crowd was already gathering outside the stage door and jostling for position. Though Macbeth was followed by a comical afterpiece, none of the rakes and fops assembled there was interested in staying to watch it. Their priority was to get close enough to the finest actress in London to gloat, ogle, scrutinise and, if at all possible, to touch their goddess. Hannah had learnt to ignore the regular litany of propositions that would come from all sides. When she left the building, she would be holding Paul’s arm, relying on his virile appearance to keep the fervent admirers at bay.
On this occasion, however, it was different. Before he could make his way to the stage door and go on to Hannah’s dressing room, Paul heard a familiar voice ring out above the hubbub.
‘Stand aside, please!’
It was Micah Yeomans, the Bow Street Runner, supported as usual by Alfred Hale. The two Runners had an important assignment that evening.
‘Make way for His Royal Highness!’ bellowed Yeomans, using authoritative elbows to create a path for his companion.
Paul was alarmed. Hannah was well able to keep other would-be suitors at arm’s length, but she could not dispatch the Prince Regent quite so easily. Flabby, dissipated and waddling along as fast as his gout would permit, he exuded an air of supreme entitlement. He was going to be first.
For once, however, royal prerogative was not respected. Someone yelled aloud as if in great pain, everyone turned in the direction of the sound, then a shot was fired behind them. Uproar ensued. The waiting pack scrambled for safety, cursing as they bumped into each other and bewailing the loss of their vantage points. The Prince Regent was hustled through the stage door by the two Runners. And Paul was left standing beside the lifeless body of a man whose dreams of meeting Lady Macbeth had died instantly with him.
CHAPTER TWO
When she heard the sharp knock on her door, Hannah fully expected that Paul had come for her. Accordingly, she nodded to her dresser and Jenny Pye went across the room to turn the key in the lock. Opening the door, she stepped back to allow Paul to enter. But he was not there. Both she and Hannah were shocked to see instead the solid frame of Micah Yeomans filling the space. He whisked off his hat.
‘Pardon this intrusion, Miss Granville,’ he said, ‘but there is someone who is very anxious to make your acquaintance.’
He stood aside to allow the Prince Regent to hobble into the dressing room with a beaming smile on his powdered face. A ludicrous chestnut wig sat on his head. Hannah was taken aback. She had never been quite that close to royalty before and, though she found her visitor verging on the grotesque, part of her was obscurely flattered by his attention. Before she could step out of reach, he grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips and planted a wet kiss on it.
‘I am in thrall to your magnificence, dear lady,’ he said.
‘That’s a compliment I shall treasure, Your Royal Highness,’ she replied.
‘It will be the first of many, I do assure you.’
‘I am deeply honoured.’
Though she spoke firmly and retained her poise, Hannah was ill at ease. The look in the Prince Regent’s eyes was all too easy to interpret. It was the acquisitive glint of a lecher. He was not merely there to congratulate her on an incomparable performance. He was eyeing a prospective prize. Trembling inwardly, she kept asking herself the same question over and over again.
Where on earth was Paul?
In fact, he was kneeling beside the corpse. Having established that the man was indeed dead, Paul was searching his pockets as he looked for something that might indicate his identity. Clearly, he was wealthy, middle-aged and had an eye for fashion. Paul could see that the man had to pay substantial tailor’s bills. The rings on each hand were highly expensive and there were other signs of indulgence. Even in death, he had a touch of nobility about him, offset, as it was, by the blood-covered scalp. Feeling inside the coat, Paul’s hand closed around a purse. At the moment he brought it out, he realised that he had company.
Yeomans was standing over him in triumph.
‘So that’s what you’ve descended to, is it?’ he sneered. ‘You kill him first, then you rob the poor devil.’
‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘You’re under arrest.’
‘On what charge?’ asked Paul, getting to his feet. ‘I was here, as you well know, for a legitimate purpose. Before I could reach Miss Granville to escort her from the theatre, you came blundering along and ordered everyone to get out of the way. The next moment, someone tried to assassinate the Prince Regent and killed this gentleman by mistake. If you’re hired to protect royalty, Micah,’ he went on, ‘you ought to do it more efficiently.’
‘We were efficient,’ declared Yeomans. ‘While Alfred Hale and I were guarding him, the Prince Regent was never in danger.’
‘Then why did someone fire a pistol at him?’
‘Don’t try to talk your way out of this, Skillen. You were the man with the weapon and the fellow at your feet was the intended target.’
‘Then where is the pistol now?’ asked Paul, arms at full length. ‘Search me as thoroughly as you wish. You’ll find no weapon. And please bear something in mind. When I’m not solving crimes that the Runners fail to solve, I work at the shooting gallery. With a pistol in my hand, I never miss, yet that’s what the assassin did. In the disturbance caused by your arrival, it’s my belief that he took his chance. We were first distracted by a shout from a confederate, causing every head to turn away. Aiming for His Royal Highness, the assassin instead shot the man standing closest to him. Look,’ he said, pointing, ‘you can see the wound in the back of his head. It should have been in the Prince Regent’s skull.’
‘Nobody would dare to shoot at His Royal Highness when they saw me at his side.’
‘It isn’t the first time an attempt has been made on his life. At the start of the year, someone hurled a rock that shattered the window of his coach.’
‘This is the unfortunate target,’ insisted Yeomans, looking down at the dead body. ‘There’s no doubting that.’ Turning to Paul, he curled a lip. ‘But I can see that I was perhaps too hasty in laying his murder at your door.’
‘I accept your apology, Micah.’
‘It was not an apology, just a statement of fact.’ He extended a palm. ‘I’ll take charge now. Give me that purse. It belongs with his other effects.’
‘At least let me find out who he is.’
‘That’s our responsibility, Skillen. You’ve no jurisdiction here.’
‘I’m an interested party.’
‘Hand over that money. We’ll take care of it.’ Seeing Paul’s reluctance, he snapped his fingers. ‘Be quick about it, man!’
‘He’s wearing a wedding ring, so the money belongs to his wife. Make sure that the purse reaches her without a penny missing.’
Yeomans swelled up with righteous indignation. ‘I’ve sworn to uphold the law,’ he said, beating his chest. ‘My integrity is beyond question. Due process will be followed, I guarantee. My first task will be to find out who he is.’
‘Then you’ll need this,’ said Paul, stooping to pick up a hat from the ground. ‘That bloodstained hole is where the ball passed through as it burrowed into his brain.’
‘Why the devil should I need his hat?’
‘It will tell you where to start your search. Unless I’m mistaken, this hat was made at Bayley’s in Jermyn Street. It bears all their hallmarks. They’ll know who bought it.’ He thrust it into the Runner’s hands. ‘Do your job properly for once.’
Before Yeomans could protest, Paul let himself into the theatre and went in search of Hannah. He had a strong feeling that he’d be needed.
It was ironic. In the course of her career, Hannah had been a princess, a queen and even an empress on many occasions. She had a natural aptitude for such roles. Faced with genuine royalty, however, she found herself almost speechless. As he gazed covetously at her body, the Prince Regent did something that took her completely by surprise. Extracting a snuff box from his pocket, he held it in his left hand, opened it with the other, then took out a sizeable pinch before introducing it to his nose and inhaling it with all the force he could muster. Hannah winced at the disgusting noise. Putting the box away, her visitor plucked a handkerchief from his sleeve to dust away the residue. He was about to take a step closer to Hannah when he was diverted by the sound of an argument outside the door. Next moment, it was flung open and Paul entered with Alfred Hale vainly trying to hold him back.
‘Forgive this untimely interruption, Your Highness,’ said Paul, ‘but you are in grave danger. The assassin is still at liberty and may strike again. Hale will conduct you to a place of safety until the villain is caught. I, meanwhile, will leave the theatre by another exit with Miss Granville. There’s no time for delay.’
Offering his arm to Hannah, he took her quickly out of the room with Jenny Pye trotting in their wake. From the way that she clung to him, Paul could tell that Hannah was both grateful and relieved. He’d arrived just in time.
‘What’s this about an assassin?’ she asked, worriedly.
‘He tried to shoot the Prince Regent.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was standing only feet away.’
‘Were you in danger?’ she gasped.
‘No, I was not.’
‘Are you sure of that, Paul?’
‘I’m not important enough to be killed.’
‘You’re the most important man in the world to me.’
‘When we’re alone together,’ he said with a grin, ‘I’ll give you every opportunity to tell me why.’
CHAPTER THREE
Work began early at the shooting gallery. Since they lived on the premises, Gully Ackford and Jem Huckvale were available to patrons who wished to have a lesson before they went to work or who simply preferred an appointment not long after dawn. Instruction in shooting, archery, boxing and fencing were all on offer. Now in his forties, Ackford, a retired soldier, was still an expert in all four disciplines and he was a gifted teacher. It was years since he’d taken the diminutive Huckvale under his wing, giving him only menial tasks at first. By dint of hard work, Huckvale had learnt quickly and was now able to take on pupils of his own. Still in his twenties, he was so quick and nimble in a boxing ring that opponents were often unable to land a blow on him.
After teaching someone the rudiments of pugilism that morning, Huckvale adjourned to the room that was both office and storeroom. Ackford was there, enjoying his breakfast.
‘Come and join me, lad. You must be famished.’
‘Thank you, Gully,’ said the other, taking a seat at the table. ‘After an hour with Mr Nevin, I need a rest.’
Ackford laughed. ‘If you’re tired, he must be near exhaustion.’
‘He could hardly move at the end. Next time he comes here, Mr Nevin is going to pay me to stand still in the ring.’
‘That would be cheating. Avoiding a punch is as important as landing one.’
‘I keep telling him that.’ He looked up as he heard the outer door being unlocked. ‘That will be Peter, I expect.’
‘Don’t ever get into a boxing ring with him. Even I would think twice about doing that. And the same goes for Paul.’
The door opened and Peter Skillen walked into the room.
‘My ears are burning,’ he said. ‘Is someone talking about me?’
‘I mentioned both you and your brother,’ admitted Ackford, ‘but only to praise your skills. Where is Paul, anyway? He should be here by now.’
‘He sent word that he’d be late today, Gully. There was trouble at the theatre last night. It appears that my brother came close to witnessing the assassination of the Prince Regent, if that’s what it really was. Paul is having doubts about it now.’
‘Why?’
‘The letter he sent by hand didn’t go into details. All I know is this.’
He told them about the incident outside the stage door and how his brother had been able to save Hannah from the attentions of an unwanted royal admirer.
‘Charlotte and I saw the first night of the production and, as usual, Hannah was sublime. Beauty like hers, however, always inflames a certain species of gentleman. In this case, mind you, I’d have thought that her devotees might be diminished in number.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Huckvale.
‘Lady Macbeth – the role taken by Hannah – is a monster. When the King of Scotland is a guest at their castle, she urges her husband to kill him in order to be crowned in his place. After the murder, Macbeth is afflicted by guilt and fear, but his wife is cold and callous, ordering him to steady his nerve and handling a pair of bloodstained daggers without batting an eyelid. Would such a woman have an appeal to either of you?’
‘She’d terrify me,’ confessed Huckvale.
‘I’d think twice about wanting to meet her in the flesh,’ said Ackford. ‘But, then, she’s not a real person, is she? Lady Macbeth is just a part in a play.’
‘Hannah made her seem so real,’ said Peter. ‘She was spine-chilling, yet dozens still rushed to the stage door for a glimpse of her.’
‘They were obviously disappointed last night.’
‘Yes, Gully. It was a case of life imitating art. A king was murdered inside the theatre and a Prince Regent was almost assassinated outside it. At least, that’s what my brother believed at first. I’ll be interested to know what really happened.’
‘When will he be coming to the gallery?’
‘That depends on how long it takes him to calm Hannah down. When she’s really upset, it can be the work of a whole day. I don’t envy Paul. Restoring her equanimity is in the nature of a Herculean labour.’
There had been little sleep for either of them. When they’d returned the previous night to the home they shared, Hannah had been too agitated even to think of retiring to bed. It was only when sheer fatigue finally claimed her that Paul was able to carry her upstairs. No sooner had he placed her gently on the bed than she awoke and voiced her anxieties all over again. It was a pattern followed throughout the night. They were now sitting at the breakfast table and taking it in turns to yawn.
Hannah returned to the subject that had been vexing her all night.
‘That’s it,’ she announced. ‘I’ll never play Lady Macbeth again.’
‘But you signed a contract, my love.’
‘It was the biggest mistake of my career.’
‘That’s patent nonsense, Hannah. Your performance has been rightly hailed. London is at your feet. Audiences that applauded Mrs Siddons in the role no longer even remember her. You have made the role your own.’
She tossed her head. ‘I do that with every part I play.’
‘Your performance is absolutely peerless.’
‘Unfortunately, it brought disaster in its wake. It’s my own fault. I didn’t heed the warnings. Everyone knows that the play is cursed. Last night, I found that out to my cost.’
‘Yet the night before, you told me that you were deliriously happy.’
‘I was deceived.’
‘Hannah …’
‘Don’t try to dissuade me, Paul. My mind is made up.’
‘Is it all because of one unfortunate incident?’
‘Is that what you call it?’ she asked with a hollow laugh. ‘The assassination of the Prince Regent merits a far stronger description than that. Suppose that you had been the target? I’d have been left in utter despair. Or suppose that the shot was fired when I emerged through the stage door. I might have been the victim. Have you considered that? Because of this hateful play, I could have been killed.’
‘You attach too much importance to superstition, my love.’
‘Then don’t listen to me. Talk to countless other members of my profession who came to grief while taking part in that ill-fated Scottish play. Ghosts have appeared, injuries have been sustained, scenery has collapsed, sickness has affected the whole cast. And there are dozens of other examples I could give you.’
‘Yet when you were offered the part, you seized it with alacrity.’
‘I’m the first to confess my folly.’
‘Have you so soon forgotten your other success in the play?’ he asked. ‘You not only brought Lady Macbeth to life in Paris, you did so in French. No other English actress could ever do that.’
‘Then they are spared the misery that I had to endure.’
‘You were feted, Hannah. Paris adored you.’
‘One of the men adored me rather too much,’ she recalled with a grimace. ‘But for the intervention of yourself and a courageous French gentleman, I’d have been abducted and brutally abused. The curse of that play struck once again.’
Conscious that they were having a conversation that they’d already had at least three or four times, Paul sought to break the impasse. Hannah was beyond the reach of reason. It was no use pointing out that she’d be damaging her future prospects if she pulled out of the production at short notice. Managers were not impressed by examples of pique and unreliability. Since Hannah was adamant, there was only one course of action left to him.
‘Very well,’ he said, changing tack. ‘I accept and endorse your decision. If the play offends you so much, spare no more time on the ordeal of taking part in it. Besides, there are only two more performances to go. I’m sure that she can cope perfectly well with those.’
Hannah started. ‘She?’
‘Miss Glenn.’
‘Why mention her? If I withdraw, the performances will be cancelled.’
‘The manager can’t afford to do that, Hannah. He’d have to refund a large amount of money. Even without you, the play must go on. Dorothea Glenn will be an adequate replacement.’
‘Nobody can replace me,’ she snarled.
‘In the strictest sense, you are quite right. No actress alive can attain your high standards but, then, Miss Glenn is not in competition with her idol. She accepts that she can only give a pale version of your performance, but the play will at least have a Lady Macbeth. Audiences will be disappointed when they hear of your indisposition but they will not be turned away.’
He paused to see what effect his words were having on Hannah. Much as he loved her, he was fully aware of her vanity and capriciousness. Paul saw it as his job to moderate her behaviour and steer her away from impulses that could have serious consequences. In raising the prospect of a replacement, he’d caught her on the raw. Hannah was very possessive. The idea of someone else taking over her role was anathema to her. He pressed on.
‘You’ve often said that Miss Glenn has great promise.’
‘It’s true,’ she conceded.
‘Like many young actresses, she’s modelled herself on you. It’s not often that you befriend newcomers to the profession, but that’s what you did with her.’
‘Dorothea is … a likeable young lady.’
‘Do you believe she will go far?’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘Then seize this opportunity to advance her career,’ suggested Paul. ‘Since you feel unable to take on the role yourself, allow her to step out from beneath your shadow and show the audience what she has to offer.’ There was a long silence. In the end, Paul had to prod her out of it. ‘Well?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘The decision is already made. You wish to withdraw from the play and it’s only fair to advise the manager of the emergency as soon as possible so that Miss Glenn can be rehearsed throughout the day.’ He got up from the table. ‘Unless you have anything else to say, I’ll ride to Covent Garden immediately and break the news. It will cause alarm, of course – that’s inevitable – but there’ll be no cancellation. The audience will see a Lady Macbeth onstage this evening, albeit one without any of your intensity and brilliance.’
‘Wait a moment,’ she said.
‘You wish to come with me?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘It would make more sense if you did so, Hannah. You could explain exactly why you are unable to face the challenge of two more performances in the role. If you stayed for the rehearsal,’ he went on, ‘you’d be able to pass on some advice to Miss Glenn. She’d be eternally grateful for it, I’m sure.’
Hannah fell silent. She was brooding.
When he knocked on the door of the shooting gallery, the man was surprised when it was opened by a woman. He’d never expected someone so beautiful, well dressed and relatively young to work at such an establishment but that is what Charlotte Skillen had been doing for some time. She conducted the visitor into the office and reached for the appointments book, opening it at the appropriate page.
‘What sort of instruction do you require, sir?’ she asked. ‘We have bookings for the rest of this week but there are some gaps after that.’
‘I’ve come to speak to Mr Skillen,’ said the man, nervously.
‘Which Mr Skillen do you mean? We have two here – Peter Skillen, my husband, and Paul, his brother. The latter, I fear, is otherwise engaged at the moment.’
‘Then I’ll speak to your husband, please. It’s urgent.’
‘He’ll be finishing a fencing lesson any moment,’ she said. ‘Sit down while you wait, Mr …?’
‘Hooper. Seth Hooper.’
‘Make yourself comfortable, Mr Hooper.’
Lowering himself into a chair, he remained tense and anxious. Charlotte appraised him. He was a stocky man of medium height and middle years, with bushy side whiskers holding his face in position like a pair of hirsute bookends. She could see the perspiration on his brow. His accent told her that he came from somewhere much further north. Wearing apparel that was manifestly too tight for him, he was almost squirming with embarrassment. Dealing with a well-educated woman like her was evidently a novel experience for him.
‘May I know what brought you here?’ she asked, politely.
‘This place was well-spoken-of.’
‘We aim to please, Mr Hooper.’
‘They say as how you … solve terrible crimes.’
‘Both my husband and his brother have dedicated their lives to doing just that. They’ll give you all the help you need. What crime has occurred?’
‘I’d rather not discuss it wi’ a lady.’
‘I’m not as delicate as I may look,’ she told him with a smile. ‘During my time here, we’ve handled cases of kidnap, fraud, theft, forgery, rape, robbery with violence and worse. I’ve learnt to take gruesome details in my stride.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d still rather talk to Mr Skillen.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Man to man, as it were …’
Right on cue, she heard footsteps descending the stairs and went out into the hall in time to see her husband bidding farewell to his pupil, a willowy youth with staring eyes. Once he’d left, she told Peter that they had a visitor who had obviously come with a serious problem he refused to divulge to her.
‘Leave him to me, Charlotte,’ he said.
After giving her an affectionate squeeze, he went into the room and introduced himself to the stranger. Hooper was on his feet at once, shaking the outstretched hand as if drawing water from a village pump. Peter could see and feel the man’s grief.
‘How may I help you?’ he asked.
‘My friend were shot dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Hooper.’
‘He went out last night and never came back. When I heard rumours of a murder, I knew it must be him. He’d never miss a meeting. It’s not in his character.’
‘What’s the name of your friend?’
‘Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘Ah,’ said Peter with interest. ‘I’ve heard good things about him. He’s a Member of Parliament, isn’t he?’
‘Aye, and he were the only decent man in that madhouse,’ said Hooper with sudden fury. ‘That’s the reason he were put down.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Hannah had changed her mind. Stung by the thought that someone might replace her as Lady Macbeth – even for a mere two performances – she decided that she would return to the company, after all. Before that, she needed a long sleep to restore her strength and spirits. Paul took her up to the bedroom and waited until she’d climbed between the sheets. Within minutes of placing her head on the pillow, she was fast asleep, allowing him to bestow a gentle kiss on her brow before creeping out of the room and closing the door silently behind him. Paul went downstairs, put on his coat and hat, then left the house. Intending to ride to the shooting gallery, he was confronted by the sight of an unexpected and decidedly unwelcome visitor. Micah Yeomans was alighting from a cab.
‘Have you come to arrest me again?’ taunted Paul.
‘No, Skillen, I’m here to warn you.’
‘What am I supposed to have done now?’
‘It’s what you’ll be tempted to do,’ said Yeomans, walking up to him. ‘And by the way, I didn’t need that fancy hat of his to identify the murder victim. A friend of his came to report him missing and gave us his name.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘That name rings a bell.’
‘He was a politician.’
‘And who was this friend of his?’
‘He’s strange company for a man of quality. Mellanby was a firebrand with wild ideas about reform unusual in someone with his education. In the House of Commons, I’m told, he’s known as the Radical Dandy. The so-called friend is one Seth Hooper, a brush-maker from Nottingham, a sweaty fellow who has difficulty stringing words together.’
‘That’s the effect you have on some people, Micah.’
‘Don’t mock me,’ warned the other.
‘What did you tell Hooper?’
‘I told him that we’d taken charge of the case and sent him on his way.’
‘Didn’t you mention that I was a witness to the murder?’
‘There was no need. Since I was there as well, I was able to tell him a little of what happened. Too much detail would have clouded his brain. He had the nerve to say that he wanted to be involved in the hunt for the assassin. I’d never allow any interference from him – or from you, for that matter. In fact,’ said Yeomans, ‘that’s why I’m here. Keep well clear of this investigation.’
‘But I have a personal stake in it.’
‘Mellanby was clearly a rich man. A large reward will be offered for the capture of his killer. I don’t want you and that confounded brother of yours getting in our way, as you usually contrive to do. That’s not just a warning from me. It’s a command from His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Since I was protecting him last night, he wants me to be the person who brings this villain to justice.’
‘Then he’ll wait until Doomsday.’
‘Our record of success speaks for itself.’
‘It’s far outweighed by your repeated failures.’
‘Don’t meddle in this case, Skillen.’
‘I’ve no choice. When a man is shot dead only feet away from me, I feel that it’s my duty to hunt down his killer.’
‘Would you defy a royal decision?’
‘In the name of justice,’ said Paul, ‘I’ll do whatever is necessary. First of all, however, I need to make a confession. I was wrong to imagine that the Prince Regent was the designated target.’
‘I told you that,’ said Yeomans.
‘The assassin was definitely hired to kill Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘At least we agree on something.’
‘Because the man was proficient in his trade, one shot was all it took and he made sure that nobody saw him fire it.’
‘What made you realise that your first guess was wrong?’
‘I thought of His Royal Highness.’
‘So?’
‘That monstrous bulk of his presented a much bigger target than Mellanby. From that short distance, a child with a popgun couldn’t have missed hitting the heir to the throne. In a matter of seconds,’ added Paul, ‘the assassin earned his money. He’d come well prepared. He knew exactly where to find his victim and could rely on his being off guard.’
‘Yes,’ said Yeomans, a sly grin on his face. ‘All that Mellanby was thinking about was how to get his hands on Miss Granville. That hope blinded him to everything else. Without meaning to, she helped the assassin by bewitching Mellanby. You might mention that to her.’
Paul had to control a sudden urge to hit him.
Peter felt sorry for Seth Hooper. The man clearly revered the murder victim and spoke of him in hushed tones. From time to time, tears welled up in his eyes. Peter waited patiently and listened intently. Mellanby and Hooper had arrived from Nottingham on the previous day. While the former had stayed at one of the most prestigious hotels in the capital, his companion had, of necessity, sought more modest accommodation. The two men were in London to attend a meeting of the Hampden Club, an association for those committed to a campaign for social and political reform. As a delegate from Nottingham, the brush-maker would be expected to make a speech, but it was the Radical Dandy whom the other members would really come to hear. He was their acknowledged spokesman. Mellanby would not only rouse them to fever pitch with blazing oratory, he would present their petition to the Prince Regent.
‘Sir Francis Burdett was asked first,’ explained Hooper, ‘but he refused. Sir Roger stepped forward at once. Nothing frightened him. He believed in our cause and did all he could to help us.’
‘He sounds like an extraordinary man,’ said Peter.
‘There were nobody quite like him.’
‘So it appears.’
‘He were a saint, Mr Skillen.’
Peter had doubts about that. Men who flocked to the stage door of a theatre in order to drool over a beautiful actress were rarely candidates for canonisation. The social and intellectual gap between the two friends was manifestly enormous. While Mellanby had been basking in a performance of a Shakespeare play, Hooper had been sitting in an attic room in a tavern, struggling to write his speech. Sadly, it would never be delivered now. The much-anticipated visit to London had been a disaster.
Hooper ended with a heartfelt plea for help.
‘I beg you to find the killer, Mr Skillen.’
‘An official investigation will already have been launched.’
‘I know,’ said the other. ‘I spoke to a Bow Street Runner named Mr Yeomans, but he turned me away with harsh words. Catching Sir Roger’s killer was his job, he told me, and I were to go back home to Nottingham and wait for news.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter, ‘that’s typical of Micah Yeomans. He hates interference.’
‘I asked people from the Hampden Club where else I could go. Yours was the first name on their lips.’
‘Don’t forget my brother. We operate as a team.’
‘I’ve no money to pay you at the moment,’ confessed Hooper, ‘but I’m sure that I can raise it when I take the hat round.’
‘I won’t ask for a fee at this point. Paul and I choose to be paid by results. If we fail, you owe us nothing. If we succeed – and we usually do – we can decide on a fair return for our labours.’
‘Whatever it costs, I’ll find the money somehow. The question is this – will you take on the search for the killer?’
‘I can’t make that decision, Mr Hooper. I find the case intriguing, but my brother will have a much stronger claim.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Paul was actually there last night,’ said Peter, choosing his words with care. ‘My brother acts as a bodyguard to one of the actresses in the play. His task is to conduct her safely through the phalanx of admirers.’
‘I still don’t understand what Sir Roger were doing there.’
‘Didn’t he tell you that he was going to the theatre?’
‘No,’ said Hooper. ‘He told me that he was having dinner with a friend in Mayfair. There were no mention made of Covent Garden. I wonder what made him change his mind and go to see a play instead?’
Peter didn’t wish to disillusion him. It was clear that Mellanby had intended to watch Macbeth all along and had fobbed Hooper off with a blatant lie. When he was on the loose in London, the politician enjoyed himself. His behaviour there, Peter guessed, was almost certainly at variance with the image of himself that he’d carefully created in his home town. It sounded to him as if the man worshipped by Hooper might well be a voluptuary when liberated from his domestic concerns in the Midlands. Evidently, Mellanby led a complex life. The notion of uncovering it only served to heighten Peter’s interest in the case.
‘The Runners have greater resources,’ he said, ‘and they’ll have the chief magistrate urging them to secure a speedy arrest and conviction. To give him credit, Yeomans will work hard to find the killer but his overconfidence is a weakness. Because he’s so sure of himself, he’s thrown away a priceless asset.’
‘Has he?’ asked Hooper. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s more a question of who it is. Look in the mirror and you’ll see him clearly. Yes, Mr Hooper,’ he went on as the visitor gaped, ‘you are that asset. What Yeomans discarded so rashly is a bonus that my brother and I will seize upon. Since you worked hand in glove with him, you can give us crucial details about Sir Roger’s private life as well as about his political activities.’
‘We’ve been close these past six years, Mr Skillen.’
‘Then you have a fund of information on which we can draw.’
‘That’s what I told Mr Yeomans.’
‘Forget him. The Runners are our rivals. Our methods differ from theirs and they usually bear fruit. However, I must issue a warning.’
‘What is it?’
‘This could be a long and difficult case.’
Hooper frowned. ‘That means it could be very expensive.’
‘Have no fear on that score,’ said Peter. ‘If Yeomans and his men track down the assassin, it won’t cost you anything. If, on the other hand, my brother and I solve the crime, we’d stand to gain what could well be a large amount of reward money. The bill we’d present to you will be a very small one.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Hooper, eyes moistening. ‘That takes a great weight off my mind. I was afraid that you’d turn me down.’
‘We’d never turn down an opportunity to humiliate the Runners. It adds spice to our work. Yet we mustn’t underestimate them. If I know Micah Yeomans, he’ll already be devising a plan to hamper our investigation.’
The Peacock Inn was far more than simply a welcoming hostelry that served excellent ale and delicious pies. It was also the base from which the Bow Street Runners routinely operated. Yeomans had an office at his disposal but he preferred to work in the Peacock where the landlord was a good friend, the atmosphere was friendly and the barmaids were excessively pretty. Other patrons never dared to sit at the table in the corner. It was reserved exclusively for the Runners. At that moment, Yeomans was in his usual chair, munching his way through the remains of his meal. He was a big, hulking, middle-aged man with an unsightly face that struck fear into the hearts of the criminal fraternity. Seated beside him was Alfred Hale, shorter, a trifle younger and of slighter build. He needed a long sip of ale before he had the courage to criticise his superior.
‘You may have made a mistake, Micah,’ he said, quietly.
‘I never make mistakes,’ growled the other.
‘I’m talking about that man, Hooper. You were too quick to send him on his way. He could have been useful to us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He knew Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘So?’
‘He might have given us information about him.’
‘The only information we need to know is that he was shot dead outside the stage door of the Theatre Royal. We were actually there. Hooper wasn’t.’
‘Yet he came to London with Sir Roger.’
‘They may have travelled in the same coach but not as companions. The man was a brush-maker, for heaven’s sake. Can you imagine an aristocrat like Sir Roger befriending a nonentity like that? Of course not,’ said Yeomans with disdain. ‘While the Radical Dandy was inside the coach, Hooper would have been on top of it, clinging on for dear life.’
‘I still think we might have learnt something from him.’
‘Yes – we learnt that he had bad breath, sweated like a pancake and could hardly get any words out of his mouth. Oh, one other thing – there was a button missing off his waistcoat.’
‘There was no need to treat him so roughly, Micah.’
‘He was in my way.’
‘You were cruel.’
‘I was realistic,’ said Yeomans. ‘Why waste precious time on a fool like Hooper when there are so many important people to speak to? Now that I’ve finished my pie, we can go off to meet one of them – Captain Golightly. You saw that letter we found on Mellanby. The captain was a real friend of his. We’ll get far more information out of him than we will from that bumbling brush-maker.’
‘What about Paul Skillen?’
‘I’ve taken care of him.’
‘He was there last night,’ Hale reminded him. ‘That means he’ll want to solve the murder before we do.’
‘He won’t get a chance, Alfred. I’ve warned him that the Prince Regent is very angry with him. Before His Royal Highness could get close to her, Skillen grabbed Miss Granville and took her out of reach.’
‘I know. They brushed past me as they fled.’
‘I told Skillen that he’s expressly forbidden to poke his nose into this investigation. Since that order has the power of the Crown behind it,’ said Yeomans, grandly, ‘Paul Skillen will have to obey it.’
After the shock of hearing that a man he admired had been shot dead, Seth Hooper had been in despair. Curt rejection by the Runners had added to his distress. When he’d been directed to the shooting gallery, he didn’t know if anyone would take on the case or, if they did, whether there was any possibility of success. To the brush-maker’s relief, Peter Skillen had been kind and sympathetic. During the time they spent together, Hooper slowly came out of his dejection. He even dared to entertain hope. As the two men were chatting, they heard the main door being unlocked. Peter excused himself and went out into the hall. Hooper, meanwhile, looked around the room with interest. He was impressed by the array of swords, pistols and archery equipment stored there. Everything was neatly displayed and obviously kept in good condition.
When the door opened again, he saw whom he believed to be Peter coming back into the room. There was something rather odd about him. It took Hooper a few seconds to realise that he was wearing rather more flamboyant attire now.
He was startled. ‘However did you find time to change?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Minutes ago, you were wearing something quite different.’
‘That was my brother, Peter,’ explained the other. ‘I’m Paul Skillen. Peter obviously forgot to tell you that we’re identical twins.’
‘It’s … uncanny,’ said Hooper, staring in amazement.
‘You’ll grow accustomed to it.’
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Peter has just explained and yes, it’s true that I was at the theatre last night. In fact, I was quite close to Sir Roger when he was shot dead. In the general panic, the killer and his accomplice got away.’
Hooper blinked. ‘There were two of them?’
‘I’m certain of it. I’ll tell you exactly what happened, if you wish.’
‘Yes, please!’
‘First, I must assure you that we will do all that’s possible to find out who was responsible for Sir Roger’s death. This was no random attack. Someone hired that assassin. I want to find out why.’
‘I’m so grateful, Mr Skillen – to you and your brother.’
‘It won’t be easy. Be warned about that. To start with, we’ll have constant trouble from the Runners. They can be very possessive.’
‘I found that out.’
‘Also, we have a more fearsome enemy to worry about.’
‘Oh – who is that?’
‘The Prince Regent. He’s given specific orders that I’m not to be involved in an investigation into the murder.’
‘Why did he do that?’
‘Call it revenge,’ said Paul with a wry smile. ‘I frustrated his ambitions with regard to a certain young lady, and I fancy that I’ll have to do it again before too long. With regard to the murder, not even a member of the royal family is going to stop me trying to solve it. For the Runners,’ he went on, ‘it’s just a routine assignment; for me, however, it’s much more than that. I see it as a kind of mission.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Captain Hector Golightly was a tall, sturdy, straight-backed individual with greying hair and moustache. A born soldier, he made sure that his house in Mayfair was run with military precision. Walls were adorned with paintings of famous battles in which British soldiers had been victorious. Golightly had served with distinction in two of the encounters on display. He was working in his study when told that he had visitors. Annoyed at the interruption, he nevertheless agreed to see them. A minute later, Micah Yeomans and Alfred Hale were conducted into the room. They found him standing in front of the fireplace with an air of unchallengeable authority. When Yeomans introduced himself and his companion, Golightly stiffened.
‘Why the devil are Bow Street Runners bothering me?’ he demanded. ‘I’m one of the most law-abiding men in London.’
‘We’ve not come to arrest you, Captain,’ said Hale.
‘No,’ added Yeomans, ‘we’re the bearers of bad news, I fear. It’s my sad duty to inform you that Sir Roger Mellanby died last night.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Golightly, stamping a foot. ‘He was in rude health when I last saw him. The fellow has another thirty years in him.’
‘He did not die by natural means, Captain.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sir Roger was shot dead.’
‘Never!’ exclaimed Golightly. ‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘We were there at the time,’ said Hale. ‘We were acting as bodyguards to the Prince Regent while he watched a play at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. After the performance, His Royal Highness expressed a wish to go to the stage door.’
‘And that’s where the murder took place,’ said Yeomans. ‘As we joined the crowd there, a pistol was fired and everyone ran away in panic, leaving the body of the man we now know as Sir Roger Mellanby dead on the ground.’
Golightly slowly adjusted to the grim news. His body was slack, his face ashen and his manner abruptly changed. All the authority seemed to have been drained out of him. In the course of a long career in the army, he’d seen many men perish on the battlefield. Yet none of the deaths he’d witnessed had left him with the searing pain he now felt.
‘Has an arrest been made?’ he asked at length.
‘I fear not,’ replied Yeomans. ‘It was dark and the killer got away in the commotion. We had to wait until this morning to find out who the victim was. The friend who identified him told us the name of the hotel where Sir Roger had stayed. During our search there of his luggage, we found a letter sent by you and inviting him to dine here this evening.’
‘It’s true. We’d planned to attend a meeting together this afternoon. Once that was done, he’d have joined me and some like-minded friends here. He’s dead?’ he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘This cannot be. We were like brothers. I valued his company above that of almost everyone else.’
‘You won’t enjoy it any more,’ murmured Hale.
‘The villain must be caught,’ insisted Golightly, recovering his composure. ‘Whatever it takes, he must be hunted down with all celerity. Hanging is too good for him. If it were left to me, I’d have his rotten carcass torn apart by two horses, and his head displayed on a spike outside the Tower.’
‘We must follow legal procedure, Captain,’ said Yeomans.
‘What steps have been taken?’
‘My men are out searching for the killer at this very moment.’
‘Are you confident of success?’
‘We have an army of informers we can call on. They have ears all over London. Sooner or later, we’ll get the name we want.’
‘A large reward will help to smoke him out,’ said Hale.
‘I’ll be happy to provide the money,’ volunteered Golightly.
‘Surely that should be left to Sir Roger’s family?’
‘Speed is of the essence here, man. I’ll brook no delay.’
‘I agree,’ said Yeomans. ‘Waiting for the family to respond might take two or three days. Prompt action is needed.’
‘I want reward notices printed immediately and put up today. As for the amount on offer, I want you to give me a figure you think fit – then double it. In the hunt for this monster,’ declared Golightly, ‘no expense must be spared.’
Paul Skillen was also acutely aware of the importance of acting quickly. With the help of his sister-in-law, he’d extracted the relevant information needed. As Seth Hooper answered all the questions fired at him, Charlotte had written down the answers until a small biography of Sir Roger Mellanby emerged. Inevitably, there were gaps. While he was able to describe his hero’s political achievements in detail, the brush-maker was less forthcoming about his family life. Though he was proud to be called a friend of the murder victim, he had never once been invited into the man’s home. When she and Peter were left alone, it was something on which Charlotte commented.
‘Mr Hooper never even got as far as the servants’ entrance.’
‘Mellanby obviously kept his private and public life rigidly apart,’ said Paul. ‘I’m certain that his wife knew nothing about his predilection for the theatre. By the same token, his London acquaintances were probably kept ignorant of the respectable existence he led in Nottingham when Parliament was in recess.’
‘Why did a man like that join the fight for electoral reform?’
‘He sincerely believed in it, Charlotte. There’s no other explanation. It won him a lot of friends, but it also earned him many enemies. Most of them, I daresay, were satisfied with simply pouring scorn on his views. Others may have felt that he was becoming too dangerous and had to be silenced.’
‘Where do we look for suspects – amongst politicians?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Paul. ‘We must cast our net far wider than Westminster.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His murder may have nothing to do with his role as a Member of Parliament. The person who ordered his death might be a jealous husband, perhaps a thwarted businessman, an unpaid creditor, a discarded friend or someone who has nursed a grudge against him that festered until it demanded expression.’
‘Where will you begin your search for him?’
Paul smiled. ‘Why do you think it has to be a man?’
‘It was a natural assumption.’
‘Well, it’s not one that I’m making. As far as I’m concerned,’ he said, ‘it could equally well be a woman.’
The difference was remarkable. Seth Hooper’s journey to London had been long, bruising and hazardous. Seated on top of a swaying stagecoach, he was exposed to rain, wind, the jostling of other passengers and the multiple shortcomings of roads that were no more than mud-caked tracks. On his return to Nottingham, by contrast, he was one of four passengers travelling inside a mail coach that was cleaner, more restful and much faster. Apart from the driver, there was also a guard outside, dressed in the Post Office livery of maroon and gold, and armed with two pistols and a blunderbuss. Hooper couldn’t believe that he deserved such comparative luxury. He was an interloper. Comfort made him feel uncomfortable.
Peter Skillen, however, was completely at ease.
‘This was a wise choice,’ he said. ‘It’s over a hundred miles to Nottingham. This coach should get us there in less than sixteen hours.’
‘The stagecoach that brought me to London took a lot longer than that.’
‘The person to thank for this mode of transport is John Palmer.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Hooper.
