A Date with the Executioner

by Edward Marston

  ‘I know someone in the identical predicament,’ said Paul, thinking of Hannah. ‘Being pursued by over-amorous gentlemen is a constant problem.’

  ‘That is what set Mark … Mr Bowerman, that is, apart from the pack. He didn’t try to harass, trick or entrap me. He offered me true love and devotion. It was wonderfully refreshing. I’d never met anyone so considerate and undemanding.’

  ‘I formed the same view of Mr Bowerman.’

  ‘The more I got to know him, the closer I was drawn to him. Yes, he was somewhat older than me but that meant he had wisdom and maturity. They are qualities I greatly appreciate. When he touched very lightly on the possibility of a betrothal, I was thrilled by the notion. It was only a matter of time before he’d have found the words and the courage to seek my hand.’ Her body sagged. ‘It will never happen now.’

  ‘You meant everything to him, Miss Somerville.’

  ‘I like to think so.’

  ‘I am quoting his exact words.’

  After nodding her thanks, she took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Since she seemed to have got over the immediate shock of Bowerman’s murder, Paul probed for information about his rival.

  ‘You said earlier that Captain Hamer had been a friend in the past.’

  ‘He was more of an acquaintance, really,’ she said, evasively, ‘but he did engage my interest at first, I must admit. He was handsome and daring and had fought in the Peninsular War. Any woman would be impressed by that.’

  ‘You’ve no need to justify it.’

  ‘He pursued me for some time, then he … disappeared. Soon after that, I was introduced to Mr Bowerman and the captain faded in my memory. Then, out of the blue, he appeared on my doorstep and declared his love. I did my best to send him on his way but he was very persistent.’

  ‘That’s why Mr Bowerman challenged him to a duel.’

  ‘It’s the last thing he should have done,’ she wailed.

  ‘What will happen if Captain Hamer comes calling again?’

  She was decisive. ‘He’ll find my door slammed shut in his face.’

  After plying her with more questions, Paul rose to leave.

  ‘One last thing,’ he said, casually. ‘You mentioned that he fought in the Peninsular War.’

  ‘That’s right. Captain Hamer was in the Royal Horse Guards. He was immensely proud of the fact that he saw action at the battle of Fuentes de Oñoro. He boasted about it every time he gave me one of the souvenirs he’d brought back from the war.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The friendship between Charlotte Skillen and Hannah Granville was an example of the attraction of opposites. When she first saw the actress onstage, Charlotte had been dazzled by her histrionic skills. A career in the theatre was something she could never have aspired to herself because she had neither the talent nor the temperament. Nor could she ever have entered into the liaison outside marriage that Hannah enjoyed with Paul. Though she’d worried about it at first, Charlotte had come to accept that her brother-in-law had the right to live the kind of life he chose and, if it involved cohabitation with a famous actress, then he should be supported rather than condemned. Her husband, Peter, took the same view.

  Though they had little in common, the two women got on extremely well together. Both were attractive, intelligent and in their late twenties but there the similarity ended. While Charlotte was reserved and thoroughly respectable, Hannah had the surface hardness necessary in such a competitive profession. She was loud, exhibitionist and volatile, having none of her friend’s equanimity. Whenever she visited the house, she was struck by its atmosphere of calm.

  ‘I love coming here, Charlotte,’ she said with an extravagant gesture. ‘It’s a haven of peace in a war-torn world.’

  ‘Thankfully, hostilities against the French have ceased.’

  ‘I was speaking of the daily battles I have to fight to get my way.’

  ‘Is the theatre quite such a contest of strength?’

  ‘It is when rehearsals are going badly,’ replied Hannah, ‘and they reached their nadir today. That is why I flounced out and sought your company. You are so consoling, Charlotte. I love Paul to distraction but, when I most need his support, he becomes argumentative. Peter is an altogether more placid individual. Be grateful that you are not married to his brother.’

  Charlotte suppressed a smile. There had, in fact, been a time when Peter and Paul had both sought her hand in marriage and she had been forced to choose between them. She had never for a moment regretted her decision. Even though he could never bring the same wild excitement as his brother, Peter offered a stability that was more suited to Charlotte’s needs and personality. She was relieved that Paul had never told Hannah about his earlier pursuit of her. It might well have compromised the warm relationship she now shared with the actress.

  ‘What is the problem with the play?’ she asked.

  Hannah groaned. ‘If I gave you chapter and verse,’ she said, ‘we’d be here until Doomsday. It’s all so lowering.’

  ‘Are you rehearsing a tragedy or a comedy?’

  ‘You may well ask, Charlotte.’

  ‘What is its title?’

  ‘The Piccadilly Opera.’

  ‘There will be music and singing, then.’

  ‘Very little of either,’ said Hannah with disgust. ‘It’s an opera with no arias, a tragedy with no suffering and a comedy without the slightest hint of true wit.’

  ‘Heavens!’

  ‘It’s exasperating.’

  ‘Who wrote this perverse play?’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Hannah with a harsh laugh. ‘There you have it. His accursed name is Abel Mundy and he shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred miles of a public stage. The man is an abomination. He is the kind of playwright I detest most.’

  ‘And what kind is that?’

  ‘A live one.’

  They were seated in the drawing room. While Charlotte remained in her chair, however, Hannah felt the need to rise to her feet from time to time in order to express herself with more force. Charlotte was happy for her to do so. She was relishing a performance for which most people would have to pay.

  ‘Give me a dead author before all else,’ said Hannah, warming to her theme. ‘His plays will have survived the test of time and have proven merit. Shakespeare is a case in point. An actor himself, he knew what actors needed. He gave them roles that stretched them to the limit of their art. And there are many others whose contribution to the annals of drama I value greatly. Their chief appeal, however, is that they are no longer alive to interfere. Abel Mundy, alas, does nothing else.’

  ‘Why, then, did you agree to take part in The Piccadilly Opera?’

  ‘It was the biggest mistake of my career.’

  ‘Did you not see the play in advance?’

  ‘I was merely given a description of it by the playwright and – since he was so pleasant and plausible at our first meeting – I placed my trust in him. There were, of course, temptations offered by the manager. One was financial but that was the least of my considerations. What persuaded me to accept the role was the promise that I could choose the next three plays in which I was to appear. Needless to say,’ she went on, ‘the first was Macbeth.’

  ‘Your performance of Lady Macbeth was well received in Paris. What other English actress could play the part in French, as you did?’

  ‘It’s impossible to name one, Charlotte. But you see my dilemma. I go from the heights of Macbeth to the depths of The Piccadilly Opera.’

  ‘Is there no way to withdraw from the play?’

  ‘Not without a financial penalty and severe damage to my reputation. The truth of the matter is that I bought a pig in a poke.’

  ‘What, then, is the solution?’

  ‘I came here in the hope that you could tell me that. Your advice is always so sensible. I’ve come to a dangerous point in my career, Charlotte,’ said Hannah, one hand on her heart. ‘Do I revoke my contract altogether or do I grit my teeth and
risk derision in this theatrical catastrophe?’

  Peter Skillen moved to the window so that he could examine the dagger in the best light. It was a long, narrow-bladed weapon and, now that the blood had been wiped from it, it was glinting.

  ‘It was made in Toledo,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked his companion.

  ‘Toledo steel is the finest in the world. That was known as long ago as Roman times. Their armies chose Toledo blades above any other. As it happens,’ Peter went on, ‘I once had a rather memorable encounter with a dagger just like this.’

  ‘Really?’

  They were in the room in the morgue where the body of Mark Bowerman lay on a slab. Peter had only glanced at the corpse when the shroud was pulled back. He was less interested in the victim’s wound than in the weapon used to kill him. He could feel its perfect balance. The stringy old man beside him was one of the coroner’s assistants, charged with cleaning and preparing the cadavers for burial. Sensing a story, he pressed for details.

  ‘Are you telling me that someone tried to kill you with a Toledo dagger?’

  ‘He tried and he almost succeeded, my friend.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘It was during the war with France,’ explained Peter. ‘My work often took me to Paris and, on one occasion, someone decided to make it my last possible visit there. Fortunately, I’d been warned of his intentions. When he tried to strike, I was ready for him.’

  ‘A weapon like that could cut you to shreds.’

  ‘It most certainly could.’

  ‘How did you escape, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘I didn’t elude the dagger completely,’ admitted Peter, indicating his shoulder. ‘I still carry a vivid memento of it. As to the circumstances, I’m not able to recount them. I’m just grateful to be alive.’

  It had not been Peter’s only brush with death. Because he spoke French fluently, he’d been employed as a spy during the war and made frequent trips to the French capital. It was a hazardous period of his life and, though it had been quite exhilarating, he was relieved when it was all over. At the same time, he liked to think that he’d made a small but useful contribution to the war effort. The scar on his shoulder was a stark reminder of the days when he’d been in almost continuous jeopardy. Conscious of the agonies Charlotte had endured while he was away, he had been even more attentive to her since his return.

  After turning the dagger over in his hand, he handed it back to the assistant.

  ‘The one consolation, I suppose, is that death would have been almost instantaneous,’ he said. ‘Mr Bowerman would not have suffered.’

  ‘It’s his wife and family who’ll do the suffering, sir.’

  ‘Mrs Bowerman died some years ago. They had no children.’

  ‘There’ll still be relatives to mourn him.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be.’ Peter looked at the dagger once more. ‘It’s curious, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve never seen a weapon quite like it, sir.’

  ‘That’s what puzzles me. It’s so individual. You’d have thought the owner would prize it. Instead of that, he left it buried in someone’s back. Most killers would have taken it away so that it could be used again,’ said Peter. ‘In this case, however, it was deliberately left behind. I’m intrigued to find out why.’

  When she left the house in a hackney carriage, Hannah was grateful that she’d sought advice about the quandary in which she found herself. While she had not been able to solve the actress’s problem, Charlotte had managed to soothe her and offer much-needed sympathy. Having arrived there in a state of outrage, Hannah departed in a far more tranquil frame of mind. Paul Skillen had brought many wonderful things into her life and his sister-in-law was amongst the best of them. Charlotte could do what Paul himself could not and that was to view a situation coolly and dispassionately. Unlike Hannah, she would never act on impulse. The actress was unable to emulate her because she was the slave of an ungovernable spontaneity. It was one of the qualities that had first attracted Paul to her.

  Should she honour her contract or refuse to perform in a play she felt so unworthy of her? There was no simple answer. Taking part in The Piccadilly Opera might well be injurious to the reputation she’d so assiduously built up, yet turning her back on a commitment she’d undertaken would not endear her to any theatre manager. They’d hesitate to employ an actress who’d behaved in such a cavalier fashion. Since she’d signed a contract, there’d also be legal repercussions, not to mention the substantial loss of money that was involved. Either course of action was perilous. Hannah felt trapped.

  She was still deep in thought when she reached the home she shared with Paul. As she stood on the doorstep, waiting for a servant to admit her, she was wholly unaware of the angry pair of eyes trained on her from the other side of the street. The door was opened and Hannah disappeared. Only then did someone emerge from their hiding place and glare at the house with undisguised hatred.

  Jack Linnane was wheeling a barrow when the Runners came in through the garden gate. Because they strutted towards him with an air of importance, he took against them at once. Peter Skillen had been polite and friendly towards the gardener. The Runners, by contrast, were brusque and demanding. It was almost as if he was being treated as a suspect himself. After brief introductions, Yeomans told him that he wanted truthful answers and complete cooperation. Linnane provided both under duress. He showed them where the murder had taken place and responded, albeit reluctantly, to the questions fired at him in quick succession by both men. Yeomans was not satisfied. Because the gardener was slow of speech, he felt the man was misleading them. He grabbed Linnane by the scruff of his neck and shook him.

  ‘Did you really find the dagger in the victim’s back?’ he yelled. ‘Or did you put it there yourself?’

  ‘No, no, sir,’ protested the other. ‘I’d never seen the man before.’

  ‘I think you’re lying.’

  ‘It’s not him, Micah,’ said Hale.

  ‘He’s got such a villainous look about him.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him the killer. If he wanted to stab someone to death, he’d do it in a dark alley and relieve him of his purse. When the crime was reported to Bow Street, it was made clear that Mr Bowerman’s purse and watch were still on the body. What could this man hope to gain from the murder?’ He waved a hand. ‘Let him go, Micah. He’s innocent.’

  ‘I still have doubts, Alfred.’

  Nevertheless, he released the gardener who retreated a few steps. Hale contended that only a fool would invite Runners to investigate a crime that he’d just committed and the gardener was not that stupid. After a short argument, Yeomans finally accepted that Linnane had not been involved in any way. They gave him no apology for treating him so roughly. As he and Hale headed for the gate, the gardener called out to them.

  ‘One moment …’

  Yeomans turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m to give you a message,’ he said.

  ‘Who asked you to do that?’

  ‘It was a gentleman, sir.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Mr Peter Skillen.’

  Hale groaned. ‘Has he been here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What was the message?’

  ‘I was to say how much he was looking forward to working with you again.’

  The Runners froze, exchanged a look of horror then stalked out.

  Linnane felt so pleased to have thoroughly upset them that he sat in the arbour and rewarded himself with a pipe of tobacco.

  Back at the shooting gallery, the brothers met up to exchange information. Gully Ackford was fascinated by what they’d so far unearthed. He showed particular interest in the murder weapon.

  ‘It has to be one of Hamer’s souvenirs from the Peninsular War,’ he said.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ warned Peter.

  ‘You heard what Paul discovered. Hamer was in the habit of giving Miss Somerville gifts he’d broug
ht back from Spain and Portugal. And what is a soldier most likely to bring back? I can tell you that from my own experience. I brought back things I picked up on the battlefield.’

  ‘Captain Hamer is hardly likely to have given Miss Somerville a dagger.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting that he did. He kept it and used it to kill Mr Bowerman.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Paul.

  ‘It’s too big a coincidence.’

  ‘Hundreds of soldiers must have brought back a dagger like that one. It’s not unique, by any means. And I refuse to believe that Hamer would stab a man he could easily kill in a second duel.’

  ‘One of us must go and see him,’ said Peter.

  ‘I’ll take on that office. Miss Somerville furnished me with his address.’

  ‘You told us that she never wanted to see him again.’

  ‘I can reinforce that message for her,’ said Paul, firmly. ‘I’d like the opportunity to learn a little more about Hamer.’

  ‘There’s one easy way of doing that,’ suggested Ackford.

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Yes, Paul. We can ask a favour of your brother.’

  Peter was surprised. ‘I know nothing whatsoever of Hamer.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but you have a means of gaining intelligence. After all the work you did for the Home Secretary, he’s indebted to you. I’m not simply thinking of your work as a spy in France. It was not all that long ago that you solved a mystery at the Home Office itself. Call on Viscount Sidmouth. A man in his position will have ready access to the War Office. He simply has to tell one of his minions to look into the regimental history of the Royal Horse Guards with reference to the name of Captain Stephen Hamer.’