‘It is,’ she agreed with a smile. ‘It’s taken me years to get my tongue around it. Fortunately, I have a very patient husband.’ She became serious. ‘My dilemma is this: I returned to England because I heard that my father had died. I’m desperate to learn the circumstances of his death. That’s why I thought my search might start in Bow Street.’
‘Do you suspect that a crime might have taken place?’
‘No, no, I’ve no reason to think that. I just need someone to find the information I want. My immediate thought was a Runner.’
‘Why not begin your search at the church where he was buried?’
‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘Someone in your family will surely tell you.’
‘It’s not as simple as that, Mr Huckvale,’ she said, looking around at the jostling crowd. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss my private affairs out here in the street.’
‘Then you have a choice,’ he told her. ‘You can either turn to the Runners and hope that they have a man who’ll take an interest in your plight, or you can engage the best detectives in London.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Their names are Peter and Paul Skillen, seasoned men who’ve solved murders, caught endless criminals and tracked down dozens of missing persons. They’ll certainly take on your case.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I have the honour of working for them, Mrs van Emden.’ He could see her hesitating. ‘Why not at least speak to them?’ he suggested. ‘It will cost you nothing. If you have any doubts about their abilities, you can go to the Runners instead.’
‘Well …’
‘What can you lose?’ asked Huckvale, with a reassuring smile. ‘This is no chance encounter. I believe that fate guided our footsteps today. We were meant to cross each other’s paths. Don’t you feel that?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘In truth, I don’t feel that at all.’
CHAPTER THREE
Having chased Harry Scattergood without success for so many years, the Runners couldn’t resist going to see him in custody. The infamous thief was being held in a dank cell at the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. Mindful of the man’s reputation, Eldon Kirkwood, the chief magistrate, had ordered that he should be kept in handcuffs. Yeomans and Hale went to satisfy their curiosity. Expecting to find the prisoner cowed and resentful, they were surprised to see him sitting cross-legged on the floor with a contented smile on his face. It turned into a broad grin when he saw the Runners.
‘Good day to you, gentlemen,’ he said, breezily.
‘I’d have thought it was a bad day for you,’ said Yeomans. ‘Your miserable career has just come to an end.’
Hale was sarcastic. ‘We feel so sorry for you.’
‘Save your sympathy for Welsh Mary,’ said Scattergood.
‘Who’s she?’
‘Mary Morris from Wales is the sweet little darling who was about to enjoy the moment of a lifetime when I was rudely plucked from between those wondrous thighs of hers.’
‘So that’s it. You were caught in a brothel.’
‘I was tricked by those damnable brothers. When one of them banged on the front door, I had to leave Welsh Mary high and dry so that I could quit the premises. No sooner had I done that and mounted my horse than I was lying on the ground with a sword at my neck. Paul Skillen, the cunning devil, had cut the girth so that the saddle gave way beneath me.’
Hale guffawed. ‘I’d have loved to have seen that.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t,’ said Yeomans, malevolently. ‘Don’t ask me to praise the Skillens’ handiwork. This flea-bitten wretch was ours.’
‘Except that you couldn’t catch me,’ taunted Scattergood.
‘We got close many a time.’
‘But I always escaped your clutches.’
‘It remains to be seen if you’ll escape the hangman. At the very least, you’ll be shipped off to Australia with the scum of London. If the voyage doesn’t kill you, the hard labour certainly will.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Scattergood, airily.
‘How can you be so cheerful?’ asked Hale.
‘I have Welsh Mary waiting for me.’
‘Your days with the trulls of the capital are over.’
‘I paid her in advance. I want my money’s worth.’
‘Forget her, Harry. You’ll never see her again.’
Scattergood became pensive. ‘What I want to know is this,’ he said, ‘how did those brothers know where to find me?’
‘They’ve got noses like bloodhounds,’ said Hale, enviously.
‘But I never leave tracks.’
‘Someone must have betrayed you.’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ said Scattergood, eyes glinting. ‘Yet those clever twins picked up my scent somehow.’
‘So can we,’ complained Yeomans, turning his head away in disgust. ‘You stink to high heaven.’
‘Who was your stall?’ asked Hale. ‘Who always got in our way whenever we tried to chase you?’
Scattergood was insistent. ‘I work alone.’
‘We don’t believe you. I’ll wager you had a lookout.’
‘I didn’t need one when I was up against fools like you two. I’ve been buzzing all my life, you see. I started off as a snakesman, then a mutcher, then a dipper, then a dragsman, stealing from carriages. When I learnt how to break a drum,’ he boasted, ‘there was no stopping me. I’ve been burgling houses ever since. Nobody could touch me.’
‘The Skillen brothers did.’
‘I’ll get even with them somehow.’
‘How can you do that from Botany Bay?’ asked Yeomans.
‘Oh, I’ve no intention of being transported.’
‘There’s no way to prevent it.’
‘You’ll see – and so will Welsh Mary.’
‘What’s she got to do with it?’
‘She owes me fifteen minutes of paradise,’ said Scattergood, with a smirk. ‘That’s what I paid for and that’s what I intend to get.’
Even when they’d reached the shooting gallery, Clemency van Emden was still undecided. Though she’d been persuaded to go there by Jem Huckvale, she was unimpressed by the shabby exterior of the building and wondered if she should bother to go inside. After thinking it over for a few minutes, she agreed to enter and was shown into the room that was used as both an office and a place for storage. To her amazement, she was welcomed by Charlotte Skillen, a poised, handsome woman of her own age who seemed out of place in such surroundings. After formal introductions, Jem explained how the visitors from abroad came to be there, then left them alone with Charlotte, confident that she would soon remove any doubts they might have.
When she’d taken a seat, her footman stood behind her. Clemency started with a confession.
‘I have to tell you that I’m to blame for all the confusion,’ she said, penitently. ‘The fact is that my father and I have been estranged for a number of years because … he disapproved strongly of my marriage.’
‘Why was that?’ asked Charlotte.
‘He disliked my husband and he disliked the idea that I’d be taken off to live in Amsterdam even more. When I defied him, he told me that he no longer had a daughter. That was very hurtful, Mrs Skillen.’
‘It sounds to me as if there was pain on both sides.’
‘Oh, there was – intense pain.’
‘Were no efforts made towards reconciliation?’
‘None were made by my father,’ replied the other. ‘I yearned for his forgiveness but the steady stream of letters I sent to him went unanswered and, I fear, probably unread.’
‘That must have been a very sad state of affairs. How did you hear of his death?’
‘I received an anonymous letter. It gave no details, merely stating that my father had died and that the funeral had taken place. Since my husband was unable to come to England, I set off without him. From the moment I arrived in London, I’ve met with quite an alarming series of discoveries
.’
‘That must have been disconcerting for you.’
‘It’s frightening,’ said Clemency. ‘When I went to the house where my father had lived for most of his life, I was told that he’d left there several months ago when he became bankrupt. Yes – think of that – bankrupt. How could that possibly be true? He was a successful engineer and draughtsman. How could he possibly have got into dire financial straits?’
‘What about his solicitor? Did you contact him?’
‘I went straight to the man who used to act for him, but I learnt that they’d fallen out and parted company. He had no idea who’d replaced him as a legal advisor.’
Clemency explained that she’d visited a number of her father’s friends and discovered that nobody had seen him for months. Such as it was, his social life had ceased to exist. All that she heard were rumours that he’d taken to drink and been seen begging in the streets. Charlotte felt profoundly sorry for her. It was clear that she blamed herself for the rift with her father and felt that her disappearance abroad had robbed him of any purpose in life. Having left him in good health and in constant demand for his skills, she’d come back to hear of his rapid decline into penury.
‘If only he’d told us he needed money,’ Clemency wailed. ‘We’d have sent it at once. My husband is a wealthy man and as eager as I was for an amicable reunion. It can never take place now.’
She lapsed into silence and Charlotte let her brood quietly on the sorrowful events. Then, without warning, Clemency was suddenly jerked out of her reverie by the sound of a gun being fired in the room directly above them. She jumped to her feet, but Charlotte didn’t turn a hair.
‘Someone is receiving instruction in the shooting gallery,’ she said.
‘How can you bear such a noise?’
‘One gets used to it, Mrs van Emden.’
‘That helpful young man we met earlier, does he really work here?’
‘Oh, yes, Jem is an important part of the enterprise. So, for that matter, are my husband, Peter, and his brother, Paul. Between them, they’ll quickly solve the mystery of your father’s death.’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I simply must know the truth, Mrs Skillen.’
‘That’s only natural.’
‘I’ll understand if you place all the blame on me.’
Charlotte was surprised. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’
‘You must think I acted wilfully in disobeying my father.’
‘I think that you followed your heart, Mrs van Emden, and I’d never criticise any woman for doing that.’
While his wife was talking to their visitor, Peter Skillen was hearing from Jem Huckvale how the woman came to be there in the first place. The two men were in the long room reserved for archery practice. As they chatted, Jem was whitening the target. Peter was perplexed.
‘I’d have thought it was very easy to find out where her father is buried,’ he said. ‘All that Mrs van Emden has to do is go to the church where he attended services on a Sunday.’
‘On the walk back here, she told me that she’d done that.’
‘And what was the result?’
‘The vicar had no idea that her father was dead. It seems that George Parry – that’s his name – stopped going to church altogether when his daughter left. Wherever the funeral took place, it wasn’t in his parish church.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t realised that.’
‘I promised her that you and Paul would come to her rescue.’
‘We’ll be happy to do so, Jem. Most of our assignments involve great danger so it will be a welcome change to deal with a case entirely devoid of jeopardy. It’s so straightforward.’
‘It may not be that straightforward,’ said Huckvale.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mr Parry was so upset at what his daughter did that he cut off all links between them. What if he left instructions in his will that he was to be buried in a place where she was least likely to find him?’
‘In other words,’ said Peter, thinking it through, ‘he may not even be here in London.’ Huckvale nodded. ‘That could complicate matters. I like that. Our job has suddenly become more interesting.’
‘Mrs van Emden hasn’t hired us yet.’
‘Leave that to Charlotte. She’ll persuade the lady to engage us.’
‘Her father used to be an engineer. He designed a bridge once.’
‘Then he’ll have had lots of business associates. One of them is bound to be able to shed light on what actually happened to him.’
‘They didn’t step forward when he lost all his money.’
‘There must be a reason for that, Jem.’
‘Mrs van Emden is desperate to know what actually killed him.’
‘From what you’ve told me about her father, there are lots of possibilities. He wouldn’t be the first person who drank himself to death. If he was forced to beg on the streets, he’d have been vulnerable to attack from one of those predatory gangs that smell a weakness instantly. Then again, he could simply have withered away from starvation. It’s even conceivable,’ Peter went on, ‘that he actually wanted to die.’
‘That’s Mrs van Emden’s greatest fear.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes, Peter. She didn’t say it in so many words, but I could guess what she was thinking.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Because of what she did,’ said Huckvale, sadly, ‘Mrs van Emden believes that her father died of a broken heart.’
Paul Skillen could still not believe his good fortune. Sharing his life with Hannah Granville, the finest actress of her generation, he woke up every morning with the most extraordinary feeling of joy and fulfilment. There were, however, some disadvantages. Superb onstage in any part she played, Hannah could, in private, be volatile, demanding and headstrong, requiring Paul to read her moods and exercise considerable tact. Then there were the hordes of male admirers who competed for her attention, showering her with gifts and offers of a more intimate alliance. When he’d first met her, Paul had enjoyed the thrill of escorting her from the stage door of a theatre through a melee of devotees, but that pleasure had soon evanesced into annoyance at the brutal fact that most of them simply wanted another conquest.
But the major disadvantage of being her chosen partner was that Hannah was always in demand by theatre managers in London and elsewhere. Her latest engagement was at the Theatre Royal, Bath, where she was due to play Rosalind in As You Like It. While he was excited by her unwavering success in a highly precarious profession, Paul hated being apart from her. As her luggage was being taken out to the waiting cab, they were about to exchange farewells. Hannah could see the sadness in his eyes.
‘You could always come with me,’ she said.
‘I have work that keeps me here, my love.’
‘Then I’ll write to you every day.’
‘Make sure that you do,’ said Paul. ‘It was torture when you went to Paris. Your letters took an age to reach me and they contained only the merest hints of the terrible problems you were facing there. Had I known the truth, I’d have set out for France at once.’
‘Thankfully, you did come in due course.’
‘That episode ended happily, as it was, but it could easily have had appalling consequences. At least Bath is easier to reach than Paris.’
‘I hope that you’ll come to see my performance.’
‘If it were left to me, I’d be there every day.’
‘And every night …’
Hannah gave him the smile that had first enchanted him, then went into his arms for a final embrace. When he pulled away, he looked at the beautiful opal necklace she was wearing.
‘Whenever you’re travelling, Hannah, you really shouldn’t have any valuables on display.’
‘This was a gift from the dearest man in the world,’ she said, one hand to the necklace, ‘and I can’t thank you enough for it. When I’m wearing t
his, I’m reminded of you, Paul.’
‘I’d feel happier if you kept it out of sight during the journey.’
She snapped her fingers. ‘I’d never dream of it. When you have something wonderful,’ she went on with a grand gesture, ‘you’re entitled to flaunt it, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.’
CHAPTER FOUR
After their visit to see the prisoner, Yeomans and Hale returned to the Peacock Inn to drink more ale in a futile bid to dispel the feeling that they’d been thoroughly humiliated. The Skillen brothers had surpassed them yet again and Harry Scattergood had mocked them. It was the thief who unnerved them most. Since the protection of property was one of the cornerstones of British justice, Scattergood was facing the prospect of execution. Anyone else in his position would be showing fear and begging for mercy, yet he did neither. Scattergood was sitting blithely on the floor of his cell as if he were a guest at a hotel. When the Runners went to see him, he’d actually taunted them.
‘I don’t like it, Micah,’ said Hale.
‘Neither do I,’ agreed the other. ‘He was far too sure of himself.’
‘He could just be trying to bluff us.’
‘I doubt it. Harry knows something that we don’t and that worries me. It’s almost as if he’s certain of escaping.’
‘Nobody can escape from the cells in Bow Street.’
‘That woman did,’ Yeomans reminded him. ‘Don’t you remember? We had Miss Somerville safely locked away then Captain Hamer came to her rescue by holding a pistol to Chevy Ruddock’s skull. We had to let her walk out of there.’
‘They didn’t get clear. Thanks to Chevy, we stopped them.’
‘Ruddock was irrelevant.’
‘Be fair, Micah. He was a real hero that day.’
‘It was our heroism that foiled the escape, Alfred,’ said Yeomans, unwilling to let the younger man enjoy any of his deserved praise. ‘But the case is different here. Harry Scattergood is no beautiful young damsel about to be carried off by a dashing soldier. He’s a hideous little runt without a true friend in the world.’
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