Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘Do we have to start searching all over again?’

  ‘That’s a decision only you can make.’

  ‘I simply must know the truth,’ she said, clenching her fists. ‘I can’t go back home until I know what happened to my father. So please give me your honest opinion. I’m far too shaken up by what we learnt from the undertaker. You’re much calmer and more reasonable.’

  ‘Then my opinion is this,’ he told her. ‘You were not meant to find out the truth. Whoever sent that message to you in Amsterdam did so on purpose to cause distress. But for our help, you’d never have discovered that a Mr George Parry was buried in Islington.’

  ‘But he’s not my father.’

  ‘I believe he was intended to pass as Mr Parry.’

  She frowned. ‘What evidence do you have for that, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘When you were taken out of the room by the vicar’s wife,’ he explained, ‘I asked how the dead man had been identified. I was shown a piece of paper found in his pocket. All it said was that his name was George Parry, but the lettering matched that on the letter sent to you and the stationery was identical.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’

  ‘I thought it would only intensify your grief, Mrs van Emden. I wanted to protect you from further pain. Someone is playing games with you,’ he said, ‘and I’ll go to any lengths to find out why. When you feel ready, we’ll take the first step towards finding out who’s behind it.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘We visit the gentleman who actually found the bogus George Parry. I can do so on my own, if you wish.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said, sitting up and asserting herself. ‘I want to be there as well. Just because we’ve been deceived, I’m not giving up. We’ll go to High Barnet together, Mr Skillen.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Having him at her side made all the difference. Even though she’d been troubled at first by the suggestion that the leader of the highwaymen might actually live in the city, Hannah Granville was no longer afraid because Paul Skillen had vowed to remain in Bath and would be staying with her in the hotel. When she felt sufficiently recovered from the jolting ride in the coach, she decided to acquaint herself with the manager of the Theatre Royal. Vernon Teale had only taken over from his predecessor six months earlier and was keen to stamp his character on the theatre. By engaging Hannah Granville, he was announcing to his audiences that he’d bring the finest members of the acting profession to the city.

  ‘What do you know of Mr Teale?’ asked Paul.

  ‘He’s obviously a kind and considerate man,’ she replied. ‘These lovely flowers are evidence of that.’

  ‘Have you had any reports of him?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve spoken to actors who’ve performed here since he took over. They were uniformly favourable in their comments. Mr Teale is a true man of the theatre.’

  ‘I hope that you get on with him, Hannah.’

  ‘I always get on well with theatre managers.’

  Though Paul disagreed, he thought it best to hold his tongue. The previous year, she’d brought the manager of one London theatre to his knees by making impossible demands, pursuing a vendetta with the playwright and causing endless turbulence. Of her talent there was no doubt, but it came – as Paul knew only too well – with changeable moods and a tempestuous nature. He hoped that Vernon Teale would be able to cope with her caprices.

  After changing her dress, she left the hotel on Paul’s arm and collected approving glances on all sides. When they entered the foyer of the theatre itself, Hannah was given a little round of applause by the employees standing there. It was a good start. She and Paul went up the carpeted stairs to the manager’s office. In response to a knock on the door, Vernon Teale flung it open, let out a cry of delight, then bent double to kiss her hand.

  ‘You’re here at last, dear lady,’ he said, effusively. ‘The theatre is honoured to have you within its walls.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to Paul. ‘Let me introduce Mr Paul Skillen, who will safeguard me throughout my time here.’

  ‘You’ll be perfectly safe now.’

  ‘Miss Granville is always plagued by her admirers,’ said Paul.

  ‘That’s unavoidable, sir.’

  Standing aside, he motioned them into the room, then closed the door. Vernon Teale was a tall, slim, middle-aged man with a benign smile and a skilful tailor. He looked quite immaculate. Paul veered towards ostentation, but he couldn’t compare with Teale. Every item of the latter’s attire was striking and in the height of fashion. Even in a procession of peacocks, he would stand out.

  ‘First,’ he said, ‘let me say how shocked I was when I heard that your coach had been attacked by highwaymen. It must have been a terrible experience.’

  ‘I’m trying to put it out of my mind and to concentrate on my performance.’

  ‘You’ll be the perfect Rosalind,’ he said, spreading his arms. ‘The rest of the cast are thrilled that you’ve joined the company.’

  ‘I’m thrilled to be here, Mr Teale.’

  ‘But it’s no thanks to you that Miss Granville got here in one piece,’ said Paul, sounding a note of criticism. ‘In the best sense of the word, she is precious cargo. More care should have been taken to ensure her safety.’

  ‘I provided the bodyguard that was requested,’ said Teale.

  ‘Two or three were needed.’

  ‘Cosgrove is a reliable man. I’ve used him before.’

  ‘He was unable to protect Miss Granville.’

  ‘It was not for the sake of trying,’ she said. ‘Mr Cosgrove is not to bear any blame. He showed courage. However,’ she said, ‘let’s try to put all that behind us, shall we? I’m well, I’m happy and I’m here.’

  ‘Nobody could be more welcome,’ said the manager, beaming.

  ‘I feel at home already, Mr Teale.’

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear. Ah,’ he said, remembering something, ‘I have a gift for you. It was left in the foyer with a letter that bears your name. I’ll get it for you instantly.’

  Crossing to a large cupboard, he took something out and held it up for her. Expecting to see her smile in gratitude, he was given a very different response. Hannah drew back with fright because what he was holding was the stolen valise. The sight of it sent a bolt of lightning through her. After making an effort to master her fear, she stepped forward to snatch the letter attached to the handle by a pink ribbon. Hannah opened it quickly and read the message. Unsigned, it consisted of one short sentence, written in a neat hand.

  I tender my profoundest apologies.

  High Barnet was a flourishing medieval town whose growth had been stimulated by the fact that it stood on the main route north from London. It was situated on a hill ridge and commanded a fine view of the Brent valley. Peter was impressed by its size, quality and number of inns. Countless buildings had survived from earlier centuries. Sebastian Alderson lived in a more recently built house that conformed to all the dictates of Georgian taste and would not have looked out of place in one of the capital’s squares. Peter and Clemency took a few minutes to rehearse what they were going to say so that they obtained all the information they wanted. They then approached the house with a curiosity tempered by misgivings.

  A manservant opened the door and heard their request. Inviting them into the hall, he went off to speak to his master. Sebastian Alderson soon appeared, appraising them as he walked along the corridor. He was a tall, well-built, well-dressed man in his forties.

  ‘You wish to see me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Peter. ‘It’s in connection with a recent funeral that took place in Islington.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Let’s talk in comfort, shall we?’

  Alderson took them along the corridor until they came to the library. Taking a seat, he waved them to the chairs facing him. Peter made the introductions and apologised for disturbing him.

  ‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Alderson, pl
easantly. ‘I’m interested to meet you. The only thing that could have brought you here is that you have some link to the deceased. Is that the case? If it is, I’d be delighted to hear more about the fellow.’

  ‘We thought that he might have been Mrs van Emden’s father,’ said Peter, ‘but we were mistaken.’

  ‘It certainly was not him,’ she added.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Alderson.

  ‘We saw the drawing that the undertaker’s daughter had made.’

  He was appalled. ‘The child was allowed to look at corpses?’ he said, grimacing. ‘That’s unforgivable.’

  ‘She should never have been allowed near them.’

  ‘Dear me!’ he said. ‘I wish I’d known about this when I had dealings with Hiscox. I’d have protested in the strongest manner. That poor malformed creature shouldn’t have seen the body of George Parry. It was in a gruesome state.’

  ‘How exactly did you find it?’ asked Peter.

  Alderson told them what they’d already heard from the vicar of St Mary’s. There were a few new facts to digest. Alderson’s attention had been attracted to the hedge by the barking of a dog. When he’d ridden into the field, he saw that the animal had been bothering someone crouched so far into the hedge that he was almost invisible. The dog had fled, Alderson had examined the man, seen how ill he was and gone for help. When they got him to the vicarage, Alderson stayed until the man was offered some food. He’d grabbed it eagerly but, the moment he put it in his mouth, he spat it out again.

  ‘It was not his fault,’ said Alderson. ‘My guess is that he hadn’t eaten for so long that he was no longer able to swallow any sustenance. I could see that he was fading, so we did the one thing we could do.’

  ‘And what was that?’ asked Clemency.

  ‘The vicar and I prayed for him. Though he was in a parlous state at the end, he was a human being and must have known better times. I wondered what sort of family he’d had and how he’d become separated from them.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Clemency twitch guiltily.

  ‘The vicar will have told you the rest,’ said Alderson. ‘Having failed to discover where he’d come from, we took on the responsibility of giving him a proper funeral. I was happy to pay the cost and be there at the service. Someone had to mourn his passing.’ Inhaling deeply through his nose, he let the breath out in a long sigh. ‘That’s how he came to be buried under the yew tree in the churchyard.’

  ‘He’s not there any longer,’ Peter told him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The grave has been opened and the body taken away.’

  ‘Whenever did this happen?’ asked Alderson in alarm.

  ‘Last night, it seems.’

  ‘Hasn’t the wretch suffered enough indignity in life? Even in death, he has no rest.’

  ‘That’s why I was so upset,’ said Clemency. ‘Convinced that it might be my father, I was horrified that he’d be dissected in front of a crowd of medical students.’

  ‘Yet you say that he was not your father, Mrs van Emden.’

  ‘No,’ said Peter, stepping in. ‘We were misled. Thank you, Mr Alderson. You’ve been most helpful.’ He rose to his feet. ‘We’ll trouble you no more.’

  ‘Can’t I offer you some refreshment?’

  ‘Thank you, but we must head back to London.’

  Clemency rose. ‘It was kind of you to talk to us.’

  ‘The theft of the body must be reported,’ said Alderson. ‘Grave robbers are a detestable species. Nothing is sacred to them.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll see you both out.’

  As he led them towards the hall, he probed for details about the other George Parry, wondering why he’d gone missing. Taking her cue from Peter, Clemency said very little. She didn’t want to discuss such a delicate matter in front of a stranger. They took their leave and returned to the curricle.

  ‘Why did you wish to get out of there?’ asked Clemency.

  ‘We’d learnt all that we were going to learn, Mrs van Emden.’

  ‘I had the feeling that you didn’t like the man.’

  ‘That’s not true at all,’ he said. ‘I thought him sincere and admired him for what was, after all, an act of Christian compassion. Something puzzled me, however.’

  ‘What was that, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘Well, you saw all the coffins stacked up against the wall in the undertaker’s. What did you notice about them?’

  ‘Apart from variations in size, they were much the same.’

  ‘But they weren’t, you see. Different timbers were used. The better ones were made of elm or oak and crafted with care. The cheaper ones were made of unseasoned wood and hacked roughly into shape. That was the case with the coffin that contained the other George Parry.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I follow your reasoning.’

  ‘You heard the vicar. He told us that Mr Alderson is a wealthy man. He’d have to be to afford that lovely house of his. Now then,’ said Peter, pensively, ‘if his conscience inspired him to rescue the person he found under that hedge, why did he send him off to his Maker in the meanest coffin he could find?’

  Jem Huckvale had just finished two strenuous hours instructing clients in the art of fencing, so he was grateful for a rest. When he came into the office, he was surprised to see Chevy Ruddock talking to Charlotte.

  ‘Mr Ruddock has been sent with a complaint,’ she explained. ‘The Runners believe that you and Gully gave them the wrong information about Harry Scattergood’s arrest.’

  ‘Mr Yeomans is very unhappy,’ said Ruddock. ‘You sent us south of the river, whereas Harry was caught north of it.’ He pulled himself up to his full height. ‘I’m to give you a stern warning.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘If you or Mr Ackford dares to mislead us again, you’ll be hauled off to Bow Street.’

  ‘Thanks to you, that happened to me before.’

  Ruddock was embarrassed. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘You were put up to it, weren’t you?’ said Charlotte.

  ‘I did see someone stealing that leg of mutton …’

  ‘But it wasn’t Jem.’

  ‘It looked a little bit like him.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ said Huckvale. ‘It was a nasty experience at the time, but I bear no ill will against you. It’s Mr Yeomans who’s to blame. As for sending you off to the wrong part of London, we only gave you the information we received.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘We found your informer,’ said Ruddock. ‘That’s to say, I did. He denied it at first, but I got the truth out of him in the end. Harry Scattergood was hiding in a brothel on Old Street. Mr Yeomans and Mr Hale are on their way there right now.’

  ‘I didn’t know they used such places,’ said Huckvale, pretending to be shocked. ‘They’re both married, aren’t they?’

  ‘You lied to us on purpose, Huckvale.’

  ‘We were simply trying to protect our informer.’

  ‘What we can’t understand is why he came to you and not to us.’

  ‘I can answer that,’ said Charlotte. ‘He knew that we’d have a far better chance of catching him than the Runners.’

  ‘We think it was because you paid him more than us.’

  ‘We didn’t need to pay him a penny,’ said Huckvale. ‘It’s only the Runners who have to buy their intelligence or beat it out of people with their fists. Some people prefer to work with us. Harry Scattergood is the king of the thieves and that’s made him a lot of enemies among his rivals. They want him dethroned so they’re not in competition with someone who’s so much better at his trade.’

  ‘As you discovered,’ said Charlotte, ‘our informer was a thief.’

  ‘He’d fallen out with Harry,’ said Huckvale, ‘and wanted revenge.’

  ‘We’re the ones wanting revenge now,’ Ruddock told them. ‘Step out of line again and you’ll be punished.’ />
  ‘What are you going to do – arrest me for stealing another leg of mutton?’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep on about that.’

  ‘It’s no fun being carried off by force.’

  ‘Can’t we just forget it?’ asked Ruddock, earnestly.

  When he’d arrested Huckvale, it hadn’t been the first time he was obeying orders of which he’d disapproved. Yeomans and Hale seemed to delight in giving him the most unpleasant duties to perform. Wanting to cause havoc at the gallery, they singled out Huckvale. It had been on the Runner’s conscience ever since. He’d been roundly criticised by the chief magistrate for being about to bear false witness. The case was dismissed. Charlotte and Huckvale felt some sympathy for him. They knew how ruthlessly he was exploited by Yeomans and Hale.

  ‘You’re too honest to be a Runner,’ said Huckvale.

  ‘I’m proud of my station in life,’ said Ruddock, straightening his spine. ‘I’ve got the most important job in London.’

  ‘Then why can’t you do it better?’

  ‘We have our triumphs.’

  ‘Letting Harry Scattergood escape wasn’t a triumph.’

  ‘We’ll capture him again, don’t you worry. Mr Yeomans and Mr Hale will track him to his lair. The Skillen brothers may have had the luck to catch him last time,’ said Ruddock, ‘but it’s our turn now.’

  Before they even reached the front door, it was opened wide. Hands on her hips, Binnie Ginniver stared at them with undisguised distaste.

  ‘I can smell a Runner from miles away.’

  ‘Hello, Binnie,’ said Yeomans, familiarly. ‘So you’ve moved to Old Street, have you? We’ve been wondering where you were.’

  ‘Why? Did you and Mr Hale want to do business with me?’

  ‘We prefer wholesome women,’ said Hale.

  ‘Mine are as a ripe and succulent as can be.’

  ‘Yes, and they’d give us ripe and succulent diseases.’

  ‘We’ve come for Harry Scattergood,’ said Yeomans.

  ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘This is where he was arrested.’