Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘I know nothing of that,’ she said. ‘As for the man you just mentioned, we don’t get many here as give their real names. In any case, why are you bothering to come here if he’s already behind bars?’

  ‘He escaped.’

  ‘We need to search the house,’ said Hale.

  ‘You can’t come in here,’ she said, indignantly. ‘How would you like to be interrupted when you were taking your pleasure? It can cause terrible things to a man’s bodily functions if he’s stopped at the wrong moment. I’m not letting a pair of Runners rampage around my house. Think of my reputation.’

  ‘You don’t have a reputation, you ugly old bawd.’

  ‘And you’ll no longer have this house if we arrest you,’ added Hale. ‘We’ve done it before, remember.’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said, grimly.

  ‘Last time our paths crossed, you had the sense to pay us to look the other way.’

  She was adamant. ‘Harry Scattergood is not here.’

  ‘A moment ago, you said you’d never heard of him.’

  ‘You jogged my memory.’

  ‘We’ll come in, all the same,’ said Yeomans.

  ‘You’re too late,’ she insisted. ‘One of those twins who actually caught him came back last night looking for him. Harry disappeared like a scalded cat. God knows where he is. That’s the gospel truth.’ They looked at each other in disappointment. ‘Since you’re here, you’re welcome to sample my wares. There’s no charge.’

  Clemency van Emden swung like a pendulum between hope and despair, clinging to the remote possibility that her father might actually be alive, then plunging into utter dejection. Nothing that Peter could say brought any comfort. He was not even sure that she heard what he told her. As he drove them back towards London, he held his peace. Suddenly, she seemed to remember that he was there and raised her voice.

  ‘Would you really do that for me, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘When I first met you and told you that my father’s best friend lived in Norwich, you volunteered to go there, if need be.’

  ‘That promise still stands.’

  ‘Mr Darwood might be able to help me.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he come to London in answer to your appeal?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, ‘and the only explanation I can think of is that my letter to him went astray.’

  ‘What age would Mr Darwood be?’

  ‘Oh, he was older than my father.’

  ‘Then that might be the answer,’ suggested Peter. ‘If he’s declined in years …’

  ‘He’d still have replied to my entreaty.’

  ‘He could only have done that if he were still alive to do so, Mrs van Emden.’ Her face clouded. ‘Let’s not fear the worst. I’ll ride to Norwich tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re so kind, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘When someone hires us, they get value for money.’

  ‘I’m sorry that Islington proved to be such a waste of time.’

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ said Peter. ‘We learnt a great deal that you weren’t expected to learn. You were not meant to find that grave, let alone discover who’d been in that coffin.’

  ‘Is there any way of finding that other George Parry?’

  ‘The crime has already been reported to the authorities. Sadly, it’s a growing problem. Grave robbers can earn good money from corrupt physicians who are so desperate for a fresh supply of corpses that they don’t ask questions about their origin. I’ve known some churchyards in the city where they keep vigil over graves that have been recently filled. I don’t need to tell you how distraught family members feel when they realise that their loved ones have been stolen from their coffins.’

  ‘It comes as a shattering blow, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘In your case, you suffered unnecessarily. The deceased was not actually your father.’

  ‘Yet he had my father’s name in his pocket.’

  ‘I’m determined to find out how it got there.’

  ‘You are truly a remarkable man,’ she said. ‘When Jem Huckvale told me that you and your brother were the finest detectives in London, I thought he’d simply been paid to say that. Now I know that it’s true.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re so dedicated to the task in hand.’

  ‘It’s the only way to solve a mystery, Mrs van Emden.’ He pulled on the reins to turn the horses into Albemarle Street. ‘Here we are at last. I daresay you’d be glad to rest at your hotel.’

  ‘Please keep in touch.’

  ‘There’s no need to ask me that.’

  When he brought the curricle to a halt outside her hotel, someone came out to hold the bridle. Peter helped her out of the vehicle before escorting her into the foyer. The moment she appeared, an old man used his walking stick to hobble towards her.

  ‘Clemency!’ he called out. ‘Here you are, at last.’

  Mungo Darwood had answered her summons, after all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hannah Granville had seen the Theatre Royal before, but she had not been there since the change of management. Vernon Teale had made visible improvements to the place. Money had been spent on making the foyer more welcoming and new furniture had been bought for the bars. Proud of his changes, he took Hannah and Paul on a short tour of the building so that he could point them out. Though most of the attention had been lavished on the public areas, work had also been done on the main dressing rooms. The one that Hannah was destined to occupy was the largest and most comfortable, with mirrors giving the impression of a much bigger room.

  Paul was impressed, but Hannah seemed a little distrait. Teale talked about his future plans for the theatre and assured her that she would be invited back there on a regular basis. Pleading fatigue, she eventually said that she wished to retire to her hotel. After bidding farewell, she and Paul departed.

  ‘It’s a wonderful theatre,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’m sorry that you were in no mood to appreciate it.’

  ‘My mind was on something else.’

  He held up the valise. ‘It was this, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Seeing it again gave me such a shock.’

  ‘You should be glad, Hannah. You not only had your property returned, you had cast-iron evidence that the man who stole it from you is here. In other words, he’s within reach of me.’

  ‘I thought I’d accepted the idea that he might come to Bath, but now that it’s happened, I feel unsettled.’

  ‘There’s no need, my love.’

  ‘I won’t feel safe until that devil is caught.’

  ‘I’ll snare him somehow.’

  ‘He has dangerous friends, Paul. Beware of them.’

  ‘I’ll go armed,’ he said. ‘With sword, pistol or bare fists, I’d take on all three of them without a tremor. Not that I’m likely to be in that position,’ he continued. ‘The man in the shiny boots might be a theatregoer but his confederates sound as if they prefer baser pleasures. I doubt that I’ll ever meet the trio in its entirety.’

  ‘Promise me that you’ll act with great caution,’ she said.

  ‘That’s something I can never promise, Hannah. If I have a chance to catch any of them, I’ll throw caution to the wind.’

  They reached the hotel and went in together. The first thing that Hannah did was tap on the door of Jenny Pye’s room. When the dresser opened it, she saw the valise in Paul’s hand and let out a gasp of amazement.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked.

  ‘It was waiting for me at the theatre,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Are you saying that the highwayman returned it?’

  ‘He wrote a short note to convey his apology.’

  ‘There’s not an ounce of sincerity in it,’ said Paul, harshly.

  ‘Has he sent everything back?’ said Jenny.

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Who knows? I haven’t dared to look. In fact, that’s the reason I knocked, Jenny. I need your help.’
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  She glanced at Paul, who realised that she wished to be alone with her dresser. After arranging to meet Hannah later, he handed over the valise and went off. The two women, meanwhile, went into Hannah’s room. She gave the valise to Jenny.

  ‘Open it, please.’

  ‘Why are you so afraid to do so yourself?’

  ‘Just open it, Jenny.’

  The other woman obeyed, taking out the items one at a time and placing them on the table. Hannah watched nervously. When everything was laid out, she gulped.

  ‘There’s one thing missing,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  Jenny looked up at her. ‘He’s kept it as a souvenir.’

  After pulling on his gleaming boots, the highwayman turned to let his servant help him into the immaculate tailcoat with its high-rolled collar and its tight sleeves. He examined himself in the full-length mirror for several minutes until he was satisfied that everything was in order. He took the hat from his servant and put it on his head, angling it slightly for effect. When he was completely ready, he left his house and strolled in the direction of the theatre.

  ‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Mungo Darwood, eyes bulging in astonishment. ‘It’s such an extraordinary business. When I had my last letter from your father several months ago, he said that he was in good health.’

  ‘A lot has happened since then,’ said Clemency.

  ‘So it appears. I had no idea that he’d died.’

  ‘We’re not entirely certain that he did,’ Peter told him. ‘We haven’t as yet established the truth.’

  ‘I’m grateful that Mrs van Emden has had the good fortune to engage you, Mr Skillen. From everything you’ve told me, I can see that you have amazing diligence and tenacity.’

  They were seated in the hotel parlour. Clemency had always known Darwood as a jovial businessman who came to stay with them from time to time. Not having met him for years, she was upset to see that he’d put on considerable weight and was a martyr to arthritis. Without his walking stick, he could hardly move. Between them, she and Peter had told him about their search for George Parry and their frustration at the latest turn of events.

  ‘I curse myself for living so far away,’ said Darwood, ‘but my dear wife had made me promise that we’d return to Norfolk one day. As a result, I rather lost touch with all my London friends.’

  ‘My father missed you,’ said Clemency.

  ‘He missed you even more. His letters may have been few and far between but every one of them was full of regret about the way that you and he had drifted apart.’

  She was astounded. ‘It was his decision to disown me.’

  ‘When he made that decision, he was acting on impulse. It was not long before he was chiding himself for not accepting that you had the right to choose the man you wished to marry. Well,’ said Darwood, ‘you must have realised from his letters how eager he was to see you again.’

  ‘I never received any letters from him,’ she complained. ‘I wrote several to him but never had an answer.’

  ‘You must have done.’

  ‘I didn’t have a single word.’

  ‘That’s bizarre!’ he said.

  ‘I think I see what may have happened here,’ said Peter, weighing up the evidence. ‘Mrs van Emden never even saw her father’s letters because someone prevented them from reaching her. By the same token, her pleas for reconciliation were never allowed to get into Mr Parry’s hands.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ cried Darwood. ‘They were deliberately kept apart.’

  ‘That’s how it seems to me, sir.’

  ‘What fiend was behind this skulduggery?’

  ‘It was someone whose best interests were served by keeping the two of them estranged. In doing so, he or she was causing intense pain to both father and daughter.’

  ‘It’s monstrous!’ cried Clemency.

  ‘I’d call it downright criminal,’ said Darwood.

  ‘It’s only supposition on my part,’ Peter warned them, ‘but, now that we know the truth, Mrs van Emden can at least take some comfort from the fact that her father loved her and was keen to see her again.’

  ‘Comfort?’ she said. ‘I feel nothing but anger at the person who kept the two of us apart on purpose.’

  ‘Think back to the time when you lived in London,’ said Peter. ‘Your father lived well and employed a number of servants. Can you remember any of them?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then I’d like their names, please. I’m not accusing any of them,’ he was careful to add, ‘but I would suggest that a servant was in the best place to intercept any correspondence.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Darwood. ‘Start with the servants.’

  ‘I may be maligning Mr Parry’s servants unfairly,’ said Peter. ‘I hope that I am. One of them may well have posted a stream of letters to his daughter in Amsterdam.’

  ‘Then why didn’t they reach her?’ asked Darwood.

  ‘We have servants of our own,’ said Clemency, providing the answer with obvious discomfort. ‘I’d swear that they were all loyal but … one can never be entirely sure.’ She looked at Peter. ‘What are you going to do, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘First of all,’ he replied, ‘I’ll try to track down anyone who was in your father’s house here in London. If that turns out to be a fruitless exercise, I may have to sail to Amsterdam.’

  While Hannah was resting at the hotel, Paul decided to take a closer look at what had been, for many years, one of the most fashionable resorts in England. People still flocked to its famous mineral spas to take the waters. Bath was a beautiful city. Set in the Avon valley, it was effectively divided into two halves, the lower one being the older part and the upper, distinguished by its classical magnificence, being the newer. Paul headed for The Circus, a stunning example of architecture modelled on the Coliseum in Rome. It consisted of thirty-three terraced houses arranged in a circle around a wide road. He stood and marvelled at it for some time.

  To the west of The Circus, he came upon the equally startling Royal Crescent, a row of terraced houses arranged in a semicircle to produce yet another striking example of style and symmetry. Only the rich could afford to buy such delectable places in which to live. Some of the occupants would doubtless come to the theatre to see Hannah Granville in one of Shakespeare’s most popular comedies. Among them would be a number of aristocrats, dandies, rakes and men about town who would come to gloat at her for reasons other than her ability to bring the character of Rosalind vividly alive. Paul would be kept on his toes, defending her from being propositioned and pursued. And somewhere in the ranks of her ardent admirers would be the man with the shiny boots who made a living by robbing stagecoaches on the public highway before passing himself off as a gentleman in Bath.

  Paul could not wait to introduce himself to the man.

  Peter returned to the gallery to find Charlotte and Ackford together in the office. Eager for news, they listened intently while Peter told them about the visit to Islington and the meeting with Sebastian Alderson. What really interested them was the information that Mungo Darwood had finally emerged to make an unexpected claim.

  ‘Is that true?’ asked Charlotte, dubiously. ‘Mr Parry really wanted to be part of his daughter’s life again?’ Her husband nodded. ‘Keeping the two of them apart like that was tantamount to cruelty.’

  ‘Who stood to gain from it?’ said Ackford.

  ‘Perhaps Mr van Emden did. If he’s possessive by nature, he might want to exclude Mr Parry from their lives.’

  ‘The husband is an unknown quantity,’ said Peter. ‘His wife talks very fondly of him. When she expressed a desire to come to London in search of the truth about her father, her husband didn’t try to stop her. In fact, he urged her to go.’

  ‘Yet he couldn’t bother to come with her,’ said Ackford.

  ‘He’s a businessman, Gully. He has commitments.’

  ‘Mr Parry clearly took against him.’


  ‘He didn’t want his daughter taken out of the country.’

  ‘How did she and Mr van Emden meet in the first place?’

  ‘That’s something I’d like to know,’ said Peter. ‘To that end, I’ve invited his wife to move in with us for a while. I hope you don’t mind, Charlotte.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘We’ve plenty of room and I’d feel more involved in the search if I spent time with her.’

  ‘She’s more likely to confide in you. Mrs van Emden hasn’t been dishonest with me, but I sense that she’s holding something back. With luck, you might be able to draw it out of her.’

  ‘What about her father’s will?’ asked Ackford.

  ‘We don’t know that he left one.’

  ‘He must’ve done, Peter. If he was so keen to patch up any differences with his daughter, he must have left everything to her. She was his only child, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she was, but there’s a slight problem.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mr Parry might not have had anything worth bequeathing to her. Wherever she enquired, Mrs van Emden was told that her father had lost his house, his position as an engineer and his place in society. There was talk of excessive drinking and the claim – by various people – that he’d ended up begging in the streets.’

  ‘Something perplexes me,’ said Charlotte. ‘If he wanted to be reconciled, why didn’t he take a ship to Amsterdam to find his daughter?’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t wish to be rebuffed,’ argued Peter. ‘From his point of view, she’d cut all ties with him when she refused – as he believed – to reply to his letters. For the same reason, his daughter didn’t come to England. She feared being rejected again. It’s a tragedy,’ he went on. ‘Two people, still loving each other and fervently hoping to be reunited, are kept apart by some malign person who wishes them to suffer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, Charlotte. To get at the truth, we must learn more about her courtship with Mr van Emden. He’s an important factor in the situation. We must discover how he persuaded her to defy her father’s wishes and marry him. It’s one of many questions that, as a man, I feel unable to ask her. That’s why I’d like to bring the two of you together,’ he explained. ‘She’ll feel at ease with you and talk more freely.’