Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘I’m not sure that I can,’ admitted the other.

  ‘Then let me offer a few suggestions.’ Peter took out a piece of paper on which he’d written the names given to him by Clemency. ‘Tell me if any of these sound familiar – Mary Culshaw, Joseph Rafter, Edmund Haines, Verity Bartlett …’

  ‘Those names are all new to me, sir.’

  ‘What about Abigail Saunders?’

  ‘Ah,’ said the other, eyebrows shooting up, ‘now that’s different. The man kept calling her “Abby”, so I suppose that it could have been the woman you just mentioned.’

  ‘Describe her to me.’

  ‘To be honest, sir, I didn’t pay much attention to her.’

  ‘What age would she be?’

  ‘A little older than you, I’d say, but at least twenty years younger than me. I felt sorry for her. Every now and then, she burst into tears because of what happened to Mr Parry.’

  ‘And she was with a man, you say?’

  ‘I never heard his name mentioned.’

  ‘And where was Abigail Saunders going? Did she give you any idea where her next employment would be?’

  ‘She’d searched for a new position in vain.’

  Peter was unable to hide his disappointment. He’d learnt nothing of use. He was about to thank the servant and depart empty-handed when the old man remembered something.

  ‘One moment, sir,’ said the other. ‘I did overhear something she told the man.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She was going to live with her sister and brother-in-law at their tavern.’

  ‘Can you remember what it was called?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it was the Red Cow.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  The old man shrugged an apology. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Peter, quietly elated. ‘I’ll find it.’

  It took Paul Skillen the whole evening to convince Hannah Granville that she was not in any immediate danger. The unexpected appearance of the highwayman had shaken her to the core. The idea that he knew where she was staying and which room she occupied had terrified her. She finally fell asleep out of fatigue. By morning, her apprehension had returned with a new intensity. So upset was she that she only ate the most frugal breakfast. Later that morning, she was still pacing the room, afraid even to glance out of the window. Paul tried to reason with her.

  ‘You don’t even know that it was the highwayman,’ he said.

  ‘It was him – without question.’

  ‘Then where was he when I looked out of the window?’

  ‘He must have fled.’

  ‘I think there may be another explanation, Hannah.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘He was never there in the first place.’

  ‘Of course he was there,’ she cried. ‘I saw him with my own eyes.’

  ‘You only believed that you saw him. He was a phantom.’

  ‘That’s absurd!’

  ‘Just hear me out, please. Ever since I got to Bath, you’ve talked about nothing but the robbery. It’s bound to loom large in your mind. Because of that, you’re likely to mistake every shadow for the man who dared to rob you. That’s all you saw yesterday, my love – a meaningless shadow. Nobody was there.’

  ‘But he was, I tell you.’

  ‘It only took me a second to reach the window and he was gone. Human beings can’t move that fast. You imagined it.’

  Hannah was suffused with anger. Biting back the angry words she was about to hurl at him, she took a series of deep breaths to calm herself down. When she felt ready, she spoke with slow deliberation.

  ‘Let us look at the facts,’ she said. ‘The coach in which I was travelling was set upon by highwaymen. They took all our valuables. I not only lost some jewellery that was very precious to me, their leader also took a valise containing items of apparel. Agreed?’

  ‘It was taken and then returned.’

  ‘But we both know that he kept something back for … reasons of his own. And the fact remains that he’s definitely in Bath.’

  ‘He’s not the only admirer of yours who knows that you are here,’ said Paul. ‘Your army of avid would-be suitors has been waiting for you to arrive. The clever ones will have realised you’d stay in the hotel nearest the theatre, and they’d have bribed members of the staff for confirmation.’

  ‘They don’t worry me in the least – the highwayman does.’

  ‘You only had a brief glimpse.’

  ‘It was enough.’

  ‘I still think that—’

  ‘No,’ she said, interrupting him, ‘don’t you dare suggest that he’s a figment of my imagination. I stood within feet of that man, Paul. Yes, he was in disguise at the time, but there are some things you can’t hide.’ She swallowed hard. ‘He’s here in Bath and he has designs on me.’

  ‘He won’t be allowed anywhere near you,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘When you step onstage, you’re in front of huge numbers of people. The law of averages means that the audience will always contain a smattering of criminals, adulterers, drunkards and other unsavoury individuals – even a highwayman or two, perhaps. You handle that situation with complete aplomb. Why get unnerved by a single individual?’

  ‘It’s because he intends me harm.’

  ‘You’re still shocked by what happened to you.’

  ‘I’ll probably have nightmares about it for the rest of my life.’

  ‘There’s no need, Hannah.’

  ‘You don’t know how menacing that man was.’

  ‘I think that you may have misjudged him.’

  ‘How on earth can you say that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Those three men had you at their mercy. They could have subjected you to untold horrors. Thanks to their leader, that didn’t happen. He’s a man of taste, Hannah. He reveres you as an actress.’ Paul tightened his hold on her. ‘All I have to do is wait until he comes close enough.’

  The Runners had caught bodysnatchers before and knew how difficult an exercise it was. Men who robbed graves tended to work in gangs and use lookouts to warn them if anyone was coming. They chose their targets with care and worked at speed.

  ‘It all comes down to intelligence,’ said Yeomans. ‘They find out where the burials are taking place and make a first visit to the churchyard or cemetery to get the lie of the land.’

  ‘How do we stop them, Micah?’ asked Hale. ‘We’ve tried to do it before and our record is not a good one. There are far too many of them and far too few of us.’

  ‘There has to be a way, Alfred.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The answer is slowly evolving in my mind. Another tankard of ale would help it to pop out like a newborn baby.’

  Hale responded to the hint. They were back in the Peacock Inn, discussing the latest directive from the chief magistrate. Seated at a table in the corner, Yeomans was not alone for long. Chevy Ruddock came into the inn and went over to him.

  ‘You sent for me, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘We have an assignment for you.’

  ‘I hope that it doesn’t involve standing outside a brothel all night in the rain. You made me do that once before and I felt sick at the thought of what was going on inside those four walls.’

  Yeomans sniggered. ‘I’d have thought you’d be consumed with envy.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’

  Yeomans told him that they would be giving preference to the pursuit of bodysnatchers from now on. It was an assignment that Ruddock relished. Religious by nature, he had a strong aversion to men involved in such a repulsive activity and was quick to offer his opinion on how the problem should be tackled.

  ‘There’s one easy way to stop them,’ he said, helpfully. ‘You must cut off the demand. If nobody is prepared to pay for a supply of corpses, there’s no point in digging them up. Look to the hospitals, sir,’ he urged. ‘That’s where the bodies end up.’

  ‘But they’re almost impossible to identify. When a co
rpse has been sliced into fifty or sixty different pieces, how can you tell who they once were? Besides,’ said Yeomans, ‘professors of anatomy always have a convincing explanation for where their bodies come from. Some even have documentation to prove it.’

  ‘It must be forged, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Ruddock, it probably is. The medical profession, like any other, has its share of villains. To get what they want, they’ll break the law without a twinge of conscience.’

  Carrying two tankards, Hale returned to join in the debate. He resumed his seat at the table and left Ruddock standing there. Neither of the senior Runners offered to buy a drink for the newcomer, but he made no complaint; he was preoccupied by the problem they faced.

  ‘Perhaps we could set a trap,’ he said.

  Yeomans belched. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We could out-think the bodysnatchers for once.’

  ‘And how are we supposed to do that?’

  ‘We arrange a funeral that’s only a sham,’ suggested Ruddock. ‘It must be in a church that’s fairly isolated and has a small congregation.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ sneered Hale. ‘No vicar would dare to take part in a mock funeral. The Church of England would never condone it. What is someone supposed to do – deliver a eulogy over an empty coffin?’

  ‘No eulogy will be needed,’ said Ruddock, ‘because there’s no actual service. All that I’m talking about is a burial. We can invent a name for the deceased and go through the motions of committing him to the earth. The more isolated the church, the better. It will tempt bodysnatchers because they’re unlikely to be disturbed and – since there’s no funeral service – local people won’t be involved in any way.’

  ‘We’d never persuade a vicar to agree to the idea.’

  ‘I think a number of them would be glad to join forces with us, sir. They revile bodysnatchers as much as we do. All over London, there are clergymen who’ve seen their churchyards robbed.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a stupid idea,’ said Hale.

  ‘Not so fast, Alfred,’ warned Yeomans. ‘As it happens, I was thinking along the same lines as Ruddock. Why go after these rogues when we can make them come to us? We’re only borrowing a churchyard so that we can bury a coffin full of stones in it. Then we simply watch and wait.’

  ‘I’d volunteer to do that, sir,’ said Ruddock.

  ‘You’d be one of the team I’d station nearby. The important thing would be to let them actually dig up the coffin so that we could have the pleasure of seeing their faces when they open it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hale, quickly persuaded. ‘It’s not such a stupid idea, after all. Well done, Chevy.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ruddock.

  ‘I thought of it first,’ announced Yeomans, deftly stealing the notion. ‘It was taking shape in my mind before Ruddock even got here. Since we won’t be using a real body to entice someone to commit a crime, I can’t see that we’d be causing any offence.’

  ‘It’s a stroke of genius on your part, Micah,’ said Hale, raising his tankard in tribute. ‘Your plan might well work.’

  ‘It will work, Alfred.’

  Both of them turned to Ruddock for approval.

  ‘Yes,’ said the other, dutifully. ‘It’s an excellent plan.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Animals proliferated on the inn signs of London. Within easy walking distance of his house, Peter Skillen knew of a Black Horse, a White Horse, a Waggon and Horses, an Eagle and Child, a Black Dog, a White Hart, a Brown Bear, a Red Bull, a Greyhound and a Golden Lion. Most famous of all was the Elephant and Castle, a former smithy that had been turned into an inn and given its name to one of the city’s most important junctions. Many more creatures belonged in the London menagerie. To speed up the search, Peter had enlisted Jem Huckvale, who cantered around the city and came back to the gallery with his findings.

  ‘I found two Dun Cows,’ he declared.

  ‘That’s the wrong colour, Jem. I’m after a Red Cow.’

  ‘There are three of them, at least.’

  ‘They’ll do for a start,’ said Peter. ‘Thank you very much for your help. Since you were responsible for bringing Mrs van Emden to us in the first place, I thought you’d like to be involved in the hunt.’

  ‘Yes, please. Feel free to call on me any time.’

  ‘I will. Now, where exactly are these three Red Cows?’

  After Huckvale had given him precise instructions, Peter set out for the closest address. When there was no sign of Abigail Saunders there, he went on to the second inn and found to his dismay that the landlord had never heard of the woman. That left him with one last hope and the worrying possibility that she was not there either. All that Peter had to go on was a name. It could conceivably refer to a pub that was outside the city or even in some distant county. His earlier optimism began to wane.

  The last Red Cow on his list was in Wapping, a dockland area to the east where sailors abounded and where there were dozens of lively taverns in its high street. It had a reputation for the boisterous behaviour of its inhabitants. Peter found his destination in Anchor and Hope Alley. The Red Cow was a long, low building whose original profile had been distorted over time by subsidence. Tethering his horse outside, he went into the inn and was met with a barrage of sound. Rowdy sailors were enjoying a drink and indulging in crude banter.

  The sudden appearance of a well-dressed gentleman caused some of the patrons to jeer at him, but Peter ignored them. He headed for the bar, behind which a stocky, beetle-browed, middle-aged man was standing with arms folded. The landlord looked at him with an amalgam of surprise and suspicion.

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he grunted.

  ‘I’m looking for Abigail Saunders.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m hoping that she might be able to help me.’

  ‘What business have you got with Abby?’

  Peter was thrilled. ‘She’s here, then, is she?’

  ‘Abby is my sister-in-law.’

  ‘Thank goodness I’ve found her!’

  The landlord remained surly. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Peter Skillen and I’m acting on behalf of the daughter of George Parry. Abigail Saunders worked for him.’

  ‘I know. He was good to her.’

  ‘May I speak to her, please?’

  ‘I’ll see if she’s agreeable.’

  ‘Tell her that it’s very important.’

  Curling a lip, the landlord looked him up and down.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  The walk to the theatre was an ordeal for Hannah Granville. Though it was only a short distance, it seemed like a mile or more, each step an individual effort. Not daring to look either side of her, she clung to Paul’s arm and drew strength from his support. His gaze roved everywhere as he searched for the man whose appearance the previous day had disturbed her so much. Nobody they passed remotely fitted the description she’d given him of the highwayman. They reached the theatre and went in. Hannah was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  ‘You see?’ he said. ‘There was no sign of him.’

  ‘He could have been watching from a window somewhere.’

  ‘Nobody was there, Hannah. I promise you.’

  ‘Then why did I feel so uneasy?’

  ‘You’re always a little on edge when you meet the rest of the cast for the first time. That’s only natural.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that.’

  Before she could enlarge on her comment, they saw the manager swooping down on them with a broad grin. Vernon Teale wanted to introduce her to the rest of the company but, since she was still a trifle nervous, she asked if Paul could come as well.

  ‘Mr Skillen is welcome to be at your side at all times,’ said Teale, flashing a smile at him, ‘as long as he doesn’t follow you onstage during a performance, that is.’ They laughed. ‘On the other hand,’ the manager went on, studying him carefully, ‘he’d make a fine Orland
o in this play.’

  ‘Hannah’s place is onstage,’ said Paul, ‘and mine is well off it.’

  ‘So be it.’ He waved an arm. ‘Shall we join the others?’

  ‘I’d like a moment alone in my dressing room first,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Yes, of course. There’s no hurry. Take as long as you wish.’

  While the manager headed for the auditorium, Paul took Hannah to the dressing rooms at the rear of the building. He opened the door of the one assigned to her. She sat in front of a mirror and inspected her appearance.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ he said.

  ‘I just need time to compose myself.’

  ‘Would you like to be alone?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I want you at my side.’

  ‘You’re perfectly safe inside the theatre, Hannah. No strangers will be allowed in here. Once the play starts, of course, you’ll have Jenny to stand guard over you. Nobody will get past her.’

  ‘That highwayman did.’

  ‘Try to put him out of your mind.’

  ‘I simply can’t.’

  Paul said nothing. There were times – and this was clearly one of them – when silence was the best option. It suited Hannah’s mood. It took her the best part of ten minutes to recover her composure, then she got up. She took Paul’s arm and squeezed it gratefully.

  Her decision to visit the dressing room was dictated partly by vanity. Hannah knew that the remainder of the cast was seated in the front stalls awaiting her arrival. She would have had to walk down the aisle in order to meet them. By approaching from the back of the theatre, she was able to make a dramatic entrance on to the stage itself. That appealed to her. Paul was less enthusiastic about the idea because he wasn’t actually a member of the company, but he was ready to be at her beck and call whenever needed.

  The first reading of the play would take place in the auditorium, but the cast would move on the following day to the rehearsal room because the stage still had the scenery of the current production standing on it. Instead of entering the Forest of Arden, therefore, Hannah made her first appearance on the set of Goldsmith’s She Stoops to Conquer. The effect was powerful. The moment she glided gracefully into sight, the whole cast leapt to its feet and applauded her as if acknowledging the end of a performance. Shakespeare’s Rosalind had arrived.