Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘Miss Granville?’ asked a voice. ‘It’s the manager.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she croaked.

  ‘I’ve come to deliver a parcel for you.’

  ‘Who sent it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘One moment …’

  Gathering up her strength, Hannah ran to the door and opened it. The manager – a short, angular man with a lopsided wig – was standing there with a small parcel in his hand. When he passed it to her, she saw that her name was written on it.

  ‘Did a tall, lean man deliver this?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Miss Granville – it was a young girl.’

  The information helped to still her beating heart. After thanking the manager, she closed the door and bolted it again. Curiosity got the better of her anxiety. Tearing the parcel open, she took out a small box with a velvet interior. Lodged inside was a beautiful diamond brooch. Hannah was jolted. She’d seen and admired the brooch before. It had been worn by one of the passengers who’d sat opposite her on the coach. Like anything else of value, it had been stolen by the highwaymen.

  She flung the brooch onto the bed as if it was red hot.

  Peter was finding the search far more difficult than he’d either hoped or anticipated. He’d forgotten that he lived on an island with a rich maritime heritage. Shipbuilding was a major industry that employed a vast number of men. Most of them – it seemed to Peter – earned their living somewhere along the River Thames. Depending on the size of the vessels being constructed, the boatyards varied, but they all had one thing in common: they were deafening establishments. A symphony of mallets, hammers and other tools was being played at full volume. Peter could hardly hear himself speak, let along catch what others were saying to him. Wherever he went, the result was the same. Nobody had even heard of a shipwright by the name of Rafter. It was time to move on to the next place.

  As his horse trotted along the riverbank, Peter was alarmed by the thought that the man he was after might not even be in London. Most ports tended to have shipwrights. Joseph Rafter’s brother might be working in Harwich or Portsmouth or Dover or one of the countless other ports or river towns. If that were the case, finding him would take a whole lifetime. Peter pressed on hopefully and his luck eventually changed. He came upon a small boatyard where some men were at work on a barge. Reining in his horse, he asked one of them if the name Rafter meant anything to him. The man pointed to a brawny figure using a plane with methodical precision on a length of timber. When Peter dismounted and went across to him, the shipwright drew himself up and gave him a hostile glare.

  ‘Mr Rafter?’ asked Peter.

  ‘That’s me – I’m Nick Rafter.’

  ‘I wanted to ask about your brother, Joseph.’

  ‘Then you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It’s because I hate the bastard,’ said the other, vehemently. ‘I haven’t seen him for the best part of fifteen years. I’d be more than happy if I never see him again. What’s your business with him?’

  ‘I’m hoping that he might help me.’

  ‘There’s no chance of that.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘If he can’t help his own brother,’ said the shipwright, sourly, ‘he certainly won’t help you. Don’t mention his foul name to me again. If you want the plain truth, I’m ashamed to belong to the same family as him.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  There was no escape from him. Cowering in her hotel room, Hannah Granville felt more vulnerable than ever. The man who’d robbed her might not be keeping vigil outside the building but he’d unsettled her in another way. By sending her an unwanted gift, he’d terrified her. There was no message with the diamond brooch, but its purpose was explicit. A man she feared and hated was actually trying to woo her. Worst of all, she’d received his gift when Paul wasn’t there to protect and advise her. Unable even to touch it, Hannah stood by the bed and stared down at the brooch. She was still mesmerised by it when she heard a tap on the door. Her first thought was that the highwayman was coming to get her, and she fled to the other side of the room.

  ‘Hannah!’ said Paul. ‘Let me in.’

  ‘Is it really you?’ she asked.

  ‘Who else are you expecting?’ She ran across the room and unlocked the door. He stepped in. ‘What on earth are you playing at, Hannah?’

  She grabbed him impulsively. ‘You’re here at last!’

  ‘I was held up. I’m sorry about that.’ She began to sob. ‘You’re in a dreadful state. Has someone been here while I was away?’ His eye fell on the bed and he saw the brooch. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It arrived not long before you did.’

  ‘Who sent it?’

  ‘He did, Paul.’

  ‘After what he did to you,’ said Paul, ‘he has no right to make any contact with you at all. Did he actually deliver it to the hotel?’

  ‘He got someone else to do that,’ she explained. ‘I was horrified when I saw it. That brooch was stolen from a woman in the coach with me. He’s trying to court me with stolen property.’

  ‘It will have to be returned to its rightful owner.’

  ‘I’d already decided that.’

  ‘And we must move to a hotel where he can’t find us.’

  ‘I wish that we could!’ she said, with a sigh.

  ‘What’s to stop us?’

  ‘He is, Paul. He knows my every move.’

  ‘We’ll leave at night when it’s too dark for us to be seen.’

  ‘He’d find us somehow,’ she moaned. ‘He has eyes everywhere. Those other highwaymen probably live in Bath as well. They might even take it in turns to keep watch on me.’

  ‘Now, don’t panic,’ he warned, easing her across to the little sofa and sinking down beside her. ‘We have to make decisions. We need to be calm and collected when we do so.’

  ‘Imagine how I felt when I saw that brooch. I threw it on the bed as if it had been infected.’

  ‘What if it had been the opal pendant he stole from you? I don’t think you’d have thrown that away, Hannah.’

  Though he spoke softly, there was an implied reproach. Against his advice, she’d deliberately worn the treasured gift on the journey to Bath. Had it been left back at Paul’s house, it would never have been stolen. She was penitent.

  ‘I was too headstrong.’

  ‘You weren’t to know that it would be stolen.’

  ‘I was being held at gunpoint,’ she wailed. ‘I couldn’t stop him. You’ve no idea how sickened I felt. It was only because I loved your gift so much that I had to wear it.’

  ‘I’ll get it back,’ vowed Paul.

  She started sobbing again and he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently to and fro. Minutes went by before she gradually began to recover. When she pulled away to look up at him, she had a question to ask.

  ‘What happened when you met Mr Teale?’

  Paul sighed.

  At first, Abigail Saunders had felt out of place talking to Clemency and Charlotte, two women she could never meet on equal terms, but the longer the discussion went on, the more relaxed she became. Choosing her moment, Charlotte excused herself, convinced that Clemency would get far more out of her visitor when left alone with her. Having repaired to the kitchen, Charlotte asked Meg Rooke to make some tea and to serve it with light refreshments. She was about to talk further with the servant when she heard the doorbell ring. Meg instantly moved towards the passageway, but she was stopped by an outstretched arm.

  ‘You make the tea,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ll see who it is.’

  She went to the door to open it with a flourish and saw the sad figure of Mungo Darwood standing there. Struck by her appearance, he lifted his hat courteously.

  ‘Good day to you,’ he said. ‘I believe that you are Mrs Skillen?’

  ‘I am, indeed,’ she replied, ‘and you, I fancy, are Mr Darwood.’

  ‘At your service, dear lady.’ He gave a tok
en bow. ‘I called to see Mrs van Emden at her hotel and was told she was now staying with you and Mr Skillen. This address had been left for me.’

  ‘Do come in, Mr Darwood. Clemency will be glad to see you.’

  ‘I have some news for her.’

  ‘I do hope that it’s good news,’ said Charlotte. ‘She’s sorely in need of it. There’s been a succession of bad news so far.’

  ‘I make no promises, Mrs Skillen. My tidings are mixed. There’s good in them, I think, but there’s also disappointment.’

  Peter arrived at the gallery in time to see Gully Ackford pouring himself a reviving glass of beer. He offered one to his friend.

  ‘It’s not alcohol I need, Gully,’ said Peter, sinking into a chair. ‘It’s someone who’ll listen sympathetically to my woes and tell me what my next step should be.’

  ‘As a rule, you don’t need telling.’

  ‘I seem to have come up against a brick wall this time.’

  ‘Then you must either climb over it or knock it down.’

  ‘There you are – good, practical advice already.’

  ‘Tell me what’s happened so far,’ he said, settling back in his chair and sipping his beer. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Peter described his visit to Wapping and how he felt he’d made significant progress when he tracked down Abigail Saunders. Bolstered by what he’d been told by the woman, Peter had set off in the certainty that he’d find Joseph Rafter’s brother among the shipwrights of London and discover where the former servant now lived. His overconfidence had been sapped to the point where it ceased to exist.

  ‘What would you do in my place, Gully?’ he asked.

  Ackford grinned. ‘I’d pour a second glass of beer.’

  ‘I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘You mentioned the name of another of Mr Parry’s servants at one point – Edmund Haines. Isn’t it possible to find him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Abigail Saunders had no idea where the others went when the house was sold. It looks as if she’s my only source.’

  ‘Yes, but finding her was no mean achievement.’

  ‘That was Jem’s doing. He located the Red Cow for me.’

  ‘You’re the one who got the woman to talk.’

  ‘It’s a pity she wasn’t as loquacious as her sister or I’d have had more detail. The truth is,’ admitted Peter, ‘that I’m not only looking in the wrong place, I may be searching in the wrong country.’

  ‘Quash that thought immediately.’

  ‘Perhaps I should go to the Netherlands.’

  ‘No,’ said Ackford, decisively, ‘the answers don’t lie there. I made the mistake of thinking that Mr van Emden had sent his wife back to London ill-prepared. My guess was he’d been deliberately keeping father and daughter apart out of spite by making sure that her letters never reached him and his letters – we now know Parry wrote some – were intercepted before his wife was even aware of them.’

  ‘My thinking was starting to veer in that direction.’

  ‘Then consider this, Peter. Did he stop his wife coming here?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did he encourage her?’

  ‘According to Clemency, he did just that.’

  ‘Then he’s absolved of any blame. Had he gone to lengths to deny her any contact with her father, Mr van Emden would never have sent her here because she’d find out somehow that her correspondence never reached her father. She’s an intelligent woman, Peter. She’d have realised that her husband was to blame.’ He took several more sips of his drink. ‘Do you follow my reasoning?’

  ‘I follow it and agree with it,’ said Peter. ‘You’ve just saved me from an expensive, uncomfortable voyage. It would have been followed by an embarrassing meeting with Jan van Emden.’

  Ackford chuckled. ‘How well do you speak Dutch?’

  ‘Thanks to you, I won’t have to speak it at all.’

  They laughed companionably. The talk with Ackford was a tonic for him, lifting his spirits and making him review events from a slightly different perspective. As they discussed what steps should be taken in the future, Peter issued a plea.

  ‘I need help, Gully. I can’t do this on my own.’

  ‘Then you must have Jem at your side.’

  ‘Don’t you need him at the gallery?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Ackford, ‘but your need is greater than mine. I’ll manage somehow. I have friends on whom I can call in a situation like this. You take Jem Huckvale. It won’t be for very long.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I do. You’ll either solve this mystery in a day or two or have someone else to work alongside you.’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  ‘Your own brother, of course,’ said Ackford. ‘Paul isn’t going to stay in Bath, is he? He’ll come back fairly soon.’

  Paul Skillen had returned from his meeting with the manager, knowing that Hannah wouldn’t like what he had to tell her. On his way back from the theatre, he’d been searching for phrases that might be palliative but, in this case, the English language seemed strangely bereft of them. In the end, he decided to break the news without any embellishment at all, then weather the raging tempest that was bound to follow. As it was, Hannah’s strictures about Elinor Ingram had been submerged beneath her fears of the amorous highwayman. She had now remembered the rival actress and wondered why her question had provoked such a response from him.

  ‘Why did you pull such a face?’ she asked.

  ‘It was … a difficult discussion, Hannah.’

  ‘I would have thought it to be a remarkably easy one. You simply had to pass on my complaint to Mr Teale, hear his apology and return here with his guarantee that Elinor Ingram would disappear from the cast at once.’ He gave a mirthless laugh.

  ‘What did the manager say?’

  ‘We had a frank and meaningful talk.’

  ‘And what was the outcome?’

  ‘He said that he’d have preferred to speak to you directly.’

  She was dismissive. ‘That’s neither here nor there, Paul.’

  ‘It’s an important point, my love,’ he said. ‘I’m no silver-tongued advocate. You know the inner workings of theatrical life. I don’t. To be honest, I felt that I was a little out of my depth.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me what Mr Teale said.’

  ‘Promise me that you’ll listen in a tranquil mood.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she demanded, standing up.

  ‘Hannah …’

  ‘Tell me! ’

  Paul plunged straight in. ‘Mr Teale was bewildered,’ he said. ‘He simply couldn’t understand the reason for your dislike of Miss Ingram.’

  ‘It’s not dislike – it’s pure, unvarnished detestation!’

  ‘He sets a high value on her talents.’

  ‘Then his judgement is woefully awry.’

  ‘Beware of what you say, Hannah,’ he told her, rising from the sofa. ‘You didn’t question his judgement when he chose you to perform in this play. The manager has an eye for quality.’

  ‘What he lacks is an insight into character. Miss Ingram has been selected on the grounds of her supposed talent. If Mr Teale knew what a sly, cunning, deceitful, disruptive reptile she was, he would never dream of employing her. Didn’t you tell him how I described her?’

  ‘He laughed off your comments as the kind of rivalry that always exists between actresses.’

  ‘Laughed them off?’ she said, almost apoplectic. ‘I must speak to him myself at once.’ She headed for the door, but Paul barred her way. ‘Stand aside, please.’

  ‘No, Hannah.’

  ‘Do as I say. I must have this out with Mr Teale.’

  ‘It’s not in your best interests to do so.’

  ‘What the devil do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve read the contract that you signed.’ It was enough to silence her and let him continue. ‘I went through every line of it, Hannah. If you are in breach of any of its ter
ms, there will be legal penalties. You would be sued.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be taking legal action,’ she said. ‘Mr Teale should be prosecuted for engaging an actress like Elinor Ingram without first consulting me. I’d have stopped the malevolent harpy from getting anywhere near this theatre.’

  ‘You can bluster all you wish, my love. A contract is a contract.’

  ‘And you say that you read it?’

  ‘I perused every word.’

  ‘Then you’ll have noticed the special provisions relating to me. I refused to sign the document until they were included.’

  ‘All your demands were accepted, Hannah. It was a point that the manager emphasised. He felt that he’d gone out of his way to give you certain privileges. Unfortunately,’ he went on, ‘they do not include the right to have anyone else dismissed from the company.’

  ‘They will do.’

  ‘Don’t put Mr Teale in an impossible position.’

  She was outraged. ‘Are you taking his side against me?’

  ‘Of course I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m here to do whatever you ask. I just beg you – before you confront the manager – to look to the future.’

  ‘I will do, Paul. I’ll make sure that any contracts I sign from this day forth will give me the right of approval over the cast.’

  ‘You’re assuming that there’ll be future contracts.’

  Hannah gaped. She’d been struck dumb this time.

  Paul told her flatly that, if she chose to leave the company forthwith because of the presence of another actress, word of her precipitate action would soon spread. After her endless rows with the playwright of The Piccadilly Opera, she’d already acquired a reputation as a combative personality. If she defied Teale and stormed away from Bath, other managers would hesitate to employ her. Paul added that the only way that he would ever find the highwayman who’d stolen her opal pendant was by remaining in the city. His final argument was the one he felt would be most telling.