Fugitive From the Grave

by Edward Marston

  ‘What made you think that Mr Parry was dead?’

  ‘The last time I saw him, he looked desperately ill.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘No, sir,’ answered Rafter. ‘Before I could do so, he disappeared into the crowd. In one sense, I was relieved. I’d prefer to remember him as he was before … things changed for the worst.’ He stood up. ‘I must go now, Mr Skillen. We’re not really allowed to have visitors, you see.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  ‘Let me ask you one more thing,’ said Peter, rising slowly to his feet. ‘What happened to Edmund Haines?’

  ‘He did what I did and sought work elsewhere.’

  ‘And did he find it?’

  ‘So I’m told.’

  ‘I’d very much like to find him.’

  ‘All I can tell you is that he now lives somewhere in High Barnet,’ said Rafter, ‘but I don’t have the address.’

  Peter smiled. His visit had yielded a vital piece of information.

  ‘I think I know what it might be,’ he said.

  In the wake of Harry Scattergood’s escape from one of the cells at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court, the reward money for his capture had been increased even more. His rumoured disappearance from London meant that he was out of reach of the Runners, but that didn’t stop them trying to gather information about his whereabouts. Dozens of informers – some of them, thieves themselves – were on the lookout for Scattergood’s return. The city was his private gold mine. He wouldn’t desert it for long.

  ‘He’s definitely back,’ said Yeomans. ‘I feel it in my water.’

  ‘There have been sightings of Harry. Sooner or later, someone will tell us where he is.’

  ‘We’ll take charge of the arrest ourselves, Alfred. I’m not letting the Skillen brothers get their greedy hands on him this time.’

  ‘Paul is still in Bath,’ said Hale.

  ‘Long may he stay there!’

  ‘And Peter must be busy somewhere. He’s not working at the gallery, I know that. Gully Ackford has had to hire someone to help him out. The Skillen brothers both have business elsewhere.’

  They were ambling along the Strand, keeping their eyes peeled and enjoying the occasional glances of appreciation they received. Yeomans and Hale were well-known figures, lauded by law-abiding citizens as much as they were reviled by the criminal fraternity. As they passed a side street, they saw a man stepping back smartly into a doorway.

  ‘That was Reuben Walters,’ said Hale.

  ‘They must have let him out of Newgate.’

  ‘He swore to kill us, Micah.’

  ‘That little rat couldn’t kill anyone,’ said Yeomans, laughing. ‘A good fart would blow him over. One thing about Harry Scattergood – he had good reason to hate us as much as Reuben, yet he’s never made the slightest threat against us.’

  ‘He might if we actually manage to arrest him.’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s all a game to Harry. He’s been the winner so far. Next time, I swear, we’ll give him a very nasty surprise. We’ll win the game once and for all.’

  She was a miracle-worker. Scattergood didn’t know if it was the magic of her kisses, the curative power of her caresses or the sorcery of her songs, and he didn’t care. The simple fact was that Welsh Mary had brought him back to life again, simultaneously subduing his pain and stimulating his desire. They were in a different room in a different tavern now. Keeping on the move was his long-established ritual. Instead of taking time off to visit Welsh Mary whenever he could, he’d brought her with him. It had been a resounding success. She was not only there to do his bidding day and night, he had the gratification of knowing that he was not sharing her with other clients. There had been many other women in his life, but none made him feel that he’d found Elysium. Scattergood wanted more of her.

  Hannah was glad to see Jenny return to the hotel and invited her into their room. Paul was already there.

  ‘How did your visit go?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I had a lovely time,’ replied Jenny. ‘I haven’t seen them for ages and they were so pleased to see me. My cousin drove me back here.’

  ‘That was good of him.’

  ‘I saw the two of you walking along the main street.’

  ‘Yes, rehearsals were cancelled for today.’

  ‘Did you realise that someone was following you?’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ said Hannah. ‘It wasn’t Elinor Ingram, was it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t her.’

  ‘Then who was it?’

  ‘It was that man who travelled with us on the coach,’ said Jenny. ‘Mr Cosgrove. Is he being paid to guard you?’

  ‘He’s being paid by someone,’ said Paul, bitterly, ‘but it’s not us. While you were away, I discovered that he was working with those highwaymen.’ Jenny was shocked. ‘Yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s no doubt about it. I haven’t challenged him, as yet, because he’s the one person who will lead me to those three villains.’

  ‘Including Cosgrove, there’ll be four of them against one of you,’ protested Hannah. ‘Even you can’t fight against those odds, Paul. You need help. Send for Peter.’

  ‘What can he do? Peter has problems of his own and they’ll keep him more than busy. No, my love, this is something I’ll have to handle by myself. I can’t expect any assistance from my brother.’

  As Peter rode out of the city, Jem Huckvale was alongside him. Both men were armed. The first stage of the journey was passed largely in silence as Peter speculated on the significance of what he’d been told by Joseph Rafter. While it was unwise to rule out the possibility of a curious coincidence, he felt that it was highly unlikely. Memories of his earlier visit to High Barnet came surging into his mind. Having forgotten all about Sebastian Alderson, he was now trying to recall every word that the man had uttered to him. After a while, he became conscious that he had a companion.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jem,’ he said. ‘I was miles away.’

  ‘So was I.’

  Peter smiled. Whenever he caught Huckvale with an expression of silent joy on his face, he could read the younger man’s mind. He was thinking fondly of Meg Rooke.

  ‘I knew there was something odd about Mr Alderson,’ said Peter. ‘When he paid for that funeral, he ordered the cheapest coffin possible.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘Yes, we do. We both saw that coffin. It looked like something that had been made very quickly and with little care. It was the sort of thing you’d see at a pauper’s funeral.’

  ‘The man inside had been a pauper,’ said Huckvale.

  ‘Granted, but Mr Alderson, who paid for the funeral, is very rich. While I didn’t expect him to spend a vast amount on a complete stranger, I thought he’d pay for something better than that.’

  ‘Perhaps he did.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Perhaps he paid for one coffin and was given something that was nowhere near as good. I doubt if the gentleman looked closely at the coffin. It’s something I never do when I go to a funeral.’

  ‘I catch your drift now,’ said Peter. ‘You’re suggesting that Mr Alderson was tricked by the undertaker who took a larger fee yet made a coffin worth only a fraction of the amount. It’s possible, I suppose. He was not the most prepossessing individual, was he? On the other hand, he showed such pride in that poor, afflicted daughter of his. No,’ he decided, ‘I don’t think he’d try to deceive Alderson – or the vicar, for that matter. Whoever he really was, the deceased was buried in the mean coffin ordered for him.’

  ‘Why does it worry you so much?’

  ‘It tells us something about Mr Alderson’s character.’

  ‘You said he was kind and considerate.’

  ‘He was, Jem, and I still admire what he did. He’s a Good Samaritan, if ever there was one. There’s just something about him that troubles me.’

  ‘And you want my opinion of him, is that it?’

&nbs
p; ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘Then why were you so keen for me to come with you?’

  ‘I may have a very important job for you to do.’

  Once her dresser had settled back in, Hannah decided that she would like to visit the spa and taste the celebrated water. Since Jenny would act as her chaperone, Paul was no longer needed. He seized the opportunity to take a second look at the home of Roderick Cosgrove. On his earlier visit, he hadn’t been invited into the house because Cosgrove claimed to have company. From the way that the man had confided the information, Paul had assumed that the visitor was a woman. In the wake of the discovery that Cosgrove was, in fact, an accessory to the highwaymen, he now questioned that assumption. Paul began to wonder if Cosgrove’s visitor might instead have been one of the men who’d robbed the coach.

  Now aware that they’d been followed by the man that morning, Paul was more circumspect, looking over his shoulder at regular intervals and, when turning a corner, waiting a few minutes to see if anyone was dogging his footsteps. There was no sign of Cosgrove or anyone else. He could move freely about the city. When he got to Cosgrove’s house, he found a vantage point from which he could watch unseen. Paul had come prepared. Hidden beneath his coat were two pistols.

  What he was hoping for was a glimpse of the man who’d led the highwaymen. Though he’d been wearing a mask at the time, there’d been distinctive features about the man. The description given him by Hannah had been similar to those from Jenny and Mrs Vellacott. Ironically, the joint portrait they’d painted of the man made him sound rather like Paul himself. He was chasing his mirror image. It was telling that Cosgrove had given a less detailed description of the leader, claiming that he was distracted by the pain from his injury. At the time, Paul had believed him. That was no longer the case. Cosgrove was the highwaymen’s spy. He shared their guilt and deserved to be punished accordingly.

  If Sebastian Alderson was astonished to see Peter Skillen again, he kept his surprise hidden behind a bland smile of welcome.

  ‘What brings you back here?’ he asked as he took his visitor into the library. ‘It’s a long ride from London.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that, sir.’

  ‘Do you bring news of the arrest of the grave robbers?’

  ‘Unhappily,’ said Peter, ‘I don’t, but I hope to find them in due course. Once I take on a task, I see it through to the end.’

  After a lengthy time in the saddle, Peter was glad to be offered a seat. Taking the chair by the desk, Alderson studied him.

  ‘How is Mrs van Emden?’ he asked.

  ‘Much to her delight, her husband has arrived from the Netherlands. That’s why I didn’t subject her to the same journey again.’

  ‘That’s very considerate of you, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Being considerate is a trait I share with you, sir. When you took an interest in that dying man, you showed extraordinary concern for a fellow human being in distress.’

  ‘I hate to see suffering of any kind.’

  ‘Most people turn away from it.’

  ‘Then I am the odd one out and proud to be so.’

  There was a long silence. While Peter wondered how best to proceed, Alderson was trying to work out the reason for his return. Each was waiting for the other to make the first move. In the end, Peter tired of being evaluated by the other’s searching gaze.

  ‘Why was the deceased buried in such a mean coffin?’ he asked.

  ‘What an absurd question,’ replied Alderson, with a laugh of disbelief. ‘Are you seriously claiming that you came all the way from London simply to ask me that?’

  ‘Other questions may arise out of your answer, sir.’

  ‘I’m tempted to tell you to mind your own business, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘I can’t do that. Somebody tried to persuade us that the man in that grave was George Parry. We are convinced that he was not. As a result, the coffin has taken on a special interest for me.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should.’

  ‘Its quality is at variance with the generosity of the purchaser.’

  Alderson became peevish. ‘What did you expect?’ he said. ‘A velvet-lined coffin of the finest oak with brass handles?’

  ‘I expected something that reflected your character, sir.’

  ‘I did my best to save that man’s life.’

  ‘You deserve full credit for that, Mr Alderson.’

  ‘Then I’d be grateful if you’d stop criticising me.’

  ‘No criticism is intended, sir. I just wish to understand why you ordered the cheapest coffin available.’

  ‘I don’t have to answer to you for the way that I choose to spend my money,’ said Alderson, pompously. ‘I found the fellow in the most dire condition, sought medical assistance and did what I could to make his last few hours on earth as comfortable and dignified as possible. Why should I spend a large amount of money on his funeral when a simple coffin was just as serviceable as the most elaborate casket?’

  ‘If we followed that reasoning,’ said Peter, tartly, ‘every one of us would be buried in a crude wooden box. Are you happy at the prospect of your funeral being conducted solely on the principle of serviceability?’

  ‘I refuse to discuss this any further.’

  ‘Then we can move on to the next question.’

  ‘There’ll be no next question, Mr Skillen.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Tell me about Edmund Haines.’

  ‘I know nobody of that name.’

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain.’

  It was a categorical denial, but Peter had seen the way that the man’s mouth had twitched involuntarily at the mention of Haines. He got up from his seat and confronted Alderson.

  ‘Now you see why I was compelled to return, sir,’ he said, calmly. ‘Edmund Haines was one of Mr Parry’s servants. You happened to have chanced upon a dying man identified as George Parry. When I was told that Haines lived in High Barnet, you’ll realise why your name came into my mind immediately.’ He sharpened his voice. ‘I think that Haines is a member of your domestic staff.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘He might, of course, be using another name – just like that man in the cheap coffin.’

  Controlling his anger, Alderson drew himself up to his full height.

  ‘I give you my word as a gentleman,’ he declared, as if taking an oath, ‘that Edmund Haines is not a member of my domestic staff. You are at liberty to speak to everyone under this roof. Each one of them has been with me for years. Since I didn’t need an additional servant, why on earth should I employ one?’

  Peter was unruffled. ‘I seem to have made a slight mistake.’

  ‘It’s time for you to leave,’ said Alderson, ringing a small bell. ‘I hope that our paths never cross again, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir.’

  The door was opened by a servant. Peter bade his host farewell, but all that Alderson did by way of a reply was to glare at him. The servant escorted Peter along the passageway and into the hall before opening the front door. Another servant was waiting outside, holding the reins of Peter’s horse. After thanking the man, he mounted the animal and rode off at a steady canter.

  Teeth clenched and jaw muscles undulating, Alderson watched through the window until Peter disappeared out of sight. He then moved to the desk to write a swift message. Summoning a servant once more, he handed him the letter and gave him his orders. The man headed for the stables at once. Minutes later, he left the house and kicked his horse into a gallop. Back at the window, Alderson saw him go. What he didn’t see, however, was the rider who came out of a side street and followed the servant who’d just been dispatched. Emerging from his hiding place at last, Jem Huckvale was thrilled to be involved in the chase.

  Charlotte Skillen had heard the story of their courtship before, but Jan van Emden’s version provided several new details. Attracted by he
r beauty, he was also struck by what he saw as Clemency’s vulnerability. It had aroused a protective urge in him. While she had given the impression that the whole of their relationship had been conducted in secret, he admitted that he’d approached her father to ask for his permission to call on her. It was brusquely denied with the excuse that she was already spoken for.

  ‘I just didn’t believe it,’ said van Emden. ‘When a woman’s heart has already been given to a man, you can see it in her eyes. I saw it in yours, the moment I met you, Charlotte. But it was, thankfully, absent from Clemency’s eyes. She didn’t belong to anyone else. What I saw was a gorgeous young woman pleading to be rescued.’

  ‘And you responded,’ said his wife, squeezing his hand.

  ‘Why was Mr Parry so antagonistic towards you?’ asked Charlotte. ‘Was it because you were a foreigner, or did he think the age gap between you and Clemency made a marriage unthinkable?’

  ‘Both were elements in his rejection of me,’ he said, ‘but the main problem was that I dared to argue with him on the subject of engineering. We are a small, flat country that is essentially a trading nation. Enormous efforts have been made over the years to reclaim land from the sea, a feat of engineering that I believe is unparalleled. Mr Parry disagreed.’

  ‘Father could be very argumentative,’ said Clemency.

  ‘Reasoned argument is one thing, my darling, but he had no time for that. Because I dared to disagree with him, he was shaking with fury. He said that Ironbridge was a greater piece of engineering because it was the first single-span cast iron bridge in the world. The Netherlands had produced nothing to match it.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Mr Parry claimed that Britain was the greatest industrial nation on the planet and that countries like mine followed in its wake. There’s some truth in that, of course, but I stubbornly maintained that our skill at land reclamation is worthy of the highest praise. It annoyed Mr Parry.’