‘You should have agreed with him,’ said Clemency.
‘I’m proud of my nation’s achievements. I wasn’t going to dismiss them in the way that your father did. Doing my best to remain polite, I refused to bow to his exaggerated claims. From that point on,’ he said, sadly, ‘I knew that any contact between Clemency and me would have to be secret. I was caught up in a debate I could never win.’
‘You won my love,’ said his wife. ‘It would have been so much easier had Father accepted you as a son-in-law, but that was beyond him.’
‘Only at the start,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘He did mellow in time and made efforts to get in touch with you.’
‘I wish I’d been aware of that, Charlotte.’
Her husband was philosophical. ‘I doubt that he’ll ever approve of me,’ he said. ‘I’m still too old for his daughter and I’m still a champion of Dutch engineering.’
‘I think he’d be prepared to make allowances now,’ said Charlotte.
‘We must all hope that he’s still alive.’
‘Oh, he is. I’ve never known Peter more certain about something.’
‘If he does find Mr Parry, he’ll be doing us an enormous favour.’
‘He’s doing what he was hired to do. This is far more than a task to my husband. It’s a mission.’
Peter had to wait for the best part of an hour. He and Huckvale had agreed to meet at a village not far from High Barnet that boasted a small but comfortable tavern. It was a good place to rest and to analyse the conversation he’d had with Alderson. The man had clearly been needled by the reference to the coffin in which the bogus George Parry had been buried. Instead of being praised for the kindness shown towards the stricken man, Alderson had been censored. In retrospect, Peter found that one of the man’s first questions took on more significance. He’d asked if the grave robbers had been caught and there was the slightest tremor in his voice. That set Peter thinking. Huckvale eventually arrived and entered the tavern. He rushed over to his friend’s table.
‘Well?’ asked Peter, looking up. ‘Have you found him?’
‘I might have done.’
Having watched the house for a long time, Paul Skillen came to the conclusion that Cosgrove was not at home. Nobody had come out of, or gone into, the abode. It was time for Paul to rejoin Hannah. Before he could quit his carefully chosen position opposite, however, he saw someone approach on a bay mare. The rider was tall, lean, elegant and close to his own age. All his instincts told Paul that he was at last looking at the leader of the highwaymen, the person who’d stolen Hannah’s pendant, then caused her untold grief by stalking her. The man was finally within reach. When he saw him dismount outside Cosgrove’s house and tether his horse, Paul felt a surge a joy. It was only momentary. His hat was suddenly torn off from behind and his head was struck hard by the butt of a pistol.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
While enjoying his time with Welsh Mary to the full, Harry Scattergood was keenly aware that he had to dispose of the booty from St Albans. His visit to the town might have ended in failure, but it was offset by earlier successes. Jewellery, silver ornaments and a host of other small items were kept in bags under whichever bed he and his lover were sharing at any one time. They needed to be converted into money. Now that he’d recovered sufficiently from his wounds, he felt able to dispose of his loot. Welsh Mary made no protest. She knew full well that the expensive rings, brooches, necklaces and so on would be incongruous in the brothel that was her home and would arouse the envy of the other women. It was enough for her to have been allowed to wear some of them as she pranced naked around the room.
In his early years as a thief, he’d have taken everything to a dolly shop, home of a disreputable pawnbroker who’d always buy his wares, albeit at insultingly low prices. As he progressed, Scattergood dealt with other fences, discerning men who’d only receive stolen goods if they were of good quality. He was able to get better deals that way. In recent years, he’d relied on an old friend who would buy almost anything he was offered and ask no questions about its origin. There was a pattern to their business dealings. Scattergood would arrive at the house, display his latest plunder, be outraged at the prices offered for it, threaten to go elsewhere in future, gain concessions, reach a compromise and shake hands on the deal.
That was exactly what happened yet again. In less than ten minutes, he was leaving the premises discreetly by the back door with a large amount of money in his purse. Unbeknown to him, however, there was something different about the transaction this time.
Peter and Huckvale were in the saddle almost immediately, going back over the route that the younger man had just taken. To hold a conversation while cantering, they had to shout to each other.
‘How far is it, Jem?’ asked Peter.
‘We should be there in less than half an hour.’
‘And you say that it’s a farm?’
‘It was at one time,’ said Huckvale, ‘but I didn’t see any animals there. The rider I followed went straight to this large barn. When he dismounted, he ran towards it.’
‘My guess is he was carrying a warning letter.’
‘You must have scared Mr Alderson.’
‘He couldn’t wait to get rid of me. When I realised that Haines was not part of the domestic staff, I fancied that he might be employed somewhere else by Alderson. That’s why I’d asked you to hide in that side street.’
‘Someone came out of the stables not long after you’d left. He was riding hell for leather. I had a job to keep up with him.’
‘It sounds to me as if it was worth the effort, Jem.’
‘I hope so.’
Because he’d been careful to keep out of sight, Huckvale had brought back only limited information, but it was enough to excite Peter and reinforce his suspicions.
‘It’s a pity you didn’t get to see inside that barn,’ he said.
‘I might not have seen anything but I heard the noise loud and clear.’
‘What sort of noise?’
‘It’s difficult to describe,’ said Huckvale. ‘It was a sort of clanking sound I’ve never heard before. I still can’t decide what it was.’
‘Could it have been some sort of agricultural machine?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why do you say that, Jem?’
‘It’s just a feeling I have. There’s no hay or straw stored in that barn. I’m sure of that. It’s being used for another purpose altogether.’
The visit to the baths had been an education. Neither of them could believe that Roman civilisation had been so advanced, creating majestic buildings that defied the passage of time and contained features that astounded them. Hannah and Jenny were less complimentary about the spa water itself, supposedly healthy but having a foul taste that seemed to linger. At no point had they felt in danger or that they were under observation. Since they were in places where plenty of people milled about, there was a sense of safety they could take for granted.
Hannah was glad to have Jenny back with her. As well as offering unquestioning support to her, the dresser understood the need for discretion with regard to Hannah’s relationship with Paul, knowing instinctively when to make herself scarce. Alone together, they enjoyed each other’s company.
‘Whenever I see Roman ruins,’ said Jenny, ‘I think about the plays they must have seen in those days. Huge crowds went to see work by their playwrights. They’re hardly ever heard of today.’
‘It’s a question of fashion,’ said Hannah. ‘There’s no taste for plays of that period any more.’
‘Shakespeare has survived – why haven’t they?’
‘He’s better, Jenny, and he’s English.’
They’d arranged to meet Paul at the hotel and expected to find him waiting for them. When there was no sign of him, Hannah collected the key, then led the way up to their room. As soon as she unlocked the door, she saw the letter awaiting her on the bedside table. Confident that it had been written by P
aul, she snatched it up and opened it. Jenny saw her stiffen in horror.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘It’s Paul,’ gasped Hannah. ‘He’s been kidnapped.’
The dresser gulped. ‘We must get help at once.’
‘No, we can’t. There’s a warning in the letter against involving anyone else. If we do that, Paul will be killed. He means it, Jenny.’
‘Who does?’
‘The man who’s been stalking me ever since we got to Bath. He sent this letter. I had others from him. He was the leader of those highwaymen.’
‘And he’d really kill Paul?’
‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’
‘But there must be some way to rescue him.’
‘There is, Jenny. This is a ransom demand.’
‘Then it will have to be paid at once.’
‘He’s not asking for money,’ said Hannah, with a shudder. ‘He wants a night alone with me.’
The Runners were so pleased with the information brought by Chevy Ruddock that one of them bought him a pie and a pint of ale to wash it down. He felt that he was appreciated at last. The three of them were in their usual corner in the Peacock Inn.
‘How did you do it, lad?’ asked Yeomans.
‘I found out which fence Harry Scattergood used,’ said Ruddock. ‘He might have been out of London for a short while but that didn’t mean he’d stop thieving. He can’t help himself.’
‘You’re right there,’ agreed Hale.
‘When I heard he was back, I knew he’d have some booty to get rid of, so I talked to some of our informers and finally got a name out of them.’
‘Who was it, Chevy?’
‘Israel Goodman.’
‘We know the rogue.’
‘He’s as crooked as a corkscrew,’ added Yeomans, ‘and we’ve tried to arrest him a number of times. Unfortunately, we could never catch him with stolen goods in his possession. We’ve searched and searched that filthy house where he lives, then had to give up.’
‘You’d have caught him red-handed if you’d been there when Harry went in. I was watching through the window of the tavern opposite the house.’
‘Then why didn’t you arrest the pair of them?’
‘It wasn’t as easy as that, sir. Goodman has two ruffians standing outside his door. I couldn’t tackle them on my own, Besides, I was after Harry Scattergood and not his fence. So I sneaked around to the back of the house,’ Ruddock went on, ‘because I knew that Harry would leave that way. Then I followed him.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘He’s staying at The Mitre in Eastwell Street.’
‘Then he must have money,’ said Hale, ‘The Mitre’s expensive.’
‘Harry’s there with a female friend.’
Yeomans guffawed. ‘She’s his trull, his whore, his doxy,’ he said. ‘Women like that sell their friendship by the hour.’ He got to his feet. ‘You did well to come for us. Nobody could arrest Harry by himself. We’ll take all reinforcements.’
‘But I’ve only just had my first bite, sir,’ said Ruddock, through a mouthful of pie.
‘Eat the rest on the way there.’
‘What about my ale?’
‘We’ll take care of that,’ said Yeomans, grabbing the tankard and emptying half of its contents down his throat before handing it to Hale. ‘Finish that off, Alfred. We’re in a hurry.’
When they got within a hundred yards of the place, they slowed their horses to a trot. Peter saw that Huckvale’s description had been accurate. Though there was a farmhouse, a yard, a cluster of outbuildings and a sizeable barn, there was no sense that they were looking at a working farm. The only animals visible were a few hens pecking at the ground in search of food. As they got closer, Peter heard the loud clanking noise that Huckvale had mentioned and he also spotted something that had eluded his friend. In the field behind the barn, the sun was glinting on something half-hidden in the grass. From that distance, it was difficult to make out exactly what it was.
As they rode towards the yard, they were aware of being watched from a window in the farmhouse, but nobody came out to challenge them. After tethering their horses, they walked to the barn and opened the door to peep inside. What they saw made both of them gape in amazement. They were looking at a huge engineering workshop, reminiscent of the one that Geoffrey Taylor owned. The doors at the far end were wide open, letting in the light and revealing that what they’d seen glinting in the sun was an iron railway that ran the length of the barn before going out into the field beyond and describing a complete circle.
Chugging along the line was a large, ugly, noisy contraption, comprising a boiler, six wheels, a tall funnel, a small funnel and a bewildering arrangement of pistons. As it left the barn and went out into the field, it was driven by a stocky man in rough, oil-stained clothing and a greasy cap. Belching smoke, the steam engine gathered speed and made a complete circuit of the railway before coming back into the barn and slowing to a halt. Watching the machine’s progress with great interest was an older man in shabby attire. Both he and the driver were far too engrossed in what they were doing to notice the arrival of the visitors.
Peter had to raise his voice to be heard about the noise.
‘Mr Parry?’ he shouted.
The older man turned, peered at them, then waved to the driver. When various levers had been pulled, the engine hissed. The visitors moved forward.
‘Are you George Parry?’ asked Peter.
‘Yes,’ said the older man, uncertainly.
‘You must make allowances for him,’ warned the driver, getting down from the engine and eyeing them warily. ‘He gets confused.’
‘Do you like it?’ asked Parry, indicating the machine. ‘We built it together. It’s mine.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ demanded the driver.
‘We’re friends of Mr Parry’s daughter and we’ve come to take him back to her.’
‘He’s going nowhere. He lives here now.’
Parry was confused. ‘I don’t have a daughter any more.’
‘You heard him,’ said the driver, squaring up to them.
‘Is this all he does?’ asked Peter.
‘It’s important work. Steam locomotives like this will change our lives one day. They’ll pull carriages that take people all over the country.’
Huckvale was dubious. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘But if it did happen,’ said Peter, alive to the possibilities, ‘it could indeed cause a revolution in transport. The inventor of this steam engine would stand to make a fortune.’ He looked at Parry. ‘Do you hold the patent?’
‘No,’ said a stern voice behind them, ‘Mr Alderson does.’
Peter turned to see the gun pointing at him.
The women were in turmoil. Horrified to discover that Paul had been kidnapped, they were reeling from the ransom demand for his release. It had made Hannah’s flesh creep.
‘Whatever am I supposed to do, Jenny?’ she cried.
‘You must never put yourself in his power,’ said the other. ‘There’s no telling what that man might do to you.’
‘Paul’s safety is the most important thing.’
‘We have no idea where he is.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Hannah. ‘He was going to take a second look at Mr Cosgrove’s house. That’s where he must have been seized.’
‘I think you should tell the manager.’
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘We need help and he’s the best person to give it.’
‘You didn’t read the letter, Jenny. It forbade me to turn to Mr Teale or to anyone else. If I do, I’ll be signing Paul’s death warrant.’
‘What a dreadful thought!’
‘There has to be a way to rescue him,’ decided Hannah, face distorted by sheer terror. ‘We must try to keep calm. We can’t make sensible decisions when we’re in this state.’ Eyes closed, she breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, repeatin
g the process several times. When she felt she’d achieved a measure of control, she opened her eyes again. ‘There’s a question we must ask ourselves, Jenny.’
‘Is there?’
‘What would Paul do in this situation?’
‘He could never be in an identical position.’
‘This is a crisis,’ said Hannah, ‘and he’s dealt with many of those in the course of his work. I know exactly how he’d react.’
‘Do you?’
‘He’d send for Peter.’
‘But his brother is still in London,’ argued Jenny, ‘and it would take ages to reach him.’
‘Not if I sent a message by courier. It might arrive in the early hours of tomorrow but I know that Peter would respond at once. He’d ride all night to come to his brother’s aid.’
‘Could you hold off this monster until then?’
‘I’ll have to somehow,’ said Hannah. ‘I can’t possibly succumb to his demand. It’s unthinkable.’ She thought of Paul’s predicament. ‘And yet …’
When he regained consciousness, Paul Skillen found that he couldn’t move, see or speak. Bound and gagged, he had a blindfold over his eyes. Desperately wanting to put a hand to the throbbing pain at the back of his skull, he was tied to the stout wooden chair in which he was slumped. He tried hard to concentrate so that he could work out where he was. The place was cold and dank. He could hear a steady drip nearby. When he struggled slightly and made the chair move a few inches, there was a slight echo. Paul decided that he was in a cellar. His guess was soon confirmed. He heard a door being unbolted above him, then feet came down stone steps. The next moment, someone undid his blindfold and snatched it off. He blinked several times before his eyes became used to the lantern that was held close to his face. His visitor was a tall, lean, well-dressed man with a cultured voice. He wore the mask he’d used when robbing the stagecoach.
‘Good day to you, Mr Skillen,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to offer you such mean accommodation, but you’ve become rather a nuisance to me. There is, however, hope that your life may yet be spared. All that Miss Granville has to do is to spend a night in my arms.’
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