Steps to the Gallows

by Edward Marston

  ‘What were you looking for in that oak chest?’ asked Paul.

  ‘I was hoping to find Leo’s latest instructions for me but all his papers had been consumed by the fire and the chest itself was charred.’

  ‘Why did you choose a nom de plume for your work?’

  ‘I sought anonymity.’

  ‘But why choose that particular name?’

  ‘There’s no mystery about it,’ said the other. ‘I was born under that sign. Though I can’t claim to be a virgin holding an ear of corn, I do acknowledge my place in the zodiac. Leo was born under Leo and I under Virgo.’

  ‘And what is your real name?’

  ‘If I tell you, I don’t want it spread far and wide. And I certainly don’t want it whispered into Mrs Mandrake’s ear.’

  ‘You can trust me, I do assure you. I’ll not vouchsafe it to anyone, except perhaps to the few of us searching for the killer. You have my word on that.’

  Virgo explored Paul’s eyes for a long time before speaking.

  ‘I believe you, Mr Skillen,’ he said at length.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My name is Virgil Paige.’

  Paul was startled. ‘Paige? Then you must be …’

  ‘That is correct. Leo was my brother.’

  During a break between a boxing lesson and a fencing bout, Gully Ackford was able to spend some time with Peter Skillen. The latter recounted what he’d heard at the Home Office about three of the suspects on their list. Ackford was pleased.

  ‘And they both have homes in London, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Gully, they represent far-flung constituencies that they rarely visit. This is where they spend their time. In other words, they were here when Fearon and his accomplice were hired to kill Mr Paige.’

  ‘What about this doctor?’

  ‘He, too, is based here in London. Opinions are evenly divided about him, it seems. Some people acclaim him as a genius whereas others think him a charlatan.’

  ‘Virgo belongs to the second camp.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Peter. ‘Judging by the drawings that feature Dr Penhallurick, he is a particular target of Mr Paige and his partner.’

  ‘So which of the three suspects engaged an assassin?’

  ‘It might be none of them, Gully.’

  ‘You think that Mr Harvester is our man?’

  ‘Like the others, he remains under suspicion until we can eliminate him.’

  ‘It may be someone else altogether,’ said Ackford, ruefully. ‘Leo did tell me that he’d made a lot of enemies.’

  ‘All that we can do is to concentrate our attention on the four we’ve selected and,’ said Peter, ‘hope that my brother may be able to shed more light for us.’ He glanced towards the office. ‘Is Mrs Mandrake here?’

  ‘Yes, she and Charlotte have become bosom friends.’

  ‘I had a feeling that they might do so.’

  ‘Jem, however, is avoiding her like the plague.’

  ‘She is a rather overwhelming example of womanhood.’

  Ackford grinned. ‘Your pretty maidservant is more to his taste.’

  ‘How much have you divulged to Mrs Mandrake?’

  ‘I followed your advice and told her as little as possible. She knew that you went in search of intelligence about our suspects but is quite unaware that Paul went on our behalf to King’s Bench Prison.’

  ‘It’s better to keep Mrs Mandrake ignorant of that. Apart from anything else, we need to protect her. Fearon and his accomplice wouldn’t scruple to attack a woman. In fact,’ Peter went on, ‘I’m surprised that she hasn’t suffered some sort of retribution already. After all, she sells the prints that have caused so much fury and offence.’

  In charge of the shop, Benjamin Tite was showing off a new print when it happened. He heard the sound of a galloping horse but never for a moment connected it with danger. Luckily, his back and that of the customer were turned to the bow window. The next moment, there was a loud crash as a large stone smashed the glass and sent a blizzard of shards in every direction. The rider galloped on down the street and the pummelling hooves soon died away. Tite, meanwhile, was shaking all over and apologising profusely to the customer. The one consolation, in his opinion, was that Mrs Mandrake had not been in the shop at the time of the attack. Had she been facing the window, she could easily have been blinded. It was an alarming development. Now that Paige was dead, someone was targeting her.

  Chevy Ruddock had had to drag himself out of bed that morning. When he finally presented himself to Yeomans and Hale at the Peacock Inn, he looked as if he’d climbed off a slab at the morgue. No sympathy awaited him.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ complained Yeomans.

  ‘I didn’t get to bed until after dawn, sir.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have gone to bed at all. Being a Runner means that you sometimes have to sacrifice sleep altogether.’

  ‘My wife was very worried when I didn’t get home last night.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell her that you made two arrests?’

  ‘Agnes was more worried about my injuries. When she saw the state of my face, she screamed.’

  ‘We feel like doing that whenever we see you,’ joked Hale.

  ‘I stood outside Doll Fortune’s house until I was fit to drop,’ wailed Ruddock. ‘I hope I don’t have to do the same thing again.’

  ‘But you must, lad, because you do it so well.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Yeomans. ‘You’ve made the job your own.’

  ‘The people we wanted never turned up, sir.’

  ‘They probably went somewhere else and will be back again tonight.’

  ‘Why can’t someone else do my duty?’ asked Ruddock.

  ‘The other members of the foot patrol have been deployed elsewhere. Every one of the infamous brothels in Covent Garden will have one of our men standing outside it tonight. If these sailors show their faces,’ said Hale, ‘we’ll have them.’

  ‘But we don’t even know what they look like.’

  ‘We know how they behave, lad. That’s what will give them away. They’re like animals. Recognise them by their coarseness.’

  ‘And when you do,’ added Yeomans, ‘bring word to us at once. It will advantage you, I promise. If you’re the man who spots these savages tonight, your name will be mentioned to the chief magistrate.’

  Ruddock rallied. ‘You’ll speak to Mr Kirkwood about me?’

  ‘I will, but only if you bring us certain news that you’ve seen the men.’

  ‘I told my wife that I stood guard outside a church all night.’

  ‘In a sense, that was the truth.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hale with a guffaw, ‘men worship at the shrine of Doll Fortune. Like the Virgin Mary, she’s been known to answer the prayers of many sinners.’

  ‘How do we know that these men will come back?’ asked Ruddock.

  ‘They’re bound to,’ said Hale.

  ‘They’re still celebrating,’ argued Yeomans. ‘They have money in their purses and an urge to spend it on nights of madness. Well, you’d do the same, surely?’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said the younger man, indignantly. ‘When I have money, I give it all to my wife. That’s what a loyal husband should do.’

  ‘These men have baser tastes. Two of Doll Fortune’s ladies were victims of it. Mark my words, Ruddock. When swine like that get a taste for blood, they always want more of it.’

  They were sharing a room above a tavern. When he returned, Abel Fearon saw that his friend was still dozing in the chair. He gave him a nudge to wake him up. The other man blinked and sat up.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘You had too much to drink last night,’ said Fearon. ‘That’s what happened. It makes you drowsy. If you drank less, you’d be able to fuck more.’

  The other man smirked. ‘I had my fair share last night.’

  ‘That was before you fell asleep in her arms. I had to haul you off the woman then drag you back here.’
/>   ‘Thanks, Abel.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘You already know.’

  ‘Ah, yes, you went to that print shop.’

  ‘I had to deliver a message through the window.’

  ‘Will you get paid well?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Fearon. ‘If we obey orders, he’s very generous.’

  He was a thickset man in his late twenties with eyes set unusually far apart. His friend was of the same age but more angular and with a pockmarked face. Both were former sailors. Imprisoned in Newgate for quite different crimes, they’d formed a bond. Fearon’s leadership was never questioned.

  ‘What happens next, Abel?’

  ‘We have to see if the warning works.’

  ‘It’s bound to work,’ said the other. ‘She’s only a woman. She’ll be too frightened to keep the shop open now.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. I’m told she’s very stubborn.’

  ‘What do we do if she carries on as before?’

  ‘What else?’ replied Fearon. ‘We do what we did to Paige.’

  The other man was jolted. ‘We kill her?’

  ‘If that’s what we’re told to do, we’ll do it. I’ve never murdered a woman before,’ he went on, smiling at the thought. ‘I’ve got a feeling I’d enjoy it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Henry Legge, the old sailor hired by Paul Skillen, hobbled into the tavern and lowered himself gratefully on to a seat. By a cruel twist of fate, Legge had lost one of his lower limbs and been forced to wear a wooden substitute. At the time when his right leg had been amputated by a cannonball during a sea battle, his shipmates were amused rather than sympathetic. There were so many jests about his name that he even thought about changing it. The promise of a reward had sent him wandering from one place to another, asking questions of everyone he met and listening out for a mention of Abel Fearon’s name. Moving about so much was tiring work and he had to endure some foul language from sailors who didn’t like him hounding them. He did find two people who’d actually sailed with Fearon but, like Legge, they had no wish to do so again.

  When he’d fortified himself with another pint of ale, Legge felt able to continue his search. He drifted around the bar and got into conversation with several people in turn. Once again, he drew a blank. Nobody had a clue as to the whereabouts of the man he’d named. Legge was just about to finish his drink and move on to another tavern when he finally heard someone mention Fearon. He went across to the man at once and grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘Take your hand off me,’ protested the other.

  ‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ said Legge, letting go of him, ‘but I couldn’t help hearing you name someone I know – Abel Fearon.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I sailed with him once.’

  ‘That’s not something I’d care to do.’

  ‘I hated the man.’

  ‘Then we’ve something in common,’ said the other, warming to him. ‘Fearon is a fiend in human form. He should be kept in a cage and fed off scraps.’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘We were in Newgate together. For some reason, he was let out before he’d served his sentence. We were glad to see him go.’

  ‘Do you know where he is now?’

  ‘I’d like to think he was at the bottom of the sea with a knife in his back.’

  ‘So would a lot of us.’

  ‘Wherever he is,’ said the man, vehemently, ‘he’ll be causing trouble. That’s what they did all the time in Newgate. I was tempted to tackle Fearon many times but I couldn’t take on both of them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He had this friend, a grinning hyena of a man. They used to bully people for money, tobacco and whatever else they could get. I did my best to keep clear of the pair of them.’

  ‘What was this friend’s name?’

  ‘Higlett,’ replied the other. ‘It was Sim Higlett. You don’t want to run into either of them,’ he warned. ‘He’s just as bad as Fearon.’

  When the messenger arrived at the gallery, he handed the letter to Diane Mandrake. On reading it, she let out a shriek of anger.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Some devil has smashed the window of my shop.’

  ‘That’s dreadful!’

  ‘Was anyone seriously hurt?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No,’ said Diane. ‘By the grace of God, both Ben Tite and a customer had their backs to the window. They had slight cuts from the pieces of flying glass but no real wounds.’ She handed the letter to him. ‘Read it for yourself, Peter.’

  He took it from her and noticed how shaky the handwriting was.

  ‘Mr Tite was frightened when he wrote this,’ he observed, ‘and with good cause. Had he been putting a new print in the window, he could have had his face and hands cut to pieces.’

  ‘I must get back there.’

  ‘Be careful, Diane. It may not be safe.’

  ‘A fig for safety,’ said the other. ‘I’m far too angry to fear anything. I bought that property years ago and built it up into one of the best print shops in London. I’m not having it ruined by a man on a galloping horse.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ volunteered Peter.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I want to see the damage for myself.’ Taking the letter back from him, she headed for the door. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Charlotte.’

  ‘And the same goes for me,’ said Peter, kissing his wife on the cheek. ‘Tell Gully and Jem what happened. I’ll be back in due course.’

  He followed Diane out and offered to drive her in her curricle. Refusing even to hear of it, she clambered into the vehicle, snatched up the whip and let the horse feel it on his rump. The curricle set off immediately. Riding behind her, Peter had great difficulty keeping pace with it. Diane Mandrake seemed to work on the principle that the streets of London had been designed solely for her purpose and that anyone who got in her way was deliberately obstructing her.

  When she arrived in Middle Row, Diane brought the curricle to a skidding halt then leapt out of it as fast as her dress would allow. Tite was still clearing up the mess on the floor. She let herself into the shop then embraced him like a mother finding a long-lost child. Peter dismounted and went in to join them. He assessed the damage, then saw the large stone that had caused it. He picked it up from the counter.

  ‘You were lucky, Mr Tite,’ he said. ‘Had this struck you in the head, you might no longer be with us.’

  ‘I’ve been haunted by that thought ever since it happened, Mr Skillen.’ Tite brushed a tiny sliver of glass off his shoulder. ‘Luckily, none of the prints was damaged. I’ve moved them all into the back room.’

  ‘That was very sensible, Ben,’ said Diane.

  ‘I have no idea who threw that stone. I remember hearing a horse coming at a gallop and then …’ He waved a nervous hand. ‘You see the result.’

  ‘It’s appalling.’

  ‘The shop will have to close,’ said Tite.

  ‘We’ll do nothing of the kind.’

  ‘But we have no place to display our wares.’

  ‘Our reputation will do that for us,’ she insisted. ‘If the shop closes, the villain who did this will think he’s achieved his aim. No, Ben, we’ll have the window boarded up with a large sign that says we’re open for business as usual.’

  ‘That could be tempting Providence,’ cautioned Peter.

  ‘I live to sell prints. Nobody will stop me doing that.’

  ‘I’m afraid that they might well try.’

  ‘Then they’ll have to deal with me,’ she said, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘And I won’t have my back to the window. When it’s been restored, I’ll be looking through it with a pistol in my hand.’ She stared with dismay at the debris. ‘You shouldn’t be clearing up, Ben. It’s a job for the servants.’

  ‘They’re cowering in their room,’ said Tite.

  ‘I’ll soon g
et them out of there.’

  ‘While you’re doing that,’ suggested Peter, ‘I’ll speak to your neighbours. Some of them may have seen the horseman galloping past and be able to give me a description of him and his mount.’

  But he set off with little hope in his heart. The sight of a horse ridden hell for leather was not an unusual one in London. If people were in a hurry, they, like Diane, showed little regard for anyone in their path. In this case, the horseman had a clear objective. It was to smash the window of the shop and spread panic. The stone was a message in itself. It was a warning to stop selling prints or to suffer the consequences. Peter recalled with a shudder how Paige had been silenced. He vowed that Diane Mandrake would not meet the same grisly fate.

  Eldon Kirkwood had been in court all morning, sentencing malefactors with the full rigour of the law. It was not until afternoon that he was able to see the Runners. Hats in their hands, Yeomans and Hale walked into his office with customary trepidation.

  ‘What have you brought me this time?’ asked the chief magistrate. ‘Is it news of an arrest or is it the usual paltry excuses?’

  ‘We are making progress, sir,’ said Yeomans.

  ‘I hope it’s not based on the tittle-tattle of a whorehouse doorman.’

  ‘That story has been verified now, sir, because I spoke to the doorman and to the lady who runs the house. Both told the same tale. Two men did descend on the establishment and treat two of its prostitutes in the most reprehensible way. One of them even gave his name.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Leonidas Paige.’

  Kirkwood blinked. ‘Isn’t that the name of the murder victim?’

  ‘Yes, it is, sir.’

  ‘I think he was playing a joke on them, sir,’ said Hale, ‘but it worked against him. In giving that name, he was confessing to the crime.’

  ‘That proves we’re on the right track,’ emphasised Yeomans.

  Kirkwood rose to his feet in silence and walked to the window as he took in the information. Though he realised that he’d been unduly sceptical during the earlier visit from Yeomans, he never for a moment considered an apology. All that the Runners had done was what the chief magistrate had ordered. Dubious facts had been properly checked.