Gallows Court

by Martin Edwards

  Jacob drank the rest of his tea. ‘Might he have committed other crimes that nobody ever linked to him?’

  ‘If so, he didn’t confess to them,’ Oakes said. ‘He describes what he did as a moment of madness.’

  ‘Such brutal violence surely doesn’t come out of the blue?’

  Oakes shrugged. ‘My name isn’t Sigmund Freud, Mr Flint. Perhaps Pardoe was unkind to animals, who knows? Nobody seems to have spotted his fatal flaw. He must have been lonely after the death of his wife and unborn child, and he was seriously ill. That may be as close to an explanation for his crime as we’ll find. His solicitor has already disclosed that Pardoe’s very substantial estate is willed, apart from a few minor bequests, to a range of good causes. It all fits with his reputation for philanthropy. Thank the Lord someone will benefit from this foul business, eh?’

  ‘Then Scotland Yard is satisfied?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Oakes permitted himself the glimmer of a smile. ‘There will be an inquest, of course, but do not expect startling revelations. Fleet Street has treated us roughly of late. My superiors welcome a respite.’

  ‘And Inspector Oakes?’ Jacob persisted. ‘Is he content?’

  Oakes shrugged. ‘The case does present eccentric features.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Like you, we were tipped off about the death. Someone telephoned Scotland Yard. In a hoarse whisper, they told us we’d find a corpse in a locked room in South Audley Street. The caller didn’t give a name.’ He paused. ‘We do not even know if it was a man or a woman.’

  Jacob considered. ‘Perhaps the same person sent me the note.’

  ‘You still have no idea who gave you such a helping hand?’

  ‘I’m as much in the dark as you.’

  ‘Curious.’

  Jacob nodded. ‘And how do you intend to satisfy your curiosity?’

  Oakes gave a wry smile. ‘The demands on us are many and pressing. Superintendent Chadwick is a highly experienced officer, and he regards Pardoe’s confession as conclusive. I can’t justify any significant expenditure of time on the matter. It’s rare for us to be presented with a solution to a crime, and left with no loose ends to tie. Without wishing to be crude, why look a gift horse in the mouth?’

  Jacob grinned. ‘My editor, on the other hand, is willing to allow me considerable licence.’

  The two men’s eyes met. ‘How fortunate, Mr Flint. If you do come across any information that might interest me, please get in touch.’

  ‘You can be sure of it.’ Jacob stood up, and they shook hands.

  ‘May I offer one word of advice before you leave?’

  Jacob stopped at the door. ‘Please.’

  ‘Look both ways when crossing busy roads.’

  *

  ‘Your father didn’t mention your love of modern art,’ Rachel said.

  ‘The old man’s a Philistine,’ Vincent Hannaway said. ‘He’s convinced nobody has painted anything worthwhile since The Monarch of the Glen. I’m no expert as far as these modern chaps are concerned, but I pride myself on being broad-minded.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ she said.

  He’d manoeuvred her away from Leivers and Paul, and into a corner of the room. Six inches taller than his father, he had fair hair and blue eyes, presumably inherited from his mother. After bearing a son, Ethel Hannaway’s mind had given way, and twelve months later, she’d died in a lunatic asylum. She’d served her purpose.

  As a waiter strolled by, bearing drinks, Hannaway plucked another burgundy from the tray, presenting it to Rachel in exchange for her empty glass.

  ‘Decent vintage,’ he pronounced. ‘Even if one isn’t tempted to buy any of the daubs, there’s ample compensation from Garcia’s cellars, to say nothing of your company. Perhaps the wine’s going to my head. I feel an irresistible impulse to let you into a little secret.’

  His voice purred with condescension. Was it a family trait to patronise women, she wondered, or simply something lawyers couldn’t help? Perhaps it was impossible, when one’s advice cost so much and was treated as gospel, not to believe in one’s innate superiority.

  ‘I’m agog,’ she said.

  His smile showed a lot of teeth. They resembled small, sharp tombstones.

  ‘You’re the reason I came along tonight.’

  ‘You flatter me, Mr Hannaway.’

  ‘Please, call me Vincent. We may never have clapped eyes on each other before, but I feel I’ve known you all my life. You see, Rachel – if I may be so bold – safeguarding the Savernake family’s interests has always been of paramount importance to my father. Our parents held each other in the highest esteem. I can’t help but feel a similar regard for you.’

  ‘Really, Vincent, I’m lost for words. Perhaps it’s better to remain silent. Otherwise I’m bound to disappoint your high expectations.’

  He gulped down the rest of his wine. ‘I hear that your sense of humour is laced with irony. Excellent. I like…’

  ‘A woman with spirit?’ Rachel pursed her lips. ‘One who yearns for a female equivalent of droit de seigneur?’

  He took refuge in an uneasy laugh. ‘Now you’re mocking me. And my pater, too. You’ll have gathered that he doesn’t understand any woman under the age of fifty. He still maintains it was a grievous error to give you the vote. Though when you look at the shower we have in government at present, Alfred Linacre excepted, I can’t believe we’d do worse if the entire electorate wore petticoats. One thing he and I do have in common. I’m equally anxious to be of service to you.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, but I have no desire to buy another house, and I’m too young to make a will.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t agree,’ he said suavely. ‘A woman in your position should make a will. One can never foresee what the future may hold. Tragedies befall even the healthiest of us.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘The last time I came to this gallery, I spoke to Claude Linacre. Who could have predicted his fall from grace? Strychnine: wasn’t that his chosen means of self-destruction?’

  Hannaway’s features froze. ‘I hear he’d persuaded his doctor that he needed a stimulant. Dreadful blow to his brother, but thank goodness he’s rallied. We need men like Alfred in such uncertain times as these.’

  ‘He’s here tonight, I see.’

  ‘A few of us are old friends, and we enjoy spending time together.’ The mask dissolved into a fond smile. ‘Your own father is often in our thoughts. A good companion, and a leader among men.’

  ‘The Judge was very discreet,’ Rachel said. ‘Even with his only child. Though towards the end… he did talk more freely about his life in London. Unquestionably, his friends meant the world to him.’

  Hannaway gave an appreciative nod, like a connoisseur scenting a fine wine. ‘The Judge, you will know, was a champion at chess. We still enjoy an occasional game.’

  ‘How cosy.’ Rachel ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass, as if in aid to thought. ‘And I’m sure you and your friends still like to… play fair?’

  He flinched, but didn’t answer. She knew he must be thin­king fast.

  Smiling sweetly, she said, ‘You don’t by any chance tolerate the possibility of allowing mere females to take part?’

  Slowly, he said, ‘Nothing stays the same forever.’

  ‘How very true.’

  He seemed to come to a decision. ‘How fitting that the Judge’s daughter should join our company.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘I was afraid you might decline such a… bold gambit.’

  ‘Now you’re teasing me.’ Hannaway’s eyes glinted. ‘After all, our little fellowship was founded by your father and mine. It seems you already have an inkling of how much we enjoy our games.’

  Rachel inclined her head, and smiled. ‘Let me sound a cautionary note before you elect me to the brotherhood.’

  ‘I promise you,’ Hannaway said. ‘I will not stand in your path.’

&nb
sp; ‘When I play,’ – her smile faded – ‘I play to win.’

  7

  Jacob quickened his stride as the unmistakable landmark of Clarion House loomed out of the gaslit darkness of Fleet Street. The newspaper’s majestic home bristled with tall, soot-blackened chimneys, and an observation tower from which Gomersall enjoyed glowering down at the competition. Had Rennie Mackintosh been hallucinating when he’d conceived the original design? The building’s wild extravagance made the home he’d created for the Glasgow Herald seem like a model of architectural restraint.

  Jacob headed for the newsroom, and asked Pop-Eye Poyser if the name Gallows Court meant anything to him.

  ‘Oh yes. Five minutes away from here, if that.’

  ‘What? Where is it, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Unfrequented corner at the back of Lincoln’s Inn. Only one way in, and one way out. Miserable little apology for a courtyard, as I recall.’ Poyser whipped off his spectacles, and subjected Jacob to myopic scrutiny. ‘Why do you ask? Not in trouble with m’learned friends, I trust? Promise me you haven’t libelled someone rich and famous.’

  ‘Not knowingly,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Intention is no defence to a claim of libel,’ Poyser said mournfully. ‘If you want to know why Walter Gomersall has dark shadows under his eyes, blame the fear of defamation claims. It induces insomnia in every editor on this street of shame. If you’ve anything to confess to him, better get it off your chest right now.’

  Jacob shook his head. ‘It’s just a lead I picked up. Thanks for your help.’

  The pop-eyes blinked furiously. ‘You were asking about Tom before. Is this connected with his accident?’

  ‘That would be telling.’

  Five minutes later, he was trawling through a directory listing lawyers who practised in the environs of the Inns of Court. An entry for Gallows Court jumped out from the page, as vivid as if scrawled in blood.

  Hannaway & Hannaway, Solicitors.

  Inspector Oakes had mentioned that name earlier in the day. Lawrence Pardoe’s solicitor was called Hannaway. So there was a connection between the dead man and Gallows Court. But what did the place mean to Thomas Betts?

  *

  ‘Don’t hog the loveliest lady in the room to yourself all evening, Hannaway!’

  The voice, Irish and musical, belonged to William Keary. He clapped the solicitor on the back, but his eyes locked on Rachel. Hannaway effected the introductions, and was drawn aside by Garcia and Heslop.

  ‘Such an honour to meet you at last, Miss Savernake.’ A swooning critic had once compared listening to Keary’s mellifluous tones to bathing in honey. ‘Your father was a truly great man.’

  Charm oozed out of him like sweat from a lesser man’s pores. His boyish habit of running one hand through thick and curly dark hair was engaging, although Rachel was sure it was a cultivated mannerism. At first glance, William Keary was the very picture of sincerity, but he was also the most versatile stage performer of his generation.

  ‘I never met anyone like him,’ Rachel said.

  Keary considered her for a moment before breaking into a smile. The famously irresistible William Keary smile, the smile that set a thousand female hearts aflutter.

  ‘Delicately put, Miss Savernake. I can imagine that as a parent, he might have been… a taskmaster. As my lawyer, I found him tenacious and single-minded. As my friend, he epitomised ferocious loyalty.’

  In his youth, Keary had made his name as a singer and dancer with a gift for impersonation, ‘the Man of a Hundred Voices’, signing a contract to perform exclusively for the New Moorish Theatre. When the management of the Inanity offered to triple his earnings, he defected, only to receive a writ from his former employers demanding colossal damages. Once he instructed Lionel Savernake K.C. to represent him, the litigation came to a rapid end on agreed terms, leaving Keary free to pursue his new career. Within weeks, he was being feted by audiences at the Inanity, while his lawyer was elevated to the judiciary. Now the Judge was dead, and Keary owned both the Inanity and one of the country’s leading agencies for theatrical performers.

  ‘Did you keep in touch with him?’

  ‘Until he moved back to Gaunt. Afterwards, it became… difficult. Although he was a private man who seldom spoke of personal matters, it was clear you were the apple of his eye.’ Keary paused. ‘I remember him describing you, when you were a small child, as very highly strung. How gratified he’d be to see you today. So svelte, so self-possessed.’

  ‘And so impervious to soft soap.’

  Rachel’s smile did not rob her words of their sting, but the famous smile danced again on those full, sensuous lips.

  ‘You’ve made yourself at home in London. Garcia says you are his favourite customer.’

  ‘Only because my purchases keep him out of Queer Street.’

  ‘I’m sure you always invest shrewdly, Rachel. You’re not offended if I call you by your Christian name? I’ve never been a stickler for formality.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Hannaway disapproves of my louche ways. He’d be furious if he knew I was inviting you to lunch à deux.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Most certainly. Would tomorrow suit? The Restaurant Ragusa is my favourite. I can recommend it.’

  ‘How generous. Doesn’t lunch at the Ragusa cost as much as a working man earns in a month?’

  ‘Thankfully,’ he smiled, ‘I’m not really a working man. For me, acting is pure joy. I’d gladly fool around on the stage for nothing. Don’t tell my fellow shareholders at the Inanity, will you?’

  ‘Your backers are an illustrious bunch, I hear,’ she said. ‘An eclectic mix, too. Heslop, the trade unionist, and the Bishop of Hampstead, to say nothing of Rufus Paul. Several are here tonight, I see.’

  ‘You’re very well informed, Rachel.’ Keary paused. ‘Salt of the earth, all of them. Heslop’s a sound man, whatever political colours you fly. Knows where the workers’ interests lie. Without him, the strike could have brought down the government.’

  ‘Goodness me,’ she said. ‘That would never do.’

  ‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘what’s in your mind?’

  She swallowed the last of her wine. ‘Ah, William. You gentle­men must permit a lady to preserve a little of her mystery.’

  *

  ‘You’ll become famous if you carry on like this,’ Mrs Dowd announced as she served Jacob with his favourite among her culinary specialities, piping hot shepherd’s pie.

  He fell upon it like a starved man. Elation had yielded to exhaustion, and instead of exulting over his scoop, he’d felt an unexpected sense of emptiness.

  The sight of his name emblazoned across the Clarion’s front page captivated both his landlady and her daughter. Elaine, whose rather tight black cardigan contrasted with her exuberant red hair, was in coquettish mood. She gave a tinkly laugh.

  ‘He won’t want anything to do with us soon, Mother. Mixing with the hoi-polloi will be beneath the great reporter’s dignity. We’ll have to make do with gathering round the wireless, and admiring his broadcasts to the nation. Best BBC pronunciation, posher than Monsignor Knox! Oh no, not a soul will ever guess he came from darkest Yorkshire. I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes up with someone famous, like Nefertiti, the Nubian Queen. His eyes were out on stalks that night when she waltzed onto the stage. I’d better get him to give me his autograph, before he starts charging a shilling for the privilege.’

  ‘You will have your little joke, Elaine.’ Mrs Dowd became sombre. ‘It’s a terrible business, all the same. That poor, defenceless creature. I don’t hold with those who say it was her own fault, because she was no better than she ought to be. You can’t blame women simply because they’ve suffered bad luck. I suppose she fell on hard times and started walking the streets?’

  ‘The papers said she was a nurse,’ Elaine said. ‘Isn’t that right, Jake?’

  ‘Correct,’ he mumbled with his mouth full.

  ‘How can it have happened? This chap
Pardoe was a respectable widower, wasn’t he? Gave generously to charities.’

  ‘Plenty of so-called respectable men,’ her mother said darkly, ‘are nothing of the kind. You only have to read the News of the World to know that.’

  ‘Why pick on an innocent nurse?’ Elaine persisted. ‘Jake, I bet you know more than you’re letting on. What does Scotland Yard have to say for itself? What are your own theories? Help yourself to that last slice of pie while you bare your soul.’

  He piled more meat onto his plate. ‘Even the boys in blue don’t know the full story. Not that they’re losing any sleep. They’ve got their man, and we can’t keep berating them for failing to protect the city’s womenfolk. Pardoe’s done their job for them. The crime is solved, and the culprit is dead. That’s all the high-ups at Scotland Yard care about. Psychology they leave to the Freudians. As for the press, we can grub around for titbits about Pardoe and his poor victim if we choose. Our wonderful police will devote themselves to making sure the streets are safe for decent God-fearing Londoners.’

  ‘Don’t you care for the police?’ Mrs Dowd was open-mouthed at this hint of Bolshevism. ‘The constable who came here to ask about the note you were sent was very well-mannered.’

  ‘They’re human, like the rest of us.’

  ‘Who sent you the note, do you know?’

  ‘As you saw, it was anonymous.’

  ‘Very mysterious,’ Mrs Dowd said.

  ‘What will you do?’ Elaine demanded. ‘Grub around your­self, until you find out the full story?’

  ‘Depend upon it.’ He put down his knife and fork. ‘You’re right. There’s more to this crime than meets the eye. I want to find out the truth.’

  The young woman’s eyes shone. ‘You’ll do it!’

  Murmuring something about rhubarb crumble, Mrs Dowd retreated to the kitchen. As the door closed behind her, Elaine placed her hand on Jacob’s thigh. He enjoyed the touch of her slim, warm fingers, but when they became bolder, he eased away.

  ‘I’d better have an early night. Pity about the crumble, but I hardly got any sleep last night, and I’m dead on my feet.’