Gallows Court

by Martin Edwards

  ‘You wanted to speak to me,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes, as if summoning inner reserves of strength. ‘You see, I don’t know who else to turn to.’

  ‘You have your friends and colleagues at the theatre,’ he said. ‘I’m sure they’ll be only too glad…’

  ‘Can I trust them?’ A wild look came into her eyes. ‘Any of them could be my enemy, determined to do me harm.’

  ‘I’m sure—’

  ‘There’s only one thing that I am sure of,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone wants me dead.’

  23

  As if ashamed of its feebleness, the pale sun slipped behind a cloud at the very moment Jacob demanded, ‘Why do you think that someone wants to kill you?’

  ‘Two attempts on my life have been made since William was murdered.’ Her voice dropped, and he had to move close to her in order to hear. ‘I’m scared they will be third time lucky.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Sara leaned towards him, and he caught a whiff of gardenias. ‘I must tell you the whole truth. When we met last time, I hinted about my chequered past. I’ve done things I’m deeply ashamed of.’

  He cleared his throat, hoping to give the impression of a man of the world whom nothing could shock.

  ‘I won’t give you details. That would be too humiliating. But it so happened that William and I met in the course of… a business transaction, so to speak. He was gentle when other men enjoyed inflicting pain, and he… well, he took a shine to me.’

  Jacob placed his hand on hers.

  She lowered her eyes. ‘William had his faults, like any man. But he saw me as a person, not just as… well, a vehicle for his pleasure. He said he’d help me to enjoy a better life. It’s the sort of promise many a man has made to unfortunates like me. The difference was, he kept his word. Thanks to him, I was able to leave behind the sordid life I’d led, and start again.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m so afraid you’ll despise me.’

  ‘No danger of that.’

  ‘I became William’s mistress. I’m not proud to admit it. He was married, as you may know, to the daughter of a member of the House of Lords.’

  Jacob nodded. He’d done his research after Keary’s murder.

  ‘His wife’s mind gave way years ago, and after that she was confined to a private sanatorium. I knew William would never divorce her, even if the law allowed it, and he didn’t pretend otherwise. Our liaison came to a natural end, without a hint of acrimony. On the contrary, he made sure that I wanted for nothing. I’d risen to top of the bill at the Inanity, and he installed me in a flat close to Regent’s Park. He wasn’t seeking favours, or buying my silence. It was a simple act of generosity, which I accepted with gratitude.’

  ‘I see.’ How naive she was, he thought.

  ‘We remained close, and there was never a cross word between us. Not even when his wife died, and instead of coming back to me, he became enamoured of a beautiful Italian woman. Chiara Bianchi was the widow of a wealthy businessman, someone who moved with ease in high society, as I never could. But it became clear to me that he was unhappy.’

  ‘Because of the Bianchi woman?’

  ‘Oh, no. Some of his associates – men like Linacre – were disreputable in the extreme.’

  ‘And the solicitor, Hannaway?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Yes, the Hannaways father and son, they belong to the same clique. William came to loathe them, and Linacre’s murder of Dolly Benson was the final straw. He wanted nothing more to do with them, but they weren’t men to tolerate any sort of snub. From that moment on, they looked for some means of punishing him for his temerity in turning his back on them.’

  ‘You thought they were threatening Rachel Savernake.’

  ‘I’m sure of it, Jacob. Her father was once part of their fraternity. It has deep roots, going back many years. I think the Judge was their leader.’

  ‘Until his insanity became apparent, and he took himself off to the island home of his ancestors,’ Jacob muttered.

  ‘Yet somehow Rachel antagonised them. Her arrival in London upset the apple cart.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Whenever I questioned William, he clammed up. He obviously thought it safer for me to know as little as possible.’

  ‘And Rachel’s life was in danger?’

  ‘It has been ever since she came to London.’ Despite the warmth of her coat, she shivered violently. ‘What I didn’t realise was that William was also at risk.’

  He blinked. ‘You think these people put Barnes up to murder?’

  ‘What other explanation makes sense?’

  ‘Barnes may have acted in a moment of madness.’

  ‘The crime was carefully planned. Someone else paid for the car he drove to Croydon, and for his flight to France. Barnes couldn’t possibly have afforded the cost out of his own pocket.’

  ‘Even if these people did murder Keary, and wanted to kill Rachel Savernake, why would they want to remove you?’

  Her long, low sigh owed something to weariness, some­thing to exasperation. ‘Don’t you see? I know too much, or at least they think so. They can’t afford to take a chance.’

  Clasping her hand, he said gently, ‘You’ve undergone an ordeal. It’s understandable if you —’

  ‘I’m not making this up, Jacob.’ She was on the verge of tears. ‘I’ve moved out of the flat in Regent’s Park. I’ve rented rooms off the beaten track in Leytonstone, hoping nobody would find me. And I’m not the only one to have taken fright. William’s lover, the Italian woman, has fled.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s been murdered?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She lived at William’s house in Carey Street. I wanted to talk to her, but nobody has seen her since… what happened. There’s a maid there, a Chinese woman. I got to know her when William brought me to his home. She tells me the Widow Bianchi took a suitcase, along with her jewels. I suppose she’s left the country. She was rich in her own right; she didn’t depend on William. Probably she’s done a bunk out of sheer terror.’

  ‘And the attempts on your own life?’

  ‘Yesterday, at Leytonstone underground station, a man in the crowd tried to push me onto the live rail.’

  ‘Did you recognise him?’

  ‘I didn’t even get a proper look at his face. If a young soldier hadn’t managed to grab hold of my arm, and haul me to safety, that would’ve been the end of me. To any outsider, it looked like an accident, and I pretended it was. But I’m sure it was a deliberate attempt at murder.’

  He breathed out. ‘You’ve suffered a terrible tragedy.’

  Her voice rose. ‘I might have been mistaken, but this morning, as I strolled towards Hollow Ponds, trying to calm myself down, a car careered along the street as if out of control. I jumped out of the way, but it was a close thing. I was a couple of seconds from being mown down.’ She paused. ‘I look and sound like a neurotic wreck. But is it any wonder?’

  ‘If I can help in any way…’

  ‘Only one person who can help me now,’ she said. ‘Rachel Savernake.’

  ‘I gave her your message.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She didn’t seem disconcerted. I’ve never known a woman so fearless.’

  Sara looked into his eyes, as if peering through a keyhole. ‘I believe you’re smitten.’

  ‘Not a bit of it.’ He shifted under her gaze. ‘Fascinated, yes – that I can’t deny. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. More like a praying mantis, to be honest. It’s as if she’s inherited her father’s ruthless streak.’ Sara shuddered, and he said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He groaned in frustration. ‘Sara, I thought you trusted me. What are you keeping back?’

  Tears came to her eyes, and some moments passed before she answered.

  ‘When I was a chil
d, I met Judge Savernake.’

  *

  ‘You still haven’t told me what you make of Flint,’ Rachel said.

  She and Trueman were in the dark room of the small photographic laboratory tucked in the basement of Gaunt House. Trueman whistled tunelessly, mangling an old Sousa march as he inspected his latest prints.

  ‘Loose cannon. Don’t trust him.’

  ‘Because he’s a journalist?’

  ‘Not only that. He’s young and wayward.’

  ‘Less than twelve months younger than me.’

  ‘You crammed a lifetime of learning into those years on the island.’

  She shrugged. ‘Books can’t teach you everything. You’ve told me that often enough. Education prepares you for life, it’s not a substitute for it. My experience of the world is narrower than Flint’s. He’s ingenuous, yes, but I rather like that.’

  Trueman pointed to a photograph he’d positioned on a small wooden table. Taken from behind, it showed Jacob Flint bending over the sprawled corpse of Stanley Thurlow. From that angle, it was impossible to tell that Jacob was unconscious, and had been propped up with great care to prevent him collapsing in a heap. The picture appeared to show a murderer, admiring his handiwork.

  ‘Don’t like him too much. The time may come when you need to sacrifice him.’

  *

  ‘I can’t remember my parents,’ Sara said. ‘My first memories are of my childhood in an orphans’ home. It was strictly run, but we were well fed and clothed, and given the rudiments of a proper education. There were far more girls than boys, but that didn’t matter. Only as I grew older did I realise something was wrong.’

  ‘This home,’ Jacob said. ‘It wasn’t in Oxford, by any chance?’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘The woman Lawrence Pardoe killed once worked at the Oxford Orphans’ Home.’

  Sara put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, no!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on. Tell me what was wrong.’

  She produced a small lace handkerchief, and dabbed at her nose. ‘Every now and then, one of the older girls would suddenly disappear. We’d be spun some yarn about why they’d gone without a by-your-leave. A long-lost relative had turned up, and offered them a decent home. Or a job with a good family had become available, a vacancy that needed filling without delay. I thought nothing of it until it happened to a dear friend of mine. We were very close, and she would not have left without even saying goodbye. I was told her uncle and aunt had turned up out of the blue from Australia, but I simply didn’t believe it. When I protested, the matron took me to her room, and thrashed me with her cane.’

  ‘Mrs Mundy?’ She gave a slight nod. ‘I’ve met her.’

  ‘You have?’ She blinked. ‘You’re very thorough, Mr Flint.’

  ‘I told you, my name is Jacob.’

  ‘Thank you, Jacob. It’s such a relief to be able to talk to someone – at last.’ She found the handkerchief again, and blew her nose. ‘After being beaten, I didn’t make any more fuss, and pretended to have forgotten all about my friend. From that day on, I became an actress. I kept my eyes and ears open, and over time, I gathered a few clues.’

  ‘To the disappearance of your friend?’

  ‘And the other girls, yes. It always seemed to happen after a meeting of the trustees. The home was run by a charity. And the man in charge was Judge Savernake.’

  ‘I see.’ It wasn’t entirely true. He felt as though he were suffering from disordered vision, seeing a once familiar world indistinctly through milky lenses. ‘This was shortly before the war?’

  ‘Yes. Once or twice, the Judge and the other trustees came and talked to us orphans. To make sure we were being cared for properly, we were told. It was sheer prejudice, but I didn’t like the Judge. He was supposed to be some sort of saint, but something in the way he looked at us made my flesh crawl. Sometimes, he’d invite one of us upstairs. To a meeting, he called it. It dawned on me that these were the children – they weren’t always girls – who went missing immediately afterwards. At first I presumed he was breaking the news about the long-lost relation who’d come to claim them, or suchlike. Later on, I wasn’t so sure.’

  ‘Did he call you to a meeting?’

  ‘No, thank the Lord.’ Colour flowed up her throat, and across her cheeks. ‘I decided he was lying, and so was Mrs Mundy, and everyone else at the home. I could never prove it, of course. And then one day the trustees met, and the Judge wasn’t there. I didn’t ask where he’d gone. I was just glad he hadn’t turned up. I never saw him again.’

  ‘What happened to you afterwards?’

  She lowered her eyes. ‘I’d rather not go into details. Suffice to say that I received what it amused the new chairman of the trustees to call a proper Oxford education.’

  He bit his lip. ‘I see.’

  ‘All I will say is this. One day he called me in to a meeting. You already know his name. It was Mr Lawrence Pardoe.’

  *

  Sir Godfrey Mulhearn stood at the window of his office, staring out over London’s rooftops, as if hoping that the zigzag shapes of the tiles might magically transform into a pattern making perfect sense.

  Superintendent Chadwick consulted his notes, and cleared his throat.

  ‘The local police are in charge of the investigation, naturally, sir, and…’

  ‘Are they any bloody good?’

  ‘We are providing appropriate assistance, sir.’ Chadwick sighed heavily. ‘I expect they will pass the case over to us shortly, if only to save cost for the ratepayers of Essex. Initial enquiries suggest that McAlinden knew Thurlow had arranged to meet the girl at Benfleet. Probably he’d spied on them, and become aware they used the bungalow for their trysts.’

  ‘Long way out of London,’ Sir Godfrey muttered.

  ‘The journey is straightforward, and it’s prudent to get out of town if you don’t want anyone to see what you’re up to. Last night, Thurlow picked the girl up in his car and drove her there.’

  ‘Who owns the bungalow?’

  ‘I have a man looking into that, sir.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no doubt about what happened?’

  Chadwick’s discipline did not permit him to shrug in the presence of an assistant commissioner, but the creasing of his strongly defined features hinted at the career policeman’s disdain for the military import.

  ‘Always an element of doubt, sir, if not necessarily reasonable doubt. At present, our working hypothesis is that McAlinden murdered Thurlow and the girl, then shot himself.’

  ‘I take it the forensic evidence supports that conclusion?’

  ‘We are lucky that Mr Rufus Paul was available to attend the scene. At this stage, he seems to regard it as a clear case.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a mercy.’ Rufus Paul was famously definite in his conclusions. ‘But the reputation of the force…’

  ‘Thurlow was off duty,’ Chadwick said, ‘and we’ve turned up nothing to suggest that he allowed this squalid business with the girl to compromise the performance of his official duties.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Sir Godfrey chewed this over. ‘Of course, there are degrees of moral turpitude.’

  Chadwick swerved this minefield, just as in the boxing rings of his youth, he’d dodged his opponents’ punches. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining, you might say, sir. The Clarion’s editor won’t be getting astride his high horse about police incompetence. Not when he’s given employment to a double murderer. As for the rest of Fleet Street, they’ll find more sport dancing on McAlinden’s grave than grousing about misconduct within Scotland Yard. In so far as a nasty and unfortunate business can be, sir, I’d say it’s all quite neat and tidy.’

  Sir Godfrey puffed out his cheeks. ‘We must count our blessings.’

  ‘Absolutely, sir,’ Superintendent Chadwick said.

  *

  A stiff breeze sent fallen leaves scurrying along the path as t
hey strolled out of the garden. The sky had grown sullen, and the darkening clouds matched Jacob’s mood. Sara felt guilty about her past, but Jacob regarded that as nonsense. She was a victim. Thank goodness she’d escaped the home’s clutches. William Keary had given her the chance of a new life, but his circle had included Pardoe, Linacre, and the Judge. Had his former friends decided he’d let them down, and taken their revenge by inciting the demented stagehand to kill him?

  Jacob had a glimmering of the truth behind Mary-Jane Hayes’ murder. Suppose Pardoe had come across her in London, and taken a shine to her. As chairman of the Oxford Orphans’ Home, his prime concern was to enable friends and colleagues to satisfy their exotic tastes. He’d made sure Mary-Jane, quiet and apparently biddable, was recruited with a view to succeeding Mrs Mundy, and she’d been flattered into taking the job. Jacob guessed she’d resigned after realising that the home was not all it seemed. Had Pardoe killed her because she’d rejected him, or because she’d found out too much? It didn’t much matter. He’d lured her to the house in Covent Garden, strangled her, and disguised the crime as the work of a maniac.

  Mrs Mundy’s display of righteous indignation had been a charade designed to cover her tracks. That fur coat she’d worn to their rendezvous in Fuller’s probably wasn’t a fake after all, but an expensive original. The Orphans’ Home provided the rich and powerful a steady supply of girls and boys to gratify the basest desires. The matron must have been rewarded generously for her long and loyal service, and above all, her discretion.

  ‘I must get back to Leytonstone,’ Sara said.

  ‘Do you think Rachel Savernake is in danger because she knows what happened at the home?’

  ‘To be honest with you, Jacob, I’m no longer sure what to think.’

  He hadn’t told Sara that he’d spent the night at Gaunt House. Trusting someone was all very well, but there were limits. The mere thought of anyone else finding out that he’d been present in Benfleet the previous evening was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat.