Gallows Court

by Martin Edwards

  ‘I suppose so.’ He yawned. ‘Sorry, I told you I had a bad night.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The brightness of her smile faded. ‘And now we ought to discuss what we’ll do next.’

  The manservant watched impassively as Jacob indicated their lavish surroundings. ‘You must be a very wealthy woman, Sara. All this is yours?’

  ‘Down to every last Leonardo, yes. At least, once the formalities are completed. William Keary bequeathed the whole of his estate to me.’ Her eyes twinkled; she might have been a maiden aunt, sharing a near-the-knuckle joke. ‘Without wishing to be crude, it does soften the blow. And you are right. Nobody ever admits to being rich. Let’s just say I’m as comfortable as Croesus.’

  Her sarcasm made him squirm. ‘What I mean is, I’m just an ordinary journalist, and you’re a beautiful heiress. Even if you didn’t have a penny to your name, you could take your pick of men. Why would you want to share your future with me?’

  ‘One of the things that is rather delightful about you,’ Sara said, ‘is that, for all your journalistic bravado, you are really quite self-effacing. Not like poor William. His ego was like Everest, utterly insurmountable. What a pity things aren’t different. If we’d met when I was young, who knows what we might have achieved together?’

  Her tone was as gentle as her words were harsh. She was playing a game with him. Now they’d made their final moves.

  There was nothing for it but to take his leave whilst a few shreds of his dignity remained intact. Joints protesting, he tried to struggle to his feet. Each movement felt unexpectedly burdensome, and he found himself slumping helplessly onto the settee. Sara motioned to the manservant, who took a step forward.

  ‘No, no,’ Jacob said. ‘I shall be all right. Honestly, I don’t need a hand.’

  Sara sighed. ‘Oh, Jacob, you overestimate my generosity. Charm can only take you so far. You let yourself down by being so gullible.’

  ‘Look, there’s no need…’

  At a gesture from her, the manservant reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a slim stiletto, its handle carved from mother-of-pearl. With a swift movement, he released a slim, shining blade, and held it to Jacob’s throat.

  ‘Gaudino comes from north-eastern Italy,’ she said. ‘In his home town of Maniago, his family manufactures these fearsome weapons. Every single one is hand-made, superbly crafted. Don’t make any sudden movement. This is his uncle’s favourite blade, and he’s itching to use it. He can slice a man apart in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘Sara,’ Jacob said through gritted teeth. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘I’m not joking,’ she said softly. ‘Although I admit my sense of humour can be cruel. When I said we should talk about what to do next, I meant I must explain what I intend to do with you.’

  The steel blade grazed his skin, yet all he felt was a dreadful lassitude. ‘The brandy was drugged?’

  ‘Have no fear of lethal poisons unknown to science,’ she said. ‘You’ve only ingested a mild sedative. The mixture will cause no lasting damage, but your head will throb, and with your limbs like lead weights, there’s no question of resistance.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear,’ Jacob said, unable to resist a croaky attempt at humour, ‘there won’t be any lasting damage.’

  ‘Not from the sedative,’ she said calmly. ‘Otherwise, I bring bad news. Remember, this is 29 January, the Damnation Society’s Golden Jubilee. By tradition, on this date in each year, we make a sacrifice to celebrate our good fortune, past, present, and future. Rachel Savernake cheated me of the chance to offer up her immortal soul, but I shall make do with you.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ he said thickly. ‘Stop pretending. I’m not amused.’

  ‘Even actresses don’t pretend all the time.’ Sara opened her bag, and took out a small pistol. ‘Every ghastly thing you’ve imagined about the Damnation Society is true. As for talking nonsense, don’t condescend to me. Even if I only shoot to wound, your blood will ruin this lovely rug.’

  ‘Sara,’ he whispered, ‘why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because,’ she said, ‘nothing compares to the ultimate pleasure. The thrill of taking power over another human being’s life.’

  *

  Gaudino bound his wrists and ankles with wire, and bundled him up on the settee like an oversized parcel. Twice, three times, provoked by Jacob’s feeble struggles, the big man cuffed his head with a meaty paw. Throughout the ordeal, Sara told her story. Giving interviews to the press, she said, had frustrated her for years. There was so little she could confide in a journalist from The Stage. With Jacob, it was different.

  At the time of her birth, her mother wasn’t married, and she’d been sent to the Oxford Orphans’ Home. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t an orphan, but her mother had died when she was three. Her father was a man of wealth and influence, and as a result she’d enjoyed more privileges than the other children. Her interest in magic and Maskelyne began as escapism, and matured into an obsessive love of outrageous illusions. She resented the rules and restrictions of institutional life; performing on the stage gave her the chance to pretend.

  ‘And I love pretending,’ she said. ‘More than anything. William was besotted with me. We concocted tales of his dalliances elsewhere simply to conceal the extent of his subjugation. He kept begging me to marry him, but I always said no. The prospect of cosy domesticity, even as the wife of a rich and famous man, repelled me. I could never be a conquest, or a chattel.

  ‘It amused me to invent the elusive Widow Bianchi, and cast plucky Sara Delamere in the role of spurned lover. William’s accounts of the Damnation Society entranced me. After everything I’d witnessed in the Orphans’ Home, no depravity shocked me. I developed tastes which even William couldn’t satisfy. And I dreamed that one day, I might not merely join the Damnation Society, but take it to fresh heights. A bold and noble ambition, don’t you agree?’

  Jacob had never seen her eyes sparkle with such intensity. Weak and weary as he was, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  ‘Sara, it’s a form of slavery. Shackling yourself to the traditions of men who are rich and cruel.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It’s my birthright.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t understand.’

  Mesmerised, he watched her stroke the gun.

  ‘My father was Judge Savernake. I was his first-born.’

  *

  His brain was foggier than the London streets. The sedative in the brandy might have been mild, but he couldn’t make sense of anything.

  ‘You’re Rachel’s half-sister?’

  ‘A quirk of the law robbed me of my inheritance. A stupid piece of paper, a marriage certificate. Something that didn’t happen before I was born made all the difference to our lives. I was the Judge’s flesh and blood, but that counted for nothing. She was legitimate; I was a bastard.’

  Jacob mumbled, ‘He treated you as an orphan. Put you in the home.’

  ‘My mother was a prostitute who drank herself to death. He was the deadliest cross-examiner of his day. After leaving Cambridge, he founded the Damnation Society, an outlet for the energy and passion of rich young men addicted to decadence. The Society’s funds were shrewdly invested. Properties were bought to accommodate members’ mistresses or serve as brothels.’

  ‘Sick,’ Jacob mumbled.

  ‘Gallows Court was at the heart of everything. The Orphans’ Home supplied members with a never-ending source of… fresh blood. Every taste was catered for. My mother concealed her pregnancy until my premature birth, because otherwise she’d be disposed of, along with her unborn child. And then I was consigned to Mrs Mundy’s tender mercies.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Jacob didn’t know what else to say.

  She dismissed his sympathy with a wave of the gun. ‘Pity is the fruit of failure. I realised I was destined for greatness, even before I learned my father’s identity.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘From
his own lips, just before he resigned from the bench. He summoned me – yes, I lied about that, too. He was melancholy and confiding. In lucid intervals, the bitter awareness that his mind was failing tormented him. He told me he’d contemplated suicide – this was days before he slashed his wrists at the Old Bailey. Through Gabriel Hannaway, he settled some money on me. Although it seemed like riches, it was only a tiny portion of his wealth. Rachel must be his heir, he said, even though she was my junior. It was the law. He said he wished she was the bastard, not me, but he’d married her mother, not mine. At that moment I knew he did care for me, and that something was wrong with Rachel. And I hated her for standing in my way, although she was blissfully unaware of my existence.

  ‘He fled to Gaunt, but ordered Gabriel Hannaway to make sure I came to no harm. The Hannaways had formed a dynasty, and so did others like the McAlindens and the Linacres. They were born to power and influence, in the world at large, and within the Damnation Society. Even William saw himself as a leader, with me as his consort. But second place is not for me.’

  Jacob whispered, ‘Why did it matter? What is so special about this… rakes’ guild?’

  She pouted at this naivety. ‘Don’t you see? Governments rise and fall, banks prosper and fail. The Damnation Society endures. The world crawled through four years of slaughter, but millions are made in a war. Pardoe and Gabriel Hannaway had a gift for making money. We can do as we please, we’re beholden to no one.’ Her voice rose. ‘We own the future.’

  ‘You sound like a political fanatic,’ he muttered.

  ‘Charles Brentano wanted to go into politics,’ she scoffed. ‘The trenches changed him, made him want to change the world. To build a land fit for heroes. He decided to betray the Society.’

  ‘He was a member?’

  ‘Once, he was the Judge’s blue-eyed boy, audacious and dissolute. The son the old man never had. A gambler capable of winning or losing twenty thousand on the turn of a card, without so much as the blink of an eye. When he had a child by a Frenchwoman…’

  ‘Yvette Viviers,’ Jacob blurted out.

  She gave him a hard look. ‘You’ll be a loss to journalism, Jacob. So you know how much Rachel hated Brentano’s daughter?’

  ‘All I know,’ he said, ‘is what Shoemaker told me.’

  ‘It was out of the question for Brentano to marry her. Viviers was a whore who didn’t even pretend to tread the boards. But she and their daughter lived under his protection in London until war was imminent. Juliet was never sent to the Orphans’ Home. Brentano persuaded the Judge that she and her mother should be accommodated on Gaunt until the war ended, and the old fool agreed. Why was she permitted to live in the lap of luxury, when I was confined to the home? I had a stronger claim, I was the Judge’s own child.’

  Groggy and despairing, Jacob stared at her in disbelief, but she didn’t notice. She was talking to herself.

  ‘Brentano and Vincent Hannaway fought together in France, but Hannaway was guilty of cowardice in the face of the enemy. During the fiercest shelling, he panicked, and waved the white flag. Five men under his command were killed, and the rest taken prisoner. Brentano never forgave Hannaway’s treachery. He came to hold the Damnation Society in contempt. Had he lived, he’d have destroyed it – yet the Judge wouldn’t permit his elimination. Not until Rachel twisted him around her little finger. She saw her chance to be rid of Juliet, and her parents. She lied through her teeth about what Brentano was supposed to have done to her, and it did the trick. The Judge agreed that Brentano and the woman must be punished. They were drugged, kidnapped and brought to London, to Gallows Court.’

  ‘And murdered.’

  ‘Punished as traitors.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll spare you the details. You’d only faint. Their daughter, the cuckoo in the nest, died of the Spanish flu, or so it was said. Who knows if Rachel poisoned her, and who cares? Good riddance to all three of them. With the Judge’s brain addled, Rachel and her tiny coterie of hangers-on ruled Gaunt. The Judge lingered on for years, but even Gabriel Hannaway was kept away. Rachel and her acolytes remained in their island fortress, waiting for her father to die. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she became rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and made straight for London.

  ‘I presumed her heart was set on seizing control of the Damnation Society. Today I realised that she was simply bent on destruction. Wiping out the past, and then wiping out herself. Pardoe, the Hannaways, and William knew that she had persuaded the Judge to kill Brentano and his mistress. So they had to die too.’

  The cogs of his brain were grinding. ‘And Claude Linacre?’

  ‘Such a weakling should never have been elected to membership,’ she said scornfully. ‘He was easy prey for Rachel. His death sent a message to William and the others. None of them knew what to do for the best. One cannot negotiate with madness. They were in a blue funk, just like Vincent Hannaway in the trenches. That’s why Pardoe murdered the Hayes woman. She left the Orphans’ Home without an inkling of what was going on, but he was afraid Rachel would find her, and dared not risk any loose ends. When Thomas Betts started sniffing around, it was plain that he must be removed, but the others panicked like turkeys in December. I despaired of them. So one evening I became a crossing sweeper.’

  His throat was dry. ‘You were Iorweth Sear?’

  ‘Look you, yes,’ she said in a musical Welsh accent. ‘William used to say I was alarmingly credible in drag. It wasn’t hard to fool the rather stupid constable who took my statement. He didn’t waste much time with me, perhaps he thought I was a pansy. Maurizio here drove the car that did for Betts. The Hannaways tried to scare off Rachel, but the job was bungled by a couple of amateurs. I didn’t make the same mistake with Levi Shoemaker. Through William, I knew a nightclub owner who has a razor gang at his beck and call. I found them highly professional.’

  Jacob’s bruised face still felt tender. ‘And the man who called on me at Amwell Street?’

  ‘Another hired hand. I was pleased you kept quiet about my whereabouts. It proved that I’d landed you, hook, line, and sinker. You were quite brave, though now you look as if you’re ready for a good cry.’

  Jacob bit his lip, and said nothing.

  ‘That’s right, save your tears for later.’ She sighed. ‘William was vain enough to believe he could charm Rachel into subservience. A fatal mistake. While he and the others dithered, she eliminated them, one by one.’

  ‘How could she cause all those deaths without implicating herself?’

  ‘She persuaded Pardoe and Linacre that the game was up. Pardoe was dying, Linacre’s brain was sodden with dope, it wasn’t difficult to tip them over the edge. Then she conspired with George Barnes to murder William. As for the Hannaways, no doubt she bribed the butler. She thought their deaths spelled the end for the Society.’

  ‘Why did she kill herself?’

  Sara smiled. ‘Once she’d achieved her goal, she had nothing else to live for. We shared the same father, but one crucial difference separated us. She inherited the Judge’s impulse for self-destruction, and I did not.’

  *

  The wire rope bit into his wrists and ankles, and the pain brought tears to his eyes. The effect of the sedative had begun to wear off, but his head was spinning. Desperation was making him dizzy. How could he have been so deluded? An hour ago he’d yearned to share his life with this woman.

  ‘Did you hope that by allowing me to talk, you’d improve your chances of escape?’ she asked, consulting her watch. ‘The opposite is the case. Whilst we conversed, Mei was making preparations. It’s time for us to go to Gallows Court.’

  Gaudino, who had listened in silence, stepped forward. He grasped Jacob by the shoulder, and pulled him off the settee.

  ‘Gallows Court?’ Jacob whispered.

  ‘Where else?’ she replied. ‘The premises where fifty years ago today, the Society came to life. Think of it as an honour. You will become embedded in our history.’

  ‘It may be foggy outside,�
�� Jacob said, ‘but don’t you think someone might notice us?’

  ‘Ah, Jacob. Do I detect one final flicker of bravado?’ She smiled. ‘Rest assured, I won’t parade you down the street, like some mediaeval miscreant. Follow me.’

  She strolled out of the room, and Gaudino dragged Jacob along in her wake. At the end of the hallway, she opened a door, and switched on a light. It revealed a stone staircase, and she trotted down it, taking the steps two at a time, like an excited child. Even in high heels, she kept her balance perfectly.

  Gaudino pushed Jacob ahead of him. The stairs were steep, and Jacob was unable to hold onto anything to steady himself. More than once he almost lost his footing.

  Sara was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. They were in a small rectangular space, from which a narrow passageway curved away in the direction of Lincoln’s Inn. The tunnel was barely six feet high, and Gaudino had to incline his head so as not to scrape it on the roof.

  ‘Electric lights,’ Sara said, pointing to the small lamps fitted onto the brick wall of the tunnel. ‘Every modern convenience, you see. This part of London is honeycombed with underground passages, as well as sewers and workings around the course of the old river Fleet. We’ve exploited their potential in ways beyond Bazalgette’s wildest dreams.’

  She set off at a brisk pace, with Gaudino dragging Jacob along in her wake. The ground was uneven but dry, although the air carried a whiff of stagnant water. Jacob half-closed his eyes, trying to drive out of his mind the pain in his shackled limbs, and his fear of what lay at the end of the tunnel. How long it took, he wasn’t sure, but finally the macabre procession came to a halt in front of a padlocked steel door. Sara produced a key.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘Gallows Court is above us. Shall we go in?’

  The steel door opened noiselessly. She pressed a switch, flooding the room in front of them with brilliant light from half a dozen chandeliers. Jacob opened his eyes, and then closed them again. He couldn’t believe what he saw.