‘Had I?’
‘No, of course you hadn’t, but you must convince the Runners that you had. That’s what I did. You’ll be questioned closely time and again, Alan. You have to get everything absolutely right. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Harry.’ He moved into position. ‘I’m standing right here.’
‘Then this is what happened next …’
Since he’d been so pleasant and accommodating, Paul decided to take Sir Marcus Brough at his word. He therefore repaired to the House of Commons and waited patiently until the debate ended. The door of the chamber opened and Members of Parliament surged out like a herd of animals just released into the wild. Deep in conversation, they swept past Paul without giving him a glance. When he saw Sir Marcus coming towards him with a group of friends, he stepped boldly into his path. Taken aback at first, Sir Marcus quickly recovered and gave him a broad smile.
‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Skillen,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t expect it to be just outside the Royal Chapel of St Stephen. It’s in this chamber that the nation is governed, though some of the language used there is hardly suited to what had once been consecrated ground.’
‘You did say that I could call on you again, Sir Marcus.’
‘I did, indeed, and they were not idle words.’ He waved his friends away then took Paul aside. ‘Let’s find somewhere less public, shall we?’
Sir Marcus was a big, red-faced man in his sixties with a sizeable paunch threatening to break clear of its moorings. His most significant feature was a mane of snow-white hair that cascaded down to his shoulders and gave him a leonine air. Surprisingly, his voice was quiet and confiding and seemed to belong to a much smaller man. He took Paul into the privacy of a recess.
‘Now, then, what’s brought you to the Palace of Westminster?’
‘The same thing that made me seek you out in the first place, Sir Marcus, and that’s the search for the truth. I won’t rest until I’ve found out who ordered the assassination of Sir Roger Mellanby.’
‘Your tenacity is admirable, though I’m not sure why you’ve approached me. I’ve nothing to add to what I told you at our earlier meeting.’
‘You did promise to think things over.’
‘Did I?’ asked the other. ‘Yes, I suppose I did, and, to some extent, I’ve been doing that. I’ve been looking around the benches to see which of Sir Roger’s many enemies might be deemed capable of such an appalling crime.’
‘And did anyone stand out?’
‘I’m not sure that they did, Mr Skillen. There are several Members who are secretly pleased that such a formidable speaker is no longer alive to fight for a cause they despise, but that doesn’t mean they’d devise a plot to kill him.’
‘Who stands most to gain from Sir Roger’s death?’
‘It’s difficult to pick out any individual,’ said the politician. ‘In a sense, the whole of the Tory government is the beneficiary because they will no longer have to face his thunderous criticism of the Corn Laws. As someone who believes strongly in that excellent piece of legislation, I must admit that – once I’d heaved a genuine sigh of regret at the news of his death – I felt a sense of relief.’
‘Were you involved in framing the Corn Laws?’
‘Heavens, no!’ he exclaimed with a laugh. ‘That was the work of sharper brains than mine. Expert lawyers like Oswald Ferriday were consulted. Since he owns a vast amount of land in Hampshire, he had a vested interest in protecting the income that is generated by it.’
‘Mr Ferriday’s name was mentioned to me.’
‘In what context, may I ask?’
‘He was felt to be particularly hostile towards Sir Roger.’
‘It’s true,’ admitted the other. ‘But, then, he had good cause to be.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Oswald made the mistake of challenging Sir Roger about his campaign for wider suffrage, daring to claim that it was only a pretence used to gain attention. In effect, he was impugning Sir Roger’s integrity and that was akin to setting a light to a keg of gunpowder. The resulting explosion made the walls shake. I’ve never seen anyone as angry as Sir Roger became.’
‘What did he say?’
‘It wasn’t the content of the speech that was important. It was the way he delivered it. Oswald Ferriday was mercilessly excoriated,’ said Sir Marcus. ‘In the face of such a verbal hurricane, he was forced to apologise. He never dared to question Sir Roger’s character after that.’
‘Are debates always that fiery?’
‘This wasn’t a debate. It was a duel between two men who loathed each other.’
‘It sounds as if Sir Roger was triumphant.’
‘Yes,’ conceded the other, ‘he certainly was. But his triumph was short-lived. Less than a fortnight later, Sir Roger was shot dead.’
Paul detected the faintest note of approval in his voice.
Hannah Granville had adjusted quickly to the situation. Instead of being the centre of attention, she became a comforter, helping someone in distress to cope with her fear. It soon became clear that she didn’t need to tell the truth to Dorothea Glenn because the latter already knew it in her heart. Orsino Price was dead. No other explanation could account for the way he’d failed to turn up for a crucial meeting with her. Just when she was on the cusp of committing herself wholeheartedly to the man she loved, she’d lost him for ever.
‘You’re so kind to me, Miss Granville,’ she said.
‘I’m only doing what any friend would do.’
‘You and Mr Skillen are angels.’
‘I don’t think that everyone would view us in quite that light,’ said Hannah with mild amusement, ‘but we’ve chosen the life that we want and ignore any narrow-minded criticism. But that’s enough about us, Dorothea. Your plight is what concerns us most now.’
‘I’m so, so grateful.’
‘We couldn’t just leave you to suffer alone.’
‘I was beside myself with anxiety,’ said Dorothea. ‘I’ve never felt so alone and helpless in my whole life.’
‘You’re no longer alone and you’re certainly not without help now. While I look after you, Paul will be trying to find out what exactly happened to Orsino.’
‘I hope he doesn’t put himself in danger.’
‘He’s rather accustomed to doing that,’ said Hannah.
‘Doesn’t that worry you?’
‘It used to but I’ve come to accept it.’
Dorothea fell silent and turned away. Fatigue was clearly creeping up on her. Hannah hoped that her friend could get some much-needed sleep but there was no chance of that happening. Dorothea sat up and turned to her.
‘May I ask you a question, Miss Granville?’
‘Of course you may.’
‘You won’t keep the truth from me, will you?’ asked Dorothea. ‘I’m not a child. I’d rather know the worst than sit here brooding on it.’
‘We’re not keeping anything from you,’ said Hannah, soothingly.
‘Thank you … I’m afraid that Orsino is dead.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘I do. I feel it. He’s gone. Oh, I do wish you’d met him. You’d have seen what a wonderful person he was. It’s unbearable,’ she cried, clinging to Hannah. ‘How could anyone want to hurt him?’
The assassin’s anger continued to burn inside him. Since he was now being hunted, he first bought himself a complete change of clothing so that he became invisible. Those looking for the dandy he’d once been would never recognise him in the rough garb of a beggar. An exaggerated limp completed his disguise. While he didn’t know who had actually ordered the murder of Sir Roger Mellanby, he knew the man who’d hired him and promised to hand over full payment. What he didn’t have was his address because his paymaster had been careful to meet him well away from his house. Their deal was struck at the man’s club, a place he visited on a daily basis. The assassin therefore went to the club and lurked outside in the shadows. Seated cross-legge
d against a wall with a begging bowl in front of him, he was able to watch everyone who went into or came out of the club.
His long, uncomfortable wait was eventually rewarded. Tall, lean and elegant, the man he sought came out of the building and walked along the pavement towards him. When he saw the beggar, he moved a couple of feet to his left so that he’d avoid him. Waiting for his moment, the assassin suddenly leapt to his feet and thrust his pistol in the man’s ribs.
‘Make a sound and I’ll kill you,’ he warned.
Paul Skillen was glad that he’d spoken to Sir Marcus Brough the second time. On the first occasion, he’d found the man rather engaging and ready to talk freely about the assassination of a fellow Member of Parliament. There was a difference this time. While Paul had been given the same cheerful greeting, it was clear that Sir Marcus was unhappy about being accosted in front of his friends at the House of Commons. While he’d answered all the questions put to him, he hadn’t done so with his earlier readiness. The bluff, hearty, adipose Sir Marcus revealed another side to his character. Paul began to see why he’d been named as one of the Radical Dandy’s prime enemies.
When he left the building, he was too busy thinking about what he’d just learnt to notice the two figures standing a short distance away. They, however, were quick to see him and came across to intercept him. Edmund Mellanby and Barrington Oxley stood in his way.
‘What are you doing here, Skillen?’ asked Oxley.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Paul. ‘I don’t believe I know either of you gentlemen.’
‘Then your memory is pathetically short.’
‘I find that remark offensive, sir.’
‘I am the one who should be offended,’ said Edmund, pompously. ‘I told you that I didn’t want you prying into the affairs of my family, yet it seems you may still be doing so.’
‘Why else would you come to the House of Commons?’ asked Oxley.
Paul stiffened. ‘I came because I chose to,’ he said, stoutly, ‘and I don’t need your permission to do anything. Now please stand aside or I’ll be forced to make you do so. I’ve never set eyes on either of you before and I sincerely hope that I never do so again.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Well, are you going to move out of my way or aren’t you?’
Before they could reply, he pushed them forcibly apart and walked between them, leaving both men spluttering with indignation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Having secured the unwilling cooperation of his victim, the assassin marched his prisoner through the backstreets until they came to St James’s Park, the very place where he himself had been destined to die. Taking him into a wooded area, he pushed him hard against a tree.
‘Don’t kill me,’ pleaded the man. ‘I’ll get you the money we owe you.’
‘It’s too late.’
‘Then take my purse. Take anything I have about me.’
The assassin was unmoved. ‘I’ll take the most important thing you have.’
‘It wasn’t my decision to betray you.’
‘Then whose decision was it?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘In that case,’ said the assassin, pointing the pistol at him, ‘you’re of no use whatsoever to me.’
‘No, don’t, I implore you.’
‘You can’t beg from a beggar. That’s what I was reduced to being, thanks to you. Promises were made then forgotten. I was betrayed. To get close to you, I had to become the lowest of the low.’
‘I was only acting on someone else’s orders.’
‘Give me his name.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said the other, trembling with fear. ‘There’s something I can tell you, however. When I met you here in the park, I had an accomplice in hiding. He was there to kill you.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Will you let me go if I give it to you?’
‘I might.’
‘I need a firm promise.’
‘Like the one you gave me?’ asked the other, sourly.
‘I spoke up for you, I swear it.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘You did your job well. If it had been left to me, you’d have been paid and sent on your way.’
‘Yes – with a bullet inside me.’
‘On my word of honour, I argued against that.’
‘Who was the man who shot at me?’
‘I’ll need something in return.’
‘You’ll get it,’ said the assassin. ‘I promise.’
‘His name is Robert Vane. He lodges at a house next to the White Lion in Gilbert Street.’
‘I’ll find him.’
‘Does that mean I can go?’
‘No,’ said the other, thrusting his pistol in the man’s stomach. ‘If you want any mercy from me, you must give me the name of the person who set the plot in motion in the first place.’
‘I simply can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s more than my life is worth.’
‘You don’t have a life any more,’ said the assassin, using the butt of the pistol to club him to the ground. ‘Since you choose to keep your mouth shut, then I’ll shut it for good. Say your prayers.’
Putting the gun to the man’s head, he pulled the trigger.
Chevy Ruddock was tireless. Reverting to his original plan, he stopped anyone who had the remotest similarity to the description he’d been given of Giles Clearwater and he questioned them. In every case, he drew a blank. Nobody had ever heard of the man. Several of those he approached were piqued at the way they were confronted and spoke sharply to him. He withstood all insults with unwavering bravery. Even though he was rebuked and sneered at by men from a much higher social class, Ruddock stuck to his task. When he’d made no progress in a couple of hours, he returned to the Golden Crown, only to find that Simeon Howlett was asleep in his usual chair. Unsure if he should wake the man or simply creep away, he stood there dithering for minutes. When he finally decided to leave the old man to his dreams, he was grabbed by a wrinkly hand.
‘Don’t go,’ said Howlett. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Did you remember who he was?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m trying to find a man named Giles Clearwater.’
‘That name sounds familiar.’
‘You told me you’d try to remember why.’
‘Did I?’
‘It’s important that I find this man. He could help us to solve a murder.’
‘This is all very confusing, young man,’ said Howlett, scratching his head. ‘Give me a moment to collect my thoughts. A reviving drink would not come amiss.’
‘I bought you one earlier and got nothing in return.’
‘My brain always responds to alcohol.’
‘Give me the information I want,’ said Ruddock, asserting his authority, ‘and I might oblige you, but be warned – I won’t be exploited. Stop playing tricks or I’ll walk out of here.’
‘But I’m desperate to help you.’
‘Then let’s have no more shilly-shallying.’
‘I’ve been cudgelling my brain for ages.’
‘And what’s the result?’
‘I did know the man you’re after,’ claimed Howlett, ‘but I can’t recall when and where I met him. But it will come back,’ he went on, clutching at Ruddock’s sleeve. ‘It’s shameful, isn’t it? I was once lauded as one of the finest actors on the stage. I’d committed every great Shakespearean soliloquy to memory and could declaim them at the drop of a hat. Now, however, I can’t even remember the name of a play itself, let alone any of its lines. It’s embarrassing.’
‘In short,’ said Ruddock, ‘you’ve forgotten all about Clearwater.’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said the other. ‘I have a vivid picture of him in my mind. He’s just as you described. Give me more time to think. Meanwhile, leave me details of where I can reach you and, the moment my brain functions properly, I’ll get in touch.
’ He beamed, hopefully. ‘Will this content you?’
‘Not really,’ said Ruddock, suspiciously.
‘I give you my word.’
‘You’d better keep it.’
‘I won’t let you down,’ said Howlett, hand on heart.
‘No, you wouldn’t dare!’
Peter Skillen was thrilled to be back in London again, but he had nagging memories of his time in Nottingham. He felt that he’d somehow let Seth Hooper and his friends down and resolved to make amends. Only the arrest and conviction of Sir Roger Mellanby’s killer would vindicate him and he was determined to search for the man with renewed energy. He was alone with Charlotte in the storeroom at the shooting gallery when he had a second visit from the Runners. Strutting into the room, Yeomans and Hale were both smirking.
‘You look as if you’ve just had good news,’ said Peter.
‘We have,’ confirmed Yeomans.
‘Does that mean you’ve finally made an arrest?’
‘No, it means that we’re just about to make one.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Charlotte.
‘We’ve come to apprehend your husband, Mrs Skillen,’ said Hale.
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Oh, yes we can.’
‘What possible charge can you bring against him?’
‘It’s one of assault,’ said Yeomans. ‘The incident took place recently outside the House of Commons.’
‘I’ve been nowhere near there,’ insisted Peter.
‘It’s true,’ said Charlotte. ‘He’s been here for the last hour or more.’
‘We have it on good authority that he assaulted two gentlemen,’ said Yeomans, ‘and their evidence is clear. Sir Roger Mellanby’s son and his lawyer have each given us a statement of what happened.’ He nodded to Hale who stepped in to take Peter’s arm. ‘You’ve gone too far this time.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ protested Peter. ‘I did meet the two gentlemen you mention when I was in Nottingham, but I haven’t set eyes on them since my return to London. Frankly, if I did so, I’d make every effort to avoid them.’
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