Rage of the Assassin

by Edward Marston

  Denley grimaced.

  Paul was given a much more cordial welcome when he called on Kitty Denley. Now that the initial shock of her lover’s murder had worn off, she was able to take a measured view of her position. Being the mistress of a Member of Parliament had brought some excitement into her life for the first time.

  ‘The last time I was here,’ said Paul as they settled down in the drawing room, ‘you weren’t ready to talk freely. Is there anything else that you wish to tell me now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’

  Kitty wet her lips before speaking. ‘My husband has a thriving business but I wasn’t allowed to know anything about it. “Women don’t understand such things,” he used to say. So it remained a closed book to me.’

  ‘Didn’t you meet any of his suppliers or clients?’

  ‘No, I never did.’

  ‘You must have felt left out.’

  ‘It was a cross I learnt to bear, Mr Skillen, and in some ways I was grateful. The wine trade would have bored me. Hugh loves that world. The happiest time of all for him is when his latest imports are unloaded at the docks. He stands on the wharf and checks them carefully.’

  ‘Does his work mean that he has a large social circle?’

  ‘Yes – but I was kept on the fringe of that as well. For most of my marriage, I was a wife in name only. That’s why my … attention waned. I can see what you’re thinking. Why did I marry him in the first place? The answer is simple. Hugh was kind and attentive to me in those days. He offered me stability and companionship.’

  ‘Yet you had no children.’

  ‘That was the thing that disappointed me most. With a family to bring up, I’d have been happy and fulfilled. As it was, my life was empty.’

  ‘You said that you had something to tell me.’

  ‘I do, Mr Skillen. Do you remember asking me if my husband has any political affiliations?’

  ‘You told me that he doesn’t.’

  ‘I was wrong. I learnt yesterday that he has a friend in Parliament.’

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘It’s one that you mentioned during your first visit.’

  ‘Oswald Ferriday?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Sir Marcus Brough.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Robert Vane was a short, slight, soberly dressed individual in his thirties with a nondescript appearance that never attracted a second glance. He might have been a banker, a merchant or a minor functionary in the government. Nobody would have suspected what his profession was in reality. When the cab dropped him outside his lodging, there was a muted hilarity coming from the White Lion. Vane decided that he would join the other patrons in due course. In the anonymity of a public house, he was easily accepted. No questions were ever asked about his work.

  He rented two rooms on the first floor of the adjoining house. Letting himself in through the front door, he went soundlessly up the stairs. A separate key was needed to admit him to his lodging. Once inside, he pushed the bolt in place. Vane was about to remove his hat when he became aware that something was not quite right. Certain objects had been moved from the usual place. The clock on the mantelpiece had disappeared altogether. He resolved to confront his landlord. Before doing so, he wondered if anything had been shifted in the bedroom.

  Opening the door, he came to an abrupt halt. Propped up on pillows, a man lay indolently on his bed. The assassin gave him a broad smile.

  ‘We meet again,’ he said, patting the pistol beside him. ‘Only this time, I’m the one with the weapon.’

  ‘I’ve never set eyes on you before,’ claimed Vane.

  ‘You tried to kill me in St James’s Park.’

  ‘I’m sorry but you must be mistaken. And what are you doing, moving my things around and lolling on my bed? Get out of here at once.’

  ‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to make you.’

  With a sudden burst of energy, Vane leapt towards a bedside table, yanked it open and pulled out a pistol. He pointed it at his unwanted visitor.

  ‘Get up!’ he ordered.

  ‘I’m perfectly comfortable here, Mr Vane.’

  ‘If you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll shoot.’

  ‘I very much doubt that. I took the precaution of removing the bullet. All that you will get is a disappointing click.’ He snatched up his own weapon. ‘My pistol, however, is loaded, so you might as well put yours down.’ Vane hesitated. ‘Do as you’re told or I’ll kill you. It’s the least you deserve.’ Vane put his pistol aside. ‘That’s better. Now we can talk.’

  ‘Look, there must be some mistake.’

  ‘I agree and you’re the one who made it.’

  ‘You’re confusing me with someone else.’

  ‘The man who hired you to kill me gave me your name and address. I shot him dead by way of a thank you.’ Vane backed away. ‘Stay where you are or I’ll drop you as well.’ He got off the bed and stood upright. ‘This place of yours is very comfortable. You’re obviously well paid for your work. I was promised a large reward as well, then I was betrayed.’

  ‘That wasn’t my doing. I didn’t make the decision.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘The man you claim to have killed.’

  ‘He was only a link in the chain,’ said the other. ‘I want the name of the person who hatched this plot in the first place. Give me that and I might show you some mercy by simply shooting at one your kneecaps.’ He aimed the pistol at Vane’s leg. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Vane, shrinking away.

  ‘Your friend must have told you.’

  ‘But he didn’t. I was only hired to kill you.’

  ‘What about my lodging? Who broke in there and stole my money? Who wrecked the place out of spite?’ Vane was writhing. ‘What malevolent little toad destroyed almost everything I owned?’

  ‘I hated having to do that.’

  ‘Ah, so you admit it now.’

  ‘I was told to recover the money.’

  ‘You did a lot more than that, Mr Vane. That’s why I vowed that I’d kill the pair of you. This may be a pleasant lodging but it’s remarkably easy to break into. I’ve been here for over an hour, waiting for you. I passed the time by rearranging some of your things. Oh, yes,’ he added, ‘and I found most of the money you stole from me. You should have found a better hiding place than that trunk of yours.’

  ‘I’ll get much more,’ said Vane, gabbling. ‘Take me to my bank and I’ll withdraw all I have. It’s yours for the taking.’

  ‘So is your life.’

  ‘No, please – we can come to some arrangement.’

  ‘Get down on your knees and beg.’

  ‘If I knew the name you want, I’d tell you at once.’

  ‘Get down!’ snapped the other.

  Vane fell to his knees and started jabbering. Standing behind him, the assassin put a bullet in his skull. Exulting in his rage, he left the house swiftly through the upstairs rear window he’d used to get into it.

  Peter’s estimate of the man was very much the same as that of his brother. Hugh Denley was spiky, secretive and rancorous. Answering some questions with obvious annoyance, he refused even to consider the rest. Time and again, he insisted that he had a right to privacy.

  ‘Privacy doesn’t exist in a murder investigation,’ said Peter.

  ‘I had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened.’

  ‘You had a definite link with Sir Roger Mellanby.’

  ‘I only met the man once and that was on Hampstead Heath at dawn.’

  ‘You went there to kill him, Mr Denley.’

  ‘It was a matter of honour.’

  ‘It should have been a matter of common sense. From what I’ve heard, Sir Roger was an expert swordsman.’

  ‘I was not aware of it at the time.’

  ‘You should have taken the precaution of finding out. Very well,’ said Peter, ‘let’s loo
k elsewhere. I believe you have a flourishing wine business.’

  ‘It’s the fruit of hard work over many years.’

  ‘I’m told that people in high society are numbered amongst your clients.’

  ‘They want the best wine available so they come to me.’

  ‘Do any members of the government buy their stock from you?’

  ‘I don’t see that that’s any concern of yours.’

  ‘It’s a natural assumption, Mr Denley. It may be, for instance, that the Home Secretary drinks wine purchased from you. Then there’s the President of the Board of Trade, Mr Ferriday. Might he also be one of your customers?’

  ‘I don’t keep track of individual accounts. All I know is that my stock is popular and that business is brisk.’

  ‘Let’s go back to Sir Roger,’ suggested Peter.

  Denley sighed. ‘Must we?’

  ‘What was your opinion of his stance on suffrage?’

  ‘I’ve no time for politics.’

  ‘He wanted to widen the franchise considerably. Sir Roger felt that those at the mercy of government decisions regarding their livelihood ought to have a say on who was elected to Parliament. Don’t you think that cause is laudable?’

  ‘It’s irrelevant as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Why do you believe that?’

  ‘The lower orders must be kept in their place,’ snapped Denley, ‘or we’ll have anarchy. Power must remain in the hands of the people best qualified to exercise it. We can’t let a rabble run the country.’

  ‘I thought you had no time for politics.’

  ‘I’m only saying what every decent Englishman would say.’

  ‘Then let me tell you something,’ said Peter, sharply. ‘I’ve met some of the people you call a “rabble” and, to a man, they were decent and hard-working. Denied education, they’ve made every effort to educate themselves. They don’t have the money to sit around drinking your wine and decrying the major section of the population. They fight for the few rights allowed them and I find that admirable.’

  Denley sniggered. ‘You’re a second Sir Roger Mellanby.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘I heard him speak on one occasion at a public gathering.’

  ‘What were you doing in the audience?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘You told me that the only time you met Sir Roger was at the duel.’

  ‘I was just one face in the crowd. We never spoke.’

  ‘Why were you there in the first place?’

  ‘I wanted to know a little more about him.’

  ‘Was this before or after the duel?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does to me. It was afterwards, wasn’t it?’

  Denley lowered his head. It was an acknowledgement.

  Paul’s second interview with Kitty Denley had been instructive. She had talked more openly about her marriage and how she’d felt bored and disregarded. What interested him most was the link she established between her husband and Sir Marcus Brough. Moving in different spheres of society, they were hardly natural friends. Paul wondered what had brought the two of them together. She was unable to tell him. He thanked Kitty for being so honest with him, then rode home to see how Hannah was coping with Dorothea. To his relief, the latter was no longer distraught and fearful. Something had happened to calm Dorothea down. Paul decided that it might be time to tell her the truth. Holding it back any longer could be seen as an act of wilful cruelty.

  ‘Well,’ asked Dorothea, getting up. ‘Have you found anything out?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have.’

  ‘I can see from your face that it’s bad news.’

  ‘I’m afraid that it is. Why don’t you sit down again?’

  ‘I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind. Please tell me the worst, Mr Skillen. I will be able to cope with it, I promise you.’

  ‘Dorothea is much stronger now,’ said Hannah, rising from the sofa to stand beside her. ‘We’ve been reading together.’

  ‘What have you discovered, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘The body of a man was found in an alleyway in Covent Garden,’ he said, softly. ‘He’d been stabbed to death.’ Dorothea tensed and Hannah put an arm around her shoulders. ‘He’s not been identified yet, but there’s every possibility that he might be Orsino Price.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ said Dorothea, holding back tears.

  ‘There’s still a chance that it might not be him, of course, but I don’t think it’s wise to nurture that hope.’

  ‘You’ve only confirmed something I already knew, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Orsino was a saint. He’d never break a promise to me unless …’

  ‘You have our deepest sympathy.’

  ‘I think I’d like to go to my room now,’ said Dorothea.

  ‘Let me come with you,’ said Hannah, putting an arm around her and helping her upstairs. A few minutes later, she returned.

  ‘How is she?’ asked Paul.

  ‘She’s surprisingly calm.’

  ‘I thought that the news would destroy her.’

  ‘Dorothea is more resilient than she looks.’

  ‘At least, we’re not deceiving her any more.’

  ‘His family will need to be informed.’

  ‘We don’t know that he has one, Hannah. He said nothing to Dorothea about parents. She wasn’t even told where he lived. Then there’s another problem.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Orsino Price may not even be his real name. You know how vain actors are. They prefer a name that has a ring to it.’

  ‘Does Hannah Granville have that ring?’

  He spread his arms wide. ‘It’s a peal of bells in itself.’

  They shared a laugh. Sitting down together, they caught up with each other’s news. Hannah was fascinated to hear about his visit to Sir Marcus Brough and his subsequent encounter with Edmund Mellanby and Oxley. She was amused when she heard how Peter had come close to arrest.

  ‘I can see how it happened,’ she said. ‘After all this time, I still can’t always tell you apart.’

  ‘I’m the devilishly handsome one.’

  ‘And so is Peter.’

  ‘Charlotte can tell the difference between us immediately.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to ask her the secret.’

  ‘I want to hear your secret first,’ he said. ‘How did you teach that poor girl to master her emotions like that? When she first came here, she was a wreck.’

  ‘I tried to take her mind off her worries.’

  ‘Well, whatever you did, it seems to have worked.’

  ‘It was a two-way process, Paul. She was able to help me in return. You know that I’ve been fretting about that invitation to go to Brighton Pavilion.’

  ‘You keep changing your mind about it.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know if it was a threat or a mark of distinction.’

  ‘And what do you think now?’

  ‘I think we should go,’ she said. ‘With you by my side, I’ll feel completely safe. In any case, how often will I get an invitation from the next king? This may be my one and only chance. I should seize it with both hands.’

  Alone in her room, Dorothea knelt beside the bed and prayed for the salvation of Orsino Price’s soul. Eyes still closed, she thought about the times they’d spent together, the plans they’d made and the promises he’d given her. She couldn’t believe that her dreams had been snatched away so quickly. All that she had left were some precious memories of a love that had steadily deepened over the weeks they’d been together. A memory of a different kind then surfaced.

  Back in the shooting gallery, Peter was telling Gully Ackford about his meeting with the wine merchant because he valued his friend’s opinion. Ackford gave it bluntly.

  ‘Mr Denley has something to hide,’ he said.

  ‘I agree. And I’ll warrant that he knows the name of every single pe
rson who buys his wine. It’s the sort of thing he’d commit to memory.’

  ‘Then conceal from you.’

  ‘Yes, Gully. He struck me as the kind of man who never confides in anyone, even his wife. Wine has made him wealthy and that’s all he cares about.’

  ‘Is he quiet, reclusive, self-centred?’

  ‘He’s all of those things.’

  ‘Then how did he have the spirit to challenge Sir Roger to a duel? It shows that he has a reckless streak in him.’

  ‘It was very nearly a suicidal decision.’

  ‘How did he learn that his wife had gone astray?’

  ‘He refused to tell me.’

  ‘And why did he go to a meeting addressed by a man he hated?’

  ‘It may be that he wanted to turn that hatred into something more positive,’ said Peter, ‘such as an assassination.’

  ‘Would he have the courage to arrange such a thing?’

  ‘He’d need someone else’s support. That’s why I questioned him about politicians with a grudge against Sir Roger. He denied even knowing who they were.’

  ‘Did you include the Home Secretary’s name?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘I thought he was your friend. Has your opinion of him changed?’

  Peter sighed. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘But he’d never stoop to anything like this, surely?’

  ‘Until today, I’d have said the same thing, Gully. When I met him, however, he was evasive. He’s always been so honest with me before. The trust between us has gone. I’m almost sure that he had Sir Roger watched in his constituency.’

  ‘Why? Was he such a danger to the government?’

  ‘Sir Roger had a powerful voice. It could drive people to take action.’

  ‘Is there a chance that Denley and the Home Secretary worked together?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ said Peter. ‘But I also questioned Denley about Sir Marcus Brough and Ferriday. After what happened today, I might have added the name of Edmund Mellanby.’

  ‘Surely you don’t suspect Sir Roger’s own son?’