Rage of the Assassin Page 10

  ‘I was so fearful earlier on,’ she confessed.

  ‘I told you before, Hannah. Forget all about the murder that took place outside the theatre. It was nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I’ve already dismissed it from my mind.’

  ‘Then what made you so anxious?’

  ‘I was terrified that the Prince Regent would come again,’ she said. ‘I saw that look in his eyes. It was the glint of a hunter as he corners his prey. He wanted me.’

  ‘He’d have to get past me first,’ asserted Paul.

  ‘When I saw there was neither a gift nor a message from him in my dressing room, I was thrilled beyond measure. I was safe. His Royal Highness was not going to be in the audience, gloating over me.’

  ‘He must have realised that you were beyond reach.’

  ‘I didn’t feel beyond reach when he was standing only feet away from me. I tell you one thing. If Jenny hadn’t been in the dressing room with me, I’d have been worried for my safety.’

  ‘Yet you must have known that I was coming for you, Hannah.’

  ‘You weren’t there, Paul. The Prince Regent was.’

  He quickly changed the subject before her memories of a worrying experience cast a shadow over what had been an extraordinary performance. Paul told her about some of the compliments he’d heard about her, stressing how many people had compared her favourably to Sarah Siddons, the erstwhile darling of the theatre. Hannah glowed. Adored on all sides, she was in paradise once more.

  ‘Miss Glenn described you as the finest actress ever,’ he said.

  ‘That was very perceptive of her. Working with Dorothea has been a delight and I know that she’s learnt a great deal from my example. I’m an inspiration to everyone.’

  ‘Does that include me?’

  She tittered. ‘Your name is at the top of the list.’

  ‘I aim to keep it there,’ he said, squeezing her arm.

  When they reached the house, Paul got out first so that he could help her down from the cab. After paying the driver, he took a firm grip on Hannah to stop her swaying to and fro. Though it was well past midnight, a maidservant was waiting to open the front door for them. They stepped into the hall. After a night of such delirious excitement, all that Hannah wanted to do was to go up to the bedroom and fall into Paul’s arms. Then the servant pointed to the letter on the table and, at a stroke, everything changed for the worst.

  ‘It arrived earlier, Miss Granville,’ she said.

  ‘I can see that, girl. And I can recognise that royal seal.’

  ‘Read it in the morning,’ advised Paul, dismissing the servant with a gesture. ‘It’s far too late to bother with it now. Besides, I’m not having you upset again.’

  ‘I can’t just ignore it, Paul.’

  ‘Let’s go to bed and forget all about it.’

  ‘How can I?’ she cried, snatching up the letter. ‘The Prince Regent is the most important person in the whole country. I can’t just ignore it.’

  Opening the letter, she read its contents and blenched.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Paul.

  ‘It’s an invitation to … Brighton Pavilion.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Peter Skillen spent a comfortable night at the Black Horse, free from the guilt that had assailed him when he stayed with Seth Hooper and his wife. Since it was a Sunday, he decided to attend a service at the village church where David Mellanby was the vicar. Having hired a horse, he rode into open countryside, marvelling at the beauty of the landscape and relishing the rural serenity that life in the heart of London could never offer. The parish church of All Saints stood just outside the village. Dating from the sixteenth century, it had a strangely daunting appearance with battlemented walls that looked like castle ramparts and a formidable tower that might have been constructed as a keep. The interior could not have been more different: welcoming, uncluttered and a positive haven of peace. The only signs of architectural flamboyance were in the two side chapels.

  Given the circumstances, Peter feared the vicar might have chosen to spend the day with his family, but the Reverend David Mellanby was there to preach to a full church. It was evident that he had the respect of the congregation and – since word of his father’s death was now common knowledge – its profound sympathy. Barrington Oxley was present but neither of David’s siblings had turned up. Peter was pleased to see how grateful the vicar was that he had made the effort to get there. After collecting a smile from him, however, he had to settle for a scowl from Oxley, sitting near the front with his wife. Every pew was filled and Peter had to squeeze into one at the rear of the nave.

  Understandably, it was a muted service with the air of a funeral. David’s sermon was tailored to the occasion. It had a marked effect on those who’d known and admired his father and Peter noticed how many handkerchiefs were pressed into use. He took his turn kneeling at the altar rail during Holy Communion and felt the vicar’s hand touch him lightly on the shoulder, an indication that they should speak at the end of the service. Before that, David had to stand outside in the porch and shake hands with each of the departing parishioners. It would be a long wait for Peter, but he was not left alone. Oxley strolled down the aisle to him.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here this morning,’ he said, reproachfully.

  ‘Do you object, Mr Oxley?’

  ‘How can I? The church is open to all. But I would have thought you’d be on your way back to London by now. That’s where the murder will be solved – not in a sleepy village like this.’

  ‘I came to show my respects.’

  Oxley glared. ‘You hardly knew Sir Roger.’

  ‘I wish that I’d had that pleasure. He seems to have been an exceptional man in every way and championed a cause for which I have a lot of sympathy. That only serves to stiffen my resolve to find those responsible for his death.’

  ‘How long are you staying in the area?’

  ‘Why are you so anxious for me to leave, Mr Oxley?’

  ‘It’s because I think that your visit is pointless.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide,’ said Peter. ‘Sir Roger’s younger son is happy that I’m here and so are all the people at the meeting I attended yesterday evening. They were kind enough to show some gratitude. All that you’ve done is to obstruct me.’

  Oxley stiffened. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘You’re an intelligent man. I’m sure that you can work it out for yourself.’

  ‘It’s a base accusation. I talked to you at length only yesterday.’

  ‘I agree, but you carefully evaded most of my questions.’

  ‘You trespassed on areas that must remain private.’

  ‘Dead men don’t have privacy, Mr Oxley.’

  Though Peter spoke softly, his words had a powerful effect. The lawyer’s face was puce with anger and he looked as if he were about to strike. Unable to find a rejoinder, he turned on his heel and marched towards the door where his wife was waiting for him. They went out together. The church was almost empty now, so it was not long before Peter was joined by the vicar. Taking the service in such circumstances had clearly taxed him. He was almost sagging with fatigue. Peter walked towards him.

  ‘Let’s go into the vestry,’ said David. ‘We can talk alone in there.’

  A combination of drink, excitement and the lengthy celebrations had tired Hannah Granville. Once she’d recovered from the shock of the letter from the Prince Regent, she had to be helped upstairs by Paul and put to bed. She was almost instantly asleep and didn’t wake up until mid morning. When she came downstairs, Hannah was just in time to stop Paul from leaving the house.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘I have to pay a visit to someone,’ he explained. ‘Captain Golightly sent a message by hand.’

  ‘What about my message? Have you so soon forgotten that? Having hoped that I’d got free of the Prince Regent, I’ve now been summoned to Brighton Pavilion.’

  ‘I
t was only an invitation, Hannah. You can simply refuse it.’

  ‘Nobody can refuse a request from our next king.’

  ‘Then you must set a precedent.’

  ‘I’m worried, Paul,’ she said. ‘How did he know where I live?’

  ‘I daresay he got someone to follow us back here.’

  She shivered. ‘That frightens me. What else has he been doing?’

  ‘Finding out everything he possibly can about you,’ he told her. ‘That alone is reason enough to tear up the invitation. Pretend that it never came.’

  ‘But it’s … in the nature of a command.’

  ‘You’re not at his behest, Hannah. Ignore him completely and he’ll soon go away.’ He saw the indecision in her eyes. ‘Oh dear, I think I can read your mind. You’re actually tempted to go.’

  ‘Part of me is,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve heard so much about Brighton Pavilion. It’s supposed to be absolutely sumptuous. Seeing it from the outside would be a delight but being allowed inside would be a magical experience.’

  ‘His Royal Highness has another magical experience in mind.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t be vulgar.’

  ‘Well, he’s not asking you there so that you can discuss Shakespearean drama. We both know that Prinny has taken an unhealthy interest in you. He has a reputation, Hannah, and it’s one that you should bear in mind.’

  ‘Common sense tells me that I shouldn’t go.’

  ‘I endorse that decision.’

  ‘But I’ll never get such an opportunity again, Paul.’

  ‘Is it that important to you, my love?’

  She was honest. ‘The idea is growing on me …’

  ‘Then accept the invitation,’ he said. ‘You can go in all your finery and I will be at your side to protect you.’

  ‘But you can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? Mr Yeomans came here to pass on that message. You must not interfere in the investigation of that murder outside the theatre. If he lays eyes on you at the Pavilion, His Royal Highness will have you instantly thrown out.’

  ‘He won’t even think of doing that, Hannah.’

  ‘Yes, he will. You saved me from him once before. He won’t forget that.’

  ‘I’ll explain that it wasn’t me. I didn’t rescue you at the theatre. It was actually my brother, Peter.’

  ‘But it wasn’t, Paul. It was you.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said, winking an eye, ‘but Prinny doesn’t. Besides,’ he added, airily, ‘it’s high time that Peter came in useful for once. The decision is made. I’ll be taking you to the Brighton Pavilion in his name.’

  In the privacy of the vestry, David Mellanby let his emotions show. Flopping into the chair beside the desk, he buried his face in his hands in an attitude of sorrow. Loath to interrupt him, Peter stood there in silence and waited. David was in pain. Grief at the death of his father had been compounded by the cruel way in which his brother and sister had refused to attend the service. Because she was unwell, his mother could be excused, but his brother, sister and their respective spouses were in robust health. They knew how much their presence would have meant to the youngest member of the family, yet they shunned him. Their behaviour was a warning that he’d have to suffer similar disappointments in the future.

  When he eventually came out of his reverie, David rose to his feet.

  ‘I do apologise for drifting off like that, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘You’re under intense pressure at the moment,’ said Peter, waving the apology away. ‘You coped with it extremely well.’

  ‘To be candid, I don’t feel that I did. However, let’s not talk about me. It’s too unsettling. I want to hear how you got on yesterday after we parted. You told me you’d attend a meeting.’

  ‘It was more of a wake than anything else, I’m afraid. However, that didn’t prevent some vigorous debate. They’re more determined than ever to carry on the campaign.’

  Peter went on to tell him that he’d been mesmerised. When he learnt about the Blanketeers, he realised how ignorant he’d been about the problems with which Manchester had been struggling. Nottingham was in the same position. It was when Peter talked about his discovery at the Black Horse that David spoke once more.

  ‘Someone was spying on them?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe so. When I entered the room, I could hear muffled voices directly below. If I stood next to the grate, however, the sound was crystal clear. Anyone standing there could hear the debate coming straight up the chimney.’

  ‘Did you warn them what you’d found?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Peter. ‘The landlord was aware of the way that sound was carried upstairs to that particular room, so he always kept it locked during a meeting. Someone had broken in and smoked a pipe while he was listening beside the grate. I only wish I’d got there soon enough to catch him.’

  ‘This is all very alarming, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘It might not have been the first time.’

  ‘That’s very worrying.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering how his assassin knew that your father would arrive in London when he did. The answer is simple. He was acting on information that curled up that chimney like so much smoke.’

  Paul arrived at the house and was shown at once into the drawing room. Captain Golightly got to his feet and shook his visitor’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for coming so promptly,’ he said.

  ‘There was a sense of urgency in your letter.’

  ‘I have news for you, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Is it good news?’

  ‘It may be – then again, it may not.’

  ‘I’m intrigued to hear it.’

  ‘Another murder has taken place,’ he said.

  ‘That’s hardly news, Captain. Unfortunately, it happens all the time. London is the most dangerous city in Europe. Corpses turn up much too often.’

  ‘This one is rather special.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It was found in an alleyway in Covent Garden.’

  ‘Ah.’ Paul’s curiosity was ignited. ‘Tell me more, I pray.’

  ‘When I first heard of the crime, I assumed that the victim was some scabby beggar or some bothersome trull who’d harassed a client once too much. The area is plagued by such wretches. In fact, it was a young gentleman in the best of health until someone plunged a dagger through his heart.’

  ‘How did you hear of this?’

  ‘I felt it was unfair to leave all the work to you, Mr Skillen, so I took it upon myself to gather what I hope might be useful information.’

  ‘I need all the help I can get.’

  ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘the first thing I did was to visit the place where the body was found. It was less than twenty yards away from the Golden Crown, a tavern used primarily by actors from the nearby theatres.’

  ‘I know it well,’ said Paul, ‘and it is a haunt of thespians, especially those who are out of work. Theatre managers often drink there so it is a place where unemployed actors can court them with a view to securing an engagement.’ He looked at Golightly. ‘Are you telling me that the murder victim was an actor?’

  ‘I’ve no means of knowing but it does seem possible. Since I’m acquainted with Mr Kirkwood, the chief magistrate, I went to Bow Street to learn what I could about the case.’

  ‘What were you told?’

  ‘Simply this – a gentleman had been stabbed to death and had his purse stolen. There was nothing on him to indicate his name but the description of him as being flamboyantly attired was enough to interest me. He was killed very close to the place where Sir Roger met his death. Could he have been involved in it in some way?’

  ‘That’s sound thinking, Captain. You’ve done well.’

  ‘I’m not entirely without experience when it comes to snooping. I was trained to lead scouting expeditions in the army.’

  ‘Your skills have been put to good use.’

  ‘B
e warned,’ said Golightly, ‘what I’m suggesting is based on an assumption. It could well be that the murder victim had nothing whatsoever to do with Sir Roger’s murder. I just felt that I should bring to your attention what few details I’ve garnered.’

  ‘I’m very grateful to you.’

  ‘My first impulse was to go to the Golden Crown to see what I could learn but I’d be a fish out of water there. You, on the other hand, could easily pass for an actor and are familiar with their world. If there’s anything of value that could be gleaned from the Golden Crown, you are much more likely to find it.’

  ‘I’ll go there at once,’ said Paul. ‘There is a glimmer of hope, I believe, but I’m also braced for disappointment.’

  ‘What about the Runners?’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, won’t they make the same connection that I did? They, after all, will have seen the victim. Surely, they’ll guess that he might have been an actor and reach the same conclusion that I did.’

  ‘There’s no danger of that happening,’ said Paul, grinning. ‘Micah Yeomans and his men will be far too busy chasing shadows to make any sensible deductions. Besides, they’ll have their hands full dealing with all the fraudulent claims from people with one eye on that reward money.’

  Eldon Kirkwood had been the chief magistrate for enough years to develop a keen insight into the criminal mind. His proudest boast was that he could always tell when someone was lying to him. Even the most plausible confidence tricksters were soon exposed when they appeared in court before him, and they went off to serve their sentences with his acerbic comments ringing in their ears. Now he had finally met his match in the person of Harry Scattergood. Still hiding behind the alias of Giles Clearwater, he’d gone straight to the chief magistrate to tell his tale. As always, Kirkwood was highly suspicious at first, but his doubts were gradually dismantled one by one. Scattergood’s account of what happened on the night in question was so convincing that Kirkwood believed that he had to have been a part of the throng outside the stage door. The clinching factor for the chief magistrate was that Scattergood didn’t ask for money.