Shadow of the Hangman Page 13

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he admitted. ‘The only fact that has emerged with clarity is that I’m shackled by a cruel proviso. What I do is an expression of what I am as a man. She seems unable to accept that. As for turning elsewhere for comfort,’ he went on, lugubriously, ‘she has far too many people on whom she could call. That would be a case of twisting the knife in the wound, Charlotte. Unless I go crawling to her unconditionally, it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be forgotten. If truth be told, I’m not sure that I could cope with that eventuality.’

  Hannah Granville stared unseeingly into the mirror in her dressing room. Costumed for the evening’s performance, she would normally be adding the final touches to her appearance and preening. Hannah had no urge to do that now. She was still shocked at her rejection by the man she took to be Paul Skillen. When she rode past in her carriage, he’d seen her clearly yet he didn’t exhibit the slightest interest, still less any affection for her. It was hurtful. A woman accustomed to having a legion of admirers had been deserted by the only one of them that she prized. Hannah had never been in that situation before and, as a result, had no idea how to deal with it.

  Her dresser, a short, bosomy woman in her forties, with her face composed into an expression of deep anxiety, hovered behind her, desperate to reassure her but too frightened to speak. Over the years, she’d learnt how to read Hannah’s moods and react accordingly. But she’d never seen the actress plunged into such a black and debilitating melancholy before.

  Someone in the corridor outside rapped hard on the door.

  ‘That’s your call, Miss Granville,’ said the dresser. ‘You’ll be onstage in five minutes.’ She shook Hannah gently by the shoulder. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  There was no reply. The actress didn’t move. When she looked in the mirror, the dresser saw tears starting to trickle down Hannah’s cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Since he’d not been there at the time, Dermot Fallon was intrigued to hear about the fight between Moses Dagg and the chimney sweep. When he had a drink with the fugitives at a seedy public house that evening, he pressed for details. He’d already heard a number of versions but wanted Dagg’s own testimony as well as that of his cousin, Tom O’Gara. The man who’d actually taken part in the brawl was too modest to say very much about it but his shipmate was lyrical. O’Gara not only described the fight in vivid detail but also listed all the other occasions when Dagg had knocked out opponents who’d underestimated his strength and skill.

  ‘We docked in New York harbour one time,’ recalled O’Gara, ‘and went ashore to slake our thirst after a long voyage. Three men began to bait Moses. He tried to ignore them but they wanted some sport. When we rolled out of there later on, the three of them were waiting for him. They called him filthy names. I was all for lambasting them but Moses pushed me aside.’

  Fallon was startled. ‘He took on all three of them?’

  ‘He insisted, Dermot. I’d seen him fight many times but Moses had never been so riled before. He punched, grabbed, threw, kicked and bit until three blood-covered bodies were stretched out on the floor.’ O’Gara cackled. ‘Out of interest, I counted the number of teeth he’d knocked out. There were over a dozen.’

  Dagg protested that his friend was exaggerating but he admitted that he’d defeated the trio of mocking sailors. Fallon clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Well done, Moses!’ he said. ‘You’re a true fighter. No wonder you got the better of Donal Kearney so easily. A word of warning,’ he added, ‘be on your guard. Kearney nurses grudges. Since he can’t beat you with his fists, he may come after you with a weapon.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ said Dagg, unafraid.

  ‘If he’s attacked,’ said O’Gara, ‘Moses will stick Kearney’s brushes up his ass. He won’t be able to sweep a chimney for a very long time.’

  ‘A lot of people would be happy about that. Donal Kearney is not too popular around here. He likes to throw his weight around.’

  Dagg hunched his shoulders. ‘All I did was to smile at his wife.’

  ‘Barring my Mary, she’s the prettiest colleen in the tenement.’

  ‘I noticed,’ said O’Gara with a lewd grin. ‘I wouldn’t mind sweeping her chimney, I’ll tell you that.’ The others laughed coarsely. ‘But your neighbour wasn’t only upset because Moses smiled at his wife. What really set his belly on fire was that she smiled back at Moses.’

  They’d deliberately chosen a table in the darkest corner so that nobody could see or hear them too well. Fallon took an additional precaution. Beckoning them closer, he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.

  ‘I’ve a great idea to make money, so I have.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked O’Gara.

  ‘There’s a place I know where people like me go for entertainment. Sometimes it’s cock fighting and other times we bet on how many rats a dog can kill in half an hour, if a hundred or more of them are tossed into the pit with him.’

  O’Gara chuckled. ‘It’s the kind of place we might enjoy.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Dagg.

  ‘Let me finish,’ said Fallon. ‘From time to time, we have a boxing match. I don’t mean the sort of thing that the aristocracy and the gentry flock to see. You won’t find Belcher, Cribb or Gentleman John Jackson trading punches there. They belong to a different world of pugilism. We have a real fight with nobody to get in the way.’

  ‘That’s the way we like it,’ said O’Gara.

  ‘Then let’s see if we can find a challenger for Moses. We can say that he’s the best black boxer since Tom Molineux, that other American champion. It’s sure to bring a good crowd. We could sit back and watch the money roll in.’

  ‘We could, Dermot, but there’s no sitting back for Moses. He’ll have to go toe to toe with another fighter. He’ll enjoy that.’

  Dagg was reluctant. ‘I’m not sure that I will, Tom.’

  ‘You can beat anybody.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Then what is?’ asked Fallon. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’ When Dagg seized him by the throat, he apologised immediately. ‘I didn’t mean that, honestly. I take it back. I’m sorry, Moses.’

  Dagg released him. ‘Don’t ever question my nerve again,’ he warned. ‘I’ll take on any man. My worry is this. You’re forgetting something. Tom and I are on the run. We ought to stay in hiding and not be seen in public.’

  ‘Nobody there will give you away. Most of the people who turn up are on the wrong side of the law. Anyway, they don’t know who you are or what you’ve done.’

  ‘He’s talking sense,’ said O’Gara. ‘We can’t miss a chance like this, Moses. We need money to repay Dermot. It’s unfair to live off him when he’s got a family to feed. On the other hand,’ he conceded, ‘I agree that we need to be careful so we won’t call you by your real name. You can fight under a different one.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea,’ grunted Dagg.

  ‘But this could be the answer to our problems. If the Home Secretary turns down our plea, we’ll need to do what we threatened and kill him. There’ll be a proper hue and cry then,’ O’Gara emphasised. ‘The only way we’ll get back home to America is to bribe the skipper of a vessel that’ll take us there. That will cost a lot of money. You’re in a position to make it for us.’ He nudged his friend. ‘What do you say, Moses?’

  Still uneasy, Dagg took a long time to make up his mind.

  ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘I’ll fight.’

  Charlotte Skillen had expected her husband back home much earlier that evening but he didn’t reappear until after eight o’clock. Peter was full of apologies, explaining that he’d visited a series of lawyers in his search for the anonymous scrivener and that, having allotted so much time to one investigation, he felt guilty that he’d neglected the other. Accordingly, he’d paid a third visit to Joan Claydon in order to tell her what he’d learnt about the abduction and to assure her that he would not abandon the hunt for he
r missing lodger until he found her.

  ‘I still can’t see what the kidnappers stand to gain,’ opined Charlotte.

  ‘They must have a reason of sorts, my love.’

  ‘Could someone just be trying to give her a fright?’

  ‘Mrs Horner is not easily frightened,’ he said. ‘That’s the impression I get of her from her sister, her landlady and the friends of hers to whom I’ve spoken. She’s an indomitable woman. Besides, a fright is, by its very nature, a short, sharp event that achieves its effect then is over and done with. Yet she’s been missing for days. That’s very disturbing.’

  ‘This case has really interested you, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it has. Having talked to a number of people about her, I feel that I know Mrs Horner. It’s made me care about her. Wherever she is, the woman must be very worried about her safety. Anybody held against their will would be. She may well be as mystified by what’s happened as we are.’

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘I keep looking for her. As for the other business, it remains to be seen if the death threat to the Home Secretary is one that should be taken seriously. Even if it is credible,’ he observed, ‘nothing is going to happen to Viscount Sidmouth in the near future. The two men who signed that deposition will wait to see the effect it’s had. In other words, the Home Secretary has a breathing space. Mrs Horner doesn’t enjoy that luxury. She already is a victim of a criminal act.’

  ‘I feel for her. She’s in the most appalling position.’

  ‘We must remember her in our prayers again, my love.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I do sympathise with you, having two investigations to worry about. One must come first and it has to be the threat to the Home Secretary.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the man who assisted those fugitives may be just as difficult to find as Mrs Horner. London is full of clerks and scriveners.’

  ‘How many of them would take part in a conspiracy to commit murder?’

  ‘Very few, I daresay,’ he replied. ‘But there’ll always be those who will take money and ask no questions. Those are the ones I need to chase.’

  ‘Paul may make more headway than you,’ she said. ‘He’s looking for the men themselves.’

  ‘I hope he finds them soon. Parts of London have large Irish communities. Life for most people is even harsher across the Channel than it is over here. Paul has a long search on his hands. I hope he’s equal to it.’

  Charlotte was puzzled. ‘That’s an odd thing to say.’

  ‘Well, you saw him earlier, my love.’

  ‘Not for very long.’

  ‘You must have noticed how jaded and lacklustre he seemed. Whenever we’re summoned to take on a new case, Paul is usually as excited as I am. I saw none of that excitement this time. What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s unlike my brother to be so distrait.’

  ‘He may have distractions in his private life,’ she said, discreetly.

  ‘Then I’m unlikely to hear about them,’ he accepted with a smile. ‘Because we’re twins, we’re far closer to each other than most brothers – until it comes to matters of a personal nature, that is. Paul and I have never been able to converse about those. Too many things get in the way somehow. Ah, well,’ he concluded. ‘Let’s leave him to his distractions for the rest of the evening, shall we?’

  Something was wrong. Most people in the audience were unaware of it but Paul Skillen noticed it the moment that Belvidera stepped onstage for the first time. Her appearance provoked a spontaneous outburst of applause. Though he joined in the clapping, Paul was dismayed. He’d seen the play on a number of occasions and each time there was an ovation for her, Hannah Granville had floated in on it like a swan gliding elegantly across the water. That didn’t happen here. She seemed mildly annoyed by the interruption and, instead of waiting for the acclaim to die slowly away, cut it short by plunging into her first speech. To someone who’d seen her scale the peaks of her art, it was as upsetting as it was disappointing. Paul couldn’t understand it.

  Throughout the play, Hannah gave a competent performance that flickered into life intermittently without ever rising above a certain level. Her timing was good, her movement excellent and her gestures expressive. The sheer quality of her voice was enough to enchant most onlookers. In her final scene, she did manage to summon up some real emotion before she expired from a broken heart and Paul saw a glimpse of the actress who’d captivated him when he first set eyes on her. It was not enough to convince him that she was wholly committed to her role and he was bound to wonder if she was unwell. Needing to be reassured that she was in sound health, he joined the general exodus then slipped around to the stage door and stood on the outer fringe of the predictable gathering of male admirers.

  It was clear from the comments he overheard that none of the others had noticed the loss of quality in her performance and – since he recognised a number of faces – he knew that some of the spectators had seen Venice Preserv’d before and returned to worship at the shrine. Fortunately, none of them looked at him or he might have been singled out as Hannah Granville’s former favourite and subjected to tart comments. As it was, all eyes were on the stage door. No head turned away from it for more than a moment. Every time another member of the cast emerged, there was a flurry of hope that Hannah would be on their heels but the hope quickly expired.

  Paul was worried that there was something wrong with her yet determined not to let Hannah see that he was there because she might be tempted to spurn him in public. His greatest fear, of course, was that she’d already elected his deputy and would depart on the arm of one of the baying admirers. Most were older than him but there was a clutch of younger men, handsome, debonair and patently wealthy. Hannah would have a free choice.

  It was an hour before they learnt the devastating truth about Belvidera. Coming out to confront them and raising his voice, the stage doorkeeper delivered the news for which they’d patiently waited.

  ‘Miss Granville has already left, gentlemen,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘She went off through the front entrance some time ago.’

  There was a concerted groan of disapproval and annoyance. Unlike the rest of them, Paul was not hurt or fractious. Because he knew how much she relished male attention, he was concerned that she’d gone out of her way to evade it. Something was definitely amiss with Hannah Granville. He spent the whole of the long walk alone wondering what on earth it could be.

  Nights were the worst. Though the bed was relatively comfortable, Anne Horner rarely slept for any length of time. She lay in the gloom with only the guttering candle to stave off complete darkness. During the day, she was at least able to see a small patch of sky through the grating. When that disappeared, she felt horribly alone and vulnerable. The worst thing about her imprisonment was that she had no idea what had prompted it or how long her incarceration would last. The woman who’d brought her food would answer no questions and stayed for less than a minute. She merely told Anne that she wouldn’t be harmed then locked the door again.

  Yet, in her view, Anne had already been harmed. She’d been frightened by the attack on her, roughly handled, threatened with punishment, taken to a house, dragged down to the cellar and forced to endure dreadful conditions. Every day brought a succession of harmful assaults on her mind, body and emotions. The appearance of the woman had momentarily lifted her expectations but they’d been instantly crushed. It was the man who came next time, remaining silent, bringing her food and – to her intense embarrassment – taking out the bucket to empty and wash it out before returning it for further use. The stink might have lessened temporarily but she felt that her privacy had been invaded.

  There were a few improvements. To while away the time, she was given some old newspapers to read and, because she obeyed orders not to yell for help, she was given freedom of movement in the cellar and allowed bigger meals. Unable to eat a morsel at first, she now devoured all the foo
d put in front of her, if only as a way to break the soul-destroying boredom of her situation. For the rest, she was left completely alone. Early fears that the man would molest her in some way had now faded away. Like the female accomplice, he was not interested in Anne Horner as a person. They had kidnapped her for a purpose yet she still had no inkling of what that purpose might be.

  One thing was certain. Nobody would come to rescue her. If she wanted to get out of her prison cell, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

  It was time to plan her escape.

  Donal Kearney was still throbbing with anger. When he’d been badly beaten in the fight with Moses Dagg, he’d lost some of his old authority. Instead of being able to swagger around the tenement, he now tended to skulk. Neighbours, who’d hitherto been afraid of him, actually dared to mock him, albeit from a safe distance. Kearney blamed Dermot Fallon for letting the two strangers stay with him. As long as Dagg and O’Gara were there, the chimney sweep was in danger. He had to find a means of getting rid of them. Since he was not on speaking terms with Fallon or his wife, Kearney had to move stealthily.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Thar you was knocked out by the black ’un.’

  ‘What did he say about those two men?’

  ‘Thar the black ’un was stronger than you.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked you to find out.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No, you fool.’

  ‘Oh … I’m sorry.’

  ‘I wanted to know why they’re there.’

  The boy let out a howl of pain as his father smacked him hard across the face, leaving a black palm print on his cheek. Niall Kearney was the youngest of the brood, a skinny, wide-eyed urchin of five years or so. He’d been ordered by his father to play with one of the Fallon children in the hope that he’d learn something about the two men who’d moved in with them. Grabbing his son by his shoulders, Kearney shook him until the boy cried out for mercy.