Rage of the Assassin Page 2

  ‘You attach too much importance to superstition, my love.’

  ‘Then don’t listen to me. Talk to countless other members of my profession who came to grief while taking part in that ill-fated Scottish play. Ghosts have appeared, injuries have been sustained, scenery has collapsed, sickness has affected the whole cast. And there are dozens of other examples I could give you.’

  ‘Yet when you were offered the part, you seized it with alacrity.’

  ‘I’m the first to confess my folly.’

  ‘Have you so soon forgotten your other success in the play?’ he asked. ‘You not only brought Lady Macbeth to life in Paris, you did so in French. No other English actress could ever do that.’

  ‘Then they are spared the misery that I had to endure.’

  ‘You were feted, Hannah. Paris adored you.’

  ‘One of the men adored me rather too much,’ she recalled with a grimace. ‘But for the intervention of yourself and a courageous French gentleman, I’d have been abducted and brutally abused. The curse of that play struck once again.’

  Conscious that they were having a conversation that they’d already had at least three or four times, Paul sought to break the impasse. Hannah was beyond the reach of reason. It was no use pointing out that she’d be damaging her future prospects if she pulled out of the production at short notice. Managers were not impressed by examples of pique and unreliability. Since Hannah was adamant, there was only one course of action left to him.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, changing tack. ‘I accept and endorse your decision. If the play offends you so much, spare no more time on the ordeal of taking part in it. Besides, there are only two more performances to go. I’m sure that she can cope perfectly well with those.’

  Hannah started. ‘She?’

  ‘Miss Glenn.’

  ‘Why mention her? If I withdraw, the performances will be cancelled.’

  ‘The manager can’t afford to do that, Hannah. He’d have to refund a large amount of money. Even without you, the play must go on. Dorothea Glenn will be an adequate replacement.’

  ‘Nobody can replace me,’ she snarled.

  ‘In the strictest sense, you are quite right. No actress alive can attain your high standards but, then, Miss Glenn is not in competition with her idol. She accepts that she can only give a pale version of your performance, but the play will at least have a Lady Macbeth. Audiences will be disappointed when they hear of your indisposition but they will not be turned away.’

  He paused to see what effect his words were having on Hannah. Much as he loved her, he was fully aware of her vanity and capriciousness. Paul saw it as his job to moderate her behaviour and steer her away from impulses that could have serious consequences. In raising the prospect of a replacement, he’d caught her on the raw. Hannah was very possessive. The idea of someone else taking over her role was anathema to her. He pressed on.

  ‘You’ve often said that Miss Glenn has great promise.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she conceded.

  ‘Like many young actresses, she’s modelled herself on you. It’s not often that you befriend newcomers to the profession, but that’s what you did with her.’

  ‘Dorothea is … a likeable young lady.’

  ‘Do you believe she will go far?’

  ‘I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Then seize this opportunity to advance her career,’ suggested Paul. ‘Since you feel unable to take on the role yourself, allow her to step out from beneath your shadow and show the audience what she has to offer.’ There was a long silence. In the end, Paul had to prod her out of it. ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘The decision is already made. You wish to withdraw from the play and it’s only fair to advise the manager of the emergency as soon as possible so that Miss Glenn can be rehearsed throughout the day.’ He got up from the table. ‘Unless you have anything else to say, I’ll ride to Covent Garden immediately and break the news. It will cause alarm, of course – that’s inevitable – but there’ll be no cancellation. The audience will see a Lady Macbeth onstage this evening, albeit one without any of your intensity and brilliance.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ she said.

  ‘You wish to come with me?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘It would make more sense if you did so, Hannah. You could explain exactly why you are unable to face the challenge of two more performances in the role. If you stayed for the rehearsal,’ he went on, ‘you’d be able to pass on some advice to Miss Glenn. She’d be eternally grateful for it, I’m sure.’

  Hannah fell silent. She was brooding.

  When he knocked on the door of the shooting gallery, the man was surprised when it was opened by a woman. He’d never expected someone so beautiful, well dressed and relatively young to work at such an establishment but that is what Charlotte Skillen had been doing for some time. She conducted the visitor into the office and reached for the appointments book, opening it at the appropriate page.

  ‘What sort of instruction do you require, sir?’ she asked. ‘We have bookings for the rest of this week but there are some gaps after that.’

  ‘I’ve come to speak to Mr Skillen,’ said the man, nervously.

  ‘Which Mr Skillen do you mean? We have two here – Peter Skillen, my husband, and Paul, his brother. The latter, I fear, is otherwise engaged at the moment.’

  ‘Then I’ll speak to your husband, please. It’s urgent.’

  ‘He’ll be finishing a fencing lesson any moment,’ she said. ‘Sit down while you wait, Mr …?’

  ‘Hooper. Seth Hooper.’

  ‘Make yourself comfortable, Mr Hooper.’

  Lowering himself into a chair, he remained tense and anxious. Charlotte appraised him. He was a stocky man of medium height and middle years, with bushy side whiskers holding his face in position like a pair of hirsute bookends. She could see the perspiration on his brow. His accent told her that he came from somewhere much further north. Wearing apparel that was manifestly too tight for him, he was almost squirming with embarrassment. Dealing with a well-educated woman like her was evidently a novel experience for him.

  ‘May I know what brought you here?’ she asked, politely.

  ‘This place was well-spoken-of.’

  ‘We aim to please, Mr Hooper.’

  ‘They say as how you … solve terrible crimes.’

  ‘Both my husband and his brother have dedicated their lives to doing just that. They’ll give you all the help you need. What crime has occurred?’

  ‘I’d rather not discuss it wi’ a lady.’

  ‘I’m not as delicate as I may look,’ she told him with a smile. ‘During my time here, we’ve handled cases of kidnap, fraud, theft, forgery, rape, robbery with violence and worse. I’ve learnt to take gruesome details in my stride.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d still rather talk to Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Man to man, as it were …’

  Right on cue, she heard footsteps descending the stairs and went out into the hall in time to see her husband bidding farewell to his pupil, a willowy youth with staring eyes. Once he’d left, she told Peter that they had a visitor who had obviously come with a serious problem he refused to divulge to her.

  ‘Leave him to me, Charlotte,’ he said.

  After giving her an affectionate squeeze, he went into the room and introduced himself to the stranger. Hooper was on his feet at once, shaking the outstretched hand as if drawing water from a village pump. Peter could see and feel the man’s grief.

  ‘How may I help you?’ he asked.

  ‘My friend were shot dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Hooper.’

  ‘He went out last night and never came back. When I heard rumours of a murder, I knew it must be him. He’d never miss a meeting. It’s not in his character.’

  ‘What’s the name of your friend?’

  ‘Sir Roger Mellanby.’<
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  ‘Ah,’ said Peter with interest. ‘I’ve heard good things about him. He’s a Member of Parliament, isn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, and he were the only decent man in that madhouse,’ said Hooper with sudden fury. ‘That’s the reason he were put down.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hannah had changed her mind. Stung by the thought that someone might replace her as Lady Macbeth – even for a mere two performances – she decided that she would return to the company, after all. Before that, she needed a long sleep to restore her strength and spirits. Paul took her up to the bedroom and waited until she’d climbed between the sheets. Within minutes of placing her head on the pillow, she was fast asleep, allowing him to bestow a gentle kiss on her brow before creeping out of the room and closing the door silently behind him. Paul went downstairs, put on his coat and hat, then left the house. Intending to ride to the shooting gallery, he was confronted by the sight of an unexpected and decidedly unwelcome visitor. Micah Yeomans was alighting from a cab.

  ‘Have you come to arrest me again?’ taunted Paul.

  ‘No, Skillen, I’m here to warn you.’

  ‘What am I supposed to have done now?’

  ‘It’s what you’ll be tempted to do,’ said Yeomans, walking up to him. ‘And by the way, I didn’t need that fancy hat of his to identify the murder victim. A friend of his came to report him missing and gave us his name.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Sir Roger Mellanby.’

  ‘That name rings a bell.’

  ‘He was a politician.’

  ‘And who was this friend of his?’

  ‘He’s strange company for a man of quality. Mellanby was a firebrand with wild ideas about reform unusual in someone with his education. In the House of Commons, I’m told, he’s known as the Radical Dandy. The so-called friend is one Seth Hooper, a brush-maker from Nottingham, a sweaty fellow who has difficulty stringing words together.’

  ‘That’s the effect you have on some people, Micah.’

  ‘Don’t mock me,’ warned the other.

  ‘What did you tell Hooper?’

  ‘I told him that we’d taken charge of the case and sent him on his way.’

  ‘Didn’t you mention that I was a witness to the murder?’

  ‘There was no need. Since I was there as well, I was able to tell him a little of what happened. Too much detail would have clouded his brain. He had the nerve to say that he wanted to be involved in the hunt for the assassin. I’d never allow any interference from him – or from you, for that matter. In fact,’ said Yeomans, ‘that’s why I’m here. Keep well clear of this investigation.’

  ‘But I have a personal stake in it.’

  ‘Mellanby was clearly a rich man. A large reward will be offered for the capture of his killer. I don’t want you and that confounded brother of yours getting in our way, as you usually contrive to do. That’s not just a warning from me. It’s a command from His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. Since I was protecting him last night, he wants me to be the person who brings this villain to justice.’

  ‘Then he’ll wait until Doomsday.’

  ‘Our record of success speaks for itself.’

  ‘It’s far outweighed by your repeated failures.’

  ‘Don’t meddle in this case, Skillen.’

  ‘I’ve no choice. When a man is shot dead only feet away from me, I feel that it’s my duty to hunt down his killer.’

  ‘Would you defy a royal decision?’

  ‘In the name of justice,’ said Paul, ‘I’ll do whatever is necessary. First of all, however, I need to make a confession. I was wrong to imagine that the Prince Regent was the designated target.’

  ‘I told you that,’ said Yeomans.

  ‘The assassin was definitely hired to kill Sir Roger Mellanby.’

  ‘At least we agree on something.’

  ‘Because the man was proficient in his trade, one shot was all it took and he made sure that nobody saw him fire it.’

  ‘What made you realise that your first guess was wrong?’

  ‘I thought of His Royal Highness.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘That monstrous bulk of his presented a much bigger target than Mellanby. From that short distance, a child with a popgun couldn’t have missed hitting the heir to the throne. In a matter of seconds,’ added Paul, ‘the assassin earned his money. He’d come well prepared. He knew exactly where to find his victim and could rely on his being off guard.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yeomans, a sly grin on his face. ‘All that Mellanby was thinking about was how to get his hands on Miss Granville. That hope blinded him to everything else. Without meaning to, she helped the assassin by bewitching Mellanby. You might mention that to her.’

  Paul had to control a sudden urge to hit him.

  Peter felt sorry for Seth Hooper. The man clearly revered the murder victim and spoke of him in hushed tones. From time to time, tears welled up in his eyes. Peter waited patiently and listened intently. Mellanby and Hooper had arrived from Nottingham on the previous day. While the former had stayed at one of the most prestigious hotels in the capital, his companion had, of necessity, sought more modest accommodation. The two men were in London to attend a meeting of the Hampden Club, an association for those committed to a campaign for social and political reform. As a delegate from Nottingham, the brush-maker would be expected to make a speech, but it was the Radical Dandy whom the other members would really come to hear. He was their acknowledged spokesman. Mellanby would not only rouse them to fever pitch with blazing oratory, he would present their petition to the Prince Regent.

  ‘Sir Francis Burdett was asked first,’ explained Hooper, ‘but he refused. Sir Roger stepped forward at once. Nothing frightened him. He believed in our cause and did all he could to help us.’

  ‘He sounds like an extraordinary man,’ said Peter.

  ‘There were nobody quite like him.’

  ‘So it appears.’

  ‘He were a saint, Mr Skillen.’

  Peter had doubts about that. Men who flocked to the stage door of a theatre in order to drool over a beautiful actress were rarely candidates for canonisation. The social and intellectual gap between the two friends was manifestly enormous. While Mellanby had been basking in a performance of a Shakespeare play, Hooper had been sitting in an attic room in a tavern, struggling to write his speech. Sadly, it would never be delivered now. The much-anticipated visit to London had been a disaster.

  Hooper ended with a heartfelt plea for help.

  ‘I beg you to find the killer, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘An official investigation will already have been launched.’

  ‘I know,’ said the other. ‘I spoke to a Bow Street Runner named Mr Yeomans, but he turned me away with harsh words. Catching Sir Roger’s killer was his job, he told me, and I were to go back home to Nottingham and wait for news.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Peter, ‘that’s typical of Micah Yeomans. He hates interference.’

  ‘I asked people from the Hampden Club where else I could go. Yours was the first name on their lips.’

  ‘Don’t forget my brother. We operate as a team.’

  ‘I’ve no money to pay you at the moment,’ confessed Hooper, ‘but I’m sure that I can raise it when I take the hat round.’

  ‘I won’t ask for a fee at this point. Paul and I choose to be paid by results. If we fail, you owe us nothing. If we succeed – and we usually do – we can decide on a fair return for our labours.’

  ‘Whatever it costs, I’ll find the money somehow. The question is this – will you take on the search for the killer?’

  ‘I can’t make that decision, Mr Hooper. I find the case intriguing, but my brother will have a much stronger claim.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Paul was actually there last night,’ said Peter, choosing his words with care. ‘My brother acts as a bodyguard to one of the actresses in the play. His task is to conduct her safely through the phalanx of admirers.’r />
  ‘I still don’t understand what Sir Roger were doing there.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you that he was going to the theatre?’

  ‘No,’ said Hooper. ‘He told me that he was having dinner with a friend in Mayfair. There were no mention made of Covent Garden. I wonder what made him change his mind and go to see a play instead?’

  Peter didn’t wish to disillusion him. It was clear that Mellanby had intended to watch Macbeth all along and had fobbed Hooper off with a blatant lie. When he was on the loose in London, the politician enjoyed himself. His behaviour there, Peter guessed, was almost certainly at variance with the image of himself that he’d carefully created in his home town. It sounded to him as if the man worshipped by Hooper might well be a voluptuary when liberated from his domestic concerns in the Midlands. Evidently, Mellanby led a complex life. The notion of uncovering it only served to heighten Peter’s interest in the case.

  ‘The Runners have greater resources,’ he said, ‘and they’ll have the chief magistrate urging them to secure a speedy arrest and conviction. To give him credit, Yeomans will work hard to find the killer but his overconfidence is a weakness. Because he’s so sure of himself, he’s thrown away a priceless asset.’

  ‘Has he?’ asked Hooper. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s more a question of who it is. Look in the mirror and you’ll see him clearly. Yes, Mr Hooper,’ he went on as the visitor gaped, ‘you are that asset. What Yeomans discarded so rashly is a bonus that my brother and I will seize upon. Since you worked hand in glove with him, you can give us crucial details about Sir Roger’s private life as well as about his political activities.’

  ‘We’ve been close these past six years, Mr Skillen.’

  ‘Then you have a fund of information on which we can draw.’

  ‘That’s what I told Mr Yeomans.’

  ‘Forget him. The Runners are our rivals. Our methods differ from theirs and they usually bear fruit. However, I must issue a warning.’