Fugitive From the Grave Read online

  ‘Did you mention the pendant?’

  ‘No,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Mr Skillen is bound to wonder.’

  ‘I’d rather tell him face-to-face, Jenny. It was my own stupid fault. Because it was such a treasured gift from Paul, I hated taking it off. The chances of having it stolen seemed so slim as to be negligible.’ Hannah grimaced. ‘I know better now.’

  ‘What puzzled me was why they took that valise of yours. All that it contained was clothing.’

  ‘Perhaps they wish to give them to their wives.’

  ‘Men like that don’t get married,’ said Jenny, darkly.

  Before she could continue, she was interrupted by the arrival of Roderick Cosgrove. He cut a sorry figure. His hand was now covered with heavy bandaging and his earlier confidence had disappeared.

  ‘I just came to apologise once more, Miss Granville,’ he said. ‘I let you down badly.’

  ‘You were not to blame, Mr Cosgrove. You were outnumbered. In trying to take them on, you were too brave for your own good.’

  ‘There’ve been no highwaymen on this road for ages.’

  ‘We were spared our lives,’ said Hannah, ‘and we should be grateful for that.’

  ‘We were spared ill treatment as well,’ observed Jenny. ‘Villains of that kind usually have no respect for women.’ She looked at the bandaging. ‘How is your hand?’

  ‘It was only a flesh wound,’ replied Cosgrove, ‘but it does smart. When we reach Bath tomorrow, I’ll visit a doctor to have the wound dressed properly. However,’ he went on, ‘I’m interrupting your meal. I’ll disturb you no longer.’

  After a polite bow, he withdrew to the other side of the room.

  ‘Poor fellow!’ said Hannah. ‘He was hired to escort me to Bath yet failed to prevent my being robbed. That means he’ll probably be denied any payment.’

  ‘That would be monstrously unfair.’

  ‘I’ll put in a word for him, Jenny.’

  But her mind was not really on the bodyguard, nor was it on her performance in a Shakespearean comedy at the Theatre Royal in Bath. She was brooding obsessively about Paul Skillen. When he heard about the robbery, he’d rush to her side to offer love and sympathy. How would he react at the news that the expensive gift he’d bought for her to show his love had been stolen? It was an uncomfortable question. Trying to answer it would give Hannah a sleepless night.

  When she’d left the gallery earlier, Clemency van Emden had told them that she would stay awake at the hotel in case they made any progress in the search for her father. Peter therefore had no qualms at calling on her so late. She was summoned from her room and adjourned with him to the parlour. Her face brightened.

  ‘You have news for me, Mr Skillen?’

  ‘I believe so,’ he said, ‘but any thanks must go to Jem Huckvale. He’s been riding from church to church until his head was going round in circles, but his efforts were eventually repaid.’

  ‘He found out where my father is buried?’

  ‘We believe so – he’s at St Mary’s Church in Islington.’

  Clemency frowned. ‘Islington?’ she repeated. ‘How did he end up there? He’s never had any connection with the place.’

  ‘He may have developed one during the time you were estranged.’

  ‘That’s possible, I suppose. Is Jem certain that it was my father’s grave he saw?’

  ‘He was shown it by the gravedigger himself,’ said Peter. ‘George Parry is not an uncommon name, but it was a recent funeral held not long before you received news of his death.’

  ‘Who organised it?’

  ‘The gravedigger didn’t know. What he did say was that only one person turned up to pay his respects. When I take you there tomorrow, we’ll speak to the vicar and get more details.’

  ‘Why can’t we go right now?’ she asked, eagerly.

  ‘It’s too late and too dark, Mrs van Emden. I promise you that I’ll pick you up early tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘The news should at least bring you a measure of comfort.’

  ‘It does and it doesn’t, Mr Skillen. At least I finally know where my father is and that brings some relief. At the same time, however, I feel rather disturbed without quite knowing why.’

  ‘When we go to Islington, the vicar may be able to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘I still have the urge to go this instant.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to master your impatience,’ he said, softly. ‘Try to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  There were two of them and they were dressed in black to blend with the darkness. One of them led the horse by the bridle until they reached the wall of the churchyard. The other man climbed off the cart with a spade.

  ‘Is this it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said the other, reaching for the lantern on the driving seat. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  Walking across to the wall, he lifted the lantern to illumine the grave on the other side of it. Conditions were ideal. It was a dark night and the mound of earth was obscured by the branches of the yew tree. Recent rain had kept the ground damp and easy to dig. Since it was now almost midnight, the whole of Islington was fast asleep and wouldn’t hear a thing. They worked swiftly and with minimal noise, showing no respect for the fact that they were on consecrated ground. To them it was merely a task they’d been given. The man with the lantern held it up so that they had a good view of the grave.

  ‘That’ll give the vicar something to think about,’ he said.

  Paul Skillen had found it very difficult to maintain his concentration. His mind kept drifting to Hannah Granville. Though he tried hard to school himself to address the task in hand, he failed. It meant that the person he was after might have come and gone without being seen. The news of Harry Scattergood’s escape had been at once amusing and annoying. While it would give him the chance to tease Yeomans and Hale about the incompetence at Bow Street, it had also caused him profound irritation. He and Peter now had to recapture a man they’d been trailing for months. It would be a severe test of their skills.

  Reasoning that the thief might return to the place where he’d been caught, Paul had put it under surveillance. Scattergood was too cautious to return there in broad daylight, but it was possible that he might try to sneak in there after dark. When the brothers arrested him, he railed at them for coming between him and his pleasure, saying that they’d deprived him of the delights for which he’d paid. In fact, he’d seemed less angry about being apprehended than he was about having to abandon a Welsh prostitute at a critical moment. Scattergood had paid for something he didn’t get. He was the kind of man who’d go back.

  Paul took it in turns to watch the front of the house, then the back. Clients went to and from the brothel, but none of them had the thief’s distinctive profile and gait. At one point, he started wondering once again how Hannah had fared and wished that he could have travelled with her. It took the chimes of midnight to bring him back to reality. He was still scolding himself for letting his attention wander when someone plucked at his sleeve. It was a slim, young woman with a Welsh lilt in her voice.

  ‘I’m to tell you that he’s not here, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘We haven’t seen Harry since he was took away.’

  ‘He escaped.’

  ‘Did he?’ she exclaimed, feigning surprise.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Paul, wishing that she was not wearing such unpleasantly pungent perfume. ‘You must be Welsh Mary.’

  She was thrilled. ‘You’ve heard of me, sir?’

  ‘Harry talked of nobody else.’

  ‘Diu! What a sweet old thing he is.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might be?’

  ‘No, sir, but he’ll be miles away from London.’

  ‘Did he never talk to you about moving on somewhere?’

  She tittered. ‘We didn’t do much talking, sir.’

 
‘How long have you known I was out here?’

  ‘Mrs Ginniver, who owns the house, saw you arrive in daylight,’ said the woman. ‘She hoped it would rain hard so you’d get soaked to the skin for your pains, but it didn’t. So she decided to keep you out here till midnight.’

  Paul was livid with himself. He’d not only failed in his mission, he’d given himself away. It was an unpardonable lapse. He was tempted to storm into the brothel to make absolutely sure that Scattergood wasn’t there, but he knew he’d only face derision. After thanking her for coming out to him, he watched Welsh Mary run back to the house on tiptoe, then he collected his horse from the place where he’d left it. The ride home was accompanied by remorse and recrimination. He was not looking forward to delivering his report to his brother and to Gully Ackford. They would be justifiably critical of him.

  All that he wanted to do was get back to the privacy of his home and go straight to bed. When the silhouette of his house finally came into view, he felt a surge of relief. He could put his mistakes behind him. Paul was unsaddling his horse in the stable when he heard footsteps. One of the servants came out to him with a lantern.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re back, sir.’

  ‘Why is that, John?’

  ‘This came for you,’ said the man, handing him the letter. ‘The messenger wouldn’t part with it until he was paid. Since it was sent by Miss Granville, I gave him the money at once.’

  ‘Who brought it?’ asked Paul, snatching it from him.

  ‘He was an ostler from the Flying Horse.’

  It was the coaching inn from which Hannah had departed. Telling the servant to hold the lantern closer, Paul opened the letter and read the contents, noting that it had been written in a shaky hand. After thrusting it into his pocket, he grabbed the saddle and hoisted it back into position.

  ‘Are you going out again, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Paul, hastily. ‘Send word to my brother in the morning that Miss Granville’s coach was waylaid on the road to Bath. Warn him that I may be away from London for a considerable time.’

  It was impossible even to doze, let alone sleep properly. Hannah lay in the darkness and relived the horror of the attack. When she heard the bed beside her creak, she realised that Jenny was also wide awake.

  ‘Can’t you sleep either?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m too scared.’

  ‘We’re safe enough here, Jenny.’

  ‘I thought we were safe in the coach, especially with Mr Cosgrove to look after us. We could’ve been killed.’

  ‘But weren’t,’ emphasised Hannah. ‘Be thankful for that.’

  ‘I’ve been sending prayers up to heaven for the last hour.’

  There was a lengthy pause before Hannah spoke again.

  ‘I keep thinking about that highwayman.’

  ‘Which one do you mean, Miss Granville?’

  ‘The one who was in charge – he wasn’t like the others. They were just nasty, uncouth and frightening. Their leader had an educated voice and he dressed more smartly than them. Did you notice his boots? They were gleaming.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to see what he was wearing,’ admitted Jenny. ‘To be honest, I kept my eyes closed for most of the time.’

  ‘The people with him were unlettered ruffians. One of them kept spitting on the ground in that disgusting way. And when everyone got out of the coach, he pushed them around for the fun of it.’

  ‘Then their leader ordered him to stop.’

  ‘He actually had some manners, Jenny. His companions obviously wanted sport with us. He seemed to understand just how deeply upsetting the robbery must have been for us. That’s why he showed mercy.’

  ‘Taking our valuables like that was not exactly merciful,’ said Jenny, sharply. ‘He deserves to hang with the others.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not excusing him. He was a vile criminal, but one with a measure of decency in him and a concern for his appearance. In the circumstances, those boots of his were rather incongruous.’

  With a full day at the gallery ahead of them, Ackford and Huckvale were up shortly after dawn for an early breakfast. They were surprised when they heard the front door being unlocked. Moments later, Peter Skillen came striding into the room.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you for hours,’ said Ackford.

  ‘There’s been an emergency,’ Peter told them. ‘A message from Paul arrived to say that he’s ridden off to be with Hannah. Highwaymen stopped her coach and robbed everyone in it.’

  ‘Heavens!’ cried Huckvale. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know the details, Jem. All I was told is that Hannah somehow managed to have a letter delivered to Paul, explaining where she was and why. Needless to say, he went racing off into the night.’

  ‘Was there any news about Harry Scattergood?’

  ‘There was no mention of him, so we can assume that he’s still at liberty. In any case, Paul has somebody more important to worry about at the moment. Harry will have to wait in the queue.’

  ‘As we predicted,’ said Ackford, ‘the Runners called here after you left yesterday. They demanded to be given the address where you and Paul had caught him.’

  ‘We didn’t give it to them,’ added Huckvale, grinning. ‘We gave them an address, but it was a long way from the place where he was hiding. They’ll have spent last night sitting outside a pub in Southwark in the hope that Harry will turn up.’

  ‘And he certainly didn’t.’

  ‘That will have served Yeomans right,’ said Peter. ‘He’s always trying to bully information out of us. The Runners need to rely on their own intelligence. However,’ he went on, ‘I must go and have breakfast with Charlotte, then I’ll be off to Mrs van Emden’s hotel to take her to Islington.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you,’ said Huckvale, then he caught Ackford’s eye, ‘but I have work to do here. Please let me know what you find out.’

  ‘I’ll make a point of it, Jem. But for you, we’d never have found out where Mr Parry was buried. Mrs van Emden will want to thank you in person. Learning the truth about her father will make it an important day for her.’ Peter moved towards the door. ‘But spare a thought for Hannah as well. She’s been through a terrible experience.’

  ‘My sympathies are with Paul,’ said Ackford. ‘He must be worried to death. If I know him, he’ll have been in the saddle for hours, riding like mad through the night.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was yet another of the many occasions when Hannah Granville realised just how much she owed to her dresser. Jenny Pye offered far more than female companionship. As well as supervising the actress’s costumes during a performance, she provided practical advice, unconditional loyalty and wise comments about any role that her employer was due to perform. The two of them sat alone at a table in the corner. Like them, the other passengers were still very upset by their confrontation with the three highwaymen. Cosgrove, they noticed, was eating with one hand.

  ‘I was hoping that Paul might be here by now,’ said Hannah.

  ‘It’s a long way for him to come.’

  ‘I’m afraid that he didn’t get my letter.’

  ‘Oh, he must have done, I’m sure,’ said Jenny, trying to inject some optimism into the conversation. ‘When you spoke to that driver, you impressed upon him how vital it was for the letter to be delivered.’

  ‘What if Paul set out and was ambushed on the way?’

  ‘Then I’d feel sorry for the people who tried to ambush him.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘You’re right. The one thing he does best is defend himself. He’s been in any number of perilous situations and he always comes out alive in the end.’

  ‘He might even enlist the aid of his brother.’

  ‘Paul won’t need to do that.’

  ‘How can you tell him apart from Peter? I still confuse them.’

  ‘I always know the difference, believe me,’ said Hannah, smiling. ‘Peter is charming, but I like that element of danger in Paul.�
��

  ‘Are you going to tell him about the pendant when he arrives?’

  ‘No, Jenny.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I need comfort not criticism. If and when he gets here, all that he’ll want to know is that I’m alive, well and capable of fulfilling my contract with the theatre in Bath. Talking of which,’ she continued, ‘I’ll look to the manager for unstinting sympathy.’

  ‘Mr Teale will be shocked to hear what happened to the famous Hannah Granville on her journey.’

  ‘He should have sent more men to guard me. I deserve it.’

  ‘And he’ll realise that now. You’re his prize asset. Your name alone is enough to fill the theatre for a month.’

  ‘The engagement is not for that long, Jenny.’

  ‘That’s a real pity!’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘As soon as our work is done there,’ said Jenny, ‘we’ll have to travel back to London along that same road. I’m afraid that the man in the shiny boots might be waiting for us again with his two cut-throats. They might not be so lenient with us the next time.’

  In the privacy of a room in the tavern where they’d spent the night, they put all their takings on the table and gloated over them. The stagecoach had yielded up a minor treasure chest. Apart from an abundance of banknotes and gold coins, there was a selection of fine jewellery, tugged uncaringly from its previous owners, and the two guns they’d confiscated from Cosgrove and the driver. All in all, it was their most profitable raid in years. The tall, urbane gentleman who was their leader divided the spoils up carefully.

  There was the usual protest from one of his henchmen.

  ‘You’ve got more than us,’ he said, accusingly.

  ‘It’s no more than is my due,’ replied the other. ‘I was the one who found out when the coach was coming and decided where best to launch our attack. Left to yourselves, you’d have bungled the whole enterprise.’