Shadow of the Hangman(24)

‘I take it that you’ve found a substitute.’

‘I’m relieved to say that we have. Thanks to one of my undersecretaries, we now have a more than adequate replacement in the shape of Levitt. Though she has made an auspicious start, however, what we really desire is the return of her predecessor.’

‘The search will be given my full attention,’ said Peter.

He’d always had great respect for Sidmouth. Conscious as he was that the man was derided in some quarters for his perceived inadequacies, Peter had always found him decent, honest and considerate. In the dealings they’d had together over the years, he’d admired the Home Secretary’s efficiency, doggedness and readiness to support those who worked for him. Sidmouth’s years as Prime Minister at the start of the century may have been undistinguished but it could be argued that any politician would have been handicapped when operating in the long shadow of William Pitt the Younger. War had exposed Sidmouth’s limitations and, though he’d negotiated peace with France, it did not last. Coping with the threat of invasion by Napoleon had put him under intolerable pressure and he’d felt a sense of relief when Pitt replaced him. Having met some of the other leading politicians, Peter Skillen had a marked preference for the Home Secretary, a man of integrity with solid achievements behind him accorded less praise than they deserved.

Sidmouth was like a distraught father enquiring about a missing daughter.

‘Is there any hope that you’ll find her?’

‘Oh, I won’t simply rely on hope, my lord. I’ll most definitely track her down.’

‘To survive so many dangers both here and in France,’ observed the Home Secretary, ‘you’ve had to rely on your sharp instincts. What do they tell you about Horner? Is she alive or dead?’

‘She is alive, my lord.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t know – I just feel it.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ said the other, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’m grateful for your reassurance, Mr Skillen. In view of the many hazardous assignments you’ve undertaken at my behest, you must think it rather infra dig to be employed on what must appear to you to be a trivial matter.’

‘Not at all,’ said Peter, firmly. ‘I view the woman’s disappearance with the consternation shown by you. I’ve gathered enough information about her to decide that she’s a worthy individual in every way and I look forward to making her acquaintance.’

‘Thank you so much for coming. Your visit has brought much comfort.’ He got up to show his visitor out. ‘It may sound absurd but I was beginning to think that Horner had – from motives known only to her – simply run away from us.’

Peter thought about the cache under the bed at the woman’s lodging.

‘On that score at least,’ he said, ‘I can speak with irrefutable certainty. There is no evidence to suggest flight. Whatever else she may have done, Mrs Horner has not run away from you.’





When he’d heard people talking about the luck of the Irish, Tom O’Gara had always laughed bitterly. He’d never experienced it himself. Raised in the poorest part of Dublin, he’d seen nothing but misery and deprivation around him. Like so many of his countrymen in desperate circumstances, O’Gara’s father had taken his family to America in the hope of a better life for them. Instead of solving their problems, however, emigration had simply shifted them to another country. They were still poor, short of food and devoid of prospects. In a bid to lighten the load on his parents, O’Gara had run away at the age of fourteen to join the navy. There, too, he found the luck of the Irish in abysmally short supply.

Yet he’d now been forced to think that perhaps there was such a thing. Out of what could have been a fatal collision at sea had come something resembling good luck. Hurled into the water, he and Dagg had yelled out so loud for help that ropes had been thrown overboard for them. Dripping wet and still partially dazed, they were hauled up on deck to find that they were on a cargo ship sailing to London. It would get them there far quicker and safer than the small boat they’d stolen in Devon. Rum had revived them and food was pressed on them. They were among friends.

It was night when they finally docked in London and they left the vessel with a chorus of farewells from their temporary shipmates. While O’Gara was excited to be in the nation’s capital, Dagg saw only the potential dangers.

‘We’ve got no money, no food and no weapons to protect us.’

‘I told you – my cousin will look after us.’