Shadow of the Hangman(61)

Anne had decided exactly what she was going to say. Pulling her head back, she opened her mouth wide and tried to call for help. But the words simply would not come. Deprived of speech for so long, she struggled to find the words and to give them full volume. Instead of an ear-splitting yell, all that she could produce was a pathetic squeak and even that was soon muffled as a hand closed over her mouth and a man’s arm tightened around her neck.

Struggling wildly to get free, Anne was dragged back downstairs.





Charlotte Skillen was seated at the desk in the shooting gallery and leafing through the book in which appointments were listed. She looked up when Gully Ackford came into the room. Though he’d be sparring for the past half an hour, he was breathing easily and completely unruffled. There was nothing whatsoever to suggest he’d been engaged in physical activity.

‘Did you have a good lesson with Mr Stryder?’ she asked.

‘I had a lot of pleasure, I know that.’

‘Is there any improvement?’

‘None at all,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Benedict Stryder is the worst pupil I’ve ever had. When I teach him a new aspect to the noble art, I discover that he’s forgotten all the other ones. That’s a sad reflection on me, I suppose. I try my best but he defeats me. In the ring, however,’ he added, ‘I always defeat him. In thirty minutes, he didn’t land a telling punch.’

‘Suggest that he takes up shooting instead.’

‘He’s as blind as a bat, Charlotte.’

‘What about fencing, then, or even archery?’

‘If Mr Stryder has a weapon in his hands, I don’t want to be anywhere close to him. He’d probably poke his own eye out with a sword and I wouldn’t let him near a bow and arrow. I prefer teaching someone like Mrs Holdstock. She learns fast and, more to the point, she remembers it the next time she turns up here.’

‘She seems too ladylike to be Robin Hood.’

‘If people come here for lessons, I’m not going to turn them away.’

‘We’re blessed with many regular clients at the moment, Gully,’ she said, glancing at the list. ‘There are bookings for several weeks ahead. It’s so much better than the old days when it was either a feast or a famine.’

‘We’re enjoying a season of feasts now, Charlotte. We must remember to get in a stock of fatted calves.’ He took a seat beside her. ‘By the way, have you spoken to Paul recently?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s in the interests of self-preservation,’ he replied with a grin. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him. When I gave him a fencing lesson yesterday, he came at me in a towering rage. It was almost as if he wanted to punish me for some reason.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that wasn’t the case, Gully.’

‘I wondered if he was having trouble in his private life. It can get turbulent at times. We’ve all seen that.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘You’re the only person he confides in. Has he said anything to you?’

‘He talks to me now and then,’ she replied with a meaningful smile, ‘because he knows he can trust me.’

‘I’m justly rebuked,’ he said, raising apologetic palms. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. What he does when he’s not working on an investigation is his own business.’

‘I endorse that feeling. As for the bout you had with him yesterday, Paul does have these upsurges of energy. He loves to flex his muscles.’

‘He did a lot more than flex them yesterday, Charlotte. His energy was surging like a waterfall. I pity anyone who takes him on when he’s as angry as that.’





It was the second time that Paul Skillen had been caught off guard. When he went to explore another Irish enclave in the city, he made the mistake of taking Hannah Granville with him. She occupied his mind so fully that he forgot where he was and why he’d come there. It was only when someone bumped into him that his reverie was shattered.

‘A thousand apologies, sir,’ said an Irish voice. ‘It was an accident.’

Paul was stirred. ‘You did that on purpose, you liar.’

The man laughed. ‘Me? No, sir, I’m the gentlest of beings.’

It was an incongruous description of a middle-aged ruffian with a squat body topped by a large head that featured deep-set green eyes and a bulging forehead. His grin exposed blackened teeth.

‘Give it back to me,’ demanded Paul.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You took my purse, you lice-ridden pickpocket.’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said the other with injured innocence.