Free Shadow of the Hangman by Edward Marston Page A

I’ll be more considerate of your feelings.’
    ‘That would not come amiss.’
    ‘Next time,’ he vowed, ‘I’ll warn you if I have to face danger. You have my word of honour. Will that content you?’
    ‘No, sir,’ she said with biting anger, ‘it will not. You insult me by suggesting that it would. I’ll not stand idly by when you tell me that you are embarking on something that might conceivably end in your death. What kind of woman do you take me to be? Because she is married to your brother, Charlotte has no choice but to suffer whenever her husband walks towards danger. I am under no such compulsion regarding you.’
    Rocked by her fury, all that he could do was to gesture his remorse.
    ‘There will never
be
a next time,’ she stipulated. ‘If you truly want me, you must give me proof of your love by giving up thesedaring adventures. I am in earnest, Paul. Put me and my needs first,’ she went on, her voice acquiring a searing edge, ‘or you may take yourself out of my life for ever.’
    Paul felt as if he’d fallen from a rooftop and hit the pavement hard.
     
    While her husband took a leading role in the various investigations that came their way, Charlotte Skillen was no mere bystander. Unusual as it was for a woman in her position, she, too, worked at the gallery as part of what had become a thriving detective agency. Her role was largely clerical, the main elements in it being the listing of the various clients and the upkeep of a record book of criminals with whom they came into contact. As she sat at the desk that morning, she tried to ignore the sounds of gunfire from the upstairs room where Jem Huckvale was teaching someone how to discharge a pistol with a degree of accuracy. Having listened to Gully Ackford’s description of Simon Medlow, she added some details she’d gleaned from Peter. Though she had never seen the man, she was now confident of recognising him from the pen portrait she’d been given.
    ‘Of course,’ said Ackford with a chuckle, ‘Peter and Paul saw rather more of him than I did. He was dressed in his finery when he came here. Stripped of that, I daresay he’d find it more difficult to cozen anybody.’
    ‘This is an excellent description,’ she said as she read it through. ‘Had it been to hand when he first appeared, you’d have known him immediately.’
    ‘He was too sure of himself, Charlotte. That’s what alerted me.’
    ‘Medlow is in our record book now – right after Ned Greet.’
    ‘You may have to cross
him
out altogether very soon. Whether it’s to the scaffold or to Australia, Ned will be going where he can’t trouble any of us again.’
    It had been Charlotte’s idea to compile the record book. A gallery of ruffians, thieves, forgers, fraudsters, fences, cracksmen, killers, cardsharps and those who ran disorderly houses had been created over the years by her elegant calligraphy. In cases where she’d actually seen an individual, she’d even added a little sketch of the person. Inevitably, men occupied the bulk of the book but there were some women who qualified for inclusion as well.
    ‘That collection of yours is a godsend,’ observed Ackford. ‘Someone walked in here last week and I
knew
I’d seen him before. Yet somehow I just couldn’t put a name to a face. So I resorted to that priceless book of yours and there he was in all his glory – Will Bickerton.’
    ‘Peter and Paul were chasing him a year ago.’
    ‘They’ll have to keep on chasing, Charlotte. When Bickerton realised I was suspicious, he vanished quicker than a rat down a drain.’
    ‘Why did he come here?’
    ‘He wanted someone to teach him how to shoot straight. That can often mean that someone is about to fight in an illegal duel but not in Bickerton’s case. He’d never have the courage to take part in a fair contest. A sly weasel of a man like him would prefer to shoot someone in the back.’
    ‘I’ll tell Paul that Bickerton is back in London. He has an old