Bloody Winter: A Pyke Mystery

by Andrew Pepper

  ‘Then, sir, you should have considered your responsibilities more carefully before you appointed yourself judge and jury in the matter of Davy McMullan.’

  Knox thought about throwing himself on to the floor and begging for his position. ‘Please, sir …’

  The County Inspector stared at him dry-eyed and held up his hand. ‘That will be all.’

  He didn’t know how far he had walked, or for how long, but by the time he arrived home, it was dark. He was greeted at the gate by the dog. Martha must have heard the barks because the door opened and her face appeared. She saw at once that something was wrong. Ushering him into the cottage, she sat him down next to the fire and then pressed her warm hands against his icy cheeks.

  ‘What’s the matter, my darling? You look terrible and you’re so cold.’ She stared at him, her expression guileless and loving.

  It made him despise himself even more; the stupidity and selfishness of his need to be good. ‘I’m fine.’ He smiled weakly. ‘I’ve just had a long day.’

  Martha took a step back and studied him. ‘You don’t look fine, Michael. You look sick.’

  ‘Really, I’m fine.’ He had kept his uniform for the day as he’d had nothing to change into. ‘I just need to sit for a while and get warm.’

  ‘When I opened the front door and saw you by the gate, I thought you were about to cry.’

  Knox could feel his grip on the situation begin to loosen. He knew he would have to tell Martha what had happened in time – but not before he’d come up with a plan. He had two pounds in savings – hidden under the ground in the yard. This would pay for the rent and keep them in food until some time in March. If he could find alternative employment, news of his dismissal wouldn’t be so devastating.

  ‘It was just one of those days.’ He corrected himself. ‘Another of those days.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’ She looked at him dubiously. ‘You don’t seem your usual self.’

  More than anything Knox wanted to tell her the truth, tell her that he’d been dismissed, because this was what they had always done – tell one another the truth – but he felt too frightened and too ashamed. ‘Really, Martha, I’m just tired down to my bones.’

  She didn’t appear convinced but decided not to push it any further. ‘Well, I’ll just put on the water for supper.’

  Nodding silently, Knox thought about their dwindling supply of corn. ‘Just give me half of what I’d usually have. They fed us today.’

  She came over to where he was sitting and touched his forehead. ‘You don’t have a fever.’

  ‘I feel fine, Martha, really I do. I’ll just go upstairs and look in on James.’

  ‘He was asking for you earlier.’

  As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Knox had to steady himself by holding on to the banister. His lip started to quiver. Looking up, he saw James, fast asleep in the cot, and he started to weep.

  Knox woke early, before it was light, and slipped out of bed without waking Martha. He dressed quickly in civilian clothes and a pair of old boots and went downstairs. There, he lit a candle and let himself out into the garden, where he was greeted by Tom, who had forgotten the indignity of being locked out in the cold and jumped up at him, wagging his tail. It was drizzling and most of the snow had melted, which meant the ground was no longer frozen. Watched by the dog, Knox found a shovel in the coal shed, went to the spot under one of the birch trees, and sliced the blade into the earth. It took him less than a minute to dig up the pouch he’d buried there. Brushing it, he emptied the coins into his hand and counted out two pounds and twenty shillings. He put the two pounds back in the pouch and then buried it again, patting the mud into place with the back of the shovel. With the twenty shillings in his pocket, Knox let himself back into the cottage, followed by Tom. There, he swept out the grate, prepared the fire and lit it with a match.

  While he waited for the fire to catch, he retrieved the daguerreo-types and the letters he’d hidden at the back of the dresser. Had all this been worth losing his position for? Knox stared into the grate, trying to work out how long two pounds, twenty shillings would last. It would have to pay for coal, food and of course the rent. Would it be possible to see out the rest of the winter on such a sum? Perhaps only February, if he was frugal, Knox decided. A more immediate concern was what he would tell Martha. Part of him couldn’t bring himself to deliver the bad news. This wasn’t just because she would be angry with him but because he didn’t want to lose her opinion of him, to see himself reduced in her eyes to the status of pauper. After her anger had abated, she would pity him, and most of all he couldn’t bear to see this because he deserved to be punished for what he had done. He had put his family at risk, and for what? So that a boy he’d never met would know that his father had perished.

  Knox filled a pot with water and placed it over the flames. When it had boiled he poured a cup of Indian corn into the water and gave it a stir. His mind drifted back to a time – two summers earlier – when Martha had been expecting and he had fattened her up on a diet of buttermilk and potatoes, unaware that the first blight lay just around the corner. The corn kept them from starvation but it was a poor substitute for milk and potatoes, and Knox fantasised about the creaminess of this mix on his tongue. One morning in October, he’d stepped out into the garden. The stink had hit him first, even before he’d realised that the crop had turned black. About a month later James had been born.

  After breakfast, Knox would go into Cashel, pay the rent and use whatever was left to buy more corn. Perhaps he would also make a few discreet enquiries about the possibility of finding work. As he watched the corn bubbling, he started to feel guilty again, the fact that he was sneaking around the cottage, not wanting his wife to ask where his uniform was and why he wasn’t wearing it.

  Knox didn’t imagine that he would be affected by the public shame of losing his post but as soon as he entered the town and people noticed him out of uniform he immediately felt self-conscious, as if everyone knew that he had been dismissed. At the bottom of Main Street, he hurried past the entrance to the police barracks and continued up the busy thoroughfare, past the Palace and Town Hall, as far as Friars Street, where the office of the agent for the Brittas family – Mr Warburton – was located.

  Knox usually paid his rent on a Friday but he didn’t imagine the agent would mind getting his money a day early. He waited on the other side of the street for Warburton to arrive and gave the man a few minutes before entering the office.

  The same age as Knox, Warburton was about as fair a man as you were likely to find in his position. He sat behind a cheap wooden desk, hunched over a stack of paper. When Knox entered, he looked up, startled.

  ‘Knox.’

  ‘I’ve come to pay the rent.’ Knox shoved ten shillings on to the desk and took a step back.

  Warburton nodded, as though he’d been expecting Knox to say this. ‘Sit down,’ he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. ‘Please.’

  Knox did as he was told but he could tell that something wasn’t right.

  ‘I don’t know how to put this, Knox, so I’ll come straight out with it.’ He tried to smile. ‘I’ve always liked you as a tenant. You’ve never missed a week and you’re always polite.’

  ‘What is it you have to tell me, Mr Warburton?’ Knox could feel the bile rising in his throat.

  ‘Last night, I was visited by Mr Brittas himself. He instructed me personally on this matter.’

  ‘What matter?’

  ‘I’m afraid you will have to vacate Mr Brittas’s property and land by the end of the week.’ Warburton couldn’t bring himself to look at Knox.

  ‘The end of this week?’ When the agent just nodded, he said, ‘But it’s already Thursday.’

  ‘I put this point to Mr Brittas and he told me to inform you that you would be able to stay until Saturday morning, but you must be gone by midday.’

  ‘Go where? That’s our home. We’ve lived there all of our
married life.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Knox. You’re a good man and I have no idea what you’ve done to anger Mr Brittas, but I’m afraid to say it’s none of my business.’

  ‘I’ve paid my rent on time every week, never missed a week in five years, not even once.’

  ‘I’m just a humble messenger, sir. But Mr Brittas did want me to emphasise that his decision is final.’

  ‘I have a wife and a young child. I’ve just lost my position at the constabulary and I’ve nowhere else to go. If you could just talk to Mr Brittas, remind him that I’ve always been a good friend to his father. His father is nearly blind and I read to him whenever I can.’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Brittas’s father is grateful, and maybe he could speak on your behalf, but I can do no more.’

  ‘But why? What have I done?’

  Warburton said nothing but stood up and walked slowly to the door.

  Knox had never dreamt that Cornwallis’s influence extended this far but he didn’t doubt that the aristocrat was behind this latest indignity. He was amazed that Cornwallis could be so vindictive or that he cared so much about what Knox had done, but then the man had always had a mean streak and Knox had gone behind his back and done the very thing he had been instructed not to do.

  ‘Saturday lunchtime, then.’

  Knox nodded silently and left the office.

  Jeremy Brittas was sitting, as usual, in his worn armchair, staring listlessly into the fireplace. Having let himself into the lodge and announced his arrival from the doorway, Knox stepped into the room.

  ‘I thought you’d come running to me as soon as you heard the news.’ Brittas seemed to be relishing the situation.

  ‘So you knew?’

  ‘My son came here to tell me. He knows you sometimes visit me, though you’ve not been here in the last week, I’ve noticed.’

  ‘He wants to evict us from our home. I thought you could talk to him, persuade him to let us stay.’

  ‘His mind’s made up. He made that very clear to me. He warned me against trying to help you.’

  ‘Did he say why?’ Knox was desperate.

  Brittas rearranged the few strands of white hair on his liver-spotted head. ‘Let me tell you something about my son. At bottom, he’s a weak, capricious man who has mismanaged this estate and allowed it to fall into disrepair. I can say all this because he is my son and I love him none the less. But I do know he has been troubled by his creditors. It’s my understanding that some of these debts have been cleared, on the proviso that he deals with your situation quickly and ruthlessly.’ Brittas paused. ‘It would appear you’ve upset some fairly important people, young man.’

  ‘Lord Cornwallis asked me to perform a small service for him. I didn’t do as I was told.’

  ‘Cornwallis, eh?’ This time Brittas’s expression was serious. ‘A nasty one, and that’s no lie.’

  ‘I lost my position in the constabulary yesterday.’

  He considered this, rubbing his bony, bristly chin. ‘Martha know?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘If you want my advice, you’ll go home now and tell her everything. No good has ever come from keeping secrets.’

  ‘And tell her what? That we’re to be forced out of our home the day after tomorrow? That we have nowhere to go?’

  ‘You’ll find somewhere.’

  ‘Will I? I have about two pounds to my name and no likelihood of employment. If Cornwallis has bullied your father into banging his drum, he’ll do his best to spike my chances with anyone else I go to.’

  ‘Look, if you and your family need somewhere to put your heads down for the next few days, you can stay here with me.’

  Knox looked at the old man. ‘But your son has made it clear you’re to have nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Let me deal with my son.’

  Farther along the lane, almost in front of their cottage, was a lacquered brougham attended by liveried footmen. The four horses that drew it were stationary, snorting in the breeze. As Knox approached the brougham, the door swung open and Cornwallis leant out of the shadows. He beckoned Knox to join him.

  The interior smelled of damp clothes and pipe tobacco. There was a layer of hay on the floor. Cornwallis was wearing riding boots, tan breeches and a black velvet frock-coat.

  ‘I’m sorely disappointed in you, boy. Sorely disappointed. I thought that you and I had an understanding.’

  Knox stared down at the wet hay. He knew that whatever he said would only make a bad situation worse.

  ‘Well, what’s done is done and now we’ll all have to live with the consequences of your stupidity.’

  ‘I’ve lost my position at the constabulary and I’m to be evicted from my home.’ Knox looked up at the aristocrat. ‘How does your predicament compare to that?’

  ‘I’ll not be spoken to in such an impudent manner, boy. Nor do I have to justify my decisions to someone of your station.’

  Knox was about to ask Cornwallis what he was so afraid of – why he had tried so hard to bury the murder inquiry – but he managed to stop himself.

  ‘What I do need to know is how is you were able to identify the deceased as a police detective from Scotland Yard.’

  Knox shuffled uncomfortably on the cushionless seat. ‘You’ve taken my job and my home. Why should I help you now?’

  Cornwallis broke into a gummy grin. ‘You’re forgetting my benevolence towards your mother and father.’

  ‘You would throw them out too? A woman who’s served you loyally and without question for forty years? What kind of a monster are you?’

  Cornwallis’s eyes narrowed, his mouth hardening. ‘Now I’m prepared to overlook your impetuous behaviour just this once. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.’

  Knox fell into a sullen silence. The aristocrat had him in the palm of his hand and they both knew it.

  ‘Your misfortunes are wholly self-inflicted, but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t also say that they bring me deep personal anguish.’ Cornwallis waited. ‘I asked you a question, sir. I should like an answer.’

  Knox stared out of the mud-stained window, wondering whether Martha was at home. If she was, she would have seen the horses and brougham.

  ‘The deceased took a room at the New Forge Inn in Dundrum. I found letters there, written to him by his son.’ Knox decided not to mention the pistol and knife which he’d also found, or the two daguerreotypes.

  ‘I should like to see those letters.’

  Knox looked at the old man and felt pure hatred welling up inside him. ‘Why are you so concerned about the death of a man you dismissed as a vagrant?’

  Cornwallis’s face seemed to shrink. ‘One word from me, boy, and your mother will be driven from her home. Please don’t underestimate my willingness to do what is necessary.’

  Knox reached inside his greatcoat and produced the letters. He had intended to keep them from his superiors at the constabulary but that didn’t matter now. Better to try to limit the damage, make certain that his mother and brothers didn’t suffer the same fate that would befall Martha and James. Cornwallis took the letters but didn’t inspect them.

  ‘If I find you’ve held anything back from me, I’ll be seriously displeased. Your family will learn of my displeasure also.’ Cornwallis used his walking cane to bang the roof of the brougham.

  The door swung open and one of the footmen appeared. ‘Now get out of my sight.’

  ‘You’ve taken my livelihood. At least allow me to remain in my home.’

  ‘That, sir, is a courtesy I am already bestowing on your family. Do not expect me to extend the same generosity to you.’

  Knox climbed out of the carriage. As soon as he’d done so, the door slammed closed and the driver took up the reins and shouted at the horses. The brougham lurched forward and Knox watched as it rattled away down the track.

  Martha was waiting for him by the front door.

  ‘God, Michael. What have you done?’ She looked him up and down, noticing his
shabby clothes.

  Knox blinked and stood by the gate, not wanting Martha to see that he was on the verge of tears.

  THIRTEEN

  SATURDAY, 21 NOVEMBER 1846

  Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales

  Jonah Hancock announced that a letter had been delivered that morning to the offices of the Merthyr Guardian and that the editor – who had been told what to do but not why – had forwarded it to the Castle. Pyke took it from Hancock and carefully inspected the writing. The style matched that of the original letter. The message was simple. Twenty thousand pounds in banknotes was to be left in the first-class carriage of the train for Cardiff departing at nine o’clock on Monday morning. The man delivering the suitcase of money was not to travel on the train. Failure to follow these instructions would result in the death of William Hancock. If these instructions were followed, William would arrive at Merthyr station on the eleven o’clock service from Cardiff. Pyke read the letter again. There was no reference to Scottish Cattle.

  ‘My guess would be that it’s genuine,’ Pyke said, glancing around the dining-room table.

  ‘That’s what we thought, too,’ Zephaniah said. ‘Same handwriting as the initial letter.’

  ‘So what do you think? What do you want to do?’ This time Pyke directed his question at Jonah Hancock, but it was Cathy who answered.

  ‘My husband says he wants to move the rendezvous spot to China – of all places.’ Her frustration was palpable.

  ‘China?’

  Jonah Hancock reddened. ‘There’s one way into China and one way out. This way we can get enough men on the ground to control the territory.’

  Pyke shook his head. ‘Out of the question. First, it’s too dangerous. I heard that one of the bullies, Ben Griffiths, robbed John Wylde at gunpoint yesterday. Shot off his hand, too. Wylde will try to retaliate. There’s no way we can guarantee your son’s safety in that kind of environment.’ Clearly Jonah Hancock hadn’t heard about the trouble. He looked appalled.

  ‘And second?’ Zephaniah said, stirring milk into the coffee that one of the servants had poured.