Bloody Winter pm-5

by Andrew Pepper

  Patting Copper, his three-legged mastiff, on the head, Pyke poured a cup of tea and sat down at the table. Perhaps it would do him good to get out of London for a while. He took a sip of tea and thought about the difference a thousand pounds would make to his bank balance.

  Pyke knocked on the door of the Commissioner’s private chambers and waited for Sir Richard Mayne to answer.

  Mayne was sitting behind his polished, well-ordered desk. He looked relaxed and was talking to Benedict Pierce, the Assistant Commissioner. They stopped speaking as soon as Pyke stepped into the room, their eyes following him as he crossed the floor. Without saying a word, Pyke took out the letter he’d received from Jonah Hancock and placed it on the desk in front of Mayne. Now he was glad that Cathy hadn’t written it: the ironmaster’s sanction gave the mission additional legitimacy.

  The Commissioner had silver hair, a firm mouth and quick, intelligent eyes. He had been supportive of Pyke mostly because he’d argued for the establishment of the Detective Branch and couldn’t afford for it to fail. Still, their respective vision of the work detectives should perform was fundamentally at odds: Pyke had always argued that good detective work was founded upon the gathering of information from the criminal classes while Mayne worried that these encounters would inevitably corrupt the detectives under Pyke’s command. Mayne could be taciturn but he was fair. Pierce, on the other hand, was a punctilious man who had climbed the greasy pole through a combination of flattery and viciousness. Pyke had hoped that his appointment as Assistant Commissioner — the youngest man to have held this post — might have mellowed Pierce, but the evidence pointed to the contrary. It was no secret that Pyke and Pierce despised one another and Pyke didn’t doubt that if the man came upon something he could use against him, he would do so without a second thought.

  Mayne passed the letter to Pierce and waited for him to read it. ‘I’ve met Hancock’s father, Zephaniah,’ he said, when Pierce had finished. ‘The ironworks they own is one of the largest in the country.’

  Pyke just nodded. Mayne understood, without having to be told, that the kidnapping had wider political ramifications.

  ‘So you think it’s important that you attend to this business personally?’ Mayne said, cautiously.

  ‘Of course he does,’ Pierce exclaimed. ‘This man is offering to pay him a thousand pounds.’

  Ignoring this outburst, Mayne stroked his chin, trying to assess the situation. ‘Why did he write in person to you, Detective-inspector?’

  Pyke explained that he’d known Hancock’s wife and that he’d met Hancock himself just prior to the wedding five years earlier.

  ‘You must have made an impression on him.’ Mayne waited and added, ‘Or her.’

  That drew a slight smirk from Pierce. Pyke decided that the remark didn’t warrant a response.

  ‘Still, I’m inclined to approve the request — on the grounds that it’s in the national interest.’ Mayne turned to Pierce. ‘Benedict?’

  Pyke could see this had put Pierce in a difficult position. If he argued against it, he would be going against Mayne’s wishes.

  ‘I agree.’ Pierce looked up at Pyke and smiled. ‘I’m sure the Detective Branch can cope in the detective-inspector’s absence.’

  This was something Pyke hadn’t considered — that Pierce might use his absence as an opportunity to interfere.

  ‘Jack Whicher is more than capable of overseeing things until I return.’ Pyke knew that Whicher — the ablest of his detective-sergeants — wouldn’t give Pierce the time of day.

  ‘I don’t doubt that he is,’ Pierce said, swatting a fly with his hand. ‘But we don’t need to rush into a decision right away, do we?’

  ‘If I have your approval,’ Pyke said, addressing Mayne, ‘I intend to leave at once on the afternoon train to Bristol.’ He’d already looked into the journey: he would stop and see Felix in Keynsham, then from Bristol he would catch a boat to Cardiff and take a train from there to Merthyr.

  ‘Detective-sergeant Whicher has always struck me as a very capable detective.’ Mayne drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. ‘How long do you imagine you’ll be away?’

  ‘It depends what I find when I get there.’ Pyke paused. ‘A month maybe.’

  ‘That long?’ Mayne regarded him sceptically.

  Pyke reached out, took the letter and put it into the pocket of the frock-coat he’d just purchased from his tailor.

  ‘If you’re successful,’ Pierce said, ‘you’ll be expected to register your reward with the Returns Office.’

  ‘If I’m successful, a young boy’s life will have been saved.’

  Pierce’s face reddened but he said nothing.

  ‘I know one of the magistrates in Merthyr,’ Mayne interrupted. ‘A fellow called Sir Clancy Smyth — a good sort, from an old Anglo-Irish family.’ He stood up, walked around his desk and accompanied Pyke to the door. ‘Pass on my best wishes and tell him you have my fullest support.’ He offered Pyke his hand and Pyke shook it.

  Later, Pyke came upon Benedict Pierce waiting for him in the corridor.

  ‘I just came to wish you happy travels.’

  Pyke came to a halt a yard from where Pierce was standing and studied his face for a moment. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.’

  Pierce didn’t move. He folded his arms, the smile curdling at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Is there something else you want to say?’ Pyke was a head taller than Pierce and stepped forward into the space between them.

  ‘We both know why you’re so keen to take this assignment. Don’t think Sir Richard is blind to your motives, either.’

  Pyke was about to say something but thought better of it. He went to open the door to his office.

  ‘Pyke?’

  Pyke tried to keep his irritation in check. ‘Are you still here?’

  But Pierce had moved off in the direction of the stairs.

  Pyke caught the two thirty from Paddington and broke his journey in Bath, where he took the slower train to Keynsham. He arrived there after dark and made his way to the church, St John’s, in the middle of the town. In the vestry, he found Martin Jakes attending to one of his parishioners. The elderly curate was dressed in a black cassock and when he spotted Pyke he extricated himself from the conversation and bustled over to greet him, smiling and shaking his head. ‘You should have told us you were coming. Have you been to the vicarage yet?’

  When Pyke said he had not, Jakes informed him that they would go at once, adding that Felix was proving to be a most able student.

  Pyke nodded but secretly he’d been hoping that Felix’s enthusiasm for a life in the Church might have waned in the months since he’d been there. This was not a reflection of the affection Pyke felt for Jakes — who he’d met a few years earlier and who, uniquely in his opinion, combined religious belief with a real concern for the poor. It was just that he hadn’t envisaged Felix might actually want to become a vicar, and this brought into sharper focus his own lack of faith: not simply agnosticism, which he presumed described the perspective of most people, but a scepticism that bordered on total hostility. He’d always viewed the established Church as a bloated organisation intent only on maintaining its own privileged position in the world.

  It was a five-minute walk from the church to the vicarage. There, he found Felix where Jakes had said he would be: sitting at a davenport in a sparsely furnished upstairs room, a copy of the Bible set before him. Felix greeted Pyke with a hug and berated him for not warning them of his visit. Now sixteen, Felix was nearly as tall as Pyke and he’d filled out considerably. With curly chestnut-brown hair, a clean-shaven face, soft skin, blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, Felix had turned into a good-looking young man. He listened carefully as Pyke explained why he was there, and then peppered Pyke with questions about their home in Islington, Copper, Mrs Booth, their housekeeper, and Pyke’s life since they’d said goodbye on the station platform at Paddington station six months earlier.
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  Pyke hadn’t written to Felix nearly as often as the lad had written to him and he’d been unduly nervous about this reunion. Part of him had been hoping that, having spent six months under Jakes’s tutelage, Felix might have become disillusioned by the prospect of a life in the Church and would consider coming back to London — to take up an apprenticeship in, say, business or politics. Looking at Felix, Pyke knew immediately that this wasn’t the case and it heartened and depressed him in equal measure. He didn’t want his son to be unhappy but he knew that the more seriously Felix took his apprenticeship, the less likely he was to return home. Rather than admitting that he had missed Felix, Pyke told him that Copper had pined for weeks, which was true, and that the house was not the same without him, which was also true.

  Felix studied him for a moment. ‘You look exhausted. Are you quite sure everything is all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. I’ve probably been working too hard.’

  ‘You always work too hard.’

  ‘I’ve been promised some leave. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I stopped here for a few days on my way back from Wales.’

  ‘You know you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. We won’t even try to make a Christian of you.’ Felix laughed uneasily.

  Pyke rubbed his temples. He’d experienced some pain during the journey from London but now it had developed into a full-blown headache. Trying to ignore it, he gestured at the Bible on the davenport. ‘How are your studies progressing?’

  ‘Good. And the Detective Branch?’

  ‘Good too.’ They stared at one another, unsure what to say next.

  Pyke sat down on Felix’s bed and looked around the room. He hadn’t intended to say anything about Shaw but suddenly he felt compelled to mention what had happened. ‘About a month ago… I killed a man, shot him in the back. Turns out, he was one of my men. Detective-sergeant Shaw. I’m sure you met him once. A good man and a good detective.’

  Felix sat down on the bed next to him. ‘So what happened?’ he asked finally.

  ‘We were raiding a warehouse in the East End. I thought he was one of the gang we were there to arrest.’

  ‘It was an accident, then.’

  ‘I shouted at him to stop but obviously he didn’t hear me.’

  Felix handed Pyke a handkerchief and Pyke took it and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  ‘Was there any inquiry?’ he asked gently.

  ‘The death was ruled an accident.’

  ‘That’s something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Shaw left behind a wife and a young boy.’

  Pyke let his stare drift towards the window, the unfamiliar darkness. He imagined Felix lying there at night. Did the lad ever think of home? ‘Do you think this will be your life, then?’ He tried to keep the disapproval from his voice.

  Felix regarded him with caution. ‘I like what I’m doing, I suppose. I like the discipline; knuckling down to something I think is worthwhile. It isn’t easy or comforting, though: giving yourself up to something, someone, you can’t even see. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’

  As Pyke listened, he thought about how much the lad had grown up. ‘You seem to be happy.’

  ‘It hadn’t really crossed my mind, whether I’m happy or not. But now you mention it, I suppose I am.’ Felix looked at him and smiled. ‘You never told me why you’re going to Wales.’

  ‘A child has been kidnapped.’

  ‘A child?’ Felix’s expression changed. ‘How old?’

  ‘Four or thereabouts.’ Pyke paused. ‘I used to know the mother and father.’

  ‘It must be a terrible time for them.’

  ‘It made me think of what happened to you and your mother, all those years ago.’

  Felix’s face softened and suddenly the years fell away. ‘I still think about her, you know. Sometimes I can hear her voice, the way she laughed, and but I can’t picture what she looked like.’

  ‘You were five years old at the time.’

  ‘I know. But still, she was my mother.’

  This was the longest conversation they’d had about Emily in years. ‘You look a lot like her, you know. Your eyes and your nose, especially.’

  Felix stood up, agitated, and then sat down. ‘I wish we had a painting of her.’

  ‘I tried to persuade her to sit for one but she told me she was too busy.’ Pyke laughed.

  Then Felix grabbed hold of Pyke’s wrist and squeezed. ‘Find this boy and return him to his parents.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend to do.’ Pyke tried to show his gratitude at this unexpected show of support as Felix had never expressed much interest in his work.

  ‘I know you will.’

  Pyke thought about mentioning the thousand-pound reward but stopped himself at the last moment.

  Later, on the platform, while they waited for the arrival of the Bristol-bound service, they were joined by Jakes, who assured Pyke he was welcome to stay for as long as he liked on his return from Wales. Taking Felix to one side, Pyke put his hand on the lad’s shoulder and said he hoped — one day — to attend his ordination ceremony. It was the first time he’d given encouragement to Felix’s decision. Felix just smiled. The train pulled into the station and blanketed the platform with steam. Kissing Felix on the forehead, Pyke whispered that he loved him and then took his suitcase and boarded the train. As it lurched forward, Pyke opened the window and waved at Felix and Jakes. It felt as if he were leaving a part of his life on the platform. You have to let them go, Godfrey had warned him shortly before his death. Now Pyke knew what he had meant.

  FOUR

  THURSDAY, 7 JANUARY 1847

  Cashel, Co. Tipperary

  K nox woke suddenly, startled by a noise beneath the window. He lay there, listening to his wife sleeping and to the sound of raindrops pattering against the windowpanes. He waited for the dog to bark but nothing happened so he climbed out of bed, taking care not to wake Martha, put on his robe, and looked at their child, who was fast asleep. Downstairs, Knox unlocked the door and peered out into the yard. The dog looked up at him from the shelter they had built and began to wag its tail. Knox stepped outside and patted the brown mutt on the head. It was barely light and the clouds overheard were ominous. At least it wasn’t as cold as the previous two days, he thought, as he lit a fire in the back room. The dog joined him, even though it wasn’t meant to come inside. Knox patted it on the head again and wondered how long they could keep the animal. It was useful to have a guard dog, Knox supposed, but they could barely take care of themselves, and another mouth to feed was a luxury. He had heard stories of stray dogs being killed for their meat, but as he patted the midriff of the animal at his feet, it struck him that Tom — that was what they’d decided to call him, after Thomas Davis — wouldn’t make much of a meal.

  Getting dressed, Knox turned his thoughts to the dead body he’d brought back from Cornwallis’s estate. The day before, he had petitioned in vain for the sub-inspector to pay for an undertaker to embalm the body, at least to preserve it until someone had identified the dead man. But he had been told in no uncertain terms to get rid of it, something he’d promised to do as soon as he got to the barracks. If no one identified the man, Knox knew that the inquiry was as good as dead.

  Upstairs he heard James cry, and almost immediately, his wife’s footsteps crossing the bedroom to comfort him. Knox boiled a kettle of water, poured it into their mugs, along with some crushed nettles from the yard, and placed a saucepan of water on the range. Then he took the nettles out of the mugs, discarded them and measured half a cup of Indian corn before tossing the grains into the saucepan. His thoughts turned to the cured meat which he had given away to the man who’d lost his family. He’d done so because he’d felt sorry for him, and because it had seemed like the right thing to do, but now he regretted it. He had his own family to think about.

  He took a mug of nettle tea to his wife, who was breastfeeding James.

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nbsp; ‘It’s the coroner’s inquest today.’ Knox looked at her and James and waited for her to answer.

  ‘And then?’ she asked, finally.

  Knox nodded. She was quite right. The verdict wasn’t in doubt: murder by a person or persons unknown. How could it be declared otherwise? The real question was whether Hastings would want the matter investigated further.

  James gurgled a little and continued to suckle on her breast.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not my decision.’

  ‘Then why are you so worried about it?’ Martha tried, not entirely successfully, to keep the judgement from her tone.

  The previous day Knox had trudged around the inns and guest houses of Cashel, asking if anyone had taken in a man — very possibly an Englishman — whose description matched that of the corpse. No one admitted to having done so.

  He stood there, staring out of the window that overlooked the yard. ‘I can’t explain it, Martha. I just feel like I owe it to him.’

  Knox could tell that his wife didn’t like his answer.

  ‘I understand, Michael.’ Her expression softened. ‘Remember, we’ve been married nearly five years now.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Moore gave you orders to drop the matter. What do you think he’ll do if he finds out you’re still digging around?’

  Knox saw her discomfort. It was true that Martha was just as vociferous in her criticism of Moore as he was, at least in private, but now there was something else in her eyes. Could it be fear?

  ‘If I say and do nothing, that man will have died alone and unmourned. Is that what you would want?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She sighed and turned her attention back to the child. ‘But I don’t see how this one man is any different from the countless other men, women and children who are starving to death even as we’re talking.’

  Knox stared down at his muddy boots and listened to the rain outside.

  ‘What you’re doing, what you’re proposing to do, is right. I’m not denying that. It’s just we have other things, other people, to think about.’