‘I want to know why you ordered Jones and his men to search all the houses on Quarry Row and Bathesda Gardens.’
Smyth reddened and gestured at the servant to leave them. ‘I would remind you who you’re addressing, sir.’
Pyke took a deep breath and tried to work out why Smyth might’ve taken it upon himself to order the police to the Irish stronghold of lower Merthyr. Sir Richard Mayne had described him as a good sort, a view supported by Johns, but this decision seemed careless to the point of recklessness.
‘If you don’t order your men to pull back, there will be a full-scale riot. Is that what you want?’
Smyth’s face whitened. ‘That bad, eh?’
‘You need to rescind that order, send word to Jones immediately. Then you can tell me why you took the decision.’
Clearly Smyth didn’t like his authority being questioned but the thought of presiding over a riot was even less appealing. He called in a clerk and whispered a few words in his ear. When the man had left, he turned back to Pyke. ‘There. Are you satisfied now?’
‘But why did you send your men to lower Merthyr? Why not Irish Row in Dowlais?’ Pyke thought about the body they had identified there, a man called Deeney.
‘I don’t need to share my information, or my reasons, with you.’ Smyth wandered over to the window.
‘As far as I understand, the family has agreed to pay the ransom. Why put the boy’s life at risk by trying to capture the gang before any money has changed hands?’
Smyth turned around, a frown etched on his face. ‘And you think that’s right? To cave in to criminals?’
‘If it were my son, I’d pay to get him back. Then I’d go after the men responsible and make them wish they hadn’t been born.’
Smyth didn’t seem to have heard him. ‘Places like Quarry Row and China are blots on the landscape. Perhaps if they were destroyed, a new Merthyr could rise up from the ashes.’
Pyke shook his head, incredulous. ‘And in the meantime, a young boy’s life is hanging in the balance?’
‘I had my reasons, Detective-inspector. For the moment that’s all I’m prepared to say.’
‘And if the boy turns up dead?’
‘I’m happy to live with the consequences of my actions, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ He gestured at the door.
Pyke remained where he was. ‘We should be on the same side, you and I, but standing here, all I can think about is that I find more common ground with the Hancocks.’
Ignoring him, Smyth went to open the door, but Pyke wasn’t quite finished. ‘Did you know that the Hancocks paid a bully from China to break the strike a few years ago and the police stood by and did nothing? And now that same man seems to be able to operate in China with impunity.’
‘If I had the manpower, Detective-inspector, China wouldn’t even exist and men like John Wylde wouldn’t have a stone to hide under.’ Smyth paused then added, ‘One moment you seem to be defending the Hancocks, the next accusing them. Perhaps, sir, it is you who needs to work out what your intentions are.’
‘Tell me more about John Wylde.’
John Johns rubbed his chin. They were in the taproom of the Bunch of Grapes on Castle Street. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I was told he owns all of the brothels in China.’
‘He’s carved up the territory with Benjamin Griffiths. Wylde has seized control of prostitution, Griffiths the gambling. Wylde likes to regard himself as the emperor, though.’
‘Emperor?’
‘Of China.’ Johns looked around the crowded taproom. ‘It’s a self-appointed title.’
Pyke took a sip of his ale. It tasted like mud. ‘I’ve been wondering why people call the place China.’
‘No one really knows. The Celestial Empire. It’s somewhere… different, alien. Where the normal rules don’t apply.’
‘There’s this woman who serves behind the counter at the Three Horse Shoes. Perhaps you’ve seen her. She used to belong to Wylde. Then he found out she was fucking Ben Griffiths and he poured hot oil over her face.’
Johns shrugged. ‘Irrespective of their business arrangement, I do know there’s no love lost between Wylde and Griffiths.’ He sat forward, arms resting on the table. ‘Question is, why are you so interested in him?’
‘You were the one who put me on to him,’ Pyke said. ‘You told me the Hancocks used him and his men to break the last strike.’
‘I thought you were here to find the Hancock boy.’
‘I am — and I keep coming back to the two ransom demands, both apparently from Scottish Cattle.’
‘No one I’ve talked to believes the Bull would do something like that.’
‘I know. That’s what I’ve heard too. But think about it. If they haven’t got the boy, then someone’s trying to blame them. If they do have the boy, the Hancocks must have done something to provoke them. Either way, this is about more than a five-year-old child. I’ve tried to get people — workers — to talk to me but they’re scared.’
‘Because of the Hancocks’ influence with Wylde and his men?’
Pyke nodded. ‘If we could give Wylde something else to worry about, I might have more success persuading folk to talk to me.’
‘I’d say they’re more afraid of the Hancocks than they are of a bully like Wylde.’
‘Maybe so, but there’s something rotten in this whole business, and the sooner things are out in the open the better.’
Johns didn’t disagree. ‘By the way, I went back to Dowlais yesterday afternoon, this time to the barracks there. I’m afraid I didn’t come across the man I saw up on the mountain that day.’
‘You’re sure he wasn’t there? Perhaps you just didn’t see him.’
‘I watched their drill. The full regiment was present, no absentees. Believe me, I would’ve recognised him.’
‘Well, thanks for trying.’
Johns acknowledged this with a small nod. ‘It seems to me that what you’re actually looking for is a way of rattling Wylde’s cage.’
‘That’s right. I was trying to think of a way of setting him and Griffiths against one another.’
Now Johns was smiling. ‘May the best man win?’
‘Exactly.’
They waited for the pot-boy to hurry past them.
‘Actually, I’ve heard a rumour that Wylde keeps some of his money hidden under floorboards in the back room of a beer shop in China.’
Pyke saw the gleam in Johns’ eyes. ‘Who in their right mind would try and take it?’
‘Exactly,’ Johns said, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his empty beer glass.
‘What’s this place called?’
‘The Boot. You could gut a pig on the floor without causing any noticeable change in the surroundings.’
‘Sounds delightful. What do you say we go there and take a look?’
John Wylde scratched a boil in the centre of his forehead but didn’t for a moment take his small, quick eyes off the pistol Pyke was aiming at him. He seemed comfortable despite the situation, the fact that Pyke and Johns, both with large black handkerchiefs pulled up over their faces to conceal their identities, had stormed into the pub brandishing pistols. He was a smaller man than Pyke had been expecting and was rather nondescript in person. Still, it was clear that every man in the taproom deferred to him and when Pyke jabbed the end of his pistol into Wylde’s neck, it was as if the entire room gave a collective gasp of astonishment. No one treated the emperor in this fashion, certainly not on his own territory. For his part, Wylde took the invasion in his stride, but Pyke could see that the small man was just biding his time, waiting for a momentary lapse in Pyke’s concentration.
While Pyke kept Wylde occupied, he could hear Johns tearing up floorboards at the back of the building. Pyke’s presence in Merthyr was not a secret and perhaps a man as well connected as Wylde would have heard about him, but Pyke doubted whether he would have thought a policeman capable of carrying out this kind of robbery
in broad daylight. For the plan to work, Wylde had to think that he and Johns were emissaries of his rival, Ben Griffiths.
Pyke took his eye off the so-called emperor only for a few seconds but it was all the man needed. Wylde lunged at him brandishing a cudgel that had suddenly appeared in his hand. He missed with his first swing, which gave Pyke just enough time to raise the barrel of his pistol and pull the trigger, the ball-shot almost taking off Wylde’s hand at the wrist, and spraying the counter behind him with tiny fragments of blood and bone. The bully’s screams filled the room but no one else moved. He had fallen to one knee and was clutching his shattered hand.
Johns appeared at the doorway and held up a leather satchel. Pyke let him go first and then followed him through the front door. They walked quickly to the end of the alley then ran. A minute or two later, they were out of China and crossing Jackson’s Bridge.
‘I took what I could fit into the satchel,’ Johns said, panting, once they had crossed the bridge.
‘There was more?’
‘We got most of it,’ he said. ‘Enough to send Wylde into a frenzy.’
‘He’ll have to recover from his pistol wound first.’
Lines appeared across Johns’ forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘He took a swing at me with a cudgel. I shot his hand.’ Pyke shrugged. ‘It will work in our favour.’
‘He’ll tear China apart looking for his money.’
‘All we have to do is make sure he finds what he’s looking for.’ Pyke gestured at the leather satchel.
Johns looked down at the river flowing beneath them. ‘You realise we’ve opened Pandora’s box?’
Pyke joined him at the iron rail. ‘It couldn’t be done any other way, not without the sanction of the magistrate and the police.’
‘We’ll have blood on our hands before this thing is finished.’ Johns turned to Pyke. ‘Are you ready for that?’
‘To be honest, I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t blood on my hands.’
Jonah Hancock was apoplectic when he heard about the police action in Bathesda Gardens and Quarry Row and spent a few minutes pacing around the drawing room in ever decreasing circles, venting his spleen. Had the police found his son? Who had authorised the action and why had no one consulted him? Didn’t the police understand that the raid could put the boy’s life in danger? Rumours were sure to circulate regarding the object of the search. Soon they would be inundated by possible sightings and people trying to claim that they had taken the boy.
‘Sit down, it’s exhausting just looking at you,’ Zephaniah barked from his armchair. ‘This all came from Smyth, didn’t it?’ The question was directed at Pyke, not his son.
Pyke nodded. ‘He would have learned of our discoveries at the house on Irish Row from Jones.’
‘This was a shot across our bows,’ Zephaniah said quietly. ‘It had nothing to do with finding the boy.’
Pyke explained that he’d persuaded Smyth to order his men back before the situation had spiralled out of control. ‘But it did make me wonder about the enmity that exists between him and your family.’
Jonah exchanged a wary look with his father. Eventually it was Zephaniah who said, ‘Perhaps it’s a simple case of envy — and money. At one time, I suppose, his would have been the foremost family in the town.’
‘I got the impression he thinks that the ironmasters aren’t contributing enough to the general well-being of the place.’
‘We pay the rate. It’s up to the Board to determine how it’s spent.’
Pyke thought about the lack of civic amenities but decided not to say anything more.
‘I take it they didn’t find anything,’ Jonah said. ‘Anything to indicate my son’s presence on Quarry Row…’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Jonah started to pace again. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘We wait.’
‘For someone to respond to the notice in the newspaper?’
‘For the kidnappers to get back in contact.’
‘Meanwhile my son has to spend another lonely night in some godforsaken place…’
‘We’ll hear something soon.’
‘And if we don’t?’
Pyke didn’t answer.
Pyke knew that sleep was beyond him and decided to take some night air. He found his way to the walled garden and sat down on the bench. The night was clear and cold and the sky was filled with stars. Within a minute or so, he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Without turning, he knew who it was. The first thing he smelled was the gin on her breath. Wordlessly she sat down next to him. They remained silent for a moment or two.
‘Sometimes I look at myself and think I’m not a good person.’ Cathy edged a little closer to him.
‘I’m not sure I’ve ever judged people on the basis of their moral fibre.’ Pyke half-turned and saw her profile silhouetted in the moonlight.
‘I married him when I was eighteen. I agreed to the marriage because he was wealthy. Isn’t that a terrible thing?’
‘Why don’t you leave him?’
‘I’ve thought about it. I might have come close to actually doing it. But I wouldn’t go without my son, and Jonah would never let me leave with him.’
‘And now this has happened.’
An owl hooted in the distance. ‘In one sense, I suppose, it has brought us closer.’
‘And in another?’
Cathy laughed softly. ‘In my good moments I know my husband wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise our son’s life.’
Pyke said nothing, waited for her to continue.
‘In others, I wonder whether my father-in-law may be trying to use the situation to his advantage.’
‘In what sense?’
‘I don’t know.’ She turned to Pyke and tried to smile. ‘My husband has a complicated relationship with his father. He’s the elder but Zephaniah always makes it clear he favours his younger brother, Richard. As a result Jonah is always trying to prove himself. I suspect Zephaniah regards Jonah, and by extension our son, as weak. I know for a fact he’s always frowned on the way William cleaves to me.’
As Pyke listened, he tried to work out how the situation might benefit Zephaniah.
‘You do believe he’s out there, don’t you?’ Cathy added, turning to him. ‘That my son is still alive.’
Pyke could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. Sensing what was happening, he tried to move away. ‘We can’t let ourselves believe otherwise. Your son is valuable to the kidnappers only as long as he’s safe and well.’
‘I do know that.’ She squeezed his hand and edged closer to him again. ‘But it’s nice to be reminded.’ Their shoulders were practically touching.
‘I’ve often thought how it would be if you ever came here to visit: what it would be like between us.’ She threaded her arm through his.
Pyke exhaled quietly. ‘I knew your father a long time ago.’
‘So?’
‘Whatever you think you might feel for me, it’s just nostalgia — and loneliness.’
Turning fully towards him, she slipped her arm around his neck, brushing her fingers through his hair. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispered, guiding him into an embrace.
It was a scalding, breathy kiss and its effect was like a kick to the guts. She pulled away and looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘Were you speaking for yourself just now?’
‘I meant I’m old enough to be your father.’ Pyke didn’t say it was just plain lust on his part, which would have been closer to the truth.
‘So’s my husband.’ Her lips were wet. She reached out and touched him on the cheek.
Suddenly he heard a twig snap and whatever had existed between them in the moment was broken. ‘Someone’s out there.’
‘ Where? ’
‘Over in those trees.’ Pyke saw something move in the shadows. He jumped up but whoever it was had disappeared by the time he reached the first line of trees. Once he had satisfied himself that
this person wasn’t simply hiding near by, Pyke went to rejoin Cathy on the bench.
‘Are you quite sure it wasn’t just an animal? A fox, perhaps?’ Cathy was shivering from the cold.
‘No, it was a man.’
‘And do you think he saw us?’
‘I don’t know.’ Pyke turned to look at her.
Cathy seemed to have come to her senses and stood up, placing her cloak back over her head. ‘I should go.’
Pyke nodded but said nothing.
‘Come with me,’ Cathy said. ‘If we go back inside through the main entrance, even at different times, my husband will know.’ She led Pyke around to the very back of the building, the slope rising up behind them to their right, and came to a halt next to a door, concealed by a hedge, which seemed to lead not into the Castle but the side of the mountain.
Cathy opened the door and said, ‘Jonah doesn’t know I know about this. It’s how the prostitutes he fucks are smuggled into the Castle. When the place was constructed, his father had it included in the plans.’
Pyke followed her into the darkness, but once they were inside, she turned to him and said, ‘There was something I meant to ask you.’
‘Yes?’
‘It was a coat you found at the house on Irish Row, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. A winter coat.’
She nodded, as though she’d been expecting this answer. ‘I remember it was a mild day, unseasonably so.’
‘The day William was kidnapped?’
‘Yes.’ Cathy bit her lip. ‘I tried to make him wear a coat but he wouldn’t.’
‘You’re saying he wasn’t wearing that winter coat when the kidnappers seized him?’
‘I’m almost certain of it.’
‘But it was his coat? The one that turned up on Irish Row?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘So how did it get there?’
They stared at one another for a moment or two. Cathy didn’t have an answer for him.
TWELVE
WEDNESDAY, 27 JANUARY 1847
Cashel, Co. Tipperary
After a week, Knox managed to put the letter out of his mind. He hadn’t forgotten about it entirely but there were too many things to do; too many things to worry about. So when, more than two weeks after he’d sent it, he still hadn’t received a response from the son, he started to relax. Perhaps the letter had never arrived; perhaps Felix had moved address; or perhaps Knox had misunderstood the exact nature of his relationship to the deceased. Initially, when he’d heard nothing, Knox had considered writing another letter, this time to Scotland Yard, but he decided on reflection that this would have been pushing the matter too far. He had done his duty and his conscience was clear. In actuality he was glad that he’d received no letter from the son. It meant he didn’t have to worry about what Hastings would say — if and when he found out what Knox had done. Knox had been lucky not once but twice. In addition to the son’s silence, he had not been reprimanded for letting McMullan go free. Cornwallis must have forgotten to look at the list of defendants at the quarter sessions.
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