Bloody Winter pm-5

by Andrew Pepper

  ‘This trouble in China,’ Jonah said, when they had finished and were making their way out of the room. ‘Did you hear what might have set it off?’

  ‘I heard that two masked men held up a beer shop at gunpoint. They escaped with most of Wylde’s money.’

  Pyke watched the skin tighten around the ironmaster’s pale eyes.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Pyke stared at the man’s flabby face. ‘Surely you have no interest in the affairs of a couple of bullies?’

  Jonah Hancock muttered a response and left Pyke standing alone in the entrance hall.

  Pyke was about to mount a horse that had been prepared for him, when Cathy joined him outside. She was wearing a woollen coat and a lace bonnet and locks of blonde hair flapped around her face in the breeze.

  ‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said, walking beside him to the other side of the chestnut gelding.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For talking sense into my husband.’

  Pyke mounted and they walked down the first part of the driveway in silence. ‘Was he really pushing for the rendezvous to take place in China?’ he asked.

  ‘Until you put him straight,’ she replied.

  ‘And Zephaniah?’

  ‘He kept his opinions to himself.’

  ‘It’d be much easier to go after the kidnappers if you could somehow hem them in and China would be perfect for that. That’s why the kidnappers would never have agreed to the proposal.’

  They went as far as the lodge. In the weak sunlight, Cathy’s skin glowed and her hair assumed a golden hue.

  ‘About last night…’ She stared down at the ground and appeared to blush.

  ‘Cathy, you don’t have to say anything.’ Pyke was thinking about the man who’d been spying on them and whether word of their brief embrace had made it back to her husband.

  ‘Whatever happens, Pyke, don’t think badly of me,’ she whispered, then turned back towards the house.

  As he watched her walk up the driveway, Pyke wondered whether she was using him in a way he hadn’t yet realised.

  Pyke had always had a flexible attitude towards violence. He had tried to measure the merits of any course of action not against some abstract standard but according to what it might be able to achieve. He knew this meant that his moral compass was, at times, shaky and that, hypothetically speaking, heinous individual acts could be justified according to the common good. This explained his decision to rob Wylde at gunpoint, and as such he should have been ready for the sight that greeted him as soon as he, and John Johns, set foot in China.

  It was the smell of charred flesh that hit Pyke first. He could taste it at the back of his throat. An entire row of houses was smouldering, smoke still drifting out of forlorn, blackened window frames. The thatched roofs had been destroyed in the fire and two bodies were laid out in the mud, covered by a dirty sheet. The fire had been extinguished not by human hand but by the rain that had swept in off the nearby mountain. Men and women huddled in doorways, pointing at the corpses. No one seemed to know what to do.

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Prostitutes.’

  Pyke felt the rainwater leaking down the back of his neck. ‘Wylde’s?’

  ‘Wylde’s men tore apart the Green Dragon on the Pennydarren Road. I hid the money there because Griffiths is sleeping with the landlady. They found the money and killed Griffiths’s mistress by way of punishment. I’m guessing this was Griffiths’s retaliation.’

  Pyke became aware of an ache that stretched from one side of his chest to the other.

  ‘This wasn’t our doing.’ He looked over at Johns, aware of how hollow his words sounded. ‘We didn’t set light to that roof and we didn’t beat Ben Griffiths’s mistress to death.’

  Johns turned up his collar and stared at the darkening sky. ‘You think it’s going to get better after this? Wylde has probably already made his next move.’

  ‘What’s done is done.’ Pyke tried not to look at the charred remains of the two women. ‘Nothing we can do about it now.’

  ‘No? So we just let Wylde and Griffths tear each other apart and butcher women like this in the process?’

  Pyke’s throat was dry and scratchy. ‘This would’ve happened, this fight over territory, sooner or later. We just lit the touchpaper.’

  ‘And now two innocent women are dead.’

  Pyke was about to say that no one was innocent, not in a place like China, but he realised how callous that would make him sound. ‘If you prefer we can go out there, find Wylde and Griffiths, execute them, and have done with it.’

  Johns looked at him, trying to work out whether he was serious or not. ‘That how it works in London?’

  ‘Look, this is about the Hancock boy, remember. Now Wylde’s attention has been directed elsewhere, perhaps someone will talk to us.’

  Johns considered this. ‘If it is just about the boy, why not let the Hancocks pay the ransom and leave it there?’ He gestured at the corpses. ‘You’re doing this because you don’t like the notion of the Hancocks and a couple of bullies carving up the town for their own gain.’

  Pyke was surprised by the acuity of Johns’ insight. It was quite true: he was working for the Hancocks but at the same time he was tempted to rein in their influence, to clip the wings of people like them.

  ‘It’s time we left. People are starting to notice us.’ Johns waited for Pyke to catch up with him, then they retraced their steps out of China and eventually came to a halt on Jackson’s Bridge.

  ‘I like you, Pyke, and I’d like to be able to trust you.’ Johns looked down at the murky water.

  ‘But?’

  ‘I see a little of myself in you. You look at the world as it is and a part of you wants to destroy it.’

  ‘I’m just here to make sure nothing bad happens to the boy.’

  ‘In which case, why get involved in the matters of China?’

  ‘Because I think they’re related. That’s how an investigation works. You learn to trust your instincts.’

  ‘And Cathy?’

  The question took Pyke by surprise.

  ‘What about Cathy?’ he said.

  Johns turned to him suddenly. His face was glistening. ‘You’re not here for her?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re asking me about her.’

  Johns’ eyes narrowed. ‘She’s been a good friend to me. I don’t want to see her get hurt.’

  ‘And I do?’

  Johns ignored the question and set off across the bridge. This time Pyke didn’t try to follow him.

  That night, Pyke took his supper in a pub in town and slipped back into the Castle without interrupting dinner. He’d been in his room for about an hour when he heard a knock on his door.

  Cathy was wearing a nightgown and slippers. She had combed her hair and her eyes were bright and clear.

  ‘I saw you come in.’ She stepped into the room and waited for Pyke to close the door. ‘Jonah and Zephaniah didn’t. I heard them talking just now. They still think you’re out.’

  She walked towards him then stopped just in front of him. He let his gaze drift from her azure-blue eyes down her slim nose to a freckle just above her mouth. Something about this felt wrong but he was lonely and a little drunk and she hadn’t come to his room simply to talk. Pyke didn’t want to talk to her, either. He knew what he wanted and it seemed she wanted it too: not love, not marriage, but simply gratification.

  Quickly he pulled her into an embrace, and the force of it seemed to take them both by surprise. Pyke touched her skin and felt his hand quiver. He pulled the nightdress up over her head as she loosened his trousers. Cathy lay down on the bed, her golden hair spread across the white pillow. Pyke didn’t bother to take off the rest of his clothes, and as soon as he was inside her, he felt an overwhelming urge not just to pleasure himself but to annihilate her. But the harder he went at it, the more she seemed to enjoy it, until it was as if they were both pounding away at one another, a carnal act with little or no
affection behind it.

  Afterwards, they lay next to each other, staring up at the ceiling. All Pyke could think about was the twenty years that separated them and the fact that he’d complicated an already complicated situation. What would Jonah Hancock do, Pyke wondered, if he found out that he had been cuckolded?

  ‘I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had married you — and not my husband.’ Her skin smelled of sweat and sandalwood.

  ‘Me?’ Pyke tried to laugh. He didn’t really believe that her feelings for him ran deep but what she’d said made him uneasy. What if she really was holding a torch for him, as Zephaniah had suggested?

  She tapped him playfully on the arm. ‘Is it really such an abhorrent idea?’

  Pyke sat up slightly and turned towards her but before he could say anything, she reached out and pressed the tip of her finger against his lip. ‘Please don’t say it.’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘That you think what we just did was a mistake.’ Smiling, Cathy got up, picked up her nightgown and slipped it on.

  Pyke watched her for a few moments. ‘I saw John Johns earlier today. He asked me about my intentions towards you and told me he didn’t want to see you get hurt.’

  Hearing this, she stiffened slightly and turned away, so he couldn’t see her face. ‘He’s just concerned about me, as a friend.’

  Pyke sat up and pulled the sheet over his waist. ‘It made me wonder whether he likes you as more than a friend.’

  ‘Who, John? Surely not.’ But her laugh wasn’t quite convincing.

  ‘It also made me think about the man who was spying on us the other night.’

  ‘You think it might have been John?’

  Pyke watched her cross the room, to the door, her hand resting on the handle.

  ‘No, not necessarily. But I thought I’d mention it.’

  She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. ‘John isn’t interested in me for myself. Deep down, I think he despises my husband and father-in-law and sees me as a way of getting at them.’

  ‘Why would he think that?’

  But Cathy had already slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  FOURTEEN

  SATURDAY, 30 JANUARY 1847

  Cashel, Co. Tipperary

  Knox lay next to his wife, listening to her sleep, the sound of her breathing soothing him. It was early, barely light, but he had been awake for hours, thinking about what might happen to them. Closing his eyes, he remembered their wedding night and the day James had been born, the happiest of Knox’s life. They had tried to pack things up but the reality of their eviction hadn’t sunk in. He’d told Martha everything and she had let him talk, calm, not rushing to judge him. They’d both cried, then Martha had berated him, but in the end she had come around. She told him that she understood why he’d done what he’d done.

  Just before they had turned in for the night, she had gripped him, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Michael, what are we going to do? We’ve got no roof over our heads, no money, no work. And we have James to look after.’

  ‘I’ll get work,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll do what I have to. We’ll get by. You’ll see.’

  ‘ How? How will you get work, Michael? People are dying in their thousands. There is no work.’ She had paused then, perhaps aware that her tone had been harsher than she’d intended.

  Now he sensed Martha stirring next to him and held his breath. He didn’t want her to wake up, not just yet. They had six hours to clear the cottage and Warburton would treat them humanely; and Jeremy Brittas had offered them a bed for the night. That would do until they found somewhere else.

  ‘But where, Michael?’ Martha had said yesterday, once it became apparent that no one would even rent them a room.

  Knox had spent the afternoon knocking on doors and Brittas’s was the only offer made to him. Somehow Cornwallis had poisoned everyone in the town against them.

  Martha rolled over to face him now, eyes still closed. ‘Hold me,’ she whispered. ‘Just hold me and don’t say anything.’

  Knox put his arms around her and pulled her close. It was warm under the blanket, warm and dry. All the things he had taken for granted.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me before, Michael? What did you imagine I’d do?’ Her tone was inquisitive rather than accusatory.

  ‘I was ashamed. I couldn’t stand the thought I’d let you down. Let us down. James, especially.’

  ‘So what do you think Moore’s trying to hide?’ Martha said, suddenly. She broke their embrace and rested her head on her elbow.

  ‘One of the labourers at the estate told me that Moore knew the dead man. Said that when Moore first saw the body, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.’

  ‘Does Moore know you know this?’

  Knox shook his head. ‘The only way out of this mess may be for you to keep digging.’ She pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. ‘You’ve nothing left to lose.’

  ‘No. What I need to do is forget about Moore, forget about the murdered man. I’ll find work and a new place for us to live.’

  Martha’s smile was sad. ‘Don’t you get it, Michael? Moore’s seen to it that no one will rent us a home. Who on earth will give you a job?’

  Knox nodded mutely. He had said what he thought Martha wanted to hear but he had reached the same conclusion.

  ‘Yesterday, when you went into town, I took James to see Father Mackey in Clonoulty.’

  Knox sat up. Her visits to Clonoulty were the only thing they really argued about. He just didn’t understand why she kept going, when she professed to be ambivalent about the Church. ‘You didn’t mention that yesterday.’

  ‘I’m not the only one who’s kept their silence, am I?’ Her stare was defiant but there was no real anger in her tone.

  ‘So why did you go to see Mackey?’

  ‘Because he said if we were ever in need, his door would always be open.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘He’s not in Asenath Moore’s pocket.’

  Knox felt his indignation weaken. ‘He’d even take in a dirty Protestant like me?’

  ‘No one’s outside of Moore’s reach, Michael.’ Martha bit her lip, wouldn’t look at him. ‘Not even a man like Father Mackey.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me, Martha?’

  ‘Father Mackey denounced Moore from the pulpit. Since then, his home’s been broken into, his horse stolen and the windows of his church shattered.’

  Knox was starting to see where this was going. ‘Let me guess. He said he’d take you and James in, but not me.’

  ‘It would just be for a few weeks, Michael, until this whole thing has blown over. You could use the money you’ve saved…’

  ‘What about old man Brittas? Remember, he offered us a roof over our heads, too.’

  Martha smiled and shook her head. ‘You can be so naive, Michael. He’s an old man. As soon as Brittas finds out we’re staying at the lodge, that’ll be that. He’ll have us out of there in no time.’

  Knox felt a wave of bitterness swelling up inside him. ‘So you go to Father Mackey and I sleep in a hedgerow.’

  ‘Better you in a hedgerow than our son. You think he’d survive even one night out in the cold?’

  Knox fell silent, another pang of shame. Martha saw it and reached out, touched his cheek. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I love you, Michael, I really do. And it would just be for a few weeks.’

  ‘And in the meantime, I take myself off to Dundrum to find out what connection the deceased had to Moore?’

  ‘We won’t have a moment’s peace in this town until you do. Moore’s frightened of you, Michael. Of what you already know and what you might find out. That’s why he’s done what he’s done. If you find out what that something is then you can hold it over him.’

  Outside in the lane, Knox heard horses’ hoofs and the jangling of harnesses. He got out of bed and went to the window. A carriage pulled by four horses came to a halt. Knox was alr
eady halfway down the stairs.

  The rain outside was torrential, the sky black as ink. Four men were standing in front of the gate, all wearing hats. Jeremy Brittas was gesticulating at the others while Warburton, his agent, pointed to the cottage.

  ‘You still here?’ Brittas said gruffly when Knox opened the front door. On the few occasions Knox had met him before, he had always been perfectly civil.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Knox said, ‘but Mr Warburton assured me I would have until midday to clear out my possessions.’

  Brittas ignored him and barked orders at the two men he’d brought with him. Warburton refused to look at Knox.

  ‘I have a wife and child, sir. Please have some mercy.’

  Finally Brittas acknowledged him. He had always struck Knox as a kindly man, perhaps even a little meek for his own good, too much in his father’s shadow. Now his eyes were dead. ‘I’m afraid, sir, my mind is made up. You have fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes? You don’t understand how much there is to do. We have a young child.’

  Brittas looked at his pocket watch. ‘It’s seven now. I’ll give you till quarter past.’

  ‘Please, sir. We’ve nowhere to go, nowhere to take our possessions. Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?’ Knox turned around and saw Martha standing, arms folded, on the front step.

  ‘You have fifteen minutes,’ Brittas repeated.

  Knox grabbed his wrist. ‘I’ve been a good friend to your father, haven’t I? I’ve visited him nearly every day, read the newspaper to him. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  Brittas pulled his hand free and looked around for his agent. He didn’t want to answer Knox’s question.

  ‘Please, sir, I beg you to reconsider…’

  But one of the labourers shoved Knox to one side and said, ‘We have orders to tear the place down.’ By this time, Brittas had turned and was heading back to the carriage.

  ‘We have to clear out what we can,’ Knox said, moving around the room grabbing pots and pans.

  ‘And do what with it, Michael? We have nowhere to take our things.’

  ‘In less than fifteen minutes, those men will start to pull this place apart. We need to gather what we can and put it outside.’