‘Alefounder.’
She touched the top of her lip with her tongue. ‘You know him?’
‘I’ve met him, and his wife. For obvious reasons, she didn’t exactly recommend you to me.’
‘Oh.’ Elizabeth reddened slightly. ‘No, I don’t imagine she would have.’
‘Is that all you’re going to say?’
‘It happened a long time ago. We were both young and stupid.’ She looked at him, clear eyed. ‘But I’m quite sure an affair that went stale years ago isn’t the reason you broke into my house.’
Pyke didn’t know what to say. After all, he couldn’t very well tell her the real reason for his visit.
‘Did you see my brother while you were in Jamaica? Is he terribly upset? I hate to think of him sad.’
‘He’s dead.’ He saw her face plummet and added, ‘I’m sorry. He died in a storm. Part of the roof at one end of the great house at Ginger Hill collapsed.’
She began to weep, quietly at first, but then louder, as she absorbed the news. Pyke didn’t take any joy from imparting this news, and when her crying turned into loud sobs, he went over to the sofa. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated as he knelt down in front of her, not sure how to comfort her or whether he should even try. But without thinking about it, she opened her arms and attached herself to him, wailing so her entire ribcage shook. He tasted the saltiness of her tears on his cheeks and lips and patted her silky hair. He didn’t want to admit, to himself or her, that grief made her even more attractive but it was true; her tears humanised her and each sob transformed her from a hardened vixen into someone much more real and complicated.
Finally she pushed him away and wiped her eyes on the vaguely flounced sleeve of her dress. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing and trying to breathe at the same time.
Pyke withdrew to his sofa and looked around the tastefully furnished room. He noticed a drawing by Blake on the wall and wondered whether it was an original.
‘And William?’ she whispered, trying to compose herself.
‘He died, too.’
That elicited another gasp but no more tears. The street below was absolutely quiet.
‘Does my father know?’
‘I told him.’
‘Oh God.’ She shook her head and buried it in her hands. ‘Poor Father. If this doesn’t kill him, I don’t know what will. And if you’ve made the journey already, he’ll be expecting me home any day. What will I say to him? How will I explain I wasn’t there? Of course, he’ll assume I’ve already made the arrangements to have Charles’s body shipped back here. I’ll just have to tell him the truth, won’t I?’ This thought seemed to fill her with dread. ‘You won’t tell him about me just yet. Please, sir, I beg of you. I can tell you’re a kind man. Give me a few days, that’s all I ask.’
He contemplated this strange, disjointed speech; how little concern she’d displayed for her father’s grief and well-being and the emphasis she’d placed on her own self-inflicted plight.
‘What you choose to tell your father has nothing to do with me.’ The skin wrinkled at the edges of her eyes as she smiled. ‘Thank you.’ A strand of hair had fallen down over her face and she tucked it behind her ear.
‘I should leave you,’ Pyke said, looking at her; she seemed composed all of a sudden.
‘You came here to ask about Mary, didn’t you?’ She hesitated. ‘My father told me what had happened to her.’
He nodded. ‘That was one of the reasons.’
‘Father told me about her visit to the house. All it took was the mention of money for her to drop her claim on my brother. Poor Charles.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Not that it matters much now. I suppose if I had felt that her feelings for him were at all genuine I might not have disliked her as much as I did.’
‘And how much did you dislike her?’
Elizabeth looked over at Pyke, apparently shocked at his question. ‘You can’t actually think I had something to do with her death? I may have disliked her but I would never have hurt her.’
Pyke looked away, trying to decide on the best way of phrasing what he wanted to say. ‘But it can’t have been easy, the idea of welcoming her into the family.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her expression was unreadable.
‘Before emancipation, your father used to own her. I can easily see how the idea of her marrying your brother would have caused your family difficulties.’
‘Because she’s black?’
Later Pyke would think about the assumption she’d made — that Mary was black or had been born to a black mother and hence could be categorised as black and that she, by contrast and without question, was white. If anything, Elizabeth was perhaps a little darker than Mary, but could claim to be white because she was Silas Malvern’s child and hence people saw her as white.
‘In part, yes,’ he said, thinking about the rumours pertaining to her affection for her brother, Charles. ‘If you’ve seen someone as servile for your entire life, I wonder how it’s possible to suddenly imagine them as your equal.’
‘My father never saw his workers as lesser creatures,’ she said firmly. Pyke noted she had used the term workers rather than slaves.
For his part, Pyke wanted to stay and ask, among other things, about her attachment to Crane, her work for the Vice Society and her interest in daguerreotypes. But he knew that if questioned her directly, she might not be forthcoming. He needed a different strategy; he needed her to like him.
‘It’s late and I’m sure I’ve outstayed my welcome.’ He took out a notepad, scribbled his address on one of the pages, tore it out and handed it to her. She let it flutter on to the Turkish carpet. ‘If you remember anything at all about Mary Edgar, however insignificant it may seem, you can find me at that address.’
She followed him down the stairs and, at the bottom, said, ‘You can leave through the front door, if you like.’
He turned to face her but she was closer than he expected and he tried to back away.
‘Why did you really go all the way to Jamaica?’ Her stare was curious.
‘I thought Mary’s murderer had fled there, so I followed him.’
‘You mean you thought William had killed her?’ She even managed a little laugh.
‘He lied about knowing her. I put pressure on him. He ran. Those aren’t the actions of an innocent man.’
Elizabeth seemed perplexed by his answer. ‘You really do seem to care who killed her, don’t you?’ She took a step towards him and stopped. ‘Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to judge you or suggest that what you’re doing isn’t a noble enterprise.’
‘But you’re wondering why I, or anyone else for that matter, should give a damn about a poor, dead mulatto girl?’ Pyke’s armpits were damp with perspiration.
To his surprise, her gaze softened a little. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what I meant.’
Pyke took a step towards the door. ‘It was good finally to meet you, Miss Malvern.’
He held out his hand but she ignored it and instead leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek, lingering there for a few moments before whispering, ‘Please call me Elizabeth. I hope we’ll meet again soon.’
Outside, Pyke stood for a while staring up at the night sky, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had she noticed the way he had been looking at her? Had she somehow manipulated him from the start? Or had his questions caused offence to an essentially innocent person? As he walked along the street, Pyke took one final look at her house and saw her face disappear behind the curtains.
TWENTY-THREE
The window was open in the dining room and a soft breeze was blowing through the house. Felix was eating a piece of toast and marmalade. Pyke could hear Jo in the kitchen. He sat down next to Felix and ruffled his hair. Copper hopped into the room and rested his head on Pyke’s lap, wagging his tail.
‘Will Uncle Godfrey be coming to visit us soon?’ Felix asked, his mouth full of toast.
Pyke looke
d up at Jo, who’d entered the room carrying a pot of coffee and a smaller jug of milk. He told her to sit down, said he would make his own breakfast, but she poured him a cup of coffee and said she was cooking them both eggs and had to get back to the range or else they would burn.
‘We’ll invite him round for a meal. How does that sound?’
Felix smiled. ‘Can we have chicken? I like chicken.’
‘Whatever you like.’ Pyke waited for a moment. ‘Godfrey and Jo tell me you haven’t seen anything of Eric, the older boy who used to hang around outside Godfrey’s apartment.’
Felix stiffened. ‘No.’ But he wouldn’t look directly at Pyke.
‘No, you haven’t seen him?’
‘I did see him one more time. He said he’d kidnap me, force me to do whatever he told me to.’ Pyke expected Felix to well up or tremble at the memory but his eyes were clear and his voice steady.
‘And what happened?’
Felix stared down at the table.
‘Well?’
‘I found out where Uncle Godfrey hid his pistol.’ Felix bit his lip and then looked down at his hands. ‘I borrowed it. Next time I saw Eric, I aimed the pistol at him and said if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d use it.’
Pyke looked at his son, open mouthed. He tried to picture the lad waving a pistol in broad daylight and fought to reconcile two conflicting sentiments: anger, that Felix had put himself in such potential danger — if the pistol had gone off and he’d wounded or killed the older boy, he could have been facing a lengthy spell in prison or worse — and delight that he’d tried to address the problem himself.
‘And what did Eric do?’
‘He ran away and didn’t bother me again,’ Felix said, matter-of-factly.
Still reeling from this revelation, Pyke tried to imagine what Emily would have said. ‘Did you tell Jo or Uncle Godfrey about what you did?’
Felix shook his head. ‘I haven’t told anyone. Except you.’ This time he looked up at Pyke. His stare was sheepish, but also defiant.
‘I want you to promise me that you’ll never repeat what you did, at least not while you’re living under my roof.’
Felix considered this. ‘Are you angry with me?’
‘If that pistol had gone off, your life would have been finished. Do you understand? Eric was a rotten apple, but what if you’d killed him? Needlessly taking a life is the very worst thing you can do. And you’re far too young to deal with the consequences.’
‘It wasn’t loaded.’
‘How would you know whether it was loaded or not?’
‘Outside in the alleyway, I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.’
‘That’s beside the point. You’re still too young.’
There was a brief silence. ‘I thought you’d be proud of me,’ Felix said, eventually, his tone more reticent than before.
‘I am — proud of you putting a ruffian like Eric in his place. But you also took too much of a risk. That’s what you have to learn. Judgement. Knowing what to do and when. That’ll come with time.’
Felix listened to what Pyke had just said and nodded. ‘If in doubt,’ Pyke said, ‘try to imagine what your mother might say about whatever it is you’re about to do.’ He hesitated. ‘Or Jo.’
Jo brought in the scrambled eggs and the three of them chatted about inconsequential things for almost an hour. Their peace was disturbed by a rap on the front door and Copper’s subsequent barking. Harold Field stood on the threshold, tapping the ground with a bamboo cane. Behind him, his assistant, Matthew Paxton, waited by the carriage. Field didn’t wait to be invited into the house and made straight for the dining room. Copper growled but let Field walk past him. Without being asked, Field took the chair next to Felix and showed the lad his snuff-box. Felix inspected it without much interest. Field was smartly attired in a blue frock-coat, cream waistcoat and cravat and grey trousers, and his whiskers had been buffed with a reddy-brown oil.
‘Quite a delightful family you have here, Pyke,’ Field said, smiling.
‘Perhaps we could talk in the front room. It’s quieter and more private.’
Field looked at him and then at Felix and whispered, ‘I suspect I’m being quarantined. But it was nice to make your acquaintance.’ He picked up his snuff-box and followed Pyke into the other room.
‘I can see you’ve been back in the country long enough to find suitable accommodation,’ Field said, casting his eye around the unfurnished room. ‘But, it would appear, not long enough to pay me a visit.’
‘How did you find out where I lived?’
Field wandered across to the bay window and looked down on to the street. ‘I won’t make a secret of it. You were seen by Paxton yesterday. He followed you back here and passed the address to me.’
Pyke considered this for a few moments and walked across to join Field at the window. On the front step, Matthew Paxton was smoking a pipe. Alerted by Pyke’s presence in the bay window, he looked up. Field had brought two other men with him but they were waiting by his carriage. ‘What do you want?’
Field turned around and studied Pyke, as though disappointed in him. ‘I’m sorry to hear you adopting such a tone. I thought the two of us had come to some kind of understanding.’
‘All I meant was that I’m surprised that a man with your responsibilities has the time to pay me a courtesy call.’
That seemed to appease him. ‘I was in the area and was wondering whether you happened to have come across Elizabeth Malvern on your travels.’
Pyke’s face remained composed, his voice measured. ‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t.’
‘No?’ The surprise in Field’s voice seemed genuine.
‘Her brother hadn’t seen her for a couple of years.’ Pyke hesitated. ‘Either she didn’t arrive…’
‘Or?’
Pyke folded his arms. ‘Like I said, I don’t know where she is.’
‘Did I suggest that you did?’ Field’s stare was cold and piercing. ‘It’s just a little strange, don’t you think? Impeccable sources assured me that she had made the journey, after all.’
Pyke remained silent but turned and walked across to the fireplace. He didn’t want Field to see that he was lying. ‘On a different subject, did Bessie Daniels come home in the end?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’ This time, Field had to look away, apparently uneasy for the first time.
‘Not as far as you’re aware?’ Pyke tried to swallow but his throat was dry. ‘Do you mean you haven’t actually looked into the matter?’
‘I’d be very careful about the tone you take with me, Pyke.’
But this time Pyke couldn’t help himself. ‘You mean to tell me you paid this woman to spy on an extremely dangerous individual and you haven’t made any effort to make sure she’s safe?’
Field took a few steps away from the window. ‘Now you’re starting to talk like a dead man.’
Unable to hold his tongue, Pyke continued. ‘If you’re too brazen or self-interested to look out for her, perhaps I should see what I can do.’ He hesitated but didn’t look across at Field. ‘Where does, or should I say did, she live? Any family?’
He saw the blood rise in Field’s neck and face until even the tips of his ears were crimson. In fact Field seemed too upset to speak and for a moment Pyke feared for his safety.
‘I’m sorry.’ This time Pyke held up his hands, by way of an apology. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It’s just I’m concerned about Bessie. I blame myself more than I blame you.’
That seemed to calm Field down a little. ‘Lord, Pyke, if you hadn’t just apologised I’m not sure I could have let you live.’ He shook his head as though the prospect of taking Pyke’s life actually bothered him.
They stared at one another without speaking. Field went back over to the window and indicated something to Paxton.
‘I have to go.’ He walked past Pyke but stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. ‘In answer to your question, I believe it was Eliza C
raddock who sold her to Crane. If you remember, I solicited the woman’s assistance after she’d been sold to Crane.’
Pyke absorbed this statement. ‘You mind if I pay her a visit, see if she’s heard anything?’
‘As long as you don’t mention my name I don’t care what you do.’ Field was poised to depart. ‘And if you do find Elizabeth Malvern, you will let me know, won’t you?’
Pyke nodded.
On the front steps Matthew Paxton waited for Field to pass and then looked up at Pyke, a crooked smile passing across his lips.
‘I remember her,’ Eliza Craddock said carefully. ‘Nice lass but ugly. She had this nasty hare-lip. I used to put her in the darkest room so the men wouldn’t see her face and complain to me afterwards.’ She was sitting at the same table where Pyke had found her before, her bulbous arms resting by her sides.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘I’d say a few months ago now.’
‘Why did she leave?’
A noise came from somewhere in the brothel and Craddock looked behind her, then turned back to face him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I asked why she left.’
‘Can’t recall.’ She flashed him a toothy grin. ‘Gals come and go, can’t do nothing about it.’
Pyke closed his palm slightly and slapped her hard across the face. The suddenness of his actions and the force of the blow caught her unawares.
‘You’re an acquaintance of Jemmy Crane, aren’t you?’
When she didn’t answer, Pyke kicked away the table, grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back against the wall. ‘You sold Bessie to him, didn’t you? He wanted a girl, someone you didn’t particularly need, and the two of you agreed a price.’ Pyke squeezed his hand tighter around her flabby neck. ‘How much was it?’
Craddock’s face had turned white and her eyes had almost doubled in size. Pyke didn’t just want to strangle her; he wanted to tear out her throat. But at the last moment, he let go and watched her slide down the wall on to the floor, like a pool of water, holding her throat and gasping for air.
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