Clasping Pyke’s shoulders, he looked at him and said, ‘It’s wonderful to see you, dear boy. Veritably, I did not imagine I would get this opportunity. You look different. Leaner. And the hair, or the absence of hair. .’ He ran his hands across Pyke’s head. ‘Very becoming.’
‘And it’s good to see you, too.’ Pyke meant it. He was glad to see his uncle. ‘When did you get out?’
‘Last week, dear boy. It was unexpected, I have to say. Geoffrey Quince, the lawyer whose services you so miserably failed to retain, claims to be quite baffled as to why they decided to drop the charges against me.’ Godfrey ran his stubby hands through his mane of white hair and looked expectantly around the tiny room.
‘Did Quince tell you I had need of his services?’
‘You saw Quince?’ Godfrey stared through his bushy eyebrows.
Pyke produced a sheaf of papers from the table next to his bed. ‘I had him draw up a contract. I’ve signed the gin palace over to you.’
‘To me?’ Godfrey’s brow wrinkled with bewilderment. ‘What on earth will I do with it?’
‘Isn’t that akin to asking a lion what he intends to do with a bloodied carcass?’
‘I am no rapacious businessman.’
‘But you are a rapacious drinker.’
‘Ah, indeed.’ Godfrey’s expression lightened. ‘But why sign it over to me?’
‘Call it penance on my part. Or part-payment for time served.’ Pyke handed him the papers.
‘Very decent of you.’ Godfrey nodded. ‘It would seem churlish or ungrateful of me to mention another agreement we had. .’
‘It would.’
‘Quite.’ His expression became pensive. ‘Of course, you would not have heard.’
‘Heard what?’
‘After your escape from Newgate, a lynch mob set upon your gin palace. The staff did what they could to defend it but there were too many of them. The place was stoned and set on fire.’ Godfrey held up the contract and shrugged. ‘I’m sure the lease is still worth a great deal. .’
Pyke took his time digesting this news.
Downstairs in the gaming room, a ratting contest was taking place. All traces of human and bear matter had been removed from the pit and a sizeable crowd had amassed around the ring. Some carried stop-watches; others ale pots and slips of paper. The betting was furious. In the ring itself, a determined bull terrier had pulled a solitary sewer rat from a larger pile of rats and was biting into its wriggling body. Specks of blood peppered the dog’s snarling mouth. Pyke and Godfrey passed through the room unnoticed and settled in the parlour on the ground floor. Unlike Pyke’s gin palace, this was an older tavern without a counter. They were served at their table by a pot boy who brought their drinks from a bar room in the middle of the building.
Pyke poured a few drops of laudanum into his gin. Godfrey watched him carefully but said nothing. The room was empty, but Pyke wore his black cap low over his face, nonetheless. It was difficult, becoming accustomed to his status as prey. Each time he left his garret it felt as though a phalanx of police constables might be waiting around the next corner to ambush him. But he also knew that the real threat to his liberty came not from the police but from snitches who might hear of his return and happen upon him by chance.
‘Don’t worry, m’boy. After the last time, I made certain that I wasn’t followed,’ Godfrey said, glancing nervously at the door.
‘You think that’s why they released you?’
‘Perhaps they heard you were back in the vicinity.’ Godfrey shrugged. ‘I know for a fact there’s two of ’em watching the shop and two outside my apartment. I’d say it’s a safe bet that someone in a position of authority would like to see you swing from the scaffold.’
Pyke wondered whether these men were police constables and whether they’d been dispatched by Peel.
‘No one knows I’m here. Apart from Villums.’ Pyke had also told Emily but did not mention her.
‘And you trust him?’
‘Not really. But I’m paying him well. Too well. And he hasn’t seen a penny of it, as yet.’
‘I won’t ask what your plans are, but just be careful, will you?’ A glint appeared in Godfrey’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to have to rescue you from Newgate for a second time.’
Pyke was about to speak when he noticed someone he recognised on the other side of the room. His first instinct was to bolt. Godfrey noticed his reaction and turned around, saying, ‘What is it?’ He sounded breathless and afraid. Standing on the threshold of the parlour room, wearing a simple brown dress and white bonnet, was Emily Blackwood. Despite her efforts to dress in a manner appropriate to her surroundings, she looked as out of place as a peacock in a pit full of snakes.
Her anxiety seemed to lift as soon as she saw them; she gathered up her dress and hurried across the room to greet Pyke. He introduced her to his uncle, who was delighted to make her acquaintance, and when the pot boy came to take her drinks order, she surprised both of them by asking for a pint of porter. This delighted Godfrey even more. For a while they talked about his imprisonment.
‘I was in Coldbath Fields rather than Newgate, my dear, but generally I found everything to be most agreeable. The food, which was brought to me from a bakeshop, was quite acceptable, under the circumstances, and the pot boy kept me in plentiful supplies of ale and claret.’
Emily had sufficient good sense not to try to patronise Godfrey or act in a deliberately pious manner, but Pyke could tell she was bothered by some of the stories he was telling.
‘Perhaps if you were poorer or without connections your stay might not have been as agreeable?’
‘On the contrary, my dear. The common lags seemed to be having a whale of a time. On occasion, it was hard to tell the difference between the ward and a tavern.’
‘I think the question Emily is seeking to ask is whether it is appropriate for convicts to behave in such a manner.’
Emily glared at him. ‘I can speak perfectly well for myself, thank you.’ Then her smile returned as she turned to Godfrey. ‘Isn’t it desirable that the prison is run well enough to ensure that prisoners’ clothes are occasionally fumigated, that the genuinely sick have the chance to consult a doctor, and that the child thief is separated from the adult murderer?’
Godfrey clapped his hands together. ‘Well said, my dear. Well said, indeed. What have you to say to that, eh?’ He looked across at Pyke and grinned.
‘I would simply point out that in the new Millbank prison, where everyone has their own cell, suicides have tripled, scurvy and dysentery are rife and that, very recently, prisoners rioted, and even hung the warder’s pet cat, just so they could be transferred to one of the hulks.’
‘A good point,’ Godfrey said, scratching his chin in mock contemplation. ‘My dear?’
‘You could perhaps inform your nephew that all the evidence indicates individual cells arrest the moral infection of the young by the old.’
‘Moral infection?’ Godfrey said, frowning. ‘Sounds like something that I might be responsible for spreading.’
‘I’ve heard it can make you go blind,’ Pyke said.
‘Now you’re both mocking me.’ She looked at them, with a smile on her face.
‘Not at all, my dear. I think the point you make is an excellent one.’
Pyke stared at her, waiting. It was true that he enjoyed their verbal sparring and that they both had sufficient intelligence to discuss highfalutin subjects, but he also wanted to fuck her with an urgency and intensity that even he found surprising. ‘In the end, I think we do what we do because we want to. Whether that’s robbing a blind man or helping him across the street.’
Emily thought about this for a moment. ‘And what would you do? Rob the blind man or assist him?’
‘You really need to ask?’
She regarded him across the table with an amused stare. ‘It’s funny, Pyke. For all your cynicism, you have a peculiarly romanticised vision of yourself.’
‘I am
a romantic now?’
‘You see yourself as a dying breed. There’s a certain romanticism in that.’
‘Wonderful,’ Godfrey said, raising his empty glass in mock celebration. ‘She’s as sharp as a tack.’ He turned to Emily. ‘Pyke is, indeed, a dying breed. I’m sure he hasn’t told you of the time when he, single-handedly, pursued a rogue kidnapper who had snatched the young daughter of a landed aristocrat across open country for two days and two nights.’
‘That was a long time ago.’
Emily seemed at once amused and intrigued. ‘If such bravery and selflessness were ever made public, your reputation would be ruined.’
Pyke shrugged. ‘I was well paid.’
Emily studied his reaction. ‘What became of the daughter? ’
‘Oh, she was shaken up but came through the ordeal with flying colours.’ Godfrey scratched his chin. ‘If I’m not mistaken, I heard the other day she’s due to marry a man who will one day inherit the earl of Norfolk’s title and estate.’
‘And the kidnapper?’
Godfrey’s expression darkened. Briefly he shared a look with Pyke. Neither of them said a word.
Later, when Godfrey had disappeared to talk to an acquaintance in another room, Emily said, ‘I’m sorry if I sounded too serious in front of your uncle. But you talk about my work as though it were both frivolous and pointless.’ She seemed bewildered. ‘Is it wrong I care about something other than myself?’
At the table next to them, three blackguards had taken note of Emily and were eyeing her, and whispering to one another, in a manner that made Pyke uncomfortable.
‘On the contrary, it is admirable,’ he said, keeping an eye on the men. ‘But am I to assume that the opposite applies to me?’
‘If it did,’ Emily said, gently, ‘then it would seem odd that you have occupied your time in the last six months in the manner you have done.’
He stared into her languid brown eyes and felt a flush of sexual anxiety spill through him.
One of the ruffians at a nearby table stood up and brushed against Emily; the other two sniggered into their ale pots. Emily did her best to ignore them.
‘You seem concerned,’ she said, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘Is it my presence here that’s upsetting you?’
‘Why should it upset me?’ He glanced across at the three men, who were making lewd gestures to one another and laughing.
‘What? You can mix freely in my world, but I’m to be barred from entering yours?’
Pyke said nothing but again looked across at the three men.
‘Do you think I am bothered by their uncouth behaviour? ’
‘And when they feel sufficiently confident from the ale to approach you directly, am I supposed to step aside and permit them to speak to you?’
This seemed to amuse her. ‘You do not strike me as the kind of man who would easily step aside in any situation.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said, unable to conceal his annoyance. ‘But such action, in my current circumstances, would open both of us to very great risks.’
A shadow fell across her face. ‘I did not think. .’
She was interrupted when one of the men stood up, all of a sudden, and stumbled towards them, barging past Pyke as he did so. The other two also got to their feet in preparation for a fight. Their crossed arms and mean stares told Pyke what he needed to know. The man nearest to them, flabby-faced with whiskers, stammered something incoherently to Emily. She recoiled from him.
‘Leave her alone.’ Pyke was on his feet. He spoke in a calm, measured tone.
The whiskered man turned to square up to him. He had a scar that zigzagged down the right side of his face. ‘Sit down if you don’t want to be hurt. Let that be your final warning, boy.’
Feeling hopelessly exposed, Pyke pulled down the cap in an effort to conceal his face. Proceedings in the room had come to a halt as the gathered few looked expectantly in their direction.
‘You want to fuck?’ the whiskered ruffian said, staring cross-eyed at Emily. He was unsteady on his feet.
The first hammer blow was the decisive one. It came out of nowhere and landed the uncomprehending man squarely on his backside with a dull thump. Pyke cracked his bruised knuckles and turned to face his two friends. One of them launched himself at Pyke and barrelled into his midriff, sending them both sprawling on to the floor and knocking his cap off in the process. Pyke, though, recovered quickest and manoeuvred his startled assailant into a headlock. Pulling him to his feet, Pyke used the man’s torso as a shield against his friend’s assault, pushing them both backwards with sufficient force to topple them on to a nearby table. He followed this up with a kick to the groin of the taller man. The other man picked himself up and circled around Pyke with his fists raised; his expression was guarded and fearful. But when Pyke attacked he was too slow and too drunk to parry the blow. Those watching the spectacle took a sharp collective breath as Pyke landed the decisive punch on the bridge of the man’s nose; it snapped with an audible pop before blood exploded from his nostrils.
Pyke took Emily’s hand and was halfway across the room and walking briskly towards the door when someone shouted, ‘That’s Pyke.’ Another murmured something in agreement. No one seemed to know what to do, whether to block his path or let him leave. Pyke knew that their indecision, and fear, represented his best and only chance of escape.
Outside, he told Emily to run. Behind them, drinkers from the Old Cock spilled out on to the street. Angry shouts filled the eerie silence. ‘That’s Pyke. . someone stop him. . get him. . lynch the bastard.’ At the end of the street, they turned into a side alley and from there into a small courtyard. For a moment, they waited and listened over the noise of their beating hearts as their pursuers raced past. A half-open door beckoned. Silently, Pyke led Emily into the darkened interior of what seemed to be someone’s kitchen. The room was deserted. A pair of boots hung over the grate. He closed the door behind them and turned to face Emily, whose face glistened with excitement.
Her hair, damp from the rain, clung to her smooth, angular face and brushed against her delicate shoulder blades. Without speaking, Pyke ran his fingers gently through her locks and stared into her wide-open eyes. Her lips parted before she embraced him, an urgent, smouldering kiss that seemed to envelop them and, for the briefest of moments, turn their thoughts from the events of the evening. When she looked at him again, through her long, wispy lashes, she was grinning.
‘Why are you smiling?’
Her eyes glistened with anticipation.
‘What is it?’
‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
Emily’s knowing smile revealed the whiteness of her teeth.
‘The real reason I came to find you today,’ she said, waiting for a moment. ‘I wanted to tell you about a transfer of money that’s due to take place between the Bank of England here in London and two of my uncle’s banks in Norfolk.’ She seemed to read his mind because almost at once she added, ‘This time, I believe, it is a genuine one.’
Pyke pulled back from their intimate embrace to study her expression. ‘Tell me more.’
Still whispering, Emily proceeded to describe what she had overheard at her father’s house. She explained that at harvest times the eastern counties were swamped with itinerant workers, but that the banks did not carry sufficient funds in reserve to cover the farmers’ costs. In order to ensure that the Blackwood banks had enough money to pay these wages, funds had to be physically transferred from a vault in the Bank of England to the various banks in Norfolk.
‘So why are you telling me this?’ he asked, eventually.
‘It is not in your nature to make things easy for me, is it?’ But her wounded expression seemed a little feigned.
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
This time, she looked directly at him. ‘Why do you imagine that I am here?’
For once, Pyke did not have an answer.
She stepped forward into the space b
etween them and kissed him on the mouth. ‘Is it so hard for you to accept that my loyalties may lie somewhere other than at Hambledon? ’
‘It is hard but not that hard.’ This time he reciprocated the embrace. A hot spike of desire swelled up within him. ‘Of course, if this information fell into the wrong hands, it could cause your father significant harm.’
Emily nodded. ‘There would certainly be no money available to the farmers to pay my father’s rents.’
‘Would that cause him difficulties?’
‘At present?’ Emily shrugged. ‘I would think so.’
Pyke nodded. ‘Such an undertaking could be highly dangerous.’
‘It shouldn’t be undertaken lightly, that is certain.’ Emily reached out and ran her fingers across his cheek. ‘Nor might such action be suitable for the faint-hearted.’
‘One would have to be of a particular constitution, I agree.’
‘One would have to be bold,’ Emily said, nodding.
Pyke nodded, playing along. ‘Strong as well as bold.’
‘That goes without saying.’ Emily broke into a wide smile.
‘Strong enough to chase down a stagecoach on horseback? ’
‘I would say so.’
‘Strong enough to fire a pistol?’
That drew a slight frown. ‘Would that be necessary?’
Pyke waited until she was looking at him. ‘Strong enough to stand up to your father?’ His remark registered and he wondered why he found her disconcertion as sexually gratifying as her more obvious attempts to appeal to him. But when he tried to kiss her again she pulled away from him and gathered herself to leave, as though unaware that his ardour could not as easily be put aside.
The air in the crowded taproom was musty and the floors were caked in mud. The room itself was heaving with red-faced milliners and seamstresses dressed in tatty shawls and bonnets, carousing with drunken hop-pickers, flush with the earnings of their labours in Kent. Urged on by the melodious strains of a fiddle, they may have looked like a good-natured lot, dancing ankle-deep in butcher’s sawdust that still carried the stink of rancid meat, but Pyke knew that every one of them would have crawled over their loved ones’ corpses for the chance to earn the reward that had been offered for information leading to his arrest.
The Last Days of Newgate pm-1 Page 24
