Tilling’s expression revealed little. ‘But I didn’t stand to gain anything from slaughtering innocent people. Neither did Peel.’
‘On the contrary,’ Pyke said, taking another sip of brandy. ‘The murders strengthened the case for police reform. Afterwards, people were falling over themselves to demand a better police force.’
Tilling shook his head, angry for the first time. ‘The case for a new police force had already been made. Peel had won the argument through skill and hard work. We didn’t need to kill anyone, let alone a young family, to make our case.’ Tilling looked at him coolly. ‘And in case you have forgotten, the government wanted to push through two pieces of legislation: the police bill and Catholic emancipation. By the time those people were butchered in St Giles, Peel had already thrown his weight behind Catholic emancipation. And those murders made it a hundred times harder to force the legislation through both Houses.’
‘I know.’ Pyke exhaled loudly. ‘In the end, I reached the same conclusion. I knew, or I believed, you were involved because of your link with Davy Magennis, but I couldn’t see what you or Peel had to gain.’
Tilling cut in. ‘We had nothing to gain and everything to lose.’
‘But that notion only struck me much later. Before I went to Ireland, I was so obsessed with the idea of implicating you and Peel I didn’t see what was right in front of me.’
‘Which was?’
‘I’d been set up from the outset.’
‘By Edmonton?’ Tilling asked, as though he didn’t already know the answer.
‘I think Edmonton planned for me to discover the bodies.’
‘How did he manage to do that?’
Pyke chose to ignore the question. ‘When I first glanced down into that metal pail, I thought it was an animal of some kind.’
‘And you believed Peel himself might have sanctioned such a heinous act?’
‘I see you’re a widely read man. Sometimes moral absolutes can be as harmful as acts of kindness. People have committed terrible crimes in the name of some greater good.’
Tilling paused, rubbing his eyes. ‘Peel might be prickly and arrogant but he’s not a killer.’
‘But he presided over a murder investigation that wilfully identified, pursued and, in the end, executed a wholly innocent man.’
Tilling was visibly shaken by this accusation. ‘In that particular instance, the circumstantial evidence seemed to be compelling.’ He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket.
‘As compelling as the existence of a family member who had good reason to hate his brother and who had been seen in the vicinity of the lodging house on the same day as the murders?’
‘You’re right that such a claim should have been investigated more thoroughly.’ Tilling seemed downcast.
‘But to do so would have been to acknowledge, and lay bare, your own connection to the chief suspect.’
Still unsettled, Tilling gently lifted the cat down on to the floor. It yawned and stretched a little. ‘It is a folly of mine, but I like to give the cat a saucer of milk. Excuse me for a moment.’ He disappeared into the kitchen and the cat followed jauntily. When he returned, Pyke said, ‘Meanwhile, an innocent man gets put to death for something he didn’t do.’
Tilling stared at him coldly. ‘Do you have unequivocal proof that Magennis committed those murders?’
Pyke thought about what he had learned from the priest in Ireland.
‘I know Edmonton meant me to find Magennis or at least find out about him. Whatever else I am, I’m a good investigator. Edmonton knew this, too.’ Pyke shrugged. ‘Edmonton also knew that Hume’s attempts to threaten me and close down my investigation would spur me on.’
‘That was the whole point, wasn’t it?’ Tilling looked at him carefully, waiting. ‘Once you had decided that Magennis was the killer, and then witnessed Peel’s investigation go after the wrong suspect, and then discovered the connection between Magennis and myself, what other conclusion could you have drawn?’
‘You mean that Peel was implicated in the murders?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Edmonton gets what he wants; the events stir up a hornet’s nest of anti-Catholic sentiment and threaten the smooth passage of the Catholic Emancipation Bill. By getting me to expose Peel’s alleged culpability in the murders. .’
‘Edmonton might have been able to bring down the whole administration and ruin Peel’s political career in the process.’ He regarded Pyke with a quizzical stare. ‘I suppose we should be grateful to you — now that Edmonton’s plans have been foiled and he’s taken it upon himself to destroy you.’
‘I am glad to be of service.’ Pyke couldn’t help but smile. ‘But I’m not naive enough to think that such a notion will persuade the Home Secretary to come to my assistance.’
Tilling’s gaze slid away from Pyke’s face. ‘Assuming that Edmonton did manage to set this whole thing up, I still don’t understand how he found Davy Magennis in the first place and made the connection back to me.’
Pyke thought about what he had discovered in Ireland but said nothing to Tilling; he wanted to keep all knowledge of Swift to himself.
‘Perhaps we might go for a walk on the heath. Get some fresh air and continue our talk outside.’ Tilling must have noticed Pyke’s reaction because almost at once he laughed and said, ‘What? You don’t trust me? You don’t think I could have had you arrested already?’ He shook his head jovially. ‘When I returned home, I noticed the gate at the side of the house had been tampered with. I thought initially it might have been house burglars but then I remembered you.’ He picked up his brandy glass and drained it. ‘Come on, Pyke. Accompany me on a walk.’
It was a pleasant evening and some of the smog had cleared, affording them an arresting view of the city.
‘Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in another town or in the country perhaps, but then I come out here on an evening like this, the sun just about to set and everything looking so peaceful, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.’
Pyke paused for a moment, to take in the view. ‘There,’ he said, pointing towards the giant dome of St Paul’s. ‘Just to the right, you can see the Sessions House and, next to it, Newgate prison.’
They had walked almost to the top of the hill. Tilling turned to face him, hands in pockets. ‘I take your point.’
‘Do you?’ This time Pyke allowed himself to show his anger. ‘Can you imagine what it was like, being locked up in that God-forsaken place, knowing I was to be executed for something I hadn’t done?’
Tilling started to walk again. ‘You might not believe me, but Peel liked you. He wanted to help you, Pyke, but given what happened at your trial, the manner in which you ran your own defence and the fact the jury found you guilty, there was nothing at all he could have done.’
‘I think Peel had done quite enough already.’
That seemed to confuse Tilling.
Pyke laughed bitterly. ‘Once you realised I had found out about Magennis, you moved quickly.’
This time Tilling touched him on the arm. ‘You think that business with your mistress was our doing?’
‘That business? Let’s call it by its proper name, Tilling. Murdering Lizzie in cold blood and then making it look like I had killed her.’
Tilling stared at him, incredulous. ‘My God, you actually think Peel and I planned all that?’ He sounded upset.
‘Well, it couldn’t have been Edmonton. I mean, he didn’t want me locked up or executed. It didn’t suit his plans. Think about it. He wanted me out there, stirring up trouble and making the connection between Magennis and you public. You see, the moment I was arrested his plan failed. The whole conspiracy was finished. In the end, nothing about the link between Peel and Magennis was ever made public. And Peel, the administration, all of you, emerged unscathed.’
That seemed to placate Tilling. ‘So all along, you’ve been working from the premise that Peel arranged to have your mistress ki
lled and then you framed for the murder.’ He still sounded shocked.
‘Maybe I still am. For a start, there was the timing. I happened to mention Davy Magennis to you and two days later Lizzie is murdered and I’m in prison. What am I meant to think?’ Tilling stood there, with a puzzled look on his face. ‘Then there’s the business with Brownlow Vines,’ Pyke added.
‘What business with Vines?’ Tilling’s confusion seemed to be genuine. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’
Pyke told him what had happened on the night of Lizzie’s murder.
Tilling stared at him, aghast. ‘None of this came out in the trial.’
‘What was the point? I assumed the verdict had already been determined before the trial had even started.’
‘And you believed that Vines was dispatched by Peel in order to drug you?’
‘It made sense at the time.’ Pyke stared out across the city. It was almost dark. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind Vines administered the drug. I just assumed he had cut a deal with Peel. A top job in the new police force or something like that.’
Tilling seemed to find such a notion amusing.
‘I’m glad you find my predicament funny.’ But Pyke felt confused more than anything.
Since his return from Ireland, he had known that his initial suspicions regarding Peel’s involvement in the St Giles murders were unfounded. Nonetheless, he had still been convinced of Peel’s complicity in Lizzie’s murder. It was not that he believed Peel to be a heartless monster. Rather, he had assumed Peel had taken the decision to kill Lizzie and frame him for pragmatic reasons. Now, though, Tilling’s forceful denial had deflated that theory, and Pyke had to face up to the unappealing truth that he had no idea who had butchered Lizzie.
In the gloom, Tilling’s expression darkened. ‘I was only laughing because, as I said earlier, I find the idea Peel might have involved himself in such a base plot to be, quite frankly, ridiculous. I have worked with him for twenty years. He might be self-interested, arrogant and aloof but he is not a cold-blooded murderer.’
‘I’m almost persuaded by your testimony.’
‘Almost?’
‘You didn’t see the note Peel sent me while in prison.’
‘Ah, the note.’ Tilling smiled. ‘We can say cruelty is used well when it is employed once and for all, and one’s safety depends on it and then it is not persisted in but as far as possible turned to the good of one’s subjects.’
Pyke remembered the volumes in Tilling’s library. ‘Peel gave me the impression he was the admirer of Machiavelli.’
‘He has read The Prince. But Peel is a politician, not a philosopher or an intellectual. What do you expect?’
Tilling shrugged. ‘I’d wager you and I are the amoral pragmatists.’
Suddenly Pyke felt foolish for having suspected the Home Secretary.
‘However much he might have wanted to, Peel was not in a position to grant you a pardon,’ Tilling said, matter-of-factly. ‘That was all the note was supposed to indicate.’
‘And Vines?’ Pyke said, hollowly. He had been so sure of Peel’s hand in Lizzie’s murder and his own imprisonment that he had not even contemplated an alternative scenario. Now, he had no idea how he would avenge her death.
Tilling shrugged. ‘We did approach Vines and consulted him about the police bill in order to determine where his loyalties lay.’
‘And?’
‘As far as we could tell, they remained squarely aligned with Sir Richard.’
Pyke nodded, trying to digest this information. ‘I’ll need a private audience with him.’
‘Who, Vines?’ Tilling asked.
‘No, Peel.’
‘Out of the question,’ Tilling said, shaking his head.
‘Away from Whitehall. Somewhere like your house, for example.’
‘Perhaps if you had come to us with all this before the trial, he might have been able to grant you a pardon. I presume that’s what you want? But not after everything you have done, everything that has happened.’
Pyke had expected such a response and was not put off by it. ‘Tell Peel that it will be in his own interest to make the appointment. Point out I’m not a man to be underestimated.’
‘Oh, believe me, Peel is well aware of that fact.’
‘So you’ll arrange a meeting? Tomorrow evening. At your house.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Tilling waited for a moment. ‘But I can tell you one thing. Peel won’t tolerate any more of this carry-on with Edmonton. The situation’s spiralling out of control. He’s going to dispatch the Seventh Dragoons to the area to quell any further unrest.’
‘Edmonton has made his own bed,’ Pyke said, coldly.
‘That may be, but Peel will want a line drawn under everything.’
Pyke thought about this for a moment. There was still so much he didn’t know or couldn’t work out. ‘And Edmonton?’
‘What about Edmonton?’
‘What am I supposed to do with him?’
‘That’s your business, Pyke, not mine.’
Tilling touched his arm and told Pyke he would try to arrange the meeting for the following day. As he turned to leave, he paused and said, almost as an afterthought, ‘Do what you need to do but do it quickly.’
Pyke stood there and watched Tilling stroll down the hill, and did not move until he was a faint speck in the distance.
TWENTY-FOUR
When Pyke visited Hambledon Hall for the second time, the conditions were just as foul as they had been on the first occasion. It was not quite as cold, for it was October rather than February, but a fierce easterly wind drove billowing clouds across the flat, unprotected valley with such intensity that rain fell horizontally rather than vertically. Still, the inclement weather suited his mood and, anyway, Pyke could not have imagined the ugly monstrosity of Hambledon Hall bathed in warm sunlight. The hall had been constructed on marshy terrain and the relentless uniformity of the landscape gave the setting a menacing feel, as though the land had been cursed.
This time Pyke had not been invited to the hall, nor did he make any attempt to enter its grounds. Rather, he tied up his horse well out of sight of the track leading up to the hall, positioned himself across from the main gate behind a large holly bush and prepared for a long wait. About an hour later, a carriage pulled by two horses skidded through the gate; Pyke could not see its occupants but supposed that the carriage belonged to James Sloan. As he waited for it to reappear, he wondered what kind of man Sloan was.
If he had struck some kind of deal with Edmonton, he could not be honest or virtuous or, for that matter, nice, but what if he was handsome or intelligent or attractively roguish? What if Emily found herself liking him? Pyke found this thought as unlikely as it was distasteful, but was it beyond the bounds of possibility? He knew Emily didn’t have to like this man. In order to safeguard her income and inheritance, all she had to do was tolerate him. And, of course, Sloan would want to come across as generous and courteous. A lot was at stake for him.
Pyke wondered whether he might be jealous. It was certainly an odd sentiment, as irrational as it was consuming. Old prejudices towards privilege surfaced: what had this man done to merit Emily? He had, no doubt, led a sheltered, comfortable existence. Perhaps he had been set up in business by his father. He would have a sizeable private income, in order to satisfy Edmonton that he was an appropriate match for his daughter and in order to pay for the parliamentary seat Edmonton had given him.
It felt strange, spying on Emily. As he did so, he wondered whether she had instructed Jo to tell him about this meeting. Was he there at Emily’s implicit behest? If so, for what purpose had he been summoned? What did he plan to do with the knowledge he hoped to gain from this particular outing? What might Emily want him to do? Again the thought struck him that she might be ambivalent about rather than hostile to the prospect of an arranged marriage: Emily was by no means materialistic, but she was passionately committed to her charity work and, if she s
aw this marriage as a way of securing a much-needed source of income for the work, then what was to say she wouldn’t accept this man’s proposal?
An hour later, he watched as the same carriage journeyed up the well-maintained drive from the hall and swept through the gate; he caught a brief glimpse of Emily through one of the windows but could not see whether she was alone or had company.
When the carriage finally pulled up outside a smart-looking terraced residence in a pleasant, leafy street that adjoined Russell Square, the footman climbed down from the roof and waited until a servant appeared from inside the house holding an umbrella before pulling down the steps and opening the door. The servant held open the umbrella and escorted Emily up the steps to the Doric porch. Pyke watched as they disappeared into the entrance hall; the brightly painted front door closed behind them.
As he waited on the far side of the street, watching a sweeper move through the traffic collecting coins from passing cabs and carts, Pyke wondered how long Emily would remain in the house. What would be an appropriate amount of time? Would an hour be too long? What if she stayed there for the entire morning? What might this indicate in terms of future intentions?
He was so occupied with these thoughts that he almost didn’t notice Emily scampering down the steps in front of the house after only a few minutes and hailing a passing cab.
His first inclination was to go after her, to find out what had taken place and to make sure that she was all right. But he could not be certain she would appreciate such a gesture, especially if she hadn’t actually instructed Jo to tell him about this meeting. She might resent him for spying on her and say nothing of what had happened in the house.
Instead, Pyke watched the cab turn into Russell Square and found himself standing in front of the man’s residence.
Pyke’s curiosity had been sufficiently piqued to risk approaching the front door. He didn’t know what he might say to Sloan, but if Sloan represented Edmonton’s parliamentary interests there might be some advantage in confronting him. If he seemed to be virtuous, Pyke could take this opportunity to further besmirch Edmonton’s reputation. And if he seemed to be a rogue, Pyke could make his accusations and see how he responded.
The Last Days of Newgate pm-1 Page 30
