The Detective Branch

by Andrew Pepper

  ‘Apparently it’s a wealthy parish, one of the wealthiest in the city. That might explain the servants. But you’re right about the need for an odd-job man.’

  ‘What about Guppy himself? Aside from Nutt, none of the servants spoke particularly warmly about him.’

  Whicher nodded. ‘I know; and what kind of man would wear his surplice just to take the night air?’ Earlier, they’d looked for, and been unable to find, the surplice anywhere in the church or the yard.

  Pyke smiled at Whicher’s remark. ‘We also shouldn’t lose sight of the way he was killed.’

  ‘The fact that someone took a hammer and went to work on Guppy’s face until there was nothing left.’

  ‘Exactly. Whoever did it didn’t just want to kill him. If they did, they could have used a knife or a pistol.’

  ‘To be that close to someone and swing a hammer at their head: you’d really have to hate that person.’

  ‘We also don’t know what Guppy was doing in the churchyard,’ Pyke said. ‘I don’t believe for a moment he was simply going for a walk.’

  ‘It’s bitterly cold. Why would you venture out unless you had to?’

  ‘Perhaps he’d arranged to meet someone.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Pyke said. ‘Why do people meet up in places like churchyards late at night?’

  Whicher was smiling. He had come to appreciate Pyke’s dark sense of humour. ‘Maybe that’s why he took off his surplice.’

  ‘Just his surplice?’

  ‘But he was fully clothed when they found him,’ Whicher said, still smiling.

  Pyke shrugged. ‘Maybe Guppy didn’t get as far as he’d expected to.’

  When Pyke finally arrived home, he found Felix asleep in the armchair beside Godfrey’s bed, a Bible resting in his lap. Pyke’s gaze drifted between his son and his uncle, and as he stood watching them, he tried not to think about how little time he had spent at Godfrey’s side since he had collapsed two weeks earlier.

  ‘You’re up early,’ Felix said, lifting his head and forcing open one of his eyes. ‘Or back late.’

  After Pyke’s injury in the summer, there had been a rapprochement of sorts between them, but throughout the autumn the distance had gradually started to open up again and Godfrey’s sudden collapse had put them at loggerheads once more. The issue, for Felix, was Pyke’s apparent lack of concern. For his part, Pyke had done all he could; he had paid for the best doctor and a full-time nurse. Deep down, he was as desperately worried about the old man’s health as Felix, but he simply couldn’t give up his work, and Felix had started to resent this.

  Pyke took the other armchair and pulled it closer to the bed. ‘How is he?’

  ‘No better, no worse, according to the doctor.’ Felix sat up, stretched his shoulders and yawned.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Just that. No change in his condition. He told us to keep trying to give Uncle Godfrey food and water.’

  Pyke stared at the plate of uneaten food and the glass of water on the floor next to the bed. Since the collapse, Godfrey had said very little and had barely eaten a thing, and now the skin was hanging off his face and neck.

  ‘At least it means he’s not getting any worse,’ Pyke said, mostly for Felix’s benefit.

  He wasn’t sure how much his son knew, how much the doctor had told him, but as far as Pyke was aware, the prognosis was not good. Certainly there seemed little chance that Godfrey would make a full or even a partial recovery. Pyke looked at the bags under his son’s eyes and asked how he felt. Felix shrugged and said he was fine, even though it was clear he’d had almost no sleep. Since the collapse, Pyke had allowed Felix to stay at home, to be with Godfrey, but in recent days he’d been forced to question the wisdom of this decision. Was it healthy for a boy of his age to sit indoors all day with nothing to do and no one to talk to? Still, Pyke knew he wouldn’t be able to raise this issue without Felix coming back at him. I have to be here, because you never are.

  ‘Seriously, you look terrible,’ Pyke said. ‘Go and lie down. I’ll sit with him for a while.’

  ‘You don’t look too good yourself. What kept you up all night?’

  ‘Work.’

  Felix rolled his eyes and they sat for a while in silence, both staring down at Godfrey’s sleeping form.

  ‘I see you’ve been reading the Bible.’ Pyke gestured at the book, which had fallen on to the floor.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d embraced religion.’

  ‘I haven’t embraced religion.’ Felix sighed. ‘I was just reading aloud to Godfrey. Where’s the harm in that?’

  Pyke considered this for a short while. ‘I’m sure Godfrey appreciates what you’re doing for him but I know he’s never found solace in the Bible.’

  Felix reddened slightly. He went to retrieve his copy of the Bible and held it closely to his chest.

  ‘Did they give you that at school?’

  It was a trick question and Felix knew it. ‘You know they don’t teach us the Bible, so why do you even ask?’

  ‘So where did you get it from?’

  ‘Believe it or not, Pyke, the Bible is freely available.’ Defiantly, Felix held his gaze. ‘I pray for Godfrey to get better. What’s so terrible about that?’

  ‘And you think it’s in God’s power to make Godfrey better?’ Pyke paused. ‘He’s a very old, sick man.’

  ‘I know he’s sick. Remember, I’m here. I’m the one tending to him.’ Felix stopped, sensing he’d said too much, and then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Pyke. I didn’t mean . . . I know you’re as upset as I am.’

  Pyke went over and put his arm around his son’s shoulders and to his surprise Felix did not push him away.

  ‘I’m scared, Pyke. I’m scared he’s going to die.’ Suddenly there were tears in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you scared, too?’

  Pyke was mute but just about managed a nod of his head. He had known that this time would eventually come, that Godfrey couldn’t live for ever, but now it was here he felt as lost and frightened as a boy.

  SEVEN

  ‘I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, sir, but Guppy was a rather objectionable creature; the kind who’d refuse to feed a starving man because he hadn’t washed his hands.’

  Martin Jakes’s whole house could easily have fitted into Isaac Guppy’s drawing room, and the study, where they were now sitting, their knees almost touching, was not quite as large as the cupboard under Guppy’s stairs. The fact that Jakes had found himself at a church like St Matthew’s, Bethnal Green, at the age of fifty, rather than serving out his days in the country, struck Pyke as something to be admired. It suggested Jakes hadn’t bothered to cosy up to men like the archdeacon. Jakes had an open, honest face and wasn’t shy about speaking his mind. Pyke cast his eye up at the books on his shelves and saw Marcus Aurelius and Blake there, as well as Erasmus and St Augustine. Jakes’s features were weathered and craggy; he was interesting to look at and this told Pyke that he had lived a life; that he hadn’t tried to hide behind the robes of office.

  ‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ he said, after he had given Pyke his impression of Guppy. ‘I was shocked, horrified even, when I first heard the news and I’m desperately sorry he’s dead. His wife, Matilda, is a fine woman. She’ll take this very badly.’

  ‘But you didn’t like him as a man?’

  ‘It’s not that I liked or disliked him.’ Jakes loosened his collar. ‘It’s just . . . how can I put it? St Botolph’s is one of the wealthiest parish churches in the whole city. I would guess it raises in excess of two thousand a year from the rate alone. Now, I know a healthy proportion of that goes towards maintaining the rectory and its grounds . . .’

  ‘But you just get the crumbs from the table?’

  Jakes winced slightly. ‘I don’t know how knowledgeable you are about parish arrangements. St Botolph’s is our mother parish; all of the rate goes there. To make ends meet, we have to rel
y on what we can earn from funerals and marriages.’

  ‘St Botolph’s gets the oysters, you get the shells.’

  Jakes smiled at Pyke’s analogy. ‘We try to do as much charitable work with the poor as we can. Offer them food, hot soup in the winter. Coal and firewood if we can afford it.’

  ‘But you could do more if you were given more.’

  ‘So much more,’ Jakes said, emphasising each syllable.

  Pyke glanced around the cramped, dusty room and thought about the accommodation at the rectory attached to St Botolph’s. It was easy to see why Jakes might be frustrated with the situation.

  ‘I was told you recommended an odd-job man to Guppy.’ Pyke waited, and studied the vicar’s reaction. ‘A former felon, by the name of Francis Hiley. Is that correct?’

  ‘It is, indeed.’ Jakes’s expression was earnest. ‘Can I enquire why you’re asking about Francis? Has something happened to him?’

  ‘Not as such. But it would seem that he packed up and left just before or after Guppy was murdered.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Jakes’s expression darkened. ‘And everyone at St Botolph’s believes Francis killed the rector.’

  ‘Is that such an unreasonable conclusion to reach? Given Hiley’s sudden flight?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Jakes said, sighing. ‘It’s true that Francis is a deeply troubled man. Nonetheless, I don’t doubt that some people have been more than forthcoming about his past.’

  Pyke couldn’t help but smile at Jakes’s insightful reading of the situation. ‘I was told he served time in Coldbath Fields.’

  Jakes nodded. ‘I first made his acquaintance when I moved here from St Luke’s, Berwick Street. He was a bright lad, and always showed a keen interest in the Bible, but he was let down by his temper. He found out that his wife had been unfaithful to him; they fought and she fell down the stairs. The jury returned a verdict of unlawful manslaughter but when it came to his trial, the magistrate was lenient. Francis hadn’t contested the charges and anyone could see how distraught he was. He liked a drink but that doesn’t make him a bad man, does it? I enjoy a tipple every now and again myself. So I spoke up for him at the trial and the magistrate gave him two years. After Francis had served his sentence, he came here and offered to help out, in return for his room and board. I had to go to Guppy to gain his consent and initially he was hostile. He warned me about the dangers of consorting with hardened criminals.

  ‘In the end, and after a great deal of posturing, Guppy gave me his consent. I offered Francis a bed in this house but he insisted on sleeping in the church. And he proved to be a useful man to have around. I’m not as young as I used to be, and he would fetch and carry things for me; mend what needed to be mended. And when I did my rounds, I felt safer when Francis was with me. As you might expect, the church is not universally liked in a district like this one. In the past, I’ve been pushed to the ground and spat on, but with Francis at my side, no one bothered me. You see, he was big, a physical man. Folk around here respect that more than the word of God.’

  ‘So how did Hiley come to work for Guppy?’

  Jakes adjusted his position in his armchair. ‘About seven or eight months ago, Guppy came to see me here at St Matthew’s, which was a rare enough occurrence, as he would usually summon me to St Botolph’s. I could tell something had upset him but he refused to take me into his confidence. For him, that would’ve been an admission of weakness. But he’d heard all about Francis; the fact that people in the parish respected him on account of his size and physical presence. He told me he needed someone to keep an eye on the church and he offered to take Francis off my hands; that was the phrase he used. He even promised to pay him a wage.’

  Pyke tried to weigh this up against the sense he’d got from the churchwarden and the rectory servants that Francis Hiley had been an unwanted presence at St Botolph’s and that he’d been spoiled or indulged by an overly generous rector. He put this view to Jakes.

  ‘As I said earlier, life at St Botolph’s is comfortable, respectable. Francis comes from rough stock. It’s no surprise that most people there would have taken against him or been suspicious of him.’

  Pyke rubbed his chin and nodded. ‘And how did this arrangement work out? Was Hiley happy with it? Was Guppy?’

  ‘Guppy never complained, at least not to me.’

  ‘But Hiley did?’

  Jakes sighed. ‘Guppy promised to feed him and pay him a wage but more often than not Francis would turn up here hungry and looking for food.’

  ‘You’re saying that Guppy didn’t honour his commitment?’

  ‘Francis was grateful for the work and even more grateful for the chance to atone for his sins. He never criticised Guppy directly.’

  Pyke was about to ask another question when a younger woman put her head around the door. Honey-coloured hair surrounded her pale, pinched face. She wasn’t unattractive, he decided, but there was something unsettling about her. Perhaps it was just that she was so thin. She was introduced to Pyke as Kitty, but Jakes made a point of describing her as his ward. It made Pyke wonder whether Jakes was married or not.

  ‘Can I fetch you anything, sir?’ She bowed her head, avoiding Pyke’s eyes. He put her age at twenty-five or thereabouts.

  ‘Martin, my dear. Please call me Martin.’ He offered Pyke an apologetic smile. ‘Perhaps you can tell Inspector Pyke here about the goings on at the rectory. He’s investigating the murder. You’re friendly with some of the girls who work there, aren’t you?’

  Kitty reddened and she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears.

  ‘Please, my dear.’ Jakes hesitated. ‘If you know something that could help the inspector, it is your responsibility to tell him.’

  ‘No one liked him at the house,’ she said, eventually. ‘None of the servants, at least. He was a tyrant, so he was.’

  ‘That may be so, Kitty, but surely you can’t be suggesting that someone might’ve killed him for that reason alone?’

  Kitty shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that, did I? I just don’t think anyone there will be weeping into their pillows.’

  She excused herself and Pyke turned back to face Jakes. ‘Do you know where I might find Hiley?’

  ‘So you can throw him to the wolves?’

  ‘So I can talk to him and determine whether or not he is implicated in what happened.’

  Eventually Jakes said, ‘Francis’s mother and father both died in the cholera outbreak in the early thirties.’

  Pyke stood up and pulled on his greatcoat. ‘And what if Hiley came here to see you or tried to make contact with you?’

  Jakes was frowning, apparently not grasping the nuance of his question, so Pyke added, ‘Would you pass this information on to me?’

  ‘Ah,’ the vicar said, now understanding why Pyke had asked the question. Later Pyke realised he hadn’t actually given an answer.

  Pyke found Adolphus Wynter taking tea with Matilda Guppy in the drawing room of the rectory. The December sunshine was streaming through a window at the front of the room and the archdeacon seemed relaxed. When Pyke entered, closely followed by one of the servants, who needlessly introduced him, Wynter was stirring his tea with a silver spoon.

  His face immediately tightened. He glanced over at Matilda Guppy and rose to his feet.

  ‘Archdeacon,’ Pyke said, nodding once. Wynter simply stood there and didn’t offer Pyke his hand.

  ‘Mrs Guppy here was informing me about this felon, Hiley.’ Wynter’s eyes were as grey as slate. ‘I’m told that a man matching his description was seen standing over Reverend Guppy’s body.’

  Pyke’s expression gave nothing away. ‘I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions about the roles Guppy performed as rector here and in the wider church.’

  Wynter looked over at Matilda Guppy and said, ‘Perhaps you might excuse us, my dear. I shouldn’t like to bore you with our conversation.’

  Only when she had left the room did Wynter turn his attention back to
Pyke. ‘So what exactly do you want to know?’

  ‘I’m told St Botolph’s is a wealthy parish. By implication, that makes or made Guppy an important man. I’d like to inspect the parish accounts, for a start.’ Pyke stopped himself before he drew a comparison between the rectory and Wynter’s impressive home on Red Lion Square, which he’d found out, to his great disappointment, had been purchased with his wife’s inheritance.

  Wynter adjusted his cassock while he considered this request. ‘Reverend Guppy is the victim here, Detective Inspector. I think you would do well to remember that fact.’