For a while, McQuillan stared at him, as if trying to make sense of what he’d said, but then, all of a sudden, he broke into a loud laugh. ‘I’d like to have seen that, surely I would.’ Then he seemed to remember his instructions and his eyes glazed over. ‘So what is it you want to know?’
‘Did Rowbottom ever tell you why you weren’t supposed to talk to anyone about Mary Edgar or Arthur Sobers?’
The captain shook his head.
‘Mary Edgar’s dead. She was murdered, strangled. Her body was found a few days ago near the Ratcliff Highway.’
From his reaction, Pyke could tell this was news to McQuillan. It was as though the wind had been kicked from his stomach.
‘Aye, she came with us from Falmouth,’ he said eventually. ‘Her and the other fellow, Sobers.’
‘Why? I mean, what reason did they have for wanting to come to London?’
McQuillan shrugged. ‘She didn’t say and I didn’t ask her.’ He waited for a moment and added, ‘I was told by an attorney in Falmouth, Michael Pemberton, to look after her and keep my crew away from her. I got the impression from him that she was spoken for, if you know what I mean.’
‘But not by Pemberton?’
McQuillan just shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘And Sobers?’
‘What about him?’
‘How well did they seem to know each other?’
McQuillan considered this. ‘They knew one another, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t say they were lovers. They didn’t share a cabin. In spite of his size, he seemed in awe of her. He deferred to her, rather than the other way around.’
‘What else can you tell me?’
The captain sighed. ‘Not a great deal. Like I said, they didn’t reveal too much. I didn’t ask. I was glad to have him onboard, though. He was strong and willing to work.’
‘And her?’
McQuillan didn’t answer him immediately. ‘Mind if I speak bluntly?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘To be honest, I couldn’t work her out. Most of the time, she’d keep herself to herself. No trouble at all. But with a little rum in her, she was a different person.’
‘What kind of person?’
‘Devious, I’d say. Reckoned she had special powers.’ He paused. ‘There’s an old slave religion…’
‘Obeah,’ Pyke said, interrupting.
‘You’ve heard of it?’ McQuillan seemed surprised.
‘It’s a kind of witchcraft.’
The captain nodded. ‘She reckoned she could commune with spirits. I didn’t believe her for a second but this fellow, Sobers, he was terrified of her.’ He licked his lips. ‘I didn’t mind it, just the two of them chanting away. But then some of the crew started to consult her, about old lovers they wanted her to curse, that kind of thing, so I had to put my foot down.’
‘And how did she respond?’
‘She’d just mimic my voice and laugh in my face. She was a good mimic, I’ll say that for her.’ McQuillan waited for a moment. ‘She was educated, all right, and a lot of the time she was perfectly fine. But she was a tough one, that’s for sure. I’d say she knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it, too.’
‘Was there anyone on the ship apart from Sobers she became friendly with?’ If one of the crew had developed an unhealthy interest in her, it was possible they might have followed her into the city.
McQuillan must have sensed Pyke’s line of thinking. ‘Look,’ he said, quickly, ‘I know what you’re thinking and the answer’s no. Sobers wouldn’t let any of the crew near her and I told my lads if I caught any of ’em within ten feet of her, they’d be flogged and thrown into the brig for the rest of the journey.’
‘Ten weeks at sea, perhaps longer, a beautiful woman on the ship. You can see how it might affect someone.’ Pyke waited. ‘For all I know, perhaps even you might have been tempted.’
McQuillan gave him a wary stare. ‘Perhaps you’re misunderstanding me. She might’ve liked the attention but she was educated, and in spite of her colour, she looked down on us, like we weren’t good enough for her. Any of the men tried to do anything more ’n look at her, she would’ve come screaming to me in a second.’
‘And perhaps you let her cry on your shoulder?’ Pyke said it but somehow he couldn’t see it.
McQuillan just laughed. ‘Have you seen the state of me? You think she’d have given me a second look?’ But this time, there was something in his eyes that made Pyke think otherwise.
Still, he nodded, deciding to let it go for the time being. ‘Did she say anything about her plans when she got to London?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘But she must have said something. Ten weeks at sea is a long time.’
‘She did ask a lot of questions about London; whether it was as cold and dangerous as she’d been told,’ McQuillan said, frowning. ‘I got the impression she was planning to settle here.’
‘I understand,’ Pyke said, frustrated. ‘But I suppose what I’m asking is whether she had any specific questions about particular parts of the city.’
McQuillan scratched his chin. ‘Not exactly, but she did mention Mayfair a few times, wanted to know what kind of a place it was.’
Mayfair? Why had she asked about Mayfair and then taken a room on the Ratcliff Highway?
‘Did she say why she was interested in Mayfair or whether she knew anyone who lived there?’
‘I don’t know.’ McQuillan thought about it for a moment. ‘But what I do remember was what happened when we docked. There was a carriage waiting for her by the quayside. I thought she’d be pleased that someone had come to meet her but this fellow and her had a right to-do in front of the carriage. She didn’t want to go with him and told him that in so many words. She had a tongue on her, that’s for sure. But he was insistent and in the end she agreed to go with him.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘The fellow?’
Pyke nodded.
‘About your height and build, your hair colour too except slightly greyer. Attractive, I suppose. Well dressed, olive skin. Slightly full of himself, I’d say.’
Pyke felt a spike of excitement rip through his stomach. McQuillan had just described Alefounder.
‘Did you hear her call him by name? William perhaps?’
‘No, afraid not,’ McQuillan said.
‘But you’re certain about the description?’ It would be something to throw back in the trader’s face.
One of the crew appeared on deck and McQuillan waved him over. They had a brief conversation, hushed so Pyke couldn’t hear them, and then the young man ambled off towards the gangway. McQuillan joined Pyke and apologised for the interruption. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘William Alefounder? Does the name ring a bell?’
The captain rubbed his eyes. ‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘What did Sobers do while all this was happening on the quayside?’
‘That’s the thing. He didn’t budge. The whole trip, he was protective of her. Some of the men got angry about it. Called him an uppity nigger and threatened to cut him. Then she gets into this big argument in front of everyone and he doesn’t lift a finger to help her.’
‘And when she went off in this carriage, what did he do?’
‘Took his case, said goodbye and wandered down the gangplank like nothing had happened.’
‘Anything else you can remember about them? However unimportant it might seem?’
McQuillan waited for a moment. ‘I did overhear them mention the word kill-devil on a few occasions. I asked her about it once. She told me it was the name folk give to rum.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’
The captain just shrugged. ‘I got the sense it was something more. Like it was code for something.’
Pyke heard something in the distance and turned around. McQuillan looked, too, and said, ‘Seems you brought out a welcoming party.’
There was a pack of men, led by Rowbottom and th
e foreman, heading in the direction of the ship. Pyke thanked the captain for his help, but by the time he’d crossed the deck and negotiated his passage back to the quayside, they were nearly upon him. Looking around, Pyke picked up a piece of wood and turned to face his pursuers. Up close he saw that Rowbottom’s neck was bandaged where he’d pressed his knife into the flesh. There were ten men including Rowbottom and the foreman. None was armed, as far as he could tell, but Pyke didn’t doubt that if things didn’t go their way, there would fifty or a hundred men ready to step into the breach. No one liked to see blood spilled as much as a docker. He swung the piece of wood at one of the men and looked around for a possible escape route. None was forthcoming. Behind him was the ship and the water. The foreman grinned, as a hunter might do, snaring a wild beast. He took out a cudgel and wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘The cull here’s due a terrible beating.’ Tapping the cudgel against his open palm, he took a step forward; the others, except for Rowbottom, did likewise. They had almost surrounded him. Pyke looked behind him and saw McQuillan and some of the crew watching proceedings from the ship’s deck. They weren’t hostile but he knew he couldn’t count on their support. If it came down to it, they would be as quick to fight him as the dockers. He swung the piece of wood and forced the foreman back a step or two.
‘This is private property,’ Rowbottom said, ‘and you’re trespassing. We’re within our rights to defend ourselves as we see fit.’ Surrounded by his men, he was no longer the terrified clerk Pyke had encountered in his office.
Pyke did the only thing he could and retreated back up the gangplank to the deck of the Island Queen. Two men tried to follow him but he pulled the plank from under their feet and watched as they fell into the water. Rather than confront the remaining eight, Pyke ran along the length of the deck and clambered down the rigging back on to the quayside. The rest of the dockers were ten, maybe fifteen yards behind him; Pyke could hear them panting; he could hear their shouts. Other dockers heard the shouts and stopped what they were doing. Some tried to block his path. Pyke ran around the quayside as far as it took him and ducked into one of the warehouses. He had to push through a group of stevedores, one of whom tried to rough him up, but Pyke pushed the man backwards into the others.
It was a rum warehouse; row upon row of rum casks stacked on shelves that extended right up to the roof. Clambering up to one of the giant barrels, he waited until the stevedores had picked themselves up, and some of his original pursuers had entered the warehouse, before rolling the barrel on to its side and letting it fall to the ground to crush the men unlucky enough to be beneath it. The barrel cracked against the stone floor, a sweet, pungent smell filling the air. Pyke did likewise to the barrel next to it and then took out a box of matches, lit one and let it fall on to the liquid. The reddish flames raced across the floor, preventing any of the men from following him. Seizing the chance to put some distance between himself and his pursuers, Pyke retreated farther into the warehouse, paying no attention to the fast-spreading fire, and found a window that he was able to crawl through at the back of the room. From there, he clambered down on to the quayside again, where he was spotted by the foreman and a couple of his men. They chased him towards the high brick wall that surrounded the entire dock area.
The first man came at Pyke with just his fists. Pyke ducked inside the first punch and swayed back to avoid the second. Then he landed two of his own, a left-right combination to the man’s head, which put him down. Another man came at him but Pyke surprised him with a sharp kick to his shins; the man’s head fell and Pyke brought his knee up into his face. Then it was just the foreman and his cudgel. Others would arrive soon if Pyke didn’t finish this quickly. The foreman lashed at him with the cudgel, missing his cheek by a whisker, but Pyke caught him by the wrist, twisted it and forced the cudgel from his grasp. The blunt implement fell into Pyke’s outstretched hand and in the same movement he smashed it against the foreman’s mouth and felt the man’s jaw dissolve. He fell to the ground holding his mouth, blood rushing down his chin.
To no great surprise, Pyke discovered that the waterman had long since abandoned his post. The dockers had regrouped and Rowbottom was pointing them in Pyke’s direction. He couldn’t risk fighting his way through to the main entrance and he didn’t doubt that if the injured foreman got hold of him now, the man would kill him. He stared out at the vast expanse of river. A few seconds later, as he hit the cold, dirty water, feet first, the air rushed from his lungs and he felt himself sink under the surface.
Struggling to remain afloat, Pyke wriggled out of his coat and trod water for long enough to remove his boots. Above him, on the wharf, the men had arrived and were peering over the edge, but Pyke had already swum thirty yards out into the Thames and had drifted another hundred with the current. Keeping his mouth closed, because he didn’t want to swallow the foul-smelling water, he put his head down and kicked with his legs, wondering whether he had enough strength left to make it to the other side.
NINE
At five o’clock that afternoon, Pyke presented himself to one of the uniformed clerks inside the ‘A’ Division building in Whitehall and was led immediately up the stone steps to an airy, high-ceilinged room on the first floor where Fitzroy Tilling, Sir Richard Mayne, Benedict Pierce and, as it turned out, William Alefounder were all waiting for him.
They couldn’t have heard about the fire at the West India Dock already. Anyway, his landlady had told him that the note from Tilling, summoning him to this meeting, had been delivered to his garret some time that morning.
They barely looked up as he crossed the room to the only available chair, as though his presence were an irritation that had to be tolerated. Tilling ignored Pyke entirely. Pierce sat between Tilling and Alefounder with his arms folded. All of them were facing Mayne, the commissioner, their chairs arranged in a semicircle around his desk, as if they needed to be reminded who was in charge.
‘Gentlemen, perhaps we could make a start,’ Mayne said, glancing down at his watch and then in Pyke’s direction for the first time. ‘I believe we all know each other so I’ll dispense with the formalities.’ He turned to Pyke. ‘I thank you for coming, sir, and I shouldn’t need to add that you’ve been invited as a courtesy, a goodwill gesture, in the hope that we can resolve whatever differences exist between us and put an end to all the nonsense.’
Mayne was a suave, distinguished man in his middle forties, with a full head of dark hair, a pair of mutton-chop sideburns, a lantern jaw, and a patrician air that suggested he didn’t suffer fools gladly.
‘I don’t want anything from you.’ Pyke cast a quick glance at Tilling. ‘I just want to be left alone.’
‘Left alone to peddle these ridiculous stories in that rag of a newspaper?’ Mayne shot a stern look at Tilling. ‘Look, Fitzroy made a mistake contracting your services but at the time our resources were being pulled in a different direction. That said, having discussed you at length with Sir Robert Peel earlier today, I can understand why Fitzroy turned to you. To my surprise, Sir Robert made a compelling case in your defence. So now I want to put it all behind us and press ahead with the important business of finding out who killed this woman. And I want to reassure you that we are more than able to conduct the investigation ourselves.’
For now it was all smiles and kind words, but if Pyke persisted in his current course of action, he was sure the smiles would disappear.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Splendid,’ Mayne said, directing his remarks at Tilling. ‘You see? We’ve made progress already.’ When Tilling didn’t answer, Mayne continued, ‘I’m sorry to say an unfortunate incident was reported to me yesterday. It seems you made some rather wild, and entirely unfounded, accusations against Mr Alefounder and I want to put an end to that as well.
‘And that’s why you’ve summoned Alefounder to your office, to interrogate him?’
‘ Mr Alefounder came of his own accord, as soon as he’d learned from you that a crime had been comm
itted, but no one will be interrogating him, as you so colourfully put it.’
‘So you want to reassure me about Alefounder’s good character…’
‘Indeed,’ Mayne said carefully, trying to work out whether Pyke was mocking him. ‘And warn you about the very severe consequences, should you continue to pester him or, for that matter, besmirch his good name in the press.’
‘If he’s as innocent as you claim he is, what reason would I have for trying to besmirch his name?’
Mayne looked at Alefounder and offered a reassuring smile. ‘I have it on impeccable authority that Mr Alefounder’s character is second to none.’
‘Then perhaps you could tell me why he knowingly lied to me yesterday in his office in front of a room full of witnesses?’
That took the wind out of the commissioner’s sails. ‘Eh?’ It was as though he hadn’t actually heard what Pyke had just said.
‘Yesterday he told me he’d never set eyes on Mary Edgar. But then I found out that he went in person to meet her ship when it arrived at the West India Dock on the twenty-fourth of April. He even argued with her on the quayside in front of the whole crew.’
Mayne’s stare was opaque. He wetted his lips and looked across at William Alefounder. ‘This man isn’t a suspect. What he may or may not have told you yesterday has no bearing on the murder investigation.’
This time Pyke addressed Alefounder directly. ‘You knew Mary Edgar well enough to meet her ship and argue with her in public. That makes you a suspect, irrespective of whether you lied to me or not.’
But it was Mayne who answered. ‘I want to make something quite clear, Pyke. We have questioned Mr Alefounder at length about his involvement in this matter and we are perfectly happy to rule him out as a suspect. That is all you need to know.’
‘Where did you go after you left the docks?’ Pyke said to Alefounder, ignoring Mayne’s warning. He knew he was pushing his luck but he simply didn’t care.
‘I’ve said all I’m going to say to these gentlemen,’ Alefounder said, pointing at Pierce and Mayne. He didn’t seem to be including Tilling in this coterie, and Pyke wondered what this said about Tilling’s status as a result of the piece in the Examiner.
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