Pyke said he’d talked to Goddard and Townsend but they hadn’t managed to locate her yet. He assured him that they would continue to look for her. Fox shook his head, as if the blow were a personal one, and told Pyke that locating the girl was their top priority.
‘I hope you don’t think I was too harsh with Brownlow earlier,’ Fox said, with studied casualness.
Pyke had enjoyed Vines’s humiliation but said nothing.
‘I fear he might have already struck a deal with Peel, or at least with someone involved in the process of setting up this new police force.’
‘What kind of a deal?’
‘Brownlow is not an idiot. He senses that the writing is on the wall for us, so to speak, and he’s been making contingency plans to safeguard his own future. Exactly what has already been agreed upon, I’m afraid I don’t know.’ Fox seemed disappointed, above all. ‘When things are changing so quickly, it’s difficult to know who one can trust.’ He waited for Pyke to look at him. ‘We trust one another, don’t we, Pyke?’
Pyke nodded in a non-committal way. He didn’t think Fox wanted a firmer response.
Shortly after he had joined the Runners - he had been recommended by George Morgan, the now bedridden father of Pyke’s mistress Lizzie - Pyke had been compelled to come to Fox’s rescue; and his actions had forever affected the way in which Fox dealt with him. At the time, Jim Salter, a blackguard who had been arrested by a team of Runners and was awaiting trial on multiple charges of theft with violence, grand larceny, embezzlement and house-breaking, had arranged for members of his gang to break into Fox’s office and hold him at knife-point until Salter had been released. Pyke had inadvertently interrupted their efforts to subdue Sir Richard and, by chance, had had on his person a Long Sea Service flintlock pistol that had just been requisitioned from another villain. While Salter was a truly formidable character, his gang lacked his fortitude in the face of adversity. One of them had attempted to hold a knife to Sir Richard’s throat but seeing the man’s shaking hand and sensing his lack of resolve, Pyke had produced the pistol and raised his arm, as if to take aim. He still remembered how calm and in control of himself he had felt. When the man had refused to release Sir Richard, Pyke had simply fired the pistol, narrowly missing his head. The loud blast of the exploding weapon was sufficient to ensure his capitulation. The rest of the gang had surrendered and were later tried and hung. Fox himself had been impressed and even a little awed by Pyke’s performance and, afterwards, told Pyke he had made a friend for life. At the time, Pyke had simply been grateful for Fox’s gratitude but, as the years had passed, he had come to rely upon, and exploit, the protective cloak that the man’s continuing support afforded him.
‘I want you to be my eyes and ears on this investigation. I am not privy to Peel’s intentions in this unfortunate business, whether he will want to be involved in an official capacity or not. But whatever Peel decides, and whatever he says, I want you to look into this matter on behalf of Bow Street, and I want you to find the man who did those things.’ In an unusual display of emotion, he grabbed Pyke’s arm and stared with watery eyes. ‘Do you understand?’
Fox’s sudden outburst, whether it was provoked by passion or outrage, took Pyke by surprise.
He nodded and assured Fox that he would do as the old man asked. In fact, he had already made up his mind to conduct his own investigation, whether Fox sanctioned it or not.
A little later, Fox wanted to know whether Pyke had any business that might distract him from the matter in hand. ‘If you have to share out some of your work, I’ll see that you’re properly remunerated.’
Pyke assured him he had no such business.
‘Even what took you to that lodging house in the first place?’ When Pyke said nothing, Fox continued, ‘In the past, I have been aware of instances in which the activities of persons under my authority have transgressed the official sanction of the law. Perhaps I should have taken a firmer stance against such practices. Perhaps this laxness on my part is one of the reasons why the Home Secretary does not seem favourably disposed towards us.’ His stare intensified. ‘I am well aware of the business Brownlow alluded to earlier, Pyke. A man by the name of Flynn, a known receiver of stolen goods who is currently being held in the felons’ room, is making all kinds of scurrilous accusations against you. The man claims that you have been personally responsible for countless burglaries during a period extending as far back as the last days of our current monarch’s much-lamented father. Am I to assume that his accusations are entirely false?’
Pyke appeared wounded by the slight and assured Fox he had never dealt with the man in any capacity.
‘If I am prepared to draw a line under whatever you may have done in the past, I’d like to feel I had your unequivocal support on this matter.’
It was a strange request, one that bristled with repressed anger.
Still, Pyke said he would do whatever the old man asked him.
‘Excellent.’ Fox nodded, seemingly back to his old self. ‘And you’ll keep me informed with regular reports?’
Pyke promised he would.
‘Well, that’s settled, then.’ Fox held out his hand and Pyke shook it without knowing what had been settled.
It struck him only later that, in agreeing to be Fox’s eyes and ears, he had permitted himself to be used in a way that he couldn’t quite fathom. But then again, he had no plans to disclose everything that he turned up. Fox would find out only what he wanted him to.
The fact that the private chambers of the Secretary of State for the Home Department were disappointingly spare was not a reflection on the rest of the building. Indeed, as they were led through a maze of interconnected rooms, it was hard not to be impressed by the ornate furnishings and gilt decorations, and, in one instance, a cantilevered staircase that extended through the full height of the building. But when they were finally ushered into Peel’s private chambers, Pyke was surprised to discover that, with the exception of the vast library of books that lined every part of the wall, the man’s office was small and functional. The impression of being cramped was augmented by the large number of people already in the room. This was not the informal meeting between themselves and the Home Secretary Fox had been expecting. Even to Pyke’s untrained eye, it resembled a full-scale conference of war.
Peel was standing in front of a large mahogany desk. He was a tall, elegant man with a long distinguished face and a full head of curly, reddish hair. He was fashionably dressed and wore powder, though this was perhaps explained by the fact that he had come directly from an official function in order to convene the meeting. Excusing himself from another conversation, Peel came over to greet them. He seemed to know Fox well and referred to him amiably as ‘Sir Richard’, but there was no warmth in his voice, and he treated Pyke as he might have done a servant. He wasn’t actively rude but simply seemed to look through Pyke as though he were not there.
‘Right, gentlemen, if you could all take a seat, perhaps we could make a start.’ He spoke with a faint Lancashire accent. ‘First of all, I would like to thank you for coming here at such short notice. Your assistance at such a vexing time, I can assure you, is much appreciated. Most of you will already know one another but for those who are less familiar with the persons gathered in this room, perhaps you will permit me, for the sake of expediency, to go around and make your introductions.’
Their chairs were arranged in a semicircle arching around the desk that Peel now sat behind.
‘To my right,’ Peel began, ‘is, of course, Sir Henry Hobhouse, the now retired Home Office under-secretary who, along with the gentleman next to him, William Gregson, a fine barrister in his own right, has been assisting me in drafting the new Metropolitan Police Bill. As I’m sure you all know, I will be presenting the bill to the House next month.’ He glanced over at Sir Richard. ‘I’ve asked them to sit in on this meeting because the terrible events of this evening, and my proposed response, have implications for our legislative program
me. Next to them is James Hardwick, the esteemed criminologist who, I am reliably informed, studied under Becarria. Mr Hardwick will provide us with a preliminary report into the psychological background of the man who killed these people.’
Pyke looked at the bespectacled young man with his smug expression and oiled hair and wondered how he was able to comment on something he knew nothing about.
‘To my left, we all know Sir Richard Fox, the chief magistrate at Bow Street, and next to him is . . .’ Peel looked at Fox rather than at Pyke. Fox said, ‘Pyke,’ and Peel nodded and said, ‘This is Mr Pyke, who is a Bow Street Runner and had the misfortune of discovering the dead bodies. Mr Pyke will, I hope, report precisely what happened. And finally we have Charles Hume, who served under the duke at Waterloo.’ Peel did not elaborate beyond this and left Pyke and others in the room wondering in what capacity Charles Hume had been invited to the meeting.
The only other person in the room was a large, bug-eyed man with black hair and coarse skin. Peel did not introduce him and he took a seat at the back of the room.
‘I’m sure I don’t need to underline the seriousness of the public-order situation we’re now facing. Nor do I need to stress the significance of what’s happened in relation to the Metropolitan Police and Catholic emancipation bills that I’m planning to present to the Commons in the next few months. You’ll understand, of course, these events threaten both pieces of legislation, yet also underline their importance . . .’
As Peel spoke, Pyke studied the impassive faces of those gathered in the room and then the expensively bound editions mounted on the wall behind him. He wondered how many of them Peel had actually read. He seemed like an intelligent man but Pyke could not help but think that the quantity of books functioned, in the main, as a reminder to others of Peel’s superior learning.
Peel asked Fox to explain what measures had already been undertaken to police the area and secure the scene of the murders, and Fox outlined what had already been done by the Bow Street magistrates and Runners. If nothing else, Fox’s account served to reinforce Pyke’s belief that he had authorised such an extensive deployment only in order to garner the political capital.
The more he was seen to be doing, and the more the Runners were seen to be involved with the investigation, the harder it would be for Peel to push them aside.
When he had finished, Peel thanked Fox for all the fine work that had been done, and in his forthright way said that, as someone who remained integral to the business of policing the city, Sir Richard, when it came to the preservation of public order, was still very much needed for his expertise.
No one in the room could have missed the implication behind what he was saying.
Fox seemed appalled. ‘With all due respect, Home Secretary, as the events today in Hyde Park demonstrated, there is no other organisation or group of men currently available to perform such a task, except of course the armed forces.’
‘At present, yes, you’re quite right.’ Peel regarded Fox with amusement.
‘So it’s not a gift you’re bestowing on us, Home Secretary, this burden of policing the city.’
‘It is a duty I’m asking you to perform.’
‘Asking or commanding?’ Fox said, like a bad-tempered card player, unable to see he was compelling Peel to show his hand.
Peel just smiled. ‘This is the problem with having to make decisions within a system comprising different and sometimes competing authorities. As a military man, the duke would say the same thing. Can you imagine what would happen on a battlefield if there were two generals on the same side, each employing a different strategy? It’s why I intend to bring all aspects of policing in London under one single authority, to be established under the direct control of this office.’
In that moment, whether Fox realised it or not, Peel had driven a nail into the coffin of the Bow Street organisation.
Fox tried to gather his thoughts. ‘But that still leaves the pressing question of how to proceed with this particular investigation.’
Peel regarded him with amusement. ‘In what sense?’
‘Well, as de facto head of policing in the capital . . .’
‘Nominal head of policing,’ Peel said, as though clearing up a minor quibble. ‘As of tonight, the investigation into the St Giles murders will be handed over to a team assembled under the authority of this office, to be led by our friend Charles Hume. Charles distinguished himself serving under the duke at Waterloo and if, as expected, the new bill is passed, I intend to ask him to be one of two commissioners responsible for overseeing the new force. The investigation will be run from what I hope will become the headquarters of the new force at number four Whitehall Place. The adjoining watch house that backs on to Great Scotland Yard will house his team while number four is being prepared. Of course, Charles has my full authority in all matters regarding the investigation. I hope you will all work closely with him to ensure that we find whoever perpetrated this abominable act before the mob rears its ugly head and before a drop of Catholic blood is spilled.’
Pyke was impressed with the ruthlessness with which Peel had dealt with Fox.
But Sir Richard was not quite beaten. ‘Pardon me, Home Secretary, for bringing up a matter so trifling as the law, but will the arrangements you propose earn the approval of the House?’
Peel wasn’t even slightly thrown by the question. He explained that it was for precisely this reason that he’d invited Sir Henry and William Gregson to the meeting. Perhaps he might hand over to Gregson to explain where the government stood from a legal standpoint? Gregson ran through some preliminary details and stated that so long as any authority with a mandate relating to policing functioned under the guidance of a sitting magistrate appointed under the terms of the 1792 Middlesex Justices Act, it had the full sanction of the law.
Fox sank back into his chair, folded his arms and said nothing. Pyke made a guess that the ‘sitting magistrate’ selected by Peel and Gregson would be Brownlow Vines.
Behind them, Pyke could still feel the intimidating presence of the anonymous heavy-set man.
‘Now that’s been taken care of,’ Peel said, moving swiftly on, ‘and since all of us here share some kind of interest in these terrible murders, perhaps we can direct our attention to possible avenues of enquiry, so that Charles can properly proceed with the investigation.’ He looked across at Hardwick and said, ‘I believe Mr Hardwick here has some ideas he’d like to share with us.’
Whereas Peel had delivered his address from the comfort of his chair, Hardwick rose to his feet and turned to face the group, as though about to give a lecture. He was a weedy man, a bookish type who looked as though he had been bullied at school and had never recovered from the experience. In Pyke’s view, although this type might be successful in their adult life, they always remembered their humiliation at the hands of others and, as a result, set out to wield their intellect like a weapon. His hair had been oiled and slicked back and his face, even without powder, was so wan that he seemed almost transparent. It took him five minutes to outline his own credentials.
Pyke yawned loudly and did not bother to cover his mouth.
‘In recent years,’ Hardwick explained, ‘psychiatrists and criminologists have begun to devote their attention to a seemingly new phenomenon: examples of extreme violence usually enacted within domestic settings and displaying cruel and unusual properties that do not have a clear-cut explanation. We have called such a condition “homicidal monomania”. Let me give you an example. A man, let’s call him Edwards, without any record of violence or history of insanity, attacks a young child with a hammer for no ostensible reason. Why? Is this a passing outburst or a permanent state? And are both of these states mutually exclusive? At present the intervention of psychiatry into the realm of the law is only partial and questions such as these can only be answered provisionally, but having briefly looked over the details of this particular case, I believe it to be another example of homicidal monomania. As such, I w
ould suggest that we are looking for a deeply disturbed man, not necessarily with a history of insanity in his family but one who displays, I am afraid to say, a pathology of the monstrous.’
Hardwick looked at his audience, expectant and pleased with himself.
Without raising his hand, Pyke said, ‘I’d imagine that - how did you put it - “the intervention of psychiatry into the law” will be personally beneficial to you. It’ll give you patients and, of course, status.’
Hardwick frowned, as though he had not understood the question. ‘I’m sorry? You are . . . ?’
‘I mean, I can see how you might personally benefit from inventing a condition such as - how did you phrase it? - “homicidal monomania”. You say something exists, so it exists.
And because it exists, it needs to be treated. And who can treat it but you? It’s like finding or, in your case, inventing a disease that only you have the power to cure. I’m impressed by the effrontery of the scheme, if not by its scientific foundations.’
The murmurs around the room were, he suspected, of consternation at his impudence, and Pyke wondered whether he had overplayed his hand.
‘And what do you know of science, Mr . . . ?’ Hardwick’s face was as black as thunder.
‘Pyke will do.’
‘What I am alluding to, and what a lesser mind such as your own might not have grasped, is that such ideas inevitably have much wider applications, Mr Pyke. At the heart of modern psychiatry and criminology is a belief that we have the power to treat and transform human behaviour. I’m sure if you had seen the fine work being undertaken by Philippe Pinel in France and Samuel Tuke in York in bringing to bear a moral regime on deviant behaviour, then you would not be so dismissive of the role psychiatry can play in bringing order to our world.’ Peel nodded his head and Hardwick smiled.
‘I have no personal experience of those places, but as is the case with all institutions, I’d wager that they are as oppressive in their own right as Newgate itself.’
Pyke 01 - The Last Days of Newgate Page 5
