Pyke 01 - The Last Days of Newgate

by Andrew Pepper

  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 between 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.

  Along with Townsend, Goddard was an acquaintance from Bow Street. Though younger and more immature than his partner, Goddard was, perversely, the one with a family. His wife had just given birth to twin daughters. He had a thin face, with sunken cheeks that accentuated the dark patches around his eyes. Pyke listened while he explained that the Runners were effectively being dismantled, despite Fox’s best efforts to sabotage the new dispensation for law enforcement.

  ‘Sir Richard’s even got us ingratiating ourselves in radical circles, Hunt’s lot, to try and stir up some trouble,’ Townsend added. ‘To see if he can’t overstretch the new force and show Peel the Runners are still needed.’

  ‘He’s losing his fuckin’ mind, more like,’ Goddard said.

  ‘Peel’s having none of it,’ Townsend added, ignoring that last remark. ‘And he won’t let any Runner join the new force. Says he wants a clean start.’

  Pyke had already told them about his plans to rob Blackwood’s armoured carriage and both had willingly consented to help him. Townsend needed no persuasion - any opportunity to upset Edmonton’s affairs was to be welcomed - and Goddard was attracted by the monetary incentive. For Pyke, such a venture carried certain risks, not least because it would draw Edmonton’s attention to his presence in the capital. But the potential benefits outweighed the risks. The money, which would be divided equally between them, would be extremely welcome. But the real reason Pyke was willing to pursue such a venture was because it would undermine Edmonton’s financial stability and perhaps draw Jimmy Swift from his hiding place.

  In hushed voices, they discussed the best place to stage the attack and contemplated the most appropriate course of action. They had agreed upon a plan and Goddard excused himself. A few moments later, Townsend turned to Pyke and said, ‘Before you went away, you asked about the mother.’

  Pyke frowned. ‘Whose mother?’

  ‘The daughter’s. Edmonton’s wife.’

  Pyke strained to conceal his interest. ‘Apparently she died, while incarcerated in an asylum.’

  ‘That was the commonly held assumption.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  Townsend seemed to be enjoying himself, ‘Do you know of anyone who attended the funeral?’

  ‘The daughter wasn’t permitted to.’

  ‘But she believes her mother to be dead?’

  ‘Are you saying that she’s still alive?’

  Townsend took a swig of ale. ‘I managed to track down one of the old servants. She didn’t want to talk to me at first - it seems that even former employees are terrified of Edmonton’s vindictiveness - but she remembered my brother and eventually opened up to me.’

  ‘I am interested.’ Pyke shrugged. ‘I can’t pretend otherwise. ’

  Townsend leaned closer and whispered, ‘The old woman was adamant. The mother is by no means dead.’

  ‘Does she know where I might be able to find her?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Townsend wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

  ‘But this information is going to cost me,’ Pyke said, nodd
ing his head.

  Townsend shrugged.

  ‘What if I were to offer you half of my share of the robbery proceeds?’

  Townsend whistled and raised his eyebrows. ‘She must be important to you.’

  ‘You mean the mother?’

  ‘Or the daughter.’

  When Pyke looked up, he saw Emily’s servant, Jo, enter the taproom. Compared to the dressmakers and shop workers who frequented the tavern, she stood out in the surroundings almost as sorely as her mistress. Pyke excused himself and went to join her. They exchanged formal pleasantries and he suggested that the relative quiet of his garret might be a more convivial place to talk. As they ascended the staircase, he wondered why Emily had not come herself.

  ‘My mistress has asked me to pass on a message. She assured me you would know what it meant.’

  With a buxom figure and a round, rosy-cheeked face that, above all, intimated a sense of ripeness, Jo seemed nervous and fidgeted as she stood in the doorway, unwilling to enter his room. Not for the first time, he was struck by the thought that he had come across her before.

  ‘I would be able to respond to that sentiment if I knew more about the message itself,’ he said, with a smile.

  ‘Of course.’ She seemed flustered. Pyke wondered whether it had been wise to bring an unaccompanied young woman - Emily’s servant, no less - up to his garret.

  ‘Tomorrow, at six in the morning.’ Jo looked at him. ‘She said you would know what it meant.’ Jo had painted her eyelashes and Pyke wondered whether this was usual for a servant.

  It was the time that the armoured carriage was due to depart from the Bank of England. Again he wondered why Emily had opted to send her servant with such an important message. Since he could not ask Jo such a direct question, he enquired after Emily’s health. Jo informed him that her mistress was perfectly well.

  Despite her apparent nerves, Jo did not seem to be in any hurry to leave. Instead, she removed her bonnet and started to rearrange her hair. Without it, he was able to admire her smooth round face, her flawless pale skin and her extraordinary red hair.

  ‘I made sure no one followed me,’ she said, still unwilling to meet his stare. Her accent indicated a certain level of education. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a minute.’

  ‘Please, take all the time you need.’ Pyke watched as she bent forward to attend to her boots. He found himself wondering what her relationship with Emily was like and whether there was any kind of ulterior motive to her presence in his room. He also didn’t know what she knew about him and whether he could trust her.

  ‘There.’ Jo stood up and smiled. ‘Done.’

  She went to retrieve her bonnet but Pyke had already picked it up. He handed it to her. ‘This may sound like an immodest question, but are you aware of who I am?’

  Jo stared down at her feet. ‘My mistress felt it was necessary to inform me of certain things.’

  ‘Such as?’ He raised his eyebrows, half-aware that he might be flirting with her.

  ‘That, unless crossed, you were not a dangerous man. That you didn’t tolerate fools. That your bark was worse than your bite.’ She looked away and blushed slightly. ‘She also warned me you were . . . rather dashing.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Well, she actually said exceedingly dashing but I thought I’d appeal to your modesty.’ Jo laughed nervously. She seemed more confident of herself now and even allowed her gaze to meet his.

  ‘And why do you think Emily furnished you with this information?’ Pyke watched her carefully. She was remarkably attractive. He wondered whether she was aware of this fact.

  ‘I don’t know. To warn me, perhaps.’

  ‘Warn you to be on your guard?’ Pyke could not help but smile at this prospect. Clearly Emily did not trust him, but did he trust her? And could he be certain that her loyalties did not, as she put it, lie at Hambledon?

  ‘Have we met somewhere before?’ He studied her features closely.

  ‘Aside from when you first visited my mistress in Islington . . .’

  ‘Your face seems familiar,’ he said, absent-mindedly. ‘It’s a pretty face, of course . . .’

  Jo blushed again and edged towards the door. Impulsively, he moved into the space between them, leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. She did not resist but nor did she make any attempt to reciprocate. Unthinkingly, he tried to pull her closer, smelling perfume on her clothes, but this time she baulked and, instinctively perhaps, her entire body recoiled backwards. For a brief moment, they stared at one another, opaquely, neither certain what the other was thinking. Finally, without saying a word, Jo turned to depart, leaving Pyke angry at himself that he had done such an utterly stupid thing and wondering whether Jo would tell her mistress.

  It was only later that it struck him where he had seen her before. It was not her face that he recognised but her voice - the voice that had warned him in the Blue Dog. He could not be absolutely certain of this but, if it was the case, it meant that Emily’s servant had been keeping an eye on him even before he had first visited Hambledon Hall.

  TWENTY

  In thick early-morning fog that made it all but impossible to see for more than a few yards ahead, the armoured carriage departed from the Bank of England on Thread-needle Street shortly after six o’clock, just as Emily had predicted. It had rained heavily during the night and the streets, though empty of traffic, were muddy and treacherous. The occasional gas light illuminated the otherwise gloomy route. Pyke followed the carriage at a respectful distance, riding a clapped-out nag Townsend had procured from a band of gypsies on Hampstead Heath. The carriage was a converted stagecoach: iron bars protected the doors and windows. Alongside the driver were two heavy-set figures dressed in black cloaks and hats. Pyke presumed them to be security men and supposed they were armed. The coach itself was pulled by four sturdy horses. The newly macadamised turnpike beyond would be more heavily patrolled and, on such ground, the carriage would be able to outrun them without difficulty, which was why they had opted to attack it in the city. Such a tactic also meant they would be able to lose themselves in the vastness of the metropolis before any alarm could be raised.

  The thickness of the fog made it hard for Pyke to keep the armoured carriage in sight but he did not mind the inconvenience because the poor visibility would assist them in the robbery.

  It was still too early for traders to be setting up their stalls - it was barely light and in this part of the world commerce did not properly commence until eight or nine in the morning - but the streets were not entirely clear of carts and barrows. As they rattled along Bishopsgate Street they passed the occasional street sweeper and beggar pushing a makeshift cart, scouring the roadside for scraps of food. Sewer rats as large as dogs scuttled down deserted alleyways, startled by the clip-clopping of iron hoofs on stone cobbles.

  The laudanum Pyke had ingested earlier had calmed him slightly, but as they reached the outskirts of Shoreditch he felt his nerves jangle and the muscles in his stomach tighten. Reaching down, he made sure that the two pistols and length of iron pipe were safely tucked into his belt. Nearing the spot where the attack was due to take place, Pyke kicked his boots into his horse’s midriff and urged it on. The beast responded, though less willingly than he would have liked. Evidently concerned by Pyke’s presence, the driver of the armoured carriage conferred with the two guards and proceeded to lash his whip against the horses’ backs to quicken their pace. Pyke stepped up his pursuit. Ahead of him, the carriage bounced more vigorously as it raced across the uneven surface of the road. The guards were shouting at each other and, as far as Pyke could make out in the fog, had turned to look at him, rather than focus on the road ahead.

  It meant they would not see the wire that Goddard and Townsend had pulled taut across the entire width of the road and fixed to gas lamps on either side of the street.

  Ahead were the rising spires of St Leonard’s church. Pyke prepared himself for the attack. The carriage was now spee
ding across the uneven cobbles at such a velocity that when it passed under the wire - for it had been set at such a height to ensure that the carriage and horses would pass under it without any problems - the three figures sitting on top were pulled from their seats and dumped on the road.

  Pyke heard them land on the cobbles with a dull thump but did not have time to determine the exact nature of their injuries, though he was relieved to see that there had been nothing as calamitous as a beheading. This had been Townsend’s fear: that the wire, if placed at the wrong height, might slice clean through their necks and behead the driver and guards. Rather than concerning himself with these matters, Pyke took care to duck underneath the wire himself and pursue the now driverless carriage as it careened onwards, zigzagging across the road and narrowly avoiding a fruit seller who was hauling his barrow up on to the pavement. It had been his plan to overtake the carriage, if this was possible, and somehow bring the horses under control, but such was their speed, or his own nag’s weariness, that the best he could do was pull alongside the back wheel of the now out-of-control carriage and thrust the length of lead piping into the wheel’s spokes. The effect was instantaneous. Pyke pulled back behind the carriage as the wheel splintered and disintegrated; the carriage teetered momentarily on its one good rear wheel before toppling sideways and crashing into the pavement, where a chestnut seller was setting up his stall. The carriage obliterated the wooden stand and narrowly missed the man himself, who just managed to take evasive action. The impact of the crash snapped one side of the yoke and freed two of the horses, but the other side of the yoke somehow held together, and the petrified beasts continued to surge forward, dragging the stranded carriage on its side through mud and puddles, producing a grim, ear-splitting noise.

  Eventually, the effort of having to drag a heavy object on its side through thick mud took its toll and the two horses slowed to a trot and then a complete stop, and neighed to show their unease. As Pyke dismounted, he saw that Goddard and Townsend were rattling towards him on their horse and cart. All of them had pulled black handkerchiefs up over the lower part of their faces.