SEVENTEEN 8 страница

‘Can I just ask why you decided to throw what I offered you back in my face? ’ The coins and notes were on the table where Pyke had left them.

‘I owe you enough as it is without wanting to add to my debt. ’

Field shook his head. ‘You do know that if you’d answered that question differently, I would have killed you with my bare hands? ’ He motioned for Pyke to go and added, ‘You still have a job to do for me. I’ll expect to hear back from you by the end of the week. ’

But Pyke’s long, exhausting night wasn’t quite over. When he got back home, he found Saggers waiting for him. Copper lay sleeping at his feet. As soon as he saw Pyke, Saggers rose, his cheeks damp with excitement.

‘There’s another body, ’ the penny‑ a‑ liner kept on saying, ‘there’s another body. ’

ELEVEN

The next day was the first really hot one of the year and even by nine in the morning the air was warm and filled with insects and the sky was hazy with soot. The sun was well up above the warehouse roofs and church spires, although it was hard to see it through the miasma of dust, and the surface of the river at Shadwell shimmered in the light breeze. In the distance Pyke could see people picking through the viscous sludge left by the river at low tide, looking for pieces of rusted iron, frayed rope and lumps of coal. Their poverty was an abstraction, something Pyke could not begin to appreciate in spite of his own precarious circumstances. But it wasn’t what they were doing which appalled him; it was the stink of the river produced by the sewage that gathered on both banks. Pyke loved the river, the sheer size of it, how it made him feel when he came upon it after the narrowness of the nearby streets, but he never got used to the smell, so he told Saggers he would wait for him in the Bunch of Grapes. There, he ordered and paid for a mug of ale rather than his usual gin because he was thirsty. He was surprised at how busy the place was at this hour in the morning. He sat at a table next to the window and watched the light streaming through the smudged panes, but there was no getting away from the stink. The floor had been sprinkled with sprigs of rosemary as well as sawdust, and baskets of lemons hung above the counter, yet all he could smell was the raw sewage from the river.

Pyke had just finished his second ale when Saggers joined him, this time accompanied by a mudlark, Gilbert Meeson, who from the look and smell of him had just waded out of the sludge, and a nervous coal‑ whipper who shook Pyke’s hand and introduced himself as George Luckins. Pyke bought drinks for all of them and Saggers helped carry them back from the counter.

George Luckins, it turned out, had read the column about Mary Edgar’s murder in the Examiner and had got in touch with Saggers through the newspaper. His own story was as sad as it was unexpected. The previous year, his daughter, who had worked as a servant and seamstress and who, as he later revealed, had also been arrested a few times for street‑ walking, had gone missing just as it seemed she was pulling her life back together. Someone had helped her to find a job, working in an East End factory as a seamstress, and she’d sworn to Luckins that she would never again sleep with men for money. A week after her disappearance, Luckins had been to see the police, who told him that since a crime hadn’t actually been committed they couldn’t help. After a month, he had become desperate. That was when he took up the search for his missing daughter himself. For another two months, in between loading and unloading crates of coal, he had searched for her in vain. He had looked everywhere: brothels, taverns, gin palaces, lodging houses, hospitals, even the Bedlam asylum for the insane. Nothing. He had been on the verge of giving up when a friend told him about a mudlark who’d apparently found a corpse in the river near St Katharine’s Dock. Luckins had paid the mudlark – Gilbert Meeson as it turned out – a visit, to discover that Meeson had sold the corpse to a surgeon from St Thomas’s hospital. But from the mudlark’s description of an unusual birthmark on the corpse’s neck, Luckins had been able to identify the body as his daughter.

Saggers had told Pyke Luckins’ story, and throughout it the coal‑ whipper just sat there, mute and unmoving, his eyes not blinking and his lips cracked and blistered.

‘If I’d known who she was, I wouldn’t have gone and sold her to the doctor. ’ Gilbert Meeson’s skeletal face was criss‑ crossed with thick, purple veins and covered by warts the size of shilling coins. ‘But by the time I fished her out of the water, to be honest, there weren’t a whole lot left of her. ’

Luckins stared down at the ground, as though the subject of their conversation was too painful for him.

‘But you’re certain she’d been strangled? ’ Pyke asked.

‘I’ll tell yer what I told Mr Saggers ’ere. ’ Meeson glanced over at the penny‑ a‑ liner and nodded. ‘I saw the marks around her neck. There was no question about it, and when the doctor seen it, he said the same. ’

‘But we want to know about the eyes, ’ Saggers said, breathless with excitement. ‘Tell him about the eyes. ’

Meeson sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘There weren’t none. ’ He said it so matter‑ of‑ factly that it took Pyke a moment to comprehend what he’d just been told. Luckins, meanwhile, started to hum, a low tuneless noise that Pyke couldn’t help but feel was the last defence of a man who’d already succumbed to his fate.

‘What do you mean, there weren’t any? ’

‘Like I said. ’ Meeson glanced over at Luckins, who was still humming. ‘The doctor took one look at her body and told me they’d been cut out with a scalpel. ’

‘But he was still prepared to pay for it? ’ Pyke’s palms were moist. A gust of wind rattled the frame of the window and they all looked at it, startled.

‘Not much, seeing as how bloated it was, from all the time it spent in the water. But he weren’t so worried about the eyes. You see, he told me he was in the business of cutting off folk’s limbs. ’

‘What was the doctor’s name? ’

Meeson looked at Pyke and blinked. ‘He wouldn’t want me telling yer that. ’

Outside, Pyke could hear the squawk of hungry gulls. ‘You’ll tell me his name because it’s the least you can do for this man sitting next to you. You made a profit from his daughter’s murder. ’

The mudlark stared down at his muddy boots. ‘Since yer put it that way, his name was Mort. ’

Pyke’s throat felt scratchy but he knew drinking more beer wouldn’t do it any good. He made a mental note of the doctor’s name. ‘Mr Luckins? ’

The coal‑ whipper stopped humming and looked up at him, his eyes hard and clear. ‘Sir? ’

‘You told this man here that someone helped your daughter find work as a seamstress. ’ For some reason, Pyke raised his voice, as though Luckins were either a simpleton or partially deaf.

‘I did, sir. ’

‘Can you remember the name of the man who helped her? ’

‘His name? ’

Pyke nodded his head and waited.

‘I saw ’im once, just briefly. But I never found out his name. ’

‘Is there anything at all you can tell me about him, or about your daughter, that might help me find the man who killed her? ’ Pyke could feel the sweat trickling down the small of his back.

‘I ’member her telling me he worked for a society what had the word vice in the title. I can’t think of the whole thing. ’ He shut his eyes and put his hand up to his forehead.

Pyke looked up at him, dry mouthed. ‘Do you mean the Society for the Suppression of Vice? ’

‘That were it. ’ Luckins hesitated. ‘Why? Is that any help to you? ’

‘Would you recognise this man if you saw him again? ’

The coal‑ whipper’s eyes glazed over. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. Yer see, I didn’t see him for long. ’ His expression was both apologetic and suggestive of a pain Pyke remembered only too well and hoped he would never have to face again.

As they prepared to leave, Pyke took the mudlark to one side and asked him whether he knew or had heard of a blind man who sometimes scavenged on the river.

‘The one they call Filthy? ’ Meeson said, his face screwed up.

‘That’s him. Do you know him or where I can find him? ’

‘I just heard of him, sir. I ain’t never seen him, let alone talked to him. ’

‘You don’t have any idea where I might look for him? ’

Meeson stared down at his boots. ‘He don’t work this part of the river, that’s all I know. ’

Outside, they watched the mudlark trudge disconsolately back towards his place in the sludge. The sun was hot and a group of bare‑ footed children was playing near by in puddles of mud. Pyke brought his hands up to his eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun off the water. Saggers stood at the edge of his vision, shuffling from one foot to the other.

‘If it’s true, if the mudlark is right, it must be the same man. ’ Pyke waited, not sure whether he was excited or disappointed by this notion.

Saggers nodded vigorously. ‘Same cause of death, same facial mutilation, same part of London. ’

‘The only difference this time is that the victim, Lucy Luckins, was white. ’

‘Who cares? I’ll not go hungry for a whole year on the money I’ll make from this one. ’ Saggers looked at him. ‘You still owe me a venison supper at the Cafe de l’Europe. Don’t think I’ve forgotten, sir. ’

‘You can think of your stomach at a time like this? ’

Saggers tried to appear hurt. ‘Imagine it, sir, as my stomach thinking about me. Do you suppose I like being subject to the whims of this monster? ’ But he patted his stomach gently, as though proud of it.

‘So the man we’re looking for is indiscriminate about who he kills, black, white, it doesn’t matter to him, ’ Pyke said, trying to keep his mind focused.

‘You sound disappointed. ’

‘I’m not disappointed. I just can’t reconcile it with some of the other evidence. ’

‘Such as? ’

Pyke paused, aware he hadn’t told the penny‑ a‑ liner about the bottle of rum and what he’d found out about Mary Edgar’s flirtation with Obeah.

‘Far be it from me to suggest you’re being parsimonious with the truth, sir, but I do get the sense you’re keeping certain morsels of information from me. ’ Saggers wiped spittle from his chin. ‘As an example, perhaps you’d like to explain why you were so interested in the Vice Society? ’

‘I had an idea that the women might have dabbled in prostitution, that’s all. ’

‘And do you think they did? ’

Pyke shrugged. He didn’t want to tell Saggers about his suspicions regarding William Alefounder just yet. Maybe it was coincidental that he sat on the board of the same society whose agent had tried to help Lucy Luckins. Maybe this person really had tried to help her and was wholly innocent in the matter of her disappearance and murder. But Pyke had always been distrustful of coincidences, believing instead that there was usually, or nearly always, a rational explanation for instances that seemed, from the outside, to have been conjured solely by fate.

‘I’m going to take this story to Spratt and he’ll publish it on the front page of the Examiner. ’

Pyke kept his gaze aimed at Saggers, though he had to squint. ‘Including the part about the eyes? ’

‘I can tell you don’t want me to. ’

‘You’ll bring a whole lot more pain into the life of George Luckins and anyone who’s close to him. ’

‘But not writing the story isn’t going to bring his daughter back, is it? ’

Pyke acknowledged this with a single nod of his head.

‘So you have another objection? ’

‘If you sensationalise an investigation like this you’ll lose control of it. Suddenly everyone will want to be involved. Overnight you’ll have a hundred journalists fighting you for the story. Pretty soon, rewards will be offered. That will attract the scavengers and fortune‑ seekers who will, in turn, fabricate stories either for the money or just to be part of the thing. Before you can stop it, there’s too many people involved, too much information out there, and the truth will slip by unnoticed. ’

But Pyke could see the gleam in the fat man’s eye. This was his chance. He didn’t care about the sanctity of the investigation. He would do what he wanted to do, regardless of what Pyke said.

‘Just promise me one thing, ’ Pyke added. ‘Before you take this story to Spratt, confirm what the mudlark said with this doctor, Mort. ’

Later, after Saggers had left him, Pyke turned back to face the river and thought about Emily; what she would have made of the mudlark’s story and what she would have done to assist women like Lucy Luckins or, for that matter, Bessie Daniels.

It took Pyke just under an hour to walk to Crane’s cottage in Bethnal Green, but the place was deserted; there was no sign of Bessie Daniels, Crane or any of his assistants.

This time, in the upstairs room, Pyke noticed that some chairs had been arranged in a semicircle around the sofa and on the floor he found a couple of cigar butts. It was almost as if someone – perhaps more than one person – had sat there and watched whatever had taken place on the sofa.

On his way to a luncheon appointment with Godfrey, Pyke paid another visit to Crane’s shop just off the Strand. Crane arrived shortly afterwards and swore blind he’d paid Bessie and she had left of her own accord. Later, as he approached the public house on Bow Street where he’d arranged to meet his uncle, Pyke was still pondering whether Crane had told him the truth.

‘The older lad who was hanging around outside my apartment the other day, ’ Godfrey said, once they’d finished eating. He was mopping up the rest of his steak and kidney pudding with a hunk of bread. ‘I saw him chatting to Felix again yesterday. I don’t like him, I don’t like him one bit. ’

They were sitting next to the window at the front of the Brown Bear, just across the road from the Bow Street magistrate’s office.

‘I told Felix he wasn’t to have anything to do with the lad. ’

Godfrey finished chewing. ‘Whatever you said doesn’t appear to have sunk in. ’ He paused to take a sip of claret. ‘You see, if you were there, with him, all the time, you could discipline him as a father is meant to. ’

Pyke waited for his uncle to look up at him. ‘You never disciplined me. ’

‘Exactly my point. And look how you’ve turned out. ’ Godfrey chuckled to himself but quickly his face turned serious. ‘This mulatto girl, whoever she was, is dead. Can’t you see that? Your son is alive and he needs you, Pyke. ’

‘I know he needs me but what am I supposed to do? I think about Mary Edgar’s corpse, what they did to her, and it makes me want to scream. ’

‘How terribly morbid, dear boy. Sometimes I wonder where the dashing, cavalier chap I wrote about has gone, I really do. ’

‘The figure in your book? ’

‘Friend to the people, enemy of the well‑ to‑ do. ’

‘I was never that. ’

‘Riling the great and the good. ’

‘I’m just trying to do a job. ’

‘Leave it to the police. It’s what they’re paid for. ’

‘I’ve been rotting in a prison cell for the last nine months. I want to do something that will make Felix proud of me. Something I can be proud of. ’ Pyke paused, aware that he was raising his voice. ‘And anyway, the person in the book isn’t me. ’

The real reason Pyke and Godfrey had met for lunch lay just across the street from the Brown Bear. The Swiss valet accused of Lord Bedford’s murder – Jerome Morel‑ Roux – was being held in the cells under the Bow Street magistrate’s office and he had written to Godfrey begging for an audience with Pyke.

Crossing the street, Godfrey commented, ‘Do you know what Morel‑ Roux’s admiration for Confessions has done for sales? You can’t find a copy of it anywhere in the capital or, I’m told, the provinces. ’

As the gaoler, whom Godfrey had paid a king’s ransom to smuggle them into the cells, led them down a steep flight of stone steps Godfrey whispered to Pyke, ‘If he confesses to the murder, remember to get him to sign something. ’

For ten years, until he’d retired from the Runners following his marriage to Emily, the gloomy rooms of the Bow Street magistrate’s office had been a home from home to Pyke. Now, more than ten years later, he was back, and the smells of the building, mildew and floor polish, were just the same. For a moment he was transported back to an earlier moment in his life.

The gaoler unlocked the door to Morel‑ Roux’s cell, slid back the iron bolt, and pushed open the door. He told Pyke he had ten minutes. Pyke stepped into the tiny cell and waited for the door to swing closed behind him. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness.

Morel‑ Roux was sitting on the stone floor, his back against the far wall. He was twenty or twenty‑ five, Pyke guessed, and in other contexts he might have been considered handsome. His face was gaunt and angular, with a strong jaw, prominent nose and piercing green eyes that followed Pyke around the cell.

‘It seems you’ve caused quite a stir. I’ve heard stories about masters going to bed with their lanterns still burning. ’

‘I presume you’re Pyke. ’ For some reason, the valet sounded disappointed.

‘I’m not what you expected? ’

Morel‑ Roux shrugged. ‘I just thought you’d be younger, that’s all. ’ He spoke in a soft, almost effeminate voice, without a trace of a foreign accent. ‘I wanted you to know I didn’t kill my master. ’

‘I’m flattered, of course, but you should really talk to the police. ’

That produced an angry frown. ‘Do you think the police care about my guilt or innocence? A crime’s been committed and I’m their sacrificial lamb. I’m poor and I was born in Switzerland. No one will weep when I hang. ’

Pyke looked around the small, cold cell. The valet had made a fair point. ‘But there has been an investigation. Evidence has been gathered. And without proper evidence, the prosecutor will never be able to convince a jury of your guilt. ’

‘I’ve read your book, ’ Morel‑ Roux said. ‘Your faith in the fairness of the legal process surprises me. ’ For the first time, Pyke thought the valet sounded his age: stamping his foot about the unfairness of the world.

‘For a start, it’s not my book. And secondly, whether the evidence against you has been fabricated or not, you can’t be convicted without due process. ’

‘Then we should start with the evidence. ’

‘I’m listening, ’ Pyke said.

‘Some of my master’s possessions, including an antique gold ring and two banknotes, were found behind the skirting boards in my room. ’

‘You’re suggesting you had no idea they were there? ’

Morel‑ Roux gave Pyke an icy stare. ‘If I’d stolen them, would I have hidden them in my own quarters? ’

Pyke had posed the same question to Tilling and had received no satisfactory response. This time, however, he shrugged. ‘People are stupid, careless or complacent. ’

‘I’m not, ’ the valet said.

‘Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that you were stealing from Bedford and he caught you red handed…’

‘In the middle of the night? ’

‘You were there in his room, to steal from him, and he woke up and saw you. ’

‘If I’d startled the old man, if he’d caught me in the act, he would have cried out. Think about it. And do you think I’d have been able to stab him without disturbing any of the other servants? ’

‘I don’t know the house. But if you’d surprised him and stabbed him before he’d had a chance to shout for help, it might have been possible. ’

‘Well, I didn’t and that’s that. ’

‘Not a defence that will get you far in court, I’m afraid, ’ Pyke said. ‘And when it comes to the trial, they will paint you as an angry, spiteful man who hated his master, whether that’s true or not. ’

‘I had nothing against the old man. It was the other servants I hated, ’ Morel‑ Roux said, folding his arms. ‘You know what the most damning piece of evidence was? No sign of forced entry. That meant it had to be one of Lord Bedford’s servants, at least according to the police investigation. I was the newest member of the household and hence the most expendable. The others ganged up on me to save their own necks. ’

‘Are you trying to claim one of them killed him? ’

‘Of course not. ’ Morel‑ Roux exhaled loudly. ‘The simple truth is, I don’t have any idea who killed him. But I know for a fact it wasn’t me. ’

‘Men facing the scaffold always protest their innocence. ’ Pyke watched him, unable to decide whether he thought the valet had done it or not.

‘And the law always protects the innocent and punishes the guilty? ’ Morel‑ Roux shook his head scornfully. ‘I know you don’t believe that. ’

‘Because you’ve read a book that you think is about me? ’ Pyke tried not to let the valet see his incredulity.

‘You’re here, aren’t you? ’

‘I’m here at the insistence of my uncle, the author, who was hoping you might want to confess your crime to me in order to further publicise his book. ’

‘But if I were innocent, ’ Morel‑ Roux said, choosing to ignore Pyke’s last comment, ‘you wouldn’t want to see me hang, would you? ’

‘There are a lot of things I don’t want to see that happen anyway. ’ Pyke looked at the valet and felt his resolve weaken. Morel‑ Roux was right about one thing: if he was in fact innocent, Pyke wouldn’t want him to die. ‘Listen to me: the only way you can absolutely prove your innocence is to prove someone else’s guilt. ’

The valet nodded glumly. ‘Lord Bedford was a sweet man. As far as I know, he didn’t have any enemies. ’

‘Can you think of anything unusual that happened in the last weeks that you served the man? ’

‘I don’t know it for a fact, but I’m fairly sure he had a mistress. In any case, there was someone staying with him the week before he was killed. ’

‘A mistress? ’ Pyke was mildly curious now. He hadn’t read anything about a mistress, nor had Tilling mentioned one.

‘I think so. No one was supposed to know about her. She was staying in the apartment attached to the mansion. I heard Bedford and the butler talking about her. ’

‘But you’re certain she was his mistress? ’

The valet shrugged. ‘You spend a few nights in a place like this, you can’t be sure of anything. ’

Pyke offered a sympathetic nod. ‘Do you know a man called Harold Field? ’

Morel‑ Roux stared at him blankly. ‘No. Who is he? ’

‘How about Jemmy Crane? ’

‘I haven’t heard of him either. Why do you ask? ’

Pyke thought about what Bessie Daniels had murmured in her addled state but decided against telling Morel‑ Roux about it.

‘I just want you to find the man who really killed my master. ’ Morel‑ Roux’s tone was pleading, desperate.

‘And why would I do that? ’

‘Because to see a poor man go to the scaffold for something he didn’t do would be an affront to your nature. ’

Pyke looked at the valet’s pale, sunken face and felt a stab of compassion. He had been in Morel‑ Roux’s position once; he knew what it was like to face the scaffold. He didn’t know whether Morel‑ Roux was guilty or not. He had been innocent and Godfrey and Emily had come to his rescue. If Morel‑ Roux was, in fact, innocent, as he claimed to be, who would come to his rescue?

‘I’ll look into the matter, see what I can find. That’s all I can do. ’

Morel‑ Roux flung himself at Pyke’s feet and wept with gratitude.

Pyke spent the afternoon looking for Arthur Sobers in the taverns, beer‑ shops, bake‑ houses and slop‑ shops of the Ratcliff Highway, to no avail. The possibility that they were now searching for a man who had killed twice – killed and mutilated two women in an identical manner – disturbed him more than he cared to admit, not least because it threw into doubt his notion that Mary Edgar had known her killer.

Sobers might be able to shed important light on Mary Edgar’s last days and, as such, Pyke needed to talk to him before the police did.

He had been labouring under the assumption that Mary had been killed because of something she’d done or someone she’d known, but perhaps she’d just been selected at random by the same man who’d killed Lucy Luckins. This possibility suggested that those who had known Mary – such as William Alefounder – must be innocent of her murder. He certainly needed to find out more about the sugar trader’s private life, and the work he did for the Vice Society. The fact that an agent from the Vice Society had tried to rescue Lucy Luckins from a life of prostitution could, of course, be a coincidence, but this link, or rather Alefounder’s possible involvement with both women, was, at present, the only thing that connected the two murders. One thing was clear: Lucy Luckins had been killed long before Mary Edgar. The mudlark had found her corpse floating in the Thames about six months ago.

Pyke ended his search for Sobers in Samuel’s place near the West India Docks, but from the look of it someone had already beaten him to it. Tables and benches had been overturned and broken, the counter had been pulled away from its fixing and bottles and glasses had been smashed. He found Samuel sitting on his own, bewildered, trying to make sense of what had happened.

‘The Peelers came here looking for the same man you asked about, ’ Samuel said, when he saw Pyke standing there.

‘They did all this? ’

‘Thought I was lying when I told ’em I didn’t know Sobers or where to find him. ’

‘How many of them? ’

‘Ten, twelve. Tore the place apart. ’ He looked around the room and shook his head. ‘Don’t need me to tell you that. ’

‘They find anything? ’

Samuel shook his head. ‘I told you I don’t know this Sobers fellow. Who is he anyhow? What’s he done? ’

‘I’d say the police reckon he killed the woman I was asking you about. ’ Pyke noticed the bruise on Samuel’s cheek, a purple welt already the size of an orange. ‘Do you know the name of the man who did this to you? ’

‘I heard one of ’em call him Pierce. ’ Samuel frowned. ‘Why? You know him? ’

‘Oh, I know him. ’

‘Go on. ’

‘I think he’s an arrogant, ambitious fool. ’

Samuel took a swig of rum and passed it to Pyke. ‘In that case, I should buy you a drink. ’

Pyke found Pierce in the atrium of the police building on Whitehall. He had just been talking to an elderly, smartly attired man in a high‑ chair. Pyke waited until the two porters had carried the old man out of the building before he approached the policeman.

‘Who do you want, Pyke? ’

‘I hear you tore up Samuel’s place. ’

Pierce regarded him with renewed interest. ‘You were there? ’

‘You’re looking for the wrong man. Sobers didn’t kill Mary Edgar. ’

‘You know that for a fact? ’

Pyke looked at the clerks and police constables shuffling past him in the direction of the watch‑ house. ‘Did you know Lord Bedford had a mistress? ’

Pierce stared at him, blood vivid in his cheeks. ‘What? Now you want to take over that investigation, too. Is there no end to your arrogance? ’

‘I asked a straightforward question. ’

‘You want a word of advice, sir? ’ He moved closer and whispered, ‘Forget about your absurd little theories, go home, put a pistol in your mouth and pull the trigger. ’

‘Ask the butler. ’

‘Ask him what? ’

‘Ask him about the mistress. ’

‘Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? ’

Pyke met his stare and shrugged. ‘Someone needs to. Might as well be me. ’

Later that night, after Jo and Felix had cooked him a roast beef dinner, and Pyke had read Felix a chapter of Ivanhoe while Jo cleared the table, Pyke joined Jo in the kitchen and helped her wash the dishes.

‘That was a delicious meal, ’ he said, taking a wet pan from her and drying it with a cloth. ‘Thank you. ’ Godfrey employed a maid to clean the apartment but Jo hadn’t wanted to burden her with additional work.

‘I think Felix enjoyed himself. ’

Pyke waited until Jo turned to hand him one of the pots and said, ‘And you? ’

‘I had a good time, too. ’ He had expected her to be flustered but she held his gaze and even smiled.

Pyke had once tried to kiss Jo, many years earlier, when she had been Emily’s servant and before he and Emily had married. Then his act had been foolish and impetuous, the product of his arrogance and loneliness, and she had rightly run away from him, though he suspected she had never told Emily.

‘For a while, after Emily died, and we still lived in the old hall, we were happy, weren’t we, just the three of us? ’

‘And the servants. ’

Pyke couldn’t help but smile. He had never liked the servants, the ones who’d revered Emily’s late father. He had never treated Jo as a servant, though. Not consciously, at least, and especially not after Emily’s death.

‘I thought about that time while I was in prison. It’s funny, you don’t realise something for what it is until it’s gone. ’ He’d had a glass or two of wine with dinner and felt a little light headed.

Jo put down the glass she was washing and turned to face him. ‘I could see the problems you were getting yourself into, with the Chancery case and then some of the business ventures. You were reckless and you almost seemed to have given up. I didn’t say anything at the time, I didn’t speak my mind, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I still regret not being more of a support to you. ’