SEVENTEEN 9 страница

For a moment Pyke was surprised by her boldness.

‘I don’t blame you for holding your tongue. In the mood I was in, if you’d tried to say anything to me, I would probably have dismissed you on the spot. ’

He’d meant it as a joke but realised, too late, that he’d reminded her of the social gap that existed between them – and perhaps always would.

When she didn’t reply, he smiled and added, ‘I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m just a boy from the rookery. ’

But whatever had been lingering in the air between them evaporated in that moment and Jo’s manner suddenly became more formal. ‘Please forgive me for speaking so bluntly to you, ’ she said, stiffly.

‘Jo, I like it when you speak to me that way. I welcome it. Let’s go through to the front room and have another glass of wine. ’

‘I’d like to, ’ she said, not meeting his eyes, ‘but I have an early start tomorrow and I’ll need a clear head for it. ’

TWELVE

It took Pyke almost two hours to travel down to Richmond by hackney coach and by the time he was dropped off on the green, the clouds had cleared and the sky was an unbroken vista of varnished blue. Now they were ten miles out of the city, the air felt clean and birds darted among the oak and birch trees that lined the green. A butcher’s boy carrying a tray of meat directed him towards the Alefounder residence, an impressive Palladian mansion on the east side of the green surrounded by an iron fence. By the front gate, a weeping willow had just blossomed and the air was perfumed with a scent that reminded him of a woman he’d once known.

Pyke found Harriet Alefounder tending to her flowers in a greenhouse at the back of the main house. She was a tall, distinguished woman, perhaps a couple of years older than her husband, her greying hair concealed under a straw bonnet. Her gaunt shoulders were covered by a woollen shawl and she was wearing gardening gloves. When Pyke explained why he was there – that he was investigating the ‘unexplained’ deaths of two women and needed to talk to her about her husband – he expected her to call out to her butler and have him removed from the property. But instead she took off her bonnet, rearranged her hair, which had been tied up in a knot, and said that in that case they had better retire inside where they would be more comfortable. As they made their way from the greenhouse to the doors at the rear of the house she added, ‘You have to understand my husband isn’t a bad man, ’ as though such an explanation were necessary. And then, ‘Of course, you know that William and I no longer live under the same roof. ’ Pyke hadn’t known this but nodded as though he did and followed her into the house.

Given what Pyke had already been told about Alefounder’s roving eye, his wife’s story was, in one sense, entirely without surprises. He’d had a string of affairs in their nineteen‑ year marriage and she, for the most part, had either turned a blind eye or allowed him to do what he needed to do, apparently secure in the belief that he loved her and would never leave her. This proved to be true until he met a woman called Elizabeth Malvern. The wife explained that she hadn’t known about the affair at the time and had only found out about it when William asked her for a divorce.

Until this point in her story, Alefounder’s wife hadn’t struck Pyke as a particularly bitter or spiteful person, but when she started to talk about the affair, and about the other woman – the harlot as she called her – her whole demeanour changed and the reason why she’d agreed to talk to him became apparent. She was angry and wanted the chance to vent her spleen. Pyke could well understand the source of this bitterness – her husband’s head suddenly being turned by a younger, prettier, flirtatious rival – and he was surprised to learn that Alefounder had, in the end, agreed to end the affair and return home. Their domestic life was good after that, she explained, for another year or so, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t tried to continue seeing ‘the Malvern harlot’. Everything was fine, until the most recent trip to Jamaica – apparently he undertook these annually to arrange the purchase and shipment of sugar directly from the plantations. When he returned, his whole manner had changed. He was cold, moody and distant, she explained, and refused to talk about the problem. This continued for a number of months and things had finally come to a head within the last month. Without explanation, he had moved out of the house, taking an apartment in the city, and then had demanded a divorce, which she’d refused to give him. That conversation, the last time they’d spoken, had taken place about three weeks earlier. But Harriet Alefounder’s story had one final twist.

Hurt, angry and bewildered, she had followed him in a carriage from his place of work to an apartment on The Strand. After waiting for a period of time, she followed him into the building. She’d found his apartment easily enough. All she had to do was ask one of the other residents. At the door she’d listened and heard a female voice laughing. It was the laughing which had cut her the deepest, she explained. She had paced up and down the pavement outside the apartment building for the rest of the evening. Eventually the front door opened, and that was when she saw them, arm in arm: her husband and a pretty mulatto girl. She’d fled The Strand without being spotted.

Outwardly Pyke tried to remain calm, but inwardly his heart was hammering against his ribcage. This was the confirmation he’d been looking for and it had come from the unlikeliest of sources. Of course, it didn’t prove anything more than that Alefounder had been sleeping with Mary Edgar, and perhaps had been since his last visit to Jamaica, but it gave Pyke enough to warrant another conversation with the trader.

He noted down the address on The Strand that Harriet Alefounder had mentioned and waited. ‘That woman – Mary Edgar – was murdered. Her corpse was found last week on the Ratcliff Highway. ’

Stiffening her back Harriet Alefounder looked at him, dry eyed, and sniffed. ‘Do you expect me to say I’m sorry? ’

‘She was strangled and then her eyes were gouged out. ’ It would be in the newspapers soon enough and Pyke wanted to force some kind of reaction from her, but she barely even blinked.

‘You can’t expect that William could be involved in such a business? ’

‘I don’t know what to think. ’ He stared into her proud face and wondered what she’d had to sacrifice to attain such a level of hardness.

‘You mentioned two women had been killed, ’ she said, as if they were chatting about recipes for jam.

Quickly he told her about Lucy Luckins and her possible connection to the Society for the Suppression of Vice.

‘That was how he claimed he first met the Malvern woman. ’ Harriet Alefounder’s voice quivered slightly as she said the name.

Pyke considered this new piece of information. ‘If I wanted to talk to her, do you know where I might find her? ’

‘Her father owns a big mansion in Belgravia – he made his money from sugar in the West Indies. As I remember it, she owned a much smaller house near Hyde Park. ’ She shut her eyes. ‘Curzon Street, I think. I remember following my husband there, too. ’

Later, as Pyke prepared to leave, she followed him to the front door and stood there for a moment, contemplating the willow tree through the window. ‘You must think me a heartless, disloyal creature but in my own way I still care for him deeply. And to answer your question, I don’t believe he’s capable of hurting anyone, certainly not in the manner you suggested. ’

Pyke had his hand on the brass door handle when she added, ‘But you know what hurt me the most, when I saw the two of them walking arm in arm along The Strand? I was a long way away and my eyesight isn’t what it used to be but I swear there was a little of her, of the Malvern woman, in this mulatto girl. ’ And when he looked up, her lips were trembling and her eyes had filled with tears.

The following afternoon, Pyke found Felix and the older boy on the pavement outside Godfrey’s apartment.

The older lad was teaching Felix a game using three coins. He had a malnourished face, with red rims around his eyes and yellow skin from a poor diet. When he saw Pyke, he adjusted his billycock hat, pulled up his knee‑ breeches and put the coins into the pocket of his monkey coat. He didn’t seem surprised to see Pyke and even managed to hold his gaze for a while.

‘Go back into the apartment and leave us for a while, ’ Pyke said to Felix.

‘Eric was just teaching me a trick…’

‘Go inside now and wait for me there, ’ Pyke said, looking at the lad, Eric, rather than at Felix.

‘You can’t tell me what to do, ’ Felix said, his voice quivering with defiance.

Pyke turned to him and immediately Felix scuttled across the pavement and up into the apartment. ‘I want you to leave my son alone, ’ he said, refocusing his attention on Eric.

‘I can come and go as I please, cully, ’ the boy said with a sneer. ‘You don’t own the street. ’

‘I see you outside my uncle’s apartment again, I’ll come and find you, and when I do, you won’t even be able to hobble home. ’

But Eric didn’t appear to be cowed. ‘Your boy’s a bit green, ain’t he? Wouldn’t last a week on the street. ’

Pyke took a step towards him. ‘Anything happens to my son, God help me, I’ll rip your head from your neck with my bare hands. ’

‘Why should I listen to a pathetic old jailbird like you? Felix told me ’bout you. Put inside for not paying your debts. ’ He stood his ground but his face had turned white and his hands were trembling.

‘Did my son tell you that? ’ Pyke could feel the anger gathering inside him.

Eric saw he’d unsettled Pyke and grinned. ‘That and a whole lot more about what a rotten father you are. ’

For a moment it felt as if he’d swallowed a handful of nails. Pyke didn’t look up at the window of the apartment but he could sense he was being watched.

‘I’m going to count to five and if you’re not gone by the time I finish, I won’t be held accountable for my actions. ’

But Eric folded his arms and remained where he was. ‘Who knows? In time, and with the right guidance, maybe Felix would make a good dipper. ’

Pyke grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up off his feet. Choking, Eric tried to wriggle free from his grasp but Pyke held firm. He heard someone rapping on the window and looked up to see Godfrey and Jo. Then one of the neighbours appeared from their apartment and ordered Pyke to let the boy go. Pyke opened his hand and Eric fell to the pavement, holding his neck as though it were broken.

‘Given I’m used to eating horse or very possibly mule, this is a most welcome change indeed, sir, ’ Saggers said, his mouth half open so Pyke could see the chunks of meat churning around inside. In front of him was the remains of a beefsteak that a few minutes ago had been as big as the plate itself. They were sitting at a table in the corner of the Cafe de l’Europe on Haymarket, well away from the rest of the early evening diners, as if to underline the fact that they didn’t belong in a place where the starched linen tablecloths were a brilliant white and the cutlery alone was worth more than Saggers earned in a month. ‘It’s not Halnaker’s venison but it’s a most acceptable cut of meat, ’ he said, picking up the steak with his hands and gnawing the last bits of meat from the bone.

Pyke poured him another glass of claret. Saggers had already told him that Spratt, the editor, had refused to publish the story about the second body without corroboration from the surgeon, Mort, but that as yet he hadn’t been able to track the man down.

‘I tried to get George Luckins to go on the record about his daughter and even offered him a few groats for his effort but the man turned me down flat, said he didn’t want to profit from his daughter’s murder. ’ Fat dripped down his chin. ‘Can you believe some people? ’

Pyke didn’t know whether to laugh or despair. ‘So tell me what you’ve managed to find out about the West India Dock Company. ’ This was the real reason Pyke had agreed to take Saggers to dinner.

‘Ah, yes. ’ The fat man swallowed half the claret in a single gulp, his giant Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. ‘Most interesting. ’

‘In what sense? ’

‘The company is struggling but I suppose that’s no secret. Sugar revenues have been falling for some time now and with the end of apprenticeship and increased competition from French and Spanish colonies investors are beginning to look elsewhere. India, for example. I’m told the East India Company is flourishing. ’

‘Go on. ’

Saggers sat back and let out an enormous belch that filled the room and stopped the other diners in their tracks. ‘One of the reasons they’re so keen to distance themselves from our horrible little murder is they’re just about to try to raise fresh capital, and any whiff of scandal might deter potential investors. ’

‘Why do they want to raise capital? ’

‘The short answer is that they’re considering joining forces with the East India Dock Company to build a new, much larger dock farther down the Thames towards Tilbury. ’

Pyke considered what he’d been told. ‘Did you get me a list of major shareholders? ’

With a theatrical flourish Saggers produced a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his tweed coat and shoved it across the table. ‘The single largest shareholder is a man called Silas Malvern. ’

‘Malvern. ’ It took him a few moments to place the name. Elizabeth Malvern had had an affair with Alefounder. Could this be the wife or daughter?

‘I thought you’d be interested in him so I did a bit of digging. He sold up his interests in the West Indies a few years ago and bought a mansion in Belgravia. I’m told he’s paralysed down one side of his body and has to be carried around in a high‑ chair. ’

Pyke’s thoughts turned to the old man he’d seen talking with Pierce in the atrium of the police building. ‘Any family? ’

‘I didn’t ask, ’ Saggers said. ‘Why? ’

‘It doesn’t matter. ’ Pyke took out his purse and threw a couple of sovereigns on to the table to pay for the dinner. ‘It’s been a pleasure, as always. ’

‘You’re leaving so soon? ’ Saggers tried not to show his disappointment. ‘But we haven’t even perused the dessert menu or smoked cigars or sipped the finest cognac from cut‑ crystal glasses. ’

‘There’ll be enough there to cover whatever you want. ’

‘But who shall I entertain with my repartee? ’ Saggers shifted to one side of his chair and let out a deafening fart.

Pyke glanced around at the stony faces of the other diners. ‘Carry on like that, you’ll have to beat off your admirers with a stick. ’

It was too late to make the trip out to Belgravia that night but the next morning Pyke caught a hackney carriage from a stand at the end of his street and asked the driver to take him to Eaton Place via Curzon Street, near Hyde Park.

Just by asking, Pyke found the house easily enough, though it wasn’t on Curzon Street as Harriet Alefounder had thought. It was a pretty, Georgian terrace on Pitts Head Mews. It was early, before ten, but the air was already warm, and as Pyke told the driver to wait for him, he removed his jacket and wiped his brow. The shutters were drawn and he couldn’t see any sign of life inside the house. He banged on the door and disturbed one of the neighbours, an elderly man with a cane and a slight limp, who told him in a hushed tone that Miss Elizabeth had very recently sailed for the West Indies and wasn’t expected back for a number of months.

As Pyke returned to the waiting carriage, he had one last look at the house and noticed movement in one of the upstairs windows, but as soon as the person – whoever it was – realised they’d been spotted, the curtains ruffled and the face disappeared from view. Later it struck him that he should have investigated this matter more closely, but he was eager to question Silas Malvern and he used the rest of the journey to prepare his thoughts.

The dazzling white stucco of the grand terraced mansions on Eaton Place in Belgravia screamed of their occupiers’ wealth. This, Pyke had heard someone say, was the most desirable address in London and, compared with the rest of the city, it was eerily quiet. These were the white, modern palaces of the parvenu rich, neoclassical in style with columns and porticos on the outside, vast windows of plate glass and rich cornices on the inside.

Having presented himself at the front door, Pyke was told to wait in the marble‑ floored entrance hall while the butler went to see whether ‘Mr Malvern’ was receiving visitors.

Malvern was sitting in a greenhouse attached to the back of the property overlooking the garden. He cut a frail figure surrounded by the tropical plants he’d doubtless imported from the West Indies to remind himself of his former home, but whereas the jasmine, honeysuckle, lilies and orchids probably smelled fragrant and alive in their native habitat, here they produced a sweet, sickly stench that was so overpowering Pyke had to cover his mouth with a handkerchief.

‘Excuse me, sir, but I told you to wait in the entrance hall, ’ the butler said, when he saw Pyke step into the greenhouse. He turned back to his master. ‘I’ll show him to the door, sir. Rest assured, you will have your peace and quiet restored. ’

Malvern looked up at Pyke, his eyes as small and hard as shrivelled acorns. ‘No, I’ll see him. Tell the blackguard to come and sit next to me. ’

The butler bowed his head and approached Pyke, still glaring. ‘Mr Malvern will see…’

‘I heard. ’ Pyke pushed past him and pulled up a chair next to the old man.

‘Will there be anything else, sir? ’ The butler hesitated. ‘Would you like me to stay here with you? ’

But Malvern dismissed him with a wave of his bony hand. For a while he studied Pyke’s face without speaking. ‘What’s your name, and why have you interrupted my morning sleep? ’

‘My name’s Pyke, but I suspect you already know that. ’

‘How would I know? We’ve never met before, as far as I’m aware. ’ But his expression suddenly betrayed his wariness.

‘I saw you the day before yesterday talking to Inspector Benedict Pierce of the New Police. ’

‘Is that a crime, sir? And what business is it of yours who I damn well talk to? ’

‘Given you’re the major shareholder in the West India Dock Company and Pierce is leading the investigation into the murder of a woman recently arrived from Jamaica on one of your ships, I’d say you have some questions to answer. ’

‘I don’t have to justify myself to a guttersnipe like you. I’ll ask you to leave me in peace. ’ He rang a bell and looked expectantly towards the door.

‘I paid a visit to the West India Docks recently and was forcibly removed from the premises. That suggests to me I’ve hit a raw nerve. ’

This elicited the older man’s attention. ‘Are you the brigand that set fire to one of the warehouses the other day? The company lost over thirty barrels of rum. I’m told they intend to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law. ’

‘If they do, you can be sure I’ll drag your family’s good name into the mire surrounding Mary Edgar’s murder. ’

As Malvern stared at Pyke, perhaps trying to gauge the threat he posed, Pyke added, ‘The clerk I talked to didn’t want me to know Mary Edgar had been met from her ship by a sugar trader called William Alefounder. I take it you know him? ’

‘ Smith, dammit, where are you, man? ’ The old man’s voice didn’t carry very far and he rang the bell again.

‘I’m guessing you must know him because until quite recently I’m told he was intimate with your daughter. ’ The shock on Malvern’s face seemed genuine. ‘Elizabeth is your daughter, isn’t she? ’

The butler appeared in the doorway, glancing nervously in Pyke’s direction. ‘Yes, sir? ’

‘Tell this gentleman to leave and if he refuses to go, send one of the lads to fetch the police. ’

‘I want to talk to her. ’

Malvern stared up at him, his cheeks hollow and his eyes lifeless. ‘That would be rather difficult to arrange in the current circumstances. ’

‘Why? Because she’s sailed for Jamaica? ’

The fact that Pyke knew this was another blow to the old man’s defences. He gripped the edge of his chair to stop his hands from trembling. ‘Get him out of here, ’ he barked at the butler.

But Pyke had got what he wanted: confirmation that Elizabeth was out of the country. Ignoring the butler, he crouched down next to Malvern and whispered, ‘Did you know Mary Edgar by any chance? ’

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say. ’ Malvern folded his arms and looked across at his butler. ‘Fetch the police. ’

‘Guilt can be a powerful agent, can’t it? ’ Pyke pushed the butler to one side and made for the door. ‘I bet late at night when everything else is silent, you can hear the screams of the slaves whose lives you destroyed. ’

THIRTEEN

Carriages were backed all the way down Aldermanbury from the Guildhall, the venue for the Lord Mayor’s banquet, as far as Milk Lane and even Cheapside: a multitude of vehicles, but all reflected the wealth and privilege of their owners. In the heart of the City of London, horses stood, blowing air from their nostrils and shitting on the cobbles, while footmen and drivers dressed in their finest livery conversed with old friends in hushed tones. It was a night when men came to slap one another on the back and congratulate themselves for their success. Alefounder would be in there and Pyke intended to put some difficult questions to him. From the beginning, the trader had shown scant regard for Pyke’s investigation – treating it as an annoyance or even an irrelevance – and he had used his contacts to ensure that his affair with Mary Edgar remained a subject beyond discussion. He’d assumed his position was a sufficient bulwark against the vagaries of a murder investigation and that, in spite of Mary Edgar’s death, his life could continue as if nothing had happened. Pyke intended to disabuse him of this notion.

There were two liveried major‑ domos at the main gates checking the invitations of the guests; most had already passed through and were, doubtless, starting to take up their seats in the hall. Pyke withdrew as far as Lad Lane, which ran into one end of Aldermanbury, and waited. Fortunately he didn’t have long to wait.

Lad Lane was a narrow street that connected two larger thoroughfares and was used as a cut‑ through from one to the other. Within five minutes, two well‑ dressed gentlemen who’d had to jettison their carriage on Wood Street because of the congestion outside the Guildhall entered the lane. They didn’t see Pyke suddenly emerge from a doorway about halfway along, and were powerless to stop him knocking them unconscious with a plank of wood. Dragging them into an even smaller alleyway, Pyke picked the one who matched his height and build, stripped him naked and changed into the clothes. A minute or so later, he emerged from Lad Lane on to Aldermanbury with a top hat in one hand and the Lord Mayor’s invitation in the other.

He presented the invitation at the gates and was ushered through immediately. The two major‑ domos barely looked at him. Having mounted the steps leading up to the portico, two at a time, Pyke passed unchecked through the entrance, followed the line of well‑ fed, silver‑ haired men and eventually found himself in the banqueting hall. There, more liveried servants were waiting to guide the guests to their allotted seats, but Pyke slipped past this net and started his hunt for Alefounder.

The hall itself was cavernous; statues adorned the walls on one side of the room and a series of giant silk damasks hung on the wall opposite. Around the very top of the hall, a series of flags, including the Union Jack and several coats of arms, hung from their poles and from the panelled ceiling, and three giant chandeliers cast their light on to the guests below. There were three long rows of tables, all dressed with the finest linen, each row broken up into three smaller tables. At the very front of the hall was a raised ‘top’ table, where the privileged few looked down on the rest of the diners. Pyke did a quick calculation; there had to be somewhere in excess of two hundred men in the room, not including the vast army of servants whose job it was to cater to their every whim.

Some of the guests, Pyke noticed, were wearing wigs, powder and the gaudy trappings of a former era; others, perhaps the majority, wore more sensible attire: frock‑ coats, waistcoats, frilly shirts, neckcloths and silk cravats. Pyke didn’t look out of place in the clothes he’d stolen, nor did anyone pay him much attention as he strolled down one side the room, past the guests already assembled at the tables. Still, it was hard not to feel intimidated by the sheer scale of the venue and the collective wealth of the guests. He’d once owned a bank that made annual profits in the thousands, but he’d never even come close to being invited to such an event.

He found William Alefounder sitting at one end of a table situated in the middle of the room. The sugar trader, who was oblivious to his presence, was chatting to a man next to him. He seemed comfortable in this setting and was regaling his dining companion with a story that required exaggerated gesticulation of his arms.

From behind, Pyke grabbed a handful of Alefounder’s frock‑ coat and pulled him to his feet. For a moment the trader struggled to comprehend what was happening to him, and it was only when Pyke whispered, ‘Come with me quietly or I’ll humiliate you in front of these people, ’ that he began to grasp his predicament. His companion and some of the other guests frowned at the rough manner in which Pyke had elicited Alefounder’s attention, but when they saw that the trader was following Pyke out of the hall willingly, they reverted to their conversations.

The first door Pyke could find led to the kitchens. He didn’t care where it took him; he just wanted to get Alefounder away from the prying eyes of the other diners.

‘I want to know how well you knew Mary Edgar and when you last saw her. ’

The kitchen was a large room that extended all the way to the back of the building, so most of the cooks and servants were well out of earshot.

‘I don’t have to answer your questions, sir. ’ But for the moment, Alefounder’s cocksure manner had vanished.

It was hot from all the coal‑ fired ovens and pans of boiling liquid, and Alefounder went to loosen his neckcloth.

‘I want to know when you first met Mary Edgar, when you first started fucking her and why you strangled her and dumped her naked corpse on the Ratcliff Highway. ’

But if Pyke thought that the trader would crumple, he hadn’t counted on the arrogance of wealth.

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say to the people who matter. ’

And when Pyke laid a hand on Alefounder’s arm, the trader went to brush it away, as if it were some kind of annoying insect.

‘If you touch me again, I’ll make sure you spend the night under lock and key. ’ The skin on Alefounder’s face was as taut as a drum.

Pyke took a deep breath and allowed his chest to swell to its full girth. Alefounder was unprepared for Pyke’s first punch, which ripped against the side of his face, and was knocked to the floor by the second, a hammer blow that Pyke put his whole body behind and which caught Alefounder flatly on the chin. But if Alefounder believed that that was the end of his difficulties, he was badly mistaken. Pyke pulled him to his feet and dragged him across to a row of metal pots lined up on top of a large stove. There, he took the trader’s hand and held it over a pot full to the brim with bubbling liquid.

‘I’m giving you one more chance to answer me truthfully. Why did you meet Mary Edgar from the ship? And where did you take her? ’

Dazed from the blows to his face, Alefounder struggled to remain upright, but still he didn’t respond to Pyke’s question.

‘Do you know a woman called Lucy Luckins? She was saved by the Vice Society, only to turn up dead a few months later. ’

Alefounder offered Pyke a bewildered stare. The fight seemed to have left him. ‘Lucy who? ’

Pyke forced the trader’s arm down towards the soup pot. ‘I asked you a question. Why did you meet Mary from the ship? ’

Alefounder tried in vain to wrestle his arm from Pyke’s grip. ‘You have no authority over me, sir. ’

Keeping his own hands out of the scalding liquid, Pyke forced Alefounder’s arm down into the soup and held it there for a moment. Alefounder’s agonised scream carried not only to the depths of the kitchen but also as far as the banqueting hall. Letting go, Pyke watched as the sugar trader fell to the floor, clutching hold of his arm, which was now covered with soup. A small audience had gathered around them, cooks, servers and even one of the major‑ domos. Their eyes switched between Alefounder, writhing around on the floor, and Pyke; their pity for the trader’s plight quickly turned to anger over the assault that had just taken place.