TWENTY‑ONE 3 страница

Still, Pyke held his tongue and waited patiently for the reason he’d come to the meeting in the first place. It came towards the end of Knibb’s address.

‘To show their respect for that esteemed man Joseph Sturge, ’ Knibb said to a deafening cheer, ‘a town was set up that bore his honoured name. As we speak a new community named after my own birthplace, Kettering, is being settled and very soon a village called Malvern will be established. ’ Knibb waited as Silas Malvern, perched on top of his high‑ chair, was carried onstage by two burly men. ‘It is my very great pleasure, and honour, to present to you Mr Silas Malvern. Mr Malvern is now a resident of London but until recently he owned one of the largest sugar plantations in the western part of Jamaica. ’ A hushed silence fell over the room; this was the enemy right there in their midst. ‘My friends, please, I can perhaps guess what you’re thinking but before you rush to judgement, hear me out. Ill health prevents my brother, Mr Malvern, from addressing you in person but he wishes it to be known that he now regrets his role in the slave trade and by way of restitution he has committed to donating land to our mission for the purpose of establishing two new free villages in the parish of Trelawny, Jamaica. ’

Knibb basked in the applause and Silas Malvern even managed a feeble smile from his high‑ chair. Knibb was preparing to bring his address to a climax. ‘In the name of three hundred thousand negroes in Jamaica, I return to you all the thanks which grateful hearts, happy wives and children can give. ’

Many in the audience stood to applaud Knibb and Malvern and the applause continued as Malvern was carried from the stage.

Pyke found the old man sitting backstage on his high‑ chair, looking vaguely bemused. His porters had left him and Knibb was having what looked like an intense conversation with one of his supporters. Malvern seemed to have aged noticeably in the two and a half months since Pyke had last seen him. His shoulders were hunched, his arms like pieces of string and his eyes were sunken and rimmed by red circles.

‘You once owned two thousand acres of land and kept five hundred slaves. Do you really imagine a gift of a paltry hundred acres or so will buy you a place in heaven? ’

Pyke could see that the old man had heard him well enough but Malvern whispered, ‘Come closer, boy, so I can see you. My eyesight isn’t so good these days. ’

Pyke crouched down and looked into Malvern’s translucent eyes. ‘I came to your house to ask you questions about Mary Edgar. ’

‘I remember you, sir. Reckless and rude you were. I don’t forget that kind of behaviour in a hurry. ’ Up close, the old man’s breath stank of rancid meat.

‘I asked you, then, if you knew Mary Edgar or had intervened in the investigation to find her killer. ’

‘I remember, sir, and the moment I threatened to call the police you slunk away like a whipped dog. ’

Pyke allowed Malvern his brief moment of triumph. ‘I’ve just returned from Jamaica. ’

That made Malvern sit up in his chair.

‘I had a revealing discussion with William Alefounder. He told me that you conspired with him to withhold information from the police about your family’s attachment to Mary Edgar and Lord Bedford. He also told me that you forced him to flee the country, fearing he might implicate you and your family in these two murders. ’

‘What rot. Did he tell you all this? ’ Malvern’s face momentarily lit up, as if he relished the opportunity to refute Pyke’s accusations. ‘I might have had a quiet chat with Alefounder, assured him of my innocence in the unfortunate affairs you’ve just referred to and counselled him about the wisdom of unnecessarily sullying my family’s good name. As for forcing him, the moment that I mentioned that my daughter, Elizabeth, had sailed for Jamaica to relay the tragic news to her brother, he jumped at the chance to go. ’

Pyke studied his expression and concluded that Malvern hadn’t yet heard about his son or the destruction at Ginger Hill. But this didn’t prevent him from leaning forward, until he was almost on top of Malvern, and whispering in his ear, ‘I think you’re a liar and a hypocrite. Only time will tell whether you’re a murderer, too, but if you had anything to do with either death, I’ll make it my mission to ruin what little of your life is left. ’

Malvern rose in his high‑ chair. ‘You had better get your facts straight, sir. I had nothing to do with Bedford’s death. Haven’t you heard? The valet was tried in a court of law according to due process and was found guilty by a jury of his peers. The evidence was heard and argued over and the man was found guilty. He killed Bedford and that’s all there is to it. ’

Pyke contemplated what the old man had said. He’d already heard about the trial but didn’t have any faith in the verdict. ‘And Mary Edgar? ’

‘That little harlot? She appeared one day, uninvited, at my home and announced that she was going to marry my son, Charles. Tried to rub my nose in it. I told her it was out of the question – she’s a negro, after all, and she used to serve Charles, for God’s sake. We came to an arrangement. I paid her, quite a handsome sum in fact, and arranged for her passage back to Jamaica. That’s the last I saw of her. The fact she ended up being murdered has nothing to do with me. Probably started spending some of the money I gave her and was killed for it. ’ His cheeks glowed with righteous indignation.

Silence fell between them. ‘How, then, do you explain the manner of Mary Edgar’s death? ’

This seemed to irritate Malvern further. ‘The manner of her death? What are you talking about? ’

Pyke looked into Malvern’s eyes. ‘I’m talking about the fact that she had her eyeballs cut out with a sharp instrument. ’

Malvern turned white and some of his bluster began to ebb away. He sank back into his chair and looked around for Knibb or his porters. ‘You’ll have to explain yourself better, sir. ’

‘When I was in Jamaica, ’ Pyke said, ‘I visited a small village in the middle of the island called Accompong. Do you know it? ’

‘I’ve heard of it. ’

‘I had a long chat with a woman called Bertha. She used to work for you at the great house in Ginger Hill. Do you remember her? ’

‘Bertha? What is this? A witch hunt? No, sir, I don’t recall a woman by that name. She may have worked for me but I’ve had hundreds of people in my employment and I don’t remember every single one. ’

‘That’s interesting because she remembers you, and your brother Phillip. More than that, she remembers a night shortly after your wife died, when you sent the servants and your children away and…’

But Malvern wouldn’t listen to any more and gesticulated wildly to Knibb and the absent porters. Knibb broke off from his conversation and was joined at the high‑ chair by the two red‑ faced porters. ‘Take me home; this man is upsetting me. I didn’t seek out his company; he imposed himself on me and I want him removed from the building forthwith. Is that understood? ’

Knibb stared at Pyke. ‘Will you do as the gentleman asks, sir? ’

Pyke looked down at Malvern, who was trembling in his high‑ chair. ‘I’ve just returned from Jamaica. I’m afraid I have some bad news which I was trying to relay to Mr Malvern. ’

Part of him wanted to stop, to turn around and leave without saying another word, but it was as if a squally wind had suddenly blown up behind him and was pushing him towards a destination irrespective of whether he wanted to go there or not.

‘What bad news? ’ Knibb said, staring down at Malvern.

‘There was a terrible storm, the worst some people on the island had ever seen. It destroyed the great house at Ginger Hill and, I’m sorry to say, it killed his son Charles. A lawyer, Michael Pemberton, and a guest called William Alefounder also perished. ’

Knibb stared at him, open mouthed. Pyke had already determined that neither he nor Malvern had heard about the deaths but correspondences from Jamaica, perhaps travelling on the same steamer Pyke had caught, would soon reach them.

Turning to leave, Knibb grabbed Pyke roughly by the arm. ‘Is it true, sir? Is his son really dead? ’

‘I’m afraid it is. ’

Knibb licked his lips, still trying to come to terms with what he’d just heard. ‘Just who are you, sir, and what business do you have here? ’

‘I’ve already introduced myself to Malvern. I’ll let him explain everything to you. ’

‘Just one minute, sir…’

But from the high‑ chair, they both heard Malvern mutter, ‘Charles? Charles can’t be dead. My daughter, Elizabeth, is bringing him home. ’

‘You tell a father his son has died with all the compassion of delivering an order to the butcher. What kind of a man are you? ’ Knibb stared into his face.

Pyke brushed Knibb’s hand from his arm. ‘Perhaps you should ask yourself whether you should be accepting gifts from a man who killed his own wife. ’

Knibb stared aghast at Pyke’s departing figure while Malvern looked around him, like a boatman without oars.

Pyke took a few moments to assess the wreckage he’d caused, feeling no pride and little satisfaction in his handiwork. He had not only rubbed the man’s nose in his son’s death; he’d done so knowingly and with a degree of relish.

Outside, on the steps of the hall, he waited, exhausted. Perhaps he’d misread Silas Malvern and the situation. What the man had done years earlier, rightly or wrongly, had earned him the status of a monster in Pyke’s eyes, and he had drawn on these feelings to justify confronting him in such an abrupt manner. But he had now seen the man in the flesh and was beginning to have his doubts. What if the truth was not as he’d initially imagined? What if Malvern hadn’t killed his wife in the manner that Bertha had described? And what if the old man’s quest for forgiveness – to atone for his sins – was, in fact, well intended? More to the point, what if Malvern had told the truth? What if he was wholly innocent in the matter of the two murders?

As he stumbled down the steps, Pyke thought about the sins that he imagined Malvern had committed and weighed them against the lives he had taken; he wondered – once again – what gave him the right to judge people who were as flawed as he was.

The first thing Pyke had done, after returning from Jamaica, was to use some of the money he’d accrued from playing cards on board the steamer to rent a stout, terraced house in a respectable street in Pentonville. He’d gone to his uncle’s apartment early the next morning and surprised Felix and Jo with the news they would be moving into a new house immediately. He’d arranged for a wagon to take their possessions the mile or so to Pentonville, and later that day he had shown Jo, an excitable Felix and an even more excitable mastiff around their new lodgings. It hadn’t taken Felix long to forget the reason why he’d hated Pyke and, despite some tears at having to leave Godfrey, to whom he’d become very attached, he’d quickly come around to the new arrangement. It never failed to amaze Pyke how swift children were to forgive people and not dwell on the sins committed against them. Pyke had taken the largest bedroom at the front of the property, and Felix had chosen the slightly smaller room at the rear, overlooking the yard. The only awkward moment had been when Pyke had tried to persuade Jo to take the airy bedroom next to his. Jo had considered it for a while but when he’d given her no further encouragement, she’d opted for a much pokier bedroom on the top floor. Pyke’s clumsy attempt to give her enough money to hire a cook had only made matters worse and, later on, when he’d proposed taking a bottle of claret into the garden, after Felix had gone to bed, she had shaken her head and then left the room.

When Pyke arrived home after his confrontation with Silas Malvern, Jo and Felix were playing in the garden. For a while he watched them from the window, Felix squealing while Jo chased him across the yard. He thought about the news he’d just delivered to Silas Malvern. What would he do if someone told him that Felix had perished? It was, he recognised, one of his many failings; that he never quite saw the rich as being human and fallible in the same way that everyone else was. To distract himself from this thought, he took time to admire Jo’s pale complexion and unassuming beauty and found himself wondering, not for the first time, what a life with her might be like, and whether his feelings for her were a measure or a reflection of how much Felix adored her.

When Felix saw Pyke in the window, he ran inside to greet him and they chatted for a while about the birds and insects Pyke had seen in Jamaica and what Pyke intended to cook for them later. Pyke told Felix he was going to prepare a meat stew because he didn’t want the lad to see the rabbit he’d picked up and would have to skin. Jo hardly said a word throughout this conversation. Eventually Pyke managed to persuade Felix to go up to his room and begin unpacking his belongings, and when he heard Felix traipsing up the stairs, he went and joined Jo in the kitchen. She had a knife in her hand and had already started to skin the dead animal.

‘I was going to do that. ’

Jo turned, suddenly wrenched from her thoughts. ‘You must be pleased. You’ve made Felix very happy. ’

‘Godfrey told me that the boy’s behaviour was much improved during my absence. ’ Pyke hesitated. ‘And he made no further attempts to pick old men’s pockets. ’

‘Whatever you said to Felix before you left for Jamaica had the desired effect. I’d say he’s grown up a little. ’ But Jo wouldn’t meet Pyke’s gaze and her manner with him was cold and formal.

Pyke waited for a moment. ‘And yet I seem to have made you unhappy at the same time. ’

Jo put the knife down on the cutting board. ‘Do you want to know how I felt yesterday when we first arrived here? I felt like an old piece of your furniture being moved into your new house. ’

Pyke took a step towards her, but saw her face and stopped. ‘I’m clumsy. Sometimes I say the wrong things. ’

‘Yesterday at Godfrey’s apartment, you made Copper feel more welcome than me. ’

‘I’ve missed you. ’

‘And that’s supposed to make everything right? You’ve missed me. ’ She pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head.

Pyke tried again. ‘I wanted to take you in my arms but I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Godfrey and Felix. ’

Jo stood there, hands on her hips. ‘I’m not Emily, Pyke. I’m nothing like her. No one could be. I’m also not Felix’s mother. I’m just a plain red‑ headed girl. I’m a servant, Pyke. You pay my wages. That’s how it should be. ’

‘I’m no better than you or anyone else. ’

‘But why me? Why not a woman who’s wealthier, better looking, and more intelligent than I am? ’

‘You don’t see your good qualities, that’s all. ’ He wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words.

‘You don’t even know me, Pyke. That’s my point. You don’t know a thing about me. ’

‘I don’t know you? Don’t be absurd. We’ve lived under the same roof for almost ten years. ’

‘As your servant, Pyke, ’ Jo said, exasperated. ‘Where was I born? What are my parents’ names? ’ She must have seen his expression because she added, quickly, ‘You didn’t even know they were still alive, did you? ’

‘So I don’t know their names. I’ll learn. I’ll make a special trip to your birthplace. But what will that really change? I know you. That’s all that counts. ’

But Jo wasn’t mollified. ‘I’m your servant, Pyke, not your mistress. For ten years you’ve hardly noticed me. I’m not trying to chastise you. I’m just being truthful. So what’s changed all of a sudden? Why now? I’m not stupid, Pyke. I have a good rapport with your son and you’re just nostalgic for the way things used to be when Emily was alive. ’

Pyke didn’t answer her because he didn’t want to concede that she might, in part, be right. But his silence seemed to make her even more angry. ‘I remember what Godfrey said about you going to Jamaica. He reckoned you were chasing after a ghost – that if you found justice for this woman you would somehow find justice for Emily. ’

Pyke stood there, simultaneously wanting to embrace Jo and slap her around the face. ‘You think I don’t know Emily’s dead? ’

Jo ignored him. ‘Even if you do find this woman’s killer…’ Her face turned the colour of beetroot. ‘What then? ’

‘It’s just a job. It’s what I do, Jo. What I feel for you has nothing to do with Mary Edgar or indeed Emily. ’ But as he said it, Pyke could hear how unconvincing his voice sounded.

‘And what do you feel for me? ’ Jo stared at him. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Do you love me? ’

There were so many ways he could have answered this question but in the end they all sounded hollow, so he said nothing.

‘I think I understand my position better now. ’ Jo gathered up her petticoat and ran up two flights of stairs to her room.

Pyke wasn’t ready to let Jo have the final word on the matter and after supper, once he’d put Felix to bed, he knocked on her door. When she didn’t answer, he pushed it open and stepped into the small room. She was lying on her bed, facing the wall. A candle flickered in its holder on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Not saying anything, Pyke crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. She didn’t move. Gently he reached out and touched the back of her neck. When she finally turned over to face him, Pyke saw she had been crying.

‘What do you want? ’ she said, staring up at him. She sounded weary but also hopeful.

‘When you asked me just now whether I loved you…’ Pyke hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘I don’t know how to explain it. All I can say is that when Emily died, something inside me died as well. I can’t let myself be hurt like that again. ’

Pyke was going to say more but she coiled her hand around his neck and gently pulled him down towards her. That first kiss seemed to have settled any doubts Jo might have been having but then, without warning, she pulled away from him.

‘I can’t. Not again. ’ She bit her lips and looked up at Pyke, her eyes glistening in the candlelight. ‘Not until I know what you think, what you feel…’

Pyke stared at her without speaking. Perhaps she was right; perhaps he had used her and was continuing to do so. But he couldn’t say the words she wanted to hear.

‘I’ve thought a lot about what happened between us, the night before you left for the West Indies…’

Pyke nodded, vaguely aware that he hadn’t thought about her very much while he was away.

‘I’ve used the time that you’ve been away to think about my life, what I’ve been doing, what I want to be in the future. ’

Pyke watched her, trying to reconcile his very immediate urge to kiss her again with the sense that he was using her in some way. ‘And what have you decided? ’

‘I didn’t arrive at any decision. I couldn’t. ’ She still wouldn’t look at him. ‘Not until you came back and looked straight through me

…’

‘I’m sorry, ’ Pyke said, frowning. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I did think about you while I was away, about the night we spent together. I missed you, too. ’

‘Like you missed Godfrey? ’

‘If you’ll forgive me for saying, I don’t find my uncle quite as attractive…’

That made her smile.

An awkward silence settled between them. ‘We can talk about this again tomorrow, Pyke. For now, I’d like to be left alone. ’

TWENTY‑ ONE

The Bluefield lodging house was as dismal as Pyke remembered. The last time he had visited, the day had been cool and cloudy, but this time the heat was almost suffocating and the air in the sunless court was choked with dust. He had been told that it hadn’t rained for a month and the ground underfoot seemed to confirm this. In the depths of winter, when the city shivered under a blanket of freezing fog, he would dream of summer days when the air would feel soft against his skin, but when these days finally arrived and brought with them dust clouds, plagues of horseflies and a pungent stink exacerbated by the searing heat, it made him long for the cool days of autumn once more. This was one of those days. Pyke’s back was drenched with sweat before he’d even entered the lodging house.

Thrale recognised him immediately. They met in the kitchen and the landlord adopted a pose of exaggerated servility. ‘It certainly is a hot ’un, ’ he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘How about stepping outside for some air? ’

In the yard, where it was a little cooler, Pyke said, ‘I need to find a blind man called Filthy. I think he was known to Mary Edgar and Arthur Sobers. ’ The notion that Filthy might in fact be Phillip Malvern had stayed with him ever since he’d talked to Mary’s mother, Bertha, in Accompong.

‘You told me that already and I’ll say what I said back then. I don’t know him. I’d tell you if I did. ’

The former bare‑ knuckle fighter could certainly take care of himself in a fight and Pyke didn’t want to antagonise him needlessly. ‘Do you mind if I question your guests, see if anyone else knew him? ’

‘Long as you don’t upset anyone. ’

‘I take it you haven’t seen or heard anything more about Arthur Sobers. ’

That drew a frown. ‘I thought you’d have heard about him. ’

‘Heard about what? ’ Pyke felt his heartbeat quicken. ‘I’ve been out of the country. ’

Thrale shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘Peelers got him. Last I heard he was waiting to be tried. ’

‘When was this? ’

‘A week, maybe two weeks ago. One of the lodgers remembered him, said they’d read about it in a newspaper. ’

By this time Pyke was halfway across the yard.

It was only ten in the morning but already Saggers was too drunk to get up from his seat. The first thing Pyke noticed was the wet patch around the crotch of his tweed trousers. There was a plate of gnawed chop bones on the table in front of him and five or six empty pots of ale.

‘How can a man write when hunger gnaws at his tummy? Should a man of my talents be lying down in the same room as coiners and mudlarks? ’ He was speaking to a man whose head was resting on the table next to him. ‘A man of my talents grubbing for a living when scriveners and compositors, with their sticks and frames, take home fifty shillings a week? Fifty shillings, I say. I used to think that making words was the noblest of all professions but now I see my reward – being denied the victuals that a man of my modest appetite requires to sustain him – and I wonder that I should ever see a bowl of stewed mutton again. ’ He cast a stare in Pyke’s direction. ‘Or a half‑ buck of Halnaker’s venison. ’

Pyke tossed a five‑ shilling coin down on the table. It landed among the gravy and chop bones. Saggers ordered the pot‑ boys to fetch him another ale and a serving of steak and kidney pudding.

‘You’re darker than I remember, ’ Saggers said, licking gravy from the coin. ‘I talked to your uncle. He at least was kind enough to tell me of your departure. ’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving. In the end I didn’t have the time. ’

‘Luckily for you I’m the forgiving type, ’ Saggers said, inspecting the silver coin. ‘I’ll be even more forgiving if you tell me about your travels and give me something nice and juicy I can slap on to Spratt’s desk. ’

‘One day soon I will. I promise. ’ Pyke waited. ‘In the meantime, how’s the story? ’

‘How’s the story? he asks. ’ Saggers’ voice boomed around the empty room. ‘And what story would that be? The one you abandoned without a word to your partner‑ in‑ crime? ’

‘The last time we spoke, you were trying to persuade Spratt to publish the story about Lucy Luckins’ corpse. What happened? ’

‘I found Mort, the surgeon at St Thomas’s, and he confirmed, in private, what the mudlark Gilbert Meeson told us. But, for obvious reasons, he wouldn’t give me the official confirmation that Spratt needed. So Spratt refused to publish the story and, since then, it has ebbed away to nothing. ’ Saggers’ mood was momentarily lifted by the fresh pot of ale put down in front of him.

‘No further developments? ’

‘Not from my perspective. ’ Saggers emptied the contents of the pot in three gulps and let out a belch. ‘I had an idea there might be more bodies. I mean, if this man, whoever he is, has killed two women, why stop there? I left word with mudlarks like Gilbert Meeson to keep their eyes open for another corpse, pardon the pun. I even managed to persuade Spratt to part with ten guineas as an inducement. But I’ve heard nothing, and any interest that we managed to build up in the story has vanished. ’ He shook his head. ‘We made all those boasts, Pyke; we made the police seem stupid. But who looks stupid now? The police have gone about their work quietly and methodically and now they’ve found this negro fellow, Sobers. ’

‘I heard, ’ Pyke said. ‘What else do you know about it? ’

‘Just that the Peelers nabbed him a few weeks ago and now they’ve charged him with the murder. He’s due to stand trial in a couple of days. ’

‘Do you know where they’re holding him? ’

‘Newgate, I think. ’ Saggers looked around for some sign of the steak and kidney pudding. ‘I should warn you that the Crown’s lawyer is going to play up the ritual aspect of the murder. Some of the newspapers have already carried stories to this effect. Spratt has asked me for something – assuming the chap is found guilty. ’

‘Human ape runs amok in London because it’s in his nature? ’

‘That kind of thing, ’ Spratt said, wincing a little.

Pyke shook his head but he knew such stories were inevitable. ‘I need you to go back to all the mudlarks you spoke to and ask them about a blind man, goes by the name of Filthy. I want to know if they’ve seen him recently and if so where can I find him. ’ This time Pyke placed a half‑ crown down on the table.

Saggers swept it into his lap and considered Pyke’s request, his chin wobbling slightly. ‘Would it be fair to say that you’ve been somewhat parsimonious with the truth regarding this investigation? ’

‘Yes, I suppose that would be a fair comment. ’

‘But you see, old chap, it’s never easy trying to row a boat without oars. ’

‘One day soon I’ll tell you everything I know. I promise. ’

‘And until then, I’m supposed to live off your scraps? ’

Pyke looked at Saggers’ sprawling girth. ‘From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’ve made too bad a job of it. ’

An hour after Pyke had dispatched a young lad with a note to deliver to Fitzroy Tilling, the deputy commissioner of the New Police strolled into the Edinburgh Coffee House on The Strand carrying his hat. He looked older somehow, as though the job and its responsibilities had accelerated his hair loss and deepened the creases on his forehead.

‘If you were a policeman, you could be dismissed for drinking on the job. ’ He pointed to Pyke’s gin and ordered a mug of coffee for himself.

This was the first time they had met since the angry words they’d exchanged outside Mayne’s chambers and the atmosphere between them was palpable.

‘Then it’s lucky for me that I’ve got a mind of my own and an aversion to taking orders from people who think police work is moving pieces of paper from one side of their desk to the other. ’

It drew the thinnest of smiles. ‘When I got your note, I thought twice about coming to see you. I don’t owe you a thing, and if there’s any ground to be made up, it’s your job to do so. ’

‘So why did you come? ’

‘I suppose I was curious to know what, if anything, you managed to dig up in the West Indies. ’

Short of him talking to Godfrey there was only one explanation for Tilling knowing about his trip to the West Indies. Pyke decided not to pursue the question for the moment.

‘I hear you made an arrest while I was away. ’

‘That’s right. Arthur Sobers. ’

‘Has he made a confession? ’

‘He refused to speak at his committal hearing. The trial is due to take place in a couple of days. ’ Tilling took his mug of coffee from the waitress and put it down on the table. ‘If he continues to say nothing, he’ll be found guilty. ’

‘Is the case against him strong? ’

‘Circumstantial evidence mostly, ’ Tilling said.

‘Has Pierce done a good job? ’

‘In spite of what you might think, Pyke, he’s a solid investigator. Very methodical. ’

Pyke bit his lip. This description applied to Tilling but not Pierce, who cared only about advancing another rung up the ladder. ‘Where did they find Sobers? ’

‘Sniffing around at the back of a property near Hyde Park. A neighbour didn’t like the look of him and fetched a constable. ’

‘Let me guess. Pitts Head Mews. ’

Tilling looked up, unable to hide his surprise. ‘How did you know? ’

‘The property belongs to Elizabeth Malvern, daughter of Silas Malvern. I’m told she’s in the West Indies. ’

‘But you didn’t come across her when you were out there? ’

Pyke shook his head. He wanted to find and speak to Elizabeth Malvern before he divulged anything further to Tilling. According to Alefounder, she had never made the trip in the first place.