TWENTY‑EIGHT

At ten thirty Pyke presented himself to one of the red‑ coated porters at the entrance to the Bank of England on Threadneedle Street and was escorted from there, across a small, well‑ kept courtyard and past the Rotunda, to the interconnecting meeting rooms occupied by the Bank’s governor and directors. He found Tilling in the main saloon and saw, from the look on his old friend’s face, that something had gone wrong.

‘Crane and five of his accomplices have just been moved to the City of London’s chief police office at Guildhall. ’

‘Isn’t that good news? ’

Tilling waved at someone on the other side of the room and indicated he’d join the man presently. ‘The soldiers didn’t wait as they’d been instructed to, so Crane and the others were still in the vault. ’

Pyke felt his stomach tightening. It was the one glaring weakness in his plan – that the soldiers would grow impatient and strike too soon. The hole from the sewer emerged directly outside the guards’ room – which was why Crane had picked that night, when he’d been told that all the soldiers would be patrolling elsewhere. ‘But they were all caught in the vault, right? That’s enough to lock them away for years, isn’t it? At least for treason? ’

‘I’m afraid it gets worse. ’

‘ Worse? ’

‘I’ve just talked to the governor. He tells me he’s spoken with one of his directors – a man by the name of Trevelyan, Abel Trevelyan – who reckons he was contacted by Crane about a week ago. He’s ready to swear under oath that Crane came to him, in good faith, with news that an acquaintance of his, a sewer‑ man no less, had found a way of accessing the bullion vault from a tunnel running directly beneath it. So what happened today, at least according to Trevelyan, is nothing more than an exercise on Crane’s part, as a well‑ intentioned citizen, to demonstrate to the directors that the vault is vulnerable to robbers. Or worse still, to radicals. ’

‘And they’re actually prepared to believe that? ’

‘Trevelyan didn’t tell the governor about it, didn’t tell anyone about it, so he’ll have to resign his post. But the governor told me he doesn’t want to take the matter any further. From his point of view, it’s embarrassing enough that Crane and his accomplices managed to break into the vault. If they’re charged and the incident is made public, he’ll become a laughing stock. The Bank’s status and viability as a going concern depend on its absolute impregnability. The damage to its reputation would be incalculable if investors discovered that Crane was effectively able to walk into its most secure rooms. ’

‘And what do the police think? ’

‘I spoke with the commissioner of the City of London police a few moments ago. He’ll be swayed by the governor’s recommendation. ’

Pyke felt the anger swelling up inside him. ‘You say Crane and the others have been taken to the police office at the Guildhall? ’

‘That’s right. ’

‘And the constables who took them there; you made sure they knew not to let anyone speak to or even approach Crane. ’

‘I made that point as firmly as I could but the New Police doesn’t have any jurisdiction here. ’

Pyke swore under his breath. Everything was starting to unravel. Crane might even be released in a matter of hours. ‘Have you talked to this man Trevelyan? ’

‘The governor wouldn’t let me. Apparently he’s made a statement to the commissioner of the City police. ’

‘Surely before they actually let Crane go free, they’ll need some kind of confirmation about the sewer‑ man? ’

Tilling nodded. ‘That’s where Crane’s story is weakest. He says he doesn’t know where this man is. ’

Pyke let this remark pass without comment.

‘But apparently Crane has suggested that, if and when he’s located, the sewer‑ man could make a statement to his lawyer, in front of a witness, to corroborate his story. ’

‘Why not to the police? ’ Pyke hesitated, thinking about Phillip Malvern. ‘And anyway, surely Crane’s in no position to dictate terms to anyone. If he knows where the man is, he should tell someone and have done with it. ’

‘That’s why they took him away to the cells. For now. But I’d guess that if a credible statement is produced, that will be enough to ensure Crane’s release. ’

Pyke gave this some thought. ‘The question is, how’s he going to arrange all this from inside his cell? ’

‘Someone will have to come to him, but for the time being no one knows where he’s being held. ’

‘Trevelyan knows. ’

Tilling contemplated what Pyke had just said. ‘Go on. ’

‘The story about Crane performing a public service is utter tripe. We both know it. We just need to find out why Trevelyan is willing to corroborate Crane’s story. ’

Tilling scratched his head. ‘You think he’s been coerced into doing so? ’

‘Crane’s smarter than I gave him credit for. He planned for this, for something going wrong. You’re right, I think he knew that Trevelyan would have to support his story. ’

‘And lose his position at the bank in the process? ’

Pyke shrugged. ‘What if he was a customer of Crane’s shop? Better to lose his job than be unveiled by Crane as some kind of sexual monster. ’ He looked around the saloon. ‘Can you point Trevelyan out to me? ’

‘I don’t think he’s here. ’ Tilling’s gaze swept the room. ‘He’s been shut away in the governor’s chambers all morning. ’

‘Can you at least describe him to me and find his address? ’

That drew a heavy frown. ‘I won’t countenance any private action

…’

The man who’d waved to Tilling earlier had returned and was loitering as if he needed to speak with Tilling as a matter of urgency.

‘What if I could persuade someone close to Crane, someone he trusts absolutely, to go and see him and find out the whereabouts of the sewer‑ man? ’

‘Could you do that? ’

‘I might be able to. ’

Samuel Ticknor was sitting at his desk in his private office, drinking a cup of tea, when Pyke pushed open the door.

‘How well did you know Elizabeth Malvern? ’

Pyke’s sudden appearance in his office caused Ticknor to spill his tea. He tried to mop it up with the sleeve of his coat.

‘How much time did you spend in her company – when she volunteered for the Vice Society? ’

This time Ticknor met his gaze. Pyke had to stop himself from jumping over the desk and grabbing the man’s throat.

‘I knew her well enough to see her for what she really was. ’

‘Enough to remember what colour her eyes were? ’

Ticknor removed his spectacles and blew on to the lenses. ‘Green. They were green, no question about it. ’

‘You’re sure? ’

‘Quite positive, sir. Now will you tell me what this is all about? ’

Pyke stood there, trying to hold himself together. Different thoughts collided with one another in his head. He saw it clearly now; suddenly everything had fallen into place – about Mary, Elizabeth, the Malvern family, even Lord Bedford.

‘I presume you know there’s a rotten corpse out in the yard? ’ Godfrey said, as soon as Pyke had stepped into his basement shop.

‘There wasn’t anywhere else to put it. ’ The previous day, he had pushed Bessie Daniels’ corpse on a costermonger’s wheelbarrow, hidden under a canvas tarpaulin, from Dowgate Hill to St Paul’s Yard. He’d told Godfrey he needed the keys to the shop, but not why he needed them. Now, clearly, his uncle had found out.

‘And how long were you hoping to keep it out there? ’

‘Another day, two at most. ’

Godfrey ran his hands through his bone‑ white hair and sighed. ‘I called at the house to see you. Jo told me the news. I don’t have to tell you what I think. You’re mad to let her go, a complete fool. ’

‘I’m not letting her go. She’s leaving. ’

Godfrey pushed his spectacles back up his nose and made a dismissive gesture towards Pyke. At times like this, he felt like more of a father than an uncle to him and Pyke hated disappointing him.

‘So who is it? I couldn’t bring myself to give it a proper look. ’

‘Hard to tell for certain but I think it’s Bessie Daniels. I found this ring on one of her fingers. ’ Pyke held up the amethyst ring for his uncle to see. ‘The woman in the copperplate you bought from Crane. ’

Godfrey collapsed into his armchair, suddenly looking his age. ‘Jesus. Poor, poor girl. And to think…’

Pyke just nodded. His uncle was momentarily lost for words.

‘Who killed her? ’ he said, after a while. ‘Crane? ’

‘Looks that way. ’ Pyke drew in a breath. ‘By tomorrow her corpse will be gone, I promise. But I have to do what I have to do. I hope you understand. ’

‘To punish those responsible? ’

Pyke nodded again. Godfrey stood up, walked over to the sideboard, took the decanter and poured himself a glass of claret.

‘I want you to talk to anyone who’s worked at Crane’s shop, ’ Pyke told Saggers, after he’d found him in the Cole Hole on The Strand. ‘Be discreet but offer a financial inducement to anyone who’s willing to testify in court that a man called Abel Trevelyan was a customer there. ’

‘How much of a financial inducement? ’

‘Up to fifty pounds, depending on the quality of the testimony. To be paid if and when Crane is convicted. ’

Saggers whistled, seemingly taken aback at the money Pyke was prepared to offer. ‘You must want this testimony a lot. ’

‘I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, if that’s what you’re suggesting. ’

The fat man put on a wounded expression that was so clearly feigned even he gave up on it. ‘Well, I do remember you promising me a story a long time ago. ’

‘Murder, pornography, robbery. ’ Pyke watched Saggers’ nonchalance disappear. ‘Is that enough to be getting on with? ’

‘That sounds more than acceptable. ’

‘And I want you to find anyone who knew a girl called Bessie Daniels. ’ Pyke handed Saggers a scrap of paper with Bessie’s old Whitechapel address scribbled on it. ‘Anyone, that is, who can identify this as belonging to her. ’ He took out the amethyst ring and showed it to the penny‑ a‑ liner. ‘I can’t let you have it, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to describe it as best you can. ’

Saggers inspected the ring and handed it back to Pyke. ‘So how quickly do you need all this? ’

‘By tomorrow. ’

Abel Trevelyan lived in a Palladian mansion overlooking Regent’s Park. Pyke could see how some people might have been impressed by the house’s neoclassical grandeur, and its size alone meant that it was hard to miss, even from the other side of the park. But he found it too ostentatious, as though an already over‑ egged pudding had been doused in cream and butter. It was a square brick box with five large bay windows on each of the floors. In the middle of the building, a pair of stone columns supported a pediment. There were extensive gardens at the back of the mansion. Earlier in the afternoon Pyke had positioned himself behind a shrub, close to one of the windows, and observed the comings and goings of the household. As far as he could work out, Trevelyan had a wife – a plump, dowdy creature who wore her hair in tight ringlets – and a number of young children. There were also as many as a dozen servants, and Pyke spent some of the afternoon speculating about how damaging the loss of his position at the Bank might prove to be. Trevelyan was definitely at home; from the description Pyke had been given, he recognised the man sitting at his desk in the ground‑ floor study at one end of the house. Trevelyan had been there for most of the afternoon, leaving only to take an early supper with his family at about six. Still, he had returned to his study by about half‑ past seven, and Pyke’s patience was finally rewarded. Just as it was beginning to get dark, Trevelyan stepped out on to the veranda to smoke a cigar.

From the shrub, it was maybe twenty yards to where Trevelyan was standing, and Pyke watched him for a few moments, trying to get the measure of the man and work out how best to take advantage of the situation. Trevelyan was silver haired and suave, but he suffered from the same weak chin that afflicted many men of his class. He was tall but his shoulders were hunched, and he didn’t look as if he would be able to handle himself in a fight. The fact that he couldn’t stand still, but kept pacing around the veranda, puffing his cigar, was the clearest indication of his unease.

Even though he was only twenty yards away, Pyke still wasn’t close enough to ambush him without the prospect of Trevelyan shouting for help. So he threw a stone high into the air and waited for it to land a few yards on the other side of his target. Startled, Trevelyan turned around and looked up at the roof and then towards the trees. Pyke moved quickly and quietly across the lawn; Trevelyan saw him only at the last moment and managed a muffled shout just as Pyke clubbed him with his cudgel. He went down without uttering another sound, and Pyke dragged him across the lawn to the line of trees. Still tense, Pyke waited for a few moments, to make sure no one had seen the assault from the house.

It took a hard slap with the palm of his hand to Trevelyan’s face to bring him around. Pyke had already bound and gagged him and Trevelyan struggled to make sense of his changed circumstances.

Bending down, with his knife in hand, Pyke held the blade to Trevelyan’s throat and pulled down the gag. ‘Any sudden movement, any attempt to shout for help, anything at all that makes me nervous, and I’ll slice through your veins and let you bleed to death. Nod your head if you understand. ’

Trevelyan nodded; the terror he felt was reflected in his eyes.

‘What Jemmy Crane told the police, about being a good citizen, was a lie. I don’t need you to confirm it. What I do need to know is why you corroborated the lie. ’

Trevelyan tried to speak but words failed him. Pyke pressed the blade a little deeper into the skin of his neck.

‘What hold does Crane have over you? ’

The director looked up at him imploringly. ‘ Please. ’

‘You have a choice between life or death. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll kill you and not give it another thought. Is that what you want? ’

Trevelyan started to sob. Pyke inhaled and could almost taste the sourness of the man’s sweat. He closed his fist and slapped Trevelyan around the face once more. That brought the man around. His eyes popped open and his jaw went slack.

‘You’re a customer of his, aren’t you, ’ Pyke said, a statement rather than a question.

Trevelyan simply nodded.

‘Did you know about his plan to break into the bullion vault? ’

‘I didn’t think he was serious. ’ It came out as a whispered croak.

‘So he told you? ’

Trevelyan stared down at the ground. ‘He wanted to know about the deployment of guards. ’

‘And what did you tell him? ’

‘That the guardroom is manned at night with soldiers from the Tower. ’ He swallowed, his eyes darting around. Pyke had to kick him to make him go on. ‘I also told him that the guardroom is situated next to the entrance to the bullion vault. ’

‘But what about the arrangements for last night? ’ As one of the directors of the Bank, Trevelyan would have been privy to the decision to move the soldiers from the guardroom to the outer fortifications to protect the Bank from the mob that had come to see the hanging.

Trevelyan squirmed. Pyke kicked him again, harder this time; he was starting to lose patience. He could just imagine how Crane would have courted Trevelyan, charmed him, used him. Let me show you this one, sir. Perhaps you’d like to see something warmer, sir? Something even warmer still? Let’s see what can be done. Sickness feeding sickness. The more depraved the better, as far as Crane was concerned. It would give him greater leverage over Trevelyan, so that the banker would have no choice but to answer all of Crane’s questions or risk being exposed.

Pyke pulled the knife away, grabbed the banker’s throat with both hands and started to squeeze. He wanted to finish the job but, in the end, he let go and waited while the older man spluttered and gasped for air.

‘What you tell me here will remain between us. I just want the truth. If you tell me that, I’ll let you go back to your family. But you have to believe me when I say your life holds about as much worth to me as a pig’s. ’

Sensing a reprieve, Trevelyan spoke quickly. ‘I bought certain items from Crane. ’ He licked his lips. ‘One thing led to another. I couldn’t run the risk of him exposing me. ’

The way he said it made it seem so simple, innocent even. Perhaps he still believed that none of it was his fault.

‘Daguerreotypes? ’

Trevelyan looked at him, his expression betraying both surprise and resignation. ‘Yes. ’

‘Of what? ’

‘Initially just bedroom scenes. ’ He hesitated. ‘Naked women. ’

‘But that wasn’t enough, was it? ’

The banker shook his head, finally starting to sob.

‘Crane offered you something warmer. ’

Trevelyan nodded. The idea that it was all Crane’s fault appealed to the banker.

Pyke asked, ‘Did he sell you a daguerreotype featuring a woman with a hare‑ lip? ’

The banker’s eyes gave him away. He knew it, too, and didn’t try to lie. He nodded but wouldn’t meet Pyke’s eyes.

‘Have you still got the picture he sold you? ’

‘I came home this morning after…’ His hands were trembling. ‘I destroyed them, every last one. ’ For the first time, something approaching defiance entered his voice.

Pyke had expected as much. He thought about the daguerreotype Crane had sold Godfrey’s friend. How much worse could it get?

‘Her name was Bessie Daniels. She used to be a prostitute. She was sold to Crane for five guineas. ’ Pyke took a breath and swallowed; his throat felt uncomfortable. ‘She’s dead. She was strangled but I think you knew that already. ’

Trevelyan wouldn’t look up at him. Pyke brought the knife back to his throat and this time he nicked the skin and drew blood. ‘Just her naked, lying on a sofa, wasn’t enough, was it? You wanted more. ’

The banker nodded. His head was bowed and his whole body was trembling with fear and shame.

‘How much more? ’ One more slip of his hand and the blade would slice through Trevelyan’s throat. The temptation was almost too much to bear. ‘ How… much… more? ’ He spat the words out one by one.

Trevelyan didn’t answer.

Pyke thought about the chairs he’d seen in the makeshift studio where Bessie Daniels had posed naked on the sofa – and had been killed. ‘You were there, weren’t you? You actually witnessed it. You witnessed someone strangle her. ’ There were tears in Pyke’s eyes. ‘My God, you watched her die. You sat in one of those chairs, you smoked a cigar and you watched as someone murdered her. ’

Trevelyan still wouldn’t look at him so Pyke spat into his ear, ‘Answer me, you pathetic coward. ’

‘ Yes, ’ the banker mumbled. His hands were shaking. He took a deep breath and waited. ‘I was there. I saw it. ’ There were tears streaming down his face. ‘A man called Sykes strangled her, to the point where she was dead or as good as dead. Then Crane set up the camera. ’ Trevelyan swallowed. The way he was telling it, he had played no role in what had happened. ‘That’s what he wanted to capture, as an image. The moment she actually passed away; she hardly moved. That was important. If she’d moved, the image would have been ruined. But later, when I saw the daguerreotype, it was almost as if I could see her dying. ’ The way he finished the sentence indicated wonder rather than revulsion.

Pyke knelt for a moment, the air rushing through his ears as Trevelyan’s confession sunk in. The fact that Trevelyan still couldn’t see the vileness of what he’d done only made it worse.

Kneeling over the trembling man, Pyke took his throat with both hands and began to squeeze. ‘Is that working for you? ’ He squeezed a little harder. ‘Are you aroused now? Are you? ’

The banker tried to splutter something but Pyke’s hands were clasped too tightly around the man’s throat.

‘She was a woman. She was just like your wife, just like your daughters will grow up to be. You might not have strangled her with your own hands but you as good as killed her. Your money as good as killed her. ’ Pyke felt his anger swell. ‘What kind of a monster are you? Watching a man take an innocent’s life as though they were performing on stage? ’

‘But that’s just it, ’ Trevelyan spluttered, as Pyke relaxed his grip slightly. ‘They weren’t performing. It was real. ’

That made Pyke squeeze even harder, and he watched as the man’s face turned crimson.

‘Did it excite you? Seeing her dying? Seeing them all dying. ’ Pyke felt a tear roll down his cheek. ‘How many were there? ’

He let go.

Perhaps if he’d squeezed for a few seconds more Trevelyan would have died. As it was, he held his throat, gulping air.

Pyke knelt down and pressed his face against Trevelyan’s. ‘ I said, how many were there? Two, three? ’

‘Something like that. ’

‘Two or three or more? ’ He thought of Bessie Daniels and Lucy Luckins and about the eyeballs kept in glass jars deep underground.

‘Four, I think. ’

Pyke stood up and drew his sleeve across his mouth. More than anything, he wanted to kill the man lying at his feet. But death would be an escape, a blessing. Pyke wanted the man to live with his shame. Publicly. And he needed Trevelyan alive because the banker was the only one who could be used to trap Crane.

‘How much did you pay for each daguerreotype? ’ When Trevelyan didn’t answer, Pyke repeated the question, this time louder. ‘How much for the daguerreotype and the best seats in the house? ’

‘A hundred. ’

If Crane had bought Bessie Daniels for five, that meant a net profit of ninety‑ five pounds.

‘Tomorrow morning you’re going to go to the police office at the Guildhall and you’re going to change your statement. ’ He knew this wouldn’t happen but wanted Trevelyan to think he thought it might.

‘I can’t. If I do that, he’ll drag me down with him. ’

‘If you don’t, your life is finished. I’ll tell your wife, your family and everyone at the Bank what you’ve just told me. ’

Trevelyan began to weep again. For himself and his own predicament, Pyke supposed. But not for the dead women.

Suddenly the idea of spending another second in Trevelyan’s company made Pyke feel ill. He started to walk. To get as far away as possible from the sourness of the man’s sweat. If he stayed, he would kill him. He knew that much about himself.

‘That’s it? You’re leaving? ’ Trevelyan sat up, dazed, as if none of it had actually taken place. ‘Who are you? ’

Pyke kept walking.

The tide was rising, and by the time Pyke had climbed down from Dowgate Wharf to the sludgy riverbank, water was already lapping around his ankles. A patchy mist clung to the river, and from his vantage point on the north bank, a hundred yards from Southwark Bridge, Pyke couldn’t see the other bank or indeed New London Bridge, a few hundred yards farther along the river. Using the lantern, he peered into the tunnel entrance. The soil from the sewer had mixed with the rising river water and the resultant brown sludge sloshed around at the mouth of the tunnel. It was eerily quiet, and after midnight had come and gone, and there was still no sign of Field or Paxton, Pyke started to think that perhaps Field had had second thoughts, or that Paxton had told Field about his plans. All these thoughts went through his mind, but at about a quarter past midnight he heard whispered voices above him on the wharf and then Field call out, ‘Crane? ’

‘Down here, ’ Pyke muttered, trying to disguise his voice. He didn’t want Field to recognise him, at least not yet. Not until he was down with him on the bank.

Pyke waited; he could hear Field talking in a hard, clipped tone. But the man had shown up. That was the important thing.

Pyke looked up and saw a man’s shoes and then the bottom of a pair of trousers. Field was first down the ladder. Pyke kept himself hidden from view as Field reached the bottom and looked around; he was carrying a lantern. Paxton climbed down the ladder to join him. He was armed but it didn’t look as if Field was. ‘Crane? ’ Field waited, holding up the lantern.

Pyke stepped out from behind the wooden legs of the wharf. Field’s face was a mixture of surprise and resignation. In that instant, he knew. He turned to Paxton, who raised the barrel of his pistol and fired. Field fell to the ground, the ball‑ shot tearing a chunk out of his frock‑ coat but nothing more. Pyke took aim and fired, too, but Field rolled away from that one. He kept moving, and in the time it took Pyke to reload, Field had retreated into the mouth of the tunnel. Pyke went after him, but told Paxton to stay where he was.

Without the lantern, Pyke could barely see his hands, let alone Field. But he could hear him, footsteps sloshing in the soil. Field was running, Pyke following. With the rising tide, the level of the soil came almost to their knees, which made it even more difficult to run. Pyke raised the pistol and fired into the darkness. Briefly the explosion lit up the tunnel. Field was less than twenty yards ahead of him. Pyke heard a grunt, heard Field stumble, but he kept moving. Field’s footsteps had slowed, became more erratic. He was wounded. Pyke could hear him wheezing. Another few steps, and Pyke heard Field stagger and fall. He was less than ten yards ahead. Panting, Pyke stood over Field’s body. In the darkness, he could just about make out his face. He seemed to be smiling.

‘Better you than someone else. ’

Pyke crouched down and pulled Field’s head up out of the soil. ‘It wasn’t personal. If I didn’t do it you’d have killed me. ’ He now saw that his shot had struck Field in the middle of his back. Blood was leaking into the black ooze.

‘Tell Paxton…’ Field hesitated and coughed up some blood.

‘Tell him what? ’

But Field died before he could finish his sentence. His eyelids fluttered and his body went limp. A long‑ tailed rat scurried past them, heading deeper into the tunnel.

On the riverbank, Pyke found Paxton and told him that Field was dead. Paxton took this news in his stride.

‘And the woman? ’

Paxton was still holding his pistol and, just for a moment, Pyke thought he was going to use it. Instead he put it into his pocket and started climbing up the ladder. ‘If you give me what you promised me, I’ll take you to her. ’