The Revenge of Captain Paine (48 page)

‘God, you look like shit, Pyke,’ Tilling said, peering at him from the other side of the hearth. He was, by no means, a good-looking man, with his receding hairline and bug-like eyes, but his olive skin and ink-black hair glowed in the flickering light produced by the candle and fire.

‘You mean the bruise?’ Pyke rubbed his cheek and smiled. ‘I got into a tussle with a bareknuckle fighter and lived to tell the tale.’

‘Should have seen the other man, eh?’

‘I ripped off his scrotum.’ Pyke hesitated and shrugged. ‘I don’t imagine he’ll be adding his progeny to the human race.’

Tilling took a sip of brandy, not reacting to the story. ‘Why don’t you tell me what brings you to my house at half-past one in the morning?’ With a nimble leap, the marmalade cat jumped up into Tilling’s lap.

‘I need to talk to Peel.’

Tilling waited for the cat to settle down in his lap. ‘Peel’s convalescing at Drayton Manor. He caught a fever and isn’t planning to return to London for at least another week or two.’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t pass on my condolences.’

Tilling regarded him carefully. ‘I take it you have a particular gripe with Peel?’

‘A gripe. Hmm.’ Pyke considered this for a moment. ‘You could say that. Do you remember the radical, Julian Jackman? Peel certainly knows him.’

Tilling didn’t answer but rather waited for Pyke to continue, stroking the purring cat.

‘I found Jackman about two hours ago nailed to a cross on the construction site of the Birmingham railway near Camden.’

If the news was a surprise to Tilling, he didn’t show it. ‘And that’s what you woke me up to tell me?’

‘Is that all you’re prepared to say? A man was
crucified
. Six-inch nails were driven through his ankles and hands. He died the most horrible death imaginable.’

Tilling nodded, acknowledging Pyke’s outrage and anger. ‘Perhaps you should tell me how you think any of this relates to Peel.’

‘About a month ago, he called me to his office at Westminster and persuaded me, you might even say blackmailed me, to perform a dirty little task for him. He wanted me to prove or disprove that Jackman was Captain Paine.’

Tilling’s expression remained inscrutable.

‘At the time he tried to make out that he was simply helping out a friend, Edward James Morris. Morris was about to begin work on the next section of the Grand Northern Railway and Peel made it appear that the venture was beset by problems mostly caused by the radicals; radicals, that is, like Jackman, who, according to Peel, were stirring up dissent among the navvies.’ Pyke paused for a moment, to gather his thoughts. ‘Then there was the matter of the headless body which had turned up a few miles from the navvy camp in Huntingdon. I heard later that Peel had already been to Huntingdon himself. He asked me to investigate that death, too.’

Tilling was apparently absorbed in stroking the cat but looked up at the last moment, a frown on his face. ‘I’m not sure what it is Peel has supposed to have done here. I mean, surely you don’t suspect him of any involvement in the unfortunate death of this Jackman figure?’

‘Involvement. That’s a fine word, isn’t it? No, I don’t think Peel had any
direct
involvement in the matter but his hands aren’t clean either.’

‘Perhaps you should explain yourself.’

‘I don’t believe Peel ever cared one little bit either about the problems facing the Grand Northern Railway or the threat posed by the radicals.’

‘Is that so?’

‘It’s my guess Peel suspected Abraham Gore was involved in the struggle against the radicals in London
and
Cambridgeshire and sent me off into the lion’s den hoping I might turn up something he could use against him.’

Tilling shoved the purring cat off his lap and sat forward, his eyes fixed on Pyke. ‘You know, there are some who believe that Gore effectively controls this current Liberal government from behind the scenes, but without ever having to show his hand or answer to the electorate.’

‘Is that an admission that your master tried to use me to do his dirty work?’ Pyke had used the term ‘master’ deliberately, to cause offence, the insult registering in Tilling’s stare.

‘If Peel suspected Gore of wrongdoing, why shouldn’t he try and gather evidence against him?’

‘
Gathering evidence
implies Peel sanctioned some kind of official investigation in which his full intentions were disclosed. What actually happened was he dispatched me to Huntingdon without an inkling of what or who I was dealing with.’

Tilling’s face reddened a little and Pyke knew he’d scored a hit. ‘He made certain you were adequately compensated for your troubles. I heard that Morris gave you a plum contract, one you couldn’t fail to make money from.’

‘And that’s supposed to make everything all right? Some gold coins in return for my silence and acquiescence?’

‘I don’t imagine Peel ever thought you would be either silent
or
acquiescent.’

‘But ruthless, maybe. I expect he hoped I might be ruthless. Do what other men might not have the stomach to do. Put a pistol against Gore’s head and pull the trigger . . .’

‘I can safely say Sir Robert would definitely not sanction such a drastic course of action.’

‘Who said I needed his sanction?’

Tilling took a sip of brandy and put the glass down in front of the fire. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘Perhaps without realising it, Peel opened up a whole Pandora’s box when he sent me to Huntingdon. I want him to face up to his responsibilities.’

A vague smile creased the corners of Tilling’s mouth. ‘
You’re
telling the leader of the Tory party that he has to face up to
his
responsibilities?’

‘Everything is going to get a whole lot worse here in London and elsewhere before it gets better. I want Peel here to help clean up the mess.’

‘And what mess are you referring to?’

‘The mess that’ll happen when I finally make a move against Gore and Sir Henry Bellows.’

‘What’s Sir Henry got to do with any of this?’

‘Like Gore, Bellows might claim to hate the radicals but
this
, as you put it, is about money, plain and simple. Jackman’s plans to unionise the navvies threatened the progress of Gore’s railway. And as the competition, Morris’s Grand Northern threatened to severely limit the sums of money Gore might earn from his venture. So he planned something that would effectively take care of both problems. To do this, he required Bellows’s assistance. I’m guessing the crackdown against Jackman and the rest of the Wat Tyler Brigade was Gore’s idea but Bellows orchestrated it: that’s how Jackman’s carcass came to be hanging from a makeshift cross. A nice, cosy arrangement. Gore gets what he wants and Bellows is amply rewarded for his efforts.’ Briefly Pyke told Tilling about the properties Bellows had purchased in Somers Town eighteen months earlier,
before
it was announced that the new terminus for the Birmingham railway would be Euston rather than Camden Town, and the fortune he stood to make when he sold them.

Tilling shook his head, clearly agitated now. ‘Whatever might or might not have happened, Peel simply won’t tolerate some kind of vigilante action.’

‘He should have thought of that before he sent me off on a wild-goose chase after Jackman and Captain Paine.’

Tilling tried to wave the point away. ‘As you said, Captain Paine is nothing, a minor nuisance ...’

Pyke interrupted. ‘Except I found out tonight my wife is none other than Captain Paine and five days ago she was kidnapped together with my child.’

For a long while after that, Fitzroy Tilling said nothing, but the stunned expression on his face told Pyke everything he needed to know.

‘And you think Gore might have arranged it?’ Tilling asked, still trying to come to terms with the shock.

Pyke looked at Tilling and shrugged. He didn’t plan to tell him about Cumberland. He wanted to keep the pressure on Peel and his private secretary.

‘There hasn’t been a ransom demand yet?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know they were kidnapped?’

‘I don’t. Perhaps it’s the optimist in me. I prefer to think they’ve been kidnapped rather than butchered like Jackman.’ Pyke swallowed the rest of his brandy and rose to his feet. ‘But maybe you can understand now why I want to do things my way.’

‘Pyke ... I don’t know what to say apart from I’m sorry.’ All the wind had been taken from his sails.

‘Send word to Peel.’

‘And if he decides to stay in Drayton Manor?’

Pyke allowed himself a smile. ‘Oh, he’ll return as quickly as his carriage’ll permit it. Don’t you worry about that.’

Tilling stood up and followed him out into the hall. ‘Will you promise me to look after yourself?’

‘What? Peel cares about my safety now?’

‘I’m not speaking for Sir Robert now.’ He went to pat Pyke gently on the shoulder. ‘Look after yourself and be very careful. Underneath his charming façade, Abraham Gore is the nastiest, most ruthless man I have ever come across.’

‘By a degree, perhaps, but if you scratch the surface you’ll find that men like Gore and Peel have more in common than you think. Both are happy to employ abstract principles in order to conceal the whiff of moral depravity.’

‘If all politics was really like that, Pyke, we would have been buried as a human race long ago.’

Pyke looked up at Tilling’s face and smiled. ‘You know something, Fitzroy? It’s a real shame you’ve devoted your life to cleaning up other people’s messes. You’re a much better and more intelligent man than the people you work for.’

Tilling looked around him at the candle-blackened walls. ‘More intelligent maybe, but not nearly as rich.’ And when Pyke had reached the bottom of the steps that led down to the street, he called out, ‘Do you still want to know how Peel knew about you and Ned Villums?’

Pyke spun around and felt the skin tighten across his face.

‘Your assistant, Nash.’

‘Nash told you?’

Tilling nodded. ‘Peel needed something he could hold over your head.’

‘Do you know anything about his death?’

‘It was as much a surprise to us as I hope it was to you.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘For a while Peel reckoned you might have found out about his conversations with me and taken appropriate action.’

‘Cut off someone’s head?’

Tilling reached down to pat the ginger cat on its head. ‘Well, you’re not exactly the squeamish type.’

 
From the point at which the new railway disappeared under the Hampstead Road, Pyke gazed down at the man-made excavation cut deep into the earth beneath him and the intricate system of ropes and pulleys by which the workers hauled earth out of the ravine. A brick wall, fifty feet in height, had been built to support each side of the embankment and along each wall was a complex lattice of scaffolding and wooden planks for the barrows to move along. Farther down the hill, he could see the hazy outlines of Somers Town and New Road, where Bellows had bought up disused properties that would now be converted into railway hotels, boarding houses and cab stands at great profit. For a moment he watched as a crew of navvies hauled buckets of earth up out of the ravine using the pulley system. Red had been right, Pyke thought. It was grim, back-breaking toil and the navvies did it without complaint or pause for breath.

A mammoth stationary engine house was starting to take shape on the east side of the ravine. This would house the monstrous contraption that Godfrey had told him about: the engine that would draw the trains up the steep incline from Euston. At present, however, its embryonic structure, a steam room and two half-built chimneys, teetered precariously on the bank and looked as though it might topple over into the ravine. Pyke continued to watch the comings and goings for a few minutes and, though it was hard not be impressed by the sheer scale of the project, he could think only about Jackman’s crucified body as he had seen it the previous night.

Pyke found Abraham Gore where his private secretary said he would be - talking to the engineer and surveyor. When Gore saw him, he waved, as if greeting an old friend. Breaking off his conversation, he came over to where Pyke was standing and shook both his hands.

‘I’ve been trying to reach you at your bank,’ Gore said, his expression suddenly grave. ‘I’m afraid I’ve drawn a blank on the very serious matter we discussed at my office yesterday. But I’m still hopeful my contacts will be able to wheedle some information out of that idiot Bellows.’

Pyke kept his expression composed. ‘I’m sure you’re doing all you can and it goes without saying your help is much appreciated.’

Gore nodded his gratitude. ‘So what brings you here today?’ He glanced down at the scene in front of them with evident satisfaction.

‘If possible,’ Pyke started, trying to keep his tone matter-of-fact, ‘I’d like to revise the terms of our business agreement.’

‘Oh?’ Lines of concern instantly creased Gore’s forehead. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

‘You were willing to pay sixty thousand for a third stake in Blackwood’s bank.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So would you be prepared to pay one hundred thousand for my entire two-thirds stake?’

Gore’s unease was suddenly palpable. He hadn’t expected this and for a while he was silent. ‘You want to sell me your entire stake in the bank?’

‘That’s what I said.’ Pyke checked himself, aware that his tone had perhaps been a little sharp.

‘Do you mind if I ask you why?’

‘After what’s happened to my wife and child,’ Pyke said carefully, ‘my heart is no longer in it.’

Gore nodded, as though he understood. ‘But you surely don’t equate the two? This dreadful business regarding your family, on the one hand, and your running of the bank, on the other.’

‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what to think any more.’