The Revenge of Captain Paine (52 page)

‘You hoped it might all go away if you hid out here for long enough?’ Pyke asked, gently.

Kate gave him a desperate nod.

‘But it hasn’t gone away, has it? If anything it’s got worse.’ Pyke pulled his coat more tightly around his body and asked, ‘Do you think they found Johnny here in Ramsgate or followed him back to London?’

‘I don’t know. I never saw him again.’

‘And he had no idea what had actually been written in the letters?’

That drew a jaundiced laugh. ‘Johnny liked to think of himself as an actor but he couldn’t read or write.’ Pyke told her about the show he’d seen at the penny gaff and she shook her head, adding, ‘Doesn’t mean he actually wrote anything down: he probably just told folk what to say or do.’ Then, remembering something she’d meant to say earlier, she continued, ‘Of course, not knowing what he’d stumbled on didn’t stop him from passing word to the Duke of Cumberland, accusing him of trying to kill Victoria and saying that he had physical evidence - letters - to support his claim. Johnny told about me this, the last time we spoke here in Ramsgate. Apparently he’d demanded a thousand pounds from the duke in return for his silence.’

This got Pyke’s attention. His pulse quickened and his mouth dried up. ‘So what you’re saying is that Johnny’s disappearance, and his death, might have been the work of Cumberland
or
Conroy?’

Kate shrugged and said she had no idea. She didn’t even know whether he’d made it back to London, as he’d told her he was planning to.

Worried, Pyke turned this new information over in his mind. Up until then, he had assumed that Johnny’s murder and beheading had been carried out on Conroy’s behalf by Jimmy Trotter and the body dumped in the river near Huntingdon. But what if this wasn’t the case? What if Trotter had, indeed, committed this dastardly act, but on Cumberland’s orders? Cumberland, who’d subsequently orchestrated the kidnapping of Pyke’s pregnant wife and son . . .

At least Pyke now knew how Cumberland had first been alerted to the existence of the letters.

Another even more unpalatable thought crossed his mind. Indeed, it was something that had been bothering him ever since he had first received the ransom demand and then discovered that Cumberland had left for the Continent. What if the kidnapping had not, in fact, been planned and overseen by the duke? What if someone else had perpetrated it and tried to pass it off as Cumberland’s work in order to shield themselves from Pyke’s vengeance? Pyke had told Conroy about the duke’s interest in the letters. What if the comptroller had orchestrated the abduction and somehow managed to procure Cumberland’s seal in order to shift blame on to the duke? That might also explain why it had taken a full five days for the ransom note to reach Hambledon. Conroy had been waiting for the duke to leave the country; otherwise Pyke would have found a way of talking to him and would have found out that the duke had had nothing to do with the kidnapping. This was only conjecture, of course, but it made a certain amount of sense. And it raised the spectre of other, even more disturbing possibilities. For wasn’t Conroy an associate of Sir Henry Bellows and wasn’t Bellows in charge of a crackdown against leading London radicals, of which Emily was most definitely one?

‘What was it in the letters Johnny stole that’s whipped everyone up into a frenzy?’

Kate sat up, pulled two crumpled letters from under her bodice and handed them to Pyke. When he’d finished reading them, he looked at her and whistled but didn’t hand them back. Briefly he wondered whether Kate realised just how explosive the revelations would be if they were ever made public.

The first letter was written by the princess’s mother, Victoria, Duchess of Kent, to Conroy. It was dated the twenty-ninth of August 1818. In the letter, she rhapsodised about Conroy’s visit to the Saxe-Coburg home she shared with her husband, Edward, the Duke of York, and her ‘ardent’ hopes that Conroy would be appointed as her husband’s private equerry. In florid language, the duchess had recounted some of the more intimate details of Conroy’s visit, happily remembering details of their ‘passionate’ exchanges and making explicit references to Edward’s ‘inadequacies’ and the fact they hadn’t ‘enjoyed proper marital relations’ for four or five years. But the second letter was the real fox in the henhouse. This one was much briefer and was seemingly written in response to something Conroy had written. It simply said, ‘In answer to your question, my darling, I can only say yes, she is yours. But I’m sure I don’t need to impress on you the importance of never, ever speaking again of this matter so long as we both may live.’ The second letter was dated the twenty-sixth of May 1819.

Pyke looked at Helen and Kate and said, ‘And the princess was born on the twenty-fifth of May?’

‘The twenty-fourth,’ Helen said, in a tone that suggested she’d read the letters, too, and
knew
.

‘Even if it’s not definitive proof,’ Pyke said, ‘a man like Cumberland would seize hold of this and never let it go. He’s like a dog with a bone that way.’

Cumberland, who was next in line to the throne; Cumberland, who had kidnapped Emily and Felix . . .

‘It isn’t ever going to go away, is it?’ Kate asked, staring glumly at her little sister. Milly gave her a supportive hug.

‘Not unless you allow me to do something with this.’ He held up the second letter and briefly wondered why Conroy hadn’t destroyed it; perhaps he’d kept it to use for his own purpose at some future point.

‘Make it public?’ Kate seemed aghast and Helen stepped in and said, ‘
Never
. I’ll not allow the princess to be hurt.’

Pyke gave them both a hard stare. ‘Listen, I want Cumberland to be our next king even less than you do, but in order to be able to make this problem go away, I’m going to need two things. The letters ...’

‘And?’ Helen and Kate said at the same time.

‘An audience with the princess.’ Among other things, he needed to ask her about royal seals.

‘You’re planning to tell her about this?’ Helen said, appalled.

Pyke shook his head. ‘But I need to see her, for her own good, if nothing else.’

‘Conroy won’t sanction it.’

‘Allow me to worry about the comptroller,’ he said, wondering whether the replacement carriage had yet returned to Ramsgate with the stranded passengers.

‘Lehzen would never allow it, either. She’s very,
very
protective of the princess.’

‘I’m not planning to ask her permission.’

‘You mean you’re just going to barge into the princess’s room?’

He looked at the lady of the bedchamber and smiled. ‘That’s where you’re going to help me.’

TWENTY-NINE

In the darkness Pyke moved carefully around the dressing table, taking care not to disturb the yellow chintz curtains, and approached the four-poster bed where the princess lay under a Marseilles quilt. A sharp intake of breath was quickly followed by her sudden move bolt upright. ‘Who’s there?’ a small, timid voice asked. ‘Is that you, Lehzen?’ The sixteen-year-old princess was sitting up in the bed, her pinched cheeks and pointy chin just about visible in the gloom.

‘Don’t be alarmed and above all don’t shout for help. My name’s Pyke. I come as a friend. I have information about Sir John Conroy I know you’ll want to hear.’ He spoke quietly but firmly and stood at the end of the bed, not daring or wanting to get any closer to her.

There was a long pause, neither of them moving at all, and Pyke prepared himself for a scream or a cry for help.

It didn’t come.

‘Rest assured, sir, that if you come any closer or attempt to hurt or even touch me in any way I will scream as loudly as I can and within seconds there will sufficient bodies in this room to restrain you. Is that quite clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please continue.’ Pyke could hear the tension in her voice but she didn’t sound panicked.

‘Do you remember a female servant called Kate Sutton who worked in the kitchen at Kensington Palace and came with you here to Ramsgate?’

The princess sat forward in her bed. ‘Yes, I do. I was sorry to hear that she left her post. She was a sweet thing.’

A moment’s silence passed between them. ‘Do you know why she left?’

She laughed gently. ‘I’m afraid I’m never told about such matters.’

‘She was put in fear for her life because she saw something in the kitchen,’ Pyke whispered, taking a step closer to the bed.

‘Come closer, sir. I can’t hear you properly.’ Victoria pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down and tell me about the young girl.’

‘She saw Sir John Conroy introducing something into your food.’ He paused for a moment, to allow the information to be absorbed, and then sat down on the chair. ‘A small dose of arsenic perhaps.’ Up close, he saw that the skin was hanging off her cheekbones and her head was almost entirely bald, just a few wisps remaining at the back and the sides.

‘You’re suggesting Conroy has been trying to poison me?’ There was incredulity in her voice.

‘Fortunately for you, Kate informed your lady of the bedchamber, Helen Milner-Gibson, who in turn told Lehzen. For the last few months, I’m told, Lehzen has overseen the preparation and delivery of all your meals.’

This seemed to intrigue her. ‘I’ve been wondering why Lehzen has shown such an interest in what I eat.’ She paused for a moment, to digest this news. ‘You say Helen M-G is a friend? I always thought she’d been chosen for the post by Conroy to spy on me.’ The princess laughed and became self-conscious, trying to arrange her few remaining locks of hair. ‘It was falling out due to my illness. Lehzen cut the rest of it off but she assures me it’ll grow back.’

Pyke watched her for a while and decided that she reminded him of Felix; they were both frail, both prone to illness and both isolated from the world. ‘Perhaps whatever Conroy put in your food contributed to your illness.’

‘Dr Clark said I’d contracted some kind of fever.’

‘And was Dr Clark brought here to look after you by Conroy?’

The princess was silent while she considered what he’d told her. ‘Just before I got sick,’ she said, eventually, ‘I had a visit from my beloved uncle, Leopold, and his darling wife, Louise. I asked how I should go about preparing to be queen. He told me to beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.’

‘And you think he was referring to Conroy?’

‘Perhaps.’ She shrugged. ‘Uncle Leopold didn’t mention anyone in particular. But I do know Conroy dislikes me. He thinks I’m sickly, spoiled, girlish, prone to whims and flights of fancy, frivolous and intellectually younger than my years.’ She spoke as if she were quoting him.

‘Should I assume that the antipathy is mutual?’

That drew a slight giggle. ‘Perhaps, but I’m afraid my mother adores him and in case you haven’t noticed I’m a minor.’ She paused for a moment to rearrange her pillows. ‘But he also needs me. I should add that he calls me those things merely to press my mother’s case for a regency, even if the King lives until I come of age.’

‘I don’t think Conroy wanted to kill you. I’m guessing he wanted to weaken you in order to tighten his control over your affairs.’ Pyke hesitated. ‘Tell me this: did Conroy try and seize upon your illness for his own ends?’

Victoria considered this for a moment. ‘A few weeks ago, when the fever was at its worst, he tried to put a quill in my shaking hand and persuade me to sign a document appointing him as my private secretary when I become queen.’

If
you become queen, Pyke thought grimly, as he considered the letter hidden in his pocket.

‘Lehzen chased Conroy out of the room. She hates him even more than I do.’ This memory seemed to cheer her up.

‘And where does your mother stand in all this?’

‘My mother claims to have my best interests at heart. It’s why I’m locked up like a common prisoner at Kensington Palace and not permitted to play any part in court life. Apparently it’s for my own good. I’m to be protected from the loose morals of my uncle’s court:
the vice of Windsor versus the virtue of Kensington
.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘In fact, my mother yearns for the prestige and wealth a regency would give her and she’s utterly under Conroy’s influence, even to the ...’

The young princess froze. Footsteps approached the door and someone turned the handle. Pyke had no choice but to hide under the bed. He did so quickly and quietly but still didn’t know whether he’d been heard. ‘My dear? Are you awake?’ The voice was a female one, with a faintly Germanic accent. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ Baroness Lehzen whispered to someone else. Pyke could see her ankles silhouetted against the light from the other room and briefly wondered whether she was talking to the comptroller. If either of them decided to look under the bed, he would be finished. Who would believe he hadn’t tried to defile the impressionable princess? People had hung for far less.

But then Lehzen crept back out of the room and gently closed the door behind her. Pyke slid out from under the bed, stood up and straightened his frock-coat. The princess giggled a little and whispered, ‘That was a close shave.’ And when Pyke didn’t respond, she added, in the same breathy tone, ‘You wouldn’t believe how dull my life is, Mr Pyke. I’m a girl and I want to do some of the things that girls of my age are meant to do. Go to balls, dance, listen to music, meet brilliant people.’ This time she looked directly at him. ‘It’s like a prison with golden bars.’

Suddenly nervous, Pyke looked across at the closed door. ‘Can I offer you a word of advice before I go?’

She nodded meekly but seemed upset that he was about to leave her.

‘Make what I’ve told you yours and Lehzen’s secret. Helen knows, too, and you should remember what she’s done for you. In addition, you should insist that the kitchen girl, Kate, is reinstated, if, that is, she wants her old job back.’

‘And if Conroy objects?’

‘I don’t think Conroy will be a problem. He’ll be as meek as a lamb when I’ve finished with him.’