Andrew Pepper - The Last Days of Newgate

Pyke heard them before he saw them: the sound of hoofs moving in unison, vibrating against the hard ground.

They turned on to the track that led up to the farm, at least ten of them, all riding horses and holding torches.

They rode slowly but with purpose along the flinty track and came to a halt about a hundred yards from where Pyke was standing. In the light of their torches, he scanned their faces and was disappointed not to see Swift among them.

As they gathered together in a circle, all on horseback, one of their rank, their leader perhaps, addressed them in hushed tones. Pyke tried to determine who this man was, but his view was blocked by another rider. In the barn, a raucous cheer erupted from the gathered crowd which seemed to get the raiding party’s attention. Pyke could not hear what they were saying to each other, but they were clearly preparing themselves to attack; they lined up in formation alongside one another, their torches held aloft. From somewhere behind them, their leader gave the signal and the men roused their horses into action. It did not take them long to pick up speed, and once they had done so, and were bearing in on their target, they started to shout: angry, blood-curdling cries whose sole purpose was to terrorise those inside the barn. As the horses thundered past him, Pyke scanned their faces again, but saw no one he recognised.

Just as the first figures stumbled out of the barn, the raiders were upon them, scything them down and using their torches to set the rickety wooden building alight. Moments later, the trickle of men emerging from the barn became a deluge. As they spilled out into the darkness, the raiders were waiting for them and attacked without mercy; some were trampled under hoofs, others were beaten with sticks and set alight.

It was a bloody sight and Pyke bore his own responsibility for initiating the conflict heavily. He tried to close his eyes to the horror of what was happening but the cruelty of the raiders and the helplessness of the protesters elicited a feeling of self-disgust.

As he scanned the faces of the mob, he saw the familiar gait of the old man who had lost his daughter and grandchild. He was trying to hobble to safety when one of the men on horseback flew past him and struck him on the head with what looked like a makeshift hammer. The old man went down. The rider pulled up the horse, turned around and without another thought rode the horse over the old man’s prostrate figure. The man quivered for a moment and then stopped moving.

But Pyke’s attention was distracted by one of the raiding party who had kept himself back from the fray and was watching the unfolding mayhem from a safe distance. Without pausing to determine whether this was Swift or not, he scurried across the track that led to the farm, concealing himself in the shadows of the grassy verge. Ten yards away, he paused to take aim with the pistol; his plan was to shoot the horse and take Swift alive.

He steadied himself and cocked the pistol.

But in the instant before Pyke fired, something alerted the horse to his presence and the animal reared upwards; the shot whistled harmlessly past its head.

In these circumstances, most riders would have fallen off. But Swift — if indeed that was who it was — was a skilled horseman and remained upright, even as the horse reared up. Before Pyke could further unsettle the animal, or reload the pistol, the rider had managed to calm the horse down and goad it into action. With the man clinging to its back, the animal bolted off along the track, leaving Pyke on the ground staring upwards into a cloud of dust. But just before the galloping horse turned the corner at the end of the hedge-lined track, the rider pulled up and, turning around to face him, waited for a few moments and waved.

‘I have come with a message from my mistress.’ Jo’s timid voice echoed around the draughty church. She removed her bonnet and approached the pew where Pyke was sitting, with obvious caution.

Sensing her unease, Pyke invited her to take a seat, but she ignored his offer and opted to remain where she was. ‘I was under the impression that Emily planned to visit herself.’ He watched as she brushed the rain from her short red hair.

Jo looked down at her feet. ‘She instructed me to tell you that Edmonton will not permit her to leave Hambledon.’

‘I see.’

For a while, neither of them seemed to know what to say.

‘Mr Pyke. .’

‘Please,’ he said, gently, ‘Pyke will do.’ He tried to smile. ‘I’m not used to being addressed in such a formal manner.’

This drew a pained expression. ‘Miss Blackwood has been so good to me, and I don’t want to lose my job. .’

‘Please don’t blame yourself,’ Pyke said, raising his hand. ‘It was not your fault. I shouldn’t have. .’ He hesitated, not sure what else to say.

But this seemed enough to put her at ease. ‘She’s so unhappy. She didn’t tell me to say that to you, but I thought I should say something anyway.’

Pyke stood up and rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. ‘Is it your impression she intends to go ahead with this marriage?’

‘I know such a thought appals her.’

‘But she’s at least willing to contemplate it as a possibility?’

‘It is not a question of being willing, I think.’ This time Jo raised her eyes to meet his stare.

‘But she is on the verge of succumbing to her father’s bullying?’

‘I wouldn’t know about that, but. .’ Jo hesitated, as though unsure about whether she should continue. She pulled her woollen shawl tighter around her shoulders.

‘Go on.’

‘I know she’s to meet this man the day after tomorrow. He’s sending a carriage for her.’

Pyke studied her expression. ‘Did Emily instruct you to inform me of this meeting?’

‘Not in so many words.’ Jo stared up at the ceiling of the church. ‘But I know how unhappy she is at the prospect of it.’

Pyke assessed her seemingly well-intentioned concern. ‘Perhaps I may ask another question?’

Jo gave him an unsettled look.

‘Have you heard of Edmonton’s threats to disinherit her? Or, indeed, to quadruple her allowance, should she agree to marry this man?’

‘I have not heard such a conversation for myself but my mistress has informed me of certain matters.’

‘And you think this is why Emily is considering the claims of this suitor?’

‘In part.’

‘Only in part?’

‘Mr. .’ Jo hesitated. ‘Sorry. . Pyke.’ She looked at him and smiled. ‘I overheard a conversation at Hambledon between Lord Edmonton and his lawyer. I haven’t yet told my mistress what I learned but I presume that she is aware of what they talked about.’

Pyke nodded at her to continue.

‘As far as I understand it, Lord Edmonton has not simply threatened to disinherit my mistress, should she refuse to countenance this marriage. He has also instructed his lawyer to draw up a codicil to his will. From what I could gather from their conversation, the codicil states that if, at any point following Lord Edmonton’s death and the death of any of my mistress’s future husbands, she should marry you, then she would forfeit any claim to her inheritance and the family estate.’

‘I am to be personally named in this new document?’

‘As I understand it.’ Her manner was almost apologetic.

So it was a choice between him and the money, Pyke thought bitterly. The fat lord was indeed a formidable adversary.

‘And how can I contact Emily, should I need to,’ Pyke asked, ‘if she’s to be kept locked up in her quarters?’

Jo told him Emily would make arrangements to contact him.

‘Where? Here?’

Jo shrugged and said she did not know.

‘Here,’ he said, scribbling his uncle’s address down on a scrap of paper. ‘Should Emily need to get in touch.’ Pyke waited for a moment. ‘Thank you for making the journey from Hambledon.’