Andrew Pepper - The Last Days of Newgate

Tilling shrugged. ‘We did approach Vines and consulted him about the police bill in order to determine where his loyalties lay.’

‘And?’

‘As far as we could tell, they remained squarely aligned with Sir Richard.’

Pyke nodded, trying to digest this information. ‘I’ll need a private audience with him.’

‘Who, Vines?’ Tilling asked.

‘No, Peel.’

‘Out of the question,’ Tilling said, shaking his head.

‘Away from Whitehall. Somewhere like your house, for example.’

‘Perhaps if you had come to us with all this before the trial, he might have been able to grant you a pardon. I presume that’s what you want? But not after everything you have done, everything that has happened.’

Pyke had expected such a response and was not put off by it. ‘Tell Peel that it will be in his own interest to make the appointment. Point out I’m not a man to be underestimated.’

‘Oh, believe me, Peel is well aware of that fact.’

‘So you’ll arrange a meeting? Tomorrow evening. At your house.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Tilling waited for a moment. ‘But I can tell you one thing. Peel won’t tolerate any more of this carry-on with Edmonton. The situation’s spiralling out of control. He’s going to dispatch the Seventh Dragoons to the area to quell any further unrest.’

‘Edmonton has made his own bed,’ Pyke said, coldly.

‘That may be, but Peel will want a line drawn under everything.’

Pyke thought about this for a moment. There was still so much he didn’t know or couldn’t work out. ‘And Edmonton?’

‘What about Edmonton?’

‘What am I supposed to do with him?’

‘That’s your business, Pyke, not mine.’

Tilling touched his arm and told Pyke he would try to arrange the meeting for the following day. As he turned to leave, he paused and said, almost as an afterthought, ‘Do what you need to do but do it quickly.’

Pyke stood there and watched Tilling stroll down the hill, and did not move until he was a faint speck in the distance.

When Pyke visited Hambledon Hall for the second time, the conditions were just as foul as they had been on the first occasion. It was not quite as cold, for it was October rather than February, but a fierce easterly wind drove billowing clouds across the flat, unprotected valley with such intensity that rain fell horizontally rather than vertically. Still, the inclement weather suited his mood and, anyway, Pyke could not have imagined the ugly monstrosity of Hambledon Hall bathed in warm sunlight. The hall had been constructed on marshy terrain and the relentless uniformity of the landscape gave the setting a menacing feel, as though the land had been cursed.

This time Pyke had not been invited to the hall, nor did he make any attempt to enter its grounds. Rather, he tied up his horse well out of sight of the track leading up to the hall, positioned himself across from the main gate behind a large holly bush and prepared for a long wait. About an hour later, a carriage pulled by two horses skidded through the gate; Pyke could not see its occupants but supposed that the carriage belonged to James Sloan. As he waited for it to reappear, he wondered what kind of man Sloan was.

If he had struck some kind of deal with Edmonton, he could not be honest or virtuous or, for that matter, nice, but what if he was handsome or intelligent or attractively roguish? What if Emily found herself liking him? Pyke found this thought as unlikely as it was distasteful, but was it beyond the bounds of possibility? He knew Emily didn’t have to like this man. In order to safeguard her income and inheritance, all she had to do was tolerate him. And, of course, Sloan would want to come across as generous and courteous. A lot was at stake for him.

Pyke wondered whether he might be jealous. It was certainly an odd sentiment, as irrational as it was consuming. Old prejudices towards privilege surfaced: what had this man done to merit Emily? He had, no doubt, led a sheltered, comfortable existence. Perhaps he had been set up in business by his father. He would have a sizeable private income, in order to satisfy Edmonton that he was an appropriate match for his daughter and in order to pay for the parliamentary seat Edmonton had given him.

It felt strange, spying on Emily. As he did so, he wondered whether she had instructed Jo to tell him about this meeting. Was he there at Emily’s implicit behest? If so, for what purpose had he been summoned? What did he plan to do with the knowledge he hoped to gain from this particular outing? What might Emily want him to do? Again the thought struck him that she might be ambivalent about rather than hostile to the prospect of an arranged marriage: Emily was by no means materialistic, but she was passionately committed to her charity work and, if she saw this marriage as a way of securing a much-needed source of income for the work, then what was to say she wouldn’t accept this man’s proposal?

An hour later, he watched as the same carriage journeyed up the well-maintained drive from the hall and swept through the gate; he caught a brief glimpse of Emily through one of the windows but could not see whether she was alone or had company.

When the carriage finally pulled up outside a smart-looking terraced residence in a pleasant, leafy street that adjoined Russell Square, the footman climbed down from the roof and waited until a servant appeared from inside the house holding an umbrella before pulling down the steps and opening the door. The servant held open the umbrella and escorted Emily up the steps to the Doric porch. Pyke watched as they disappeared into the entrance hall; the brightly painted front door closed behind them.

As he waited on the far side of the street, watching a sweeper move through the traffic collecting coins from passing cabs and carts, Pyke wondered how long Emily would remain in the house. What would be an appropriate amount of time? Would an hour be too long? What if she stayed there for the entire morning? What might this indicate in terms of future intentions?

He was so occupied with these thoughts that he almost didn’t notice Emily scampering down the steps in front of the house after only a few minutes and hailing a passing cab.

His first inclination was to go after her, to find out what had taken place and to make sure that she was all right. But he could not be certain she would appreciate such a gesture, especially if she hadn’t actually instructed Jo to tell him about this meeting. She might resent him for spying on her and say nothing of what had happened in the house.

Instead, Pyke watched the cab turn into Russell Square and found himself standing in front of the man’s residence.

Pyke’s curiosity had been sufficiently piqued to risk approaching the front door. He didn’t know what he might say to Sloan, but if Sloan represented Edmonton’s parliamentary interests there might be some advantage in confronting him. If he seemed to be virtuous, Pyke could take this opportunity to further besmirch Edmonton’s reputation. And if he seemed to be a rogue, Pyke could make his accusations and see how he responded.

It did not cross Pyke’s mind that the man himself might open the door, particularly given his earlier sighting of at least one servant. That said, even before the door was opened, he heard the man mutter angrily, ‘I wondered if you might reconsider,’ as though he believed the visitor to be Emily.

Up close, the mole on his chin was purple rather than brown.

‘You’re a formidable man, Pyke. Formidable indeed,’ Peel said, without bothering to stand up or shake his hand.

Tilling had ushered Pyke into his front room and pointed to one of the horsehair chairs. Pyke assured him that he was more comfortable standing.