Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

When the carriage dropped him outside his home, there were no candles burning in any of the windows. Pyke put his key into the lock, turned it and pushed open the door. He shouted his son’s name but there was no answer. Only Copper came to greet him. There was a note from Mrs Booth on the kitchen table. She had left supper for them in the pantry. He raced up the stairs to Felix’s room but it was empty and the bed was untouched. A fire was still burning in the living room but otherwise the house was cold, dark and unwelcoming. Pyke’s panic had returned, together with a feeling of helplessness. What could he do? What should he do? Stay put and hope Felix showed up? Or go back to Kensington and begin his search for the lad there?

Pyke dried his feet and hair with a cloth and put on an old coat and pair of shoes. Then he returned to the street and looked up and down for any sign of a carriage. Apart from a dog barking next door, everything was quiet. Pyke strode to the end of the street and looked up the hill towards Islington High Street. The recriminations could come later but it was hard to hold the guilt he felt in abeyance.

Back at the house, Pyke pushed open the front door and let Copper hobble in ahead of him. In the living room, where at least it was warm, he went across to the window and looked out on to the street. He didn’t hear the sound behind him, didn’t react until he heard Copper whine. When he turned around, Felix was standing in the doorway. Wordlessly they moved across the room to greet one another, Pyke throwing his arms around Felix and Felix doing likewise. They embraced for what seemed like minutes.

‘What happened?’ Pyke said finally when they parted.

Felix seemed taken aback by the welcome he’d received. He reached down and patted Copper on the head. ‘One moment he was there in front of me, the next he was gone. So I ran ahead to the next corner but I couldn’t see him. I doubled back on myself and that’s when I saw him with you and some other man at your back. I saw him raise his truncheon and hit you. I wanted to help but I didn’t know what I could do. You fell to the ground.’

‘And then?’

‘I wanted to see if you were all right but I knew you’d be angry with me if I just let him go. I realised if I waited too long, I’d lose him, so I went after him and the other one. He wasn’t careful and didn’t think to look behind him. I don’t think he knew I was with you. They split up and I kept with our man. He hailed a carriage and I did likewise, told the driver I’d pay him double if he kept the vehicle ahead of us in his sight.’

The words were coming out fast and Felix could hardly contain his excitement.

‘I didn’t know where we were going but when the carriage ahead of us finally stopped outside a big white house. I asked the driver, and he said we were on Kensington High Street. It was dark, of course, but I could see parkland on the other side of the road.’

Pyke listened, not quite able to comprehend that Felix had done all this, and been able to find his way home.

‘I paid the driver, and watched as our man presented himself at the gates. There were two or three men guarding the house but they let Russell in. It was a white house, three or four storeys high and twelve windows long. I knew I had to find out who lived there but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I had to wait a long time for someone to pass by. They didn’t know who lived there but a while later someone else came along and told me it belonged to Sir St John Palmer.’

Pyke clasped his arms around Felix’s shoulders and lifted him clean off the ground. Sir St John Palmer. Pyke had met the man briefly in the office of Sir Richard Mayne.

‘Palmer, you say?’ Saggers was looking among the glasses in front of him for dregs of wine or porter.

It was a Friday night and the taproom was bursting with journalists and actors, a blur of tweed, wool and kerseymere.

‘Sir St John Palmer. He lives on Kensington High Street in a large, neoclassical mansion.’

‘ Hmm.’ Saggers scratched his chin. ‘I think he’s a building contractor. Yes, I’m sure of it now. Quite a significant one, too. Owns his own company, though I can’t think what it’s called.’

Pyke had gone to Saggers because there was almost no one of repute in the entire city he didn’t know or hadn’t heard of.

‘He’s well connected. I believe he’s heavily involved in church matters, too.’

Pyke caught Saggers’s arm. ‘What kind of church matters?’

Saggers pulled his arm free and frowned. ‘Dammit, Pyke, will you just let me think for a moment?’

Pyke could feel his heart beating more quickly. This was what he’d been waiting for. He could almost taste it.

‘There was a fund set up to help establish a dozen or so new churches in the East End. I think I remember reading he was involved in that.’

‘The London Churches Fund?’

‘That’s the one.’ Saggers looked at him, eyes narrowing. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’

Pyke tossed a couple of coins on to the table and stood up. ‘A while ago, I asked you to look into the affairs of Charles Hogarth. Have you made any progress?’

‘I have other things to do, you know.’

‘What have you found out?’

‘You’re very impatient tonight, old man…’

‘ Please, Edmund. This is important.’

‘So I see.’ Saggers picked up his handkerchief and wiped the corners of his mouth. ‘He was an alderman for the Court of Common Council but I’m sure you already know that. What you might not know is that he was the driving force behind a huge expansion in the number of properties available for rent in the City.’

‘Where have all these properties come from?’

‘They’re domestic residences, mostly. I’d say he’s been trying to encourage people who live in the City to sell up and move out. You see, if a public company or even a small business rents the same building, the City Corporation can increase the rate. He was quite successful, I’ve been told.’

Pyke leaned towards Saggers. ‘Keep digging, Edmund; and while you’re at it, see if he has an association with Palmer.’

The Bishop of London’s official residence was situated in Fulham, but because of its proximity to St Paul’s Cathedral he spent most of his time in his chambers at London House, a handsome brick building on Aldersgate Street. Having presented himself at the front door first thing on Saturday morning, Pyke was made to wait for a full hour before the same elderly servant who’d answered the door reappeared and announced that the bishop would see him in the drawing room.

The bishop was a tall, elegant man in his late forties, with grey hair and a gaunt, angular face that seemed to radiate the kind of seriousness his office apparently required. He greeted Pyke with a firm handshake and introduced him to his assistant, a sour-faced man called Taylor.

‘Now, Detective Inspector, how can I be of assistance?’ He was dressed in a plain black frock-coat along with his episcopal apron and gaiters.

‘What can you tell me about the London Churches Fund?’

Bishop Blomfield exchanged a brief glance with his assistant. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’

‘Just tell me a little about it. What is it? Why was it established?’ Pyke tried to keep his tone light and breezy.

‘It was created about eight years ago, in order to raise funds for building additional churches in the metropolis.’

‘And you felt that it was a project that merited your support?’

‘Not just I, Detective Inspector.’ He stood up and went to retrieve a document from the bookshelf behind him. ‘A report by the Church Commissioners declared that, and I quote, “the most prominent defect that cripples the energy of the Established Church is the want of Churches and Ministers in our cities”.’ The bishop removed spectacles from his pocket and put them on. ‘In the parishes of the East End, there are now in excess of three or four hundred thousand men, women and children but, as of a few years ago, we could provide church-room for barely a thousand souls and just a handful of clergymen. The Commissioners stated that, and I quote again, “the evil that flows from the state of things” would continue unless a remedy was speedily sought.’