Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

She was silent for a very long time.

‘He… he didn’t kill my boy.’ Tears were now streaming down her face. ‘Brendan did. Brendan did it.’

Pyke was too flabbergasted to speak for a few moments. ‘Then why was Druitt tried and convicted? Why did Brendan tell the court that Druitt killed your son?’

Almost whispering, Sarah said, ‘Druitt had driven Brendan almost insane with jealousy. I didn’t know so at the time, but for months Druitt had been insinuating to Brendan that he and I had been cuckolding him. James, my son, was Brendan’s child, or so I always thought. But when James started to grow, it quickly became apparent he looked nothing like Brendan. It was also apparent he was the spit of Druitt. This was impossible, as far as I was concerned. He and I hadn’t even kissed, let alone made love. But there it was. The proof was incontrovertible. And one night, after we’d all been drinking, Druitt told Brendan that he was the father — all you had to do was look at the child to know it was true. This was when the two of them were alone; I only found out about it later. Brendan went in to wake up James. I was asleep at the time. He lifted him out of his cot and inspected him. I don’t know what happened next. I don’t know if Brendan ever understood why he did what he did, whether it was an accident or not. But the result was the same. My dear, sweet, beautiful boy fell to his death. The fall, the thud when he hit the landing floor below, woke me up. I ran down the stairs to him but he was already dead. I do remember looking up at that moment. I could hear Brendan sobbing but Druitt was staring down at me and he was smiling. He was smiling, as if the whole thing was a big joke.

‘Afterwards, I remembered this night some time during the previous year. Brendan was away and it was just me and Druitt in the apartment. I felt ill and Druitt was kind to me. He brought me something to drink. I slept well that night but the next morning there was soreness between my legs.’ She paused and wiped her eyes. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and even after James had been born and looked nothing like Brendan I still didn’t make the connection. But that night, before we called the police, I confronted Druitt. He told me as calmly as you like that he’d drugged and raped me and that James had been born nine months later. It was almost as if he was glad to tell someone what he, in his sick mind, regarded as his triumph. That he’d destroyed not just one life but three.’

Pyke wanted to take her in his arms, but it was as if an unbridgeable chasm had opened up between them. ‘And you had no idea?’

‘That he’d raped me? That James was his child?’ Sarah laughed bitterly.

‘And was it your idea to implicate Druitt?’

Sarah’s face was hard. ‘Brendan went along with it because it was what I wanted. But I always knew the guilt would be too much for him.’

‘Why didn’t Druitt defend himself in court? I read the transcript of the trial. He didn’t mention any of this.’

‘He isn’t like you or me. I don’t understand him. I don’t think he even cared. It was his lawyer who argued the charge down from murder to manslaughter. All I can think, and I don’t like to think about him for reasons I hope you now understand, is that he’d done his work. He’d ruined our lives. That’s what he’d wanted to do from the start.’ Sarah’s face was red and blotchy from her tears. ‘I didn’t even need to testify in the end.’

‘Why didn’t we have this conversation at the start?’ But he knew why: he was a police officer and she had broken the law.

‘You think that would’ve alleviated your suspicions?’

‘Someone who knew this woman, Kate Gibb, described her as beautiful, an artist and someone affected by strange visions,’ Pyke explained. ‘The coincidence seemed too great and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘Then why did you just sleep with me? I don’t understand…’

‘I did it because I wanted to. No other reason.’

Sarah was sitting up against the wall. ‘Before you go, Pyke, there’s something else I should tell you.’

Bending over, Pyke picked up his shirt from the floor and put it on.

‘For the past month I’ve been sleeping very well, nothing bothering me. It’s why I haven’t been able to paint since, well, since you came to visit me in Suffolk.’ Her smile was almost too much for him to bear. ‘Well, for the last couple of nights, I’ve woken up with a terrible sense of dread hanging over me.’

Pyke looked at her but said nothing.

‘I know you think this is all poppycock but the dream was very clear.’

Pyke stopped what he was doing and knelt by the mattress. He wanted so badly to help her, to tell her it would all be all right, to make it better, but he knew it was too late. He could tell by the look on her face. ‘What is it, Sarah?’

‘You should go and see your son…’

‘ Ssshhh.’ Pyke pressed his finger against his son’s lips.

‘ Pyke.’ Felix sat up in bed, disoriented.

Pyke had slipped past the two constables stationed outside the vicarage easily enough, but it had been harder to creep up the rickety staircase without disturbing Jakes, Kitty or one of the servants. Once upstairs, he had found Felix’s room and had watched his son sleep for several minutes.

‘I can’t stay for long. It’s too dangerous. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’ Pyke was crouching beside the bed. He was relieved to see that his son was fine, but he still felt empty from his encounter with Sarah Scott.

‘I went back to school. No one’s said anything to me but they’re all looking at me in a funny way. I don’t like it.’

The masters, the parents, they would all have read about him in the newspapers. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. If I could’ve done it differently, I would have.’ He was tired of apologising, tired of hurting the people he cared for.

‘That’s all right.’ Felix’s demeanour was suddenly belligerent. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘I know you can.’

Felix went to retrieve something that had fallen down beside the bed. It turned out to be a book. Felix thrust it into Pyke’s hand. ‘Kitty gave it to me but I want you to have it.’

It was the Book of Common Prayer. Pyke’s first instinct was to return it, but he saw Felix’s expression and relented. ‘Are they treating you well?’ he asked, stuffing the book into his pocket.

‘We say prayers in the morning, prayers before food, prayers last thing at night.’

Pyke did his best to keep a straight face and said, ‘That sounds like a lot of praying.’

‘We pray for you; for your safe keeping; and for the false charges against you to go away,’ Felix added, in a small, quiet voice.

‘Martin believes the charges are false?’

Felix nodded.

‘I need another week.’ Outside, they heard footsteps on the landing and they waited for them to pass by.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ Felix hesitated. ‘I’d like you to answer it as honestly as you can.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Why do you hate the church so much?’

‘If I hated the church, why would I have asked Martin to look after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘Give you your room and board, then.’

Felix considered this. ‘Have you ever wondered why I turned to the Bible when I did?’

‘Often,’ Pyke replied. He could hear the accusatory tone in his son’s voice.

‘Or why I got on better with Uncle Godfrey, when he was alive, than I did with you?’

This was something Pyke had expected to hear from his son but he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. ‘He was gentler with you, more forgiving. I know.’

‘That was part of it.’