Andrew Pepper - Kill-Devil and Water

Briefly Pyke ran through his options, or lack of them. Dalling already knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be and Pyke had as good as confirmed it. But Dalling wouldn’t go to Pemberton or Malvern with his suspicions until he was absolutely convinced that he wouldn’t be paid. Until then he would keep his mouth shut, which, in turn, meant Pyke could ask him a question.

‘You must have known Mary Edgar, or at least you must have seen her around the great house.’

Dalling’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘What has she to do with anything?’

‘Did you get the impression that she and Malvern were as devoted to one another as he’d have people believe?’

That drew a snort of derision. ‘If you count fucking one of the field hands as devotion then maybe they were.’ Dalling’s nostrils were black with snuff. ‘Of course, given that he used to fuck his own sister, he isn’t exactly a saint, either.’

That stopped Pyke dead. ‘Charles slept with Elizabeth?’

‘You know her, then?’ Dalling smirked. ‘Well, if you want to know more, you’re going to have to pay more.’

‘Look, I’ll get you your hundred and I’ll give you another hundred on top of that if you tell me what you know about Charles, Mary and Elizabeth, the lot of them.’

‘Is that why you’re here?’ Dalling’s eyes narrowed.

Pyke’s head was spinning with possibilities. ‘Did Charles know that Mary was sleeping with another man?’

‘Course he knew. That’s why he sent her away.’

‘What was the man’s name?’

‘I’m not that stupid. If I tell you, you won’t have to pay me.’

‘Two hundred for everything,’ Pyke said.

‘Gives you a thrill, does it? Imagining the brother and sister going at it under the sheets?’

‘I can get the money by tomorrow night,’ Pyke said, his throat dry from the heat. ‘But I’ll need the name of the field hand now.’

‘If you try to double-cross me, I’ll go straight to Pemberton. Is that understood?’

A silence hung between them. ‘Well?’ Pyke asked finally.

Dalling picked another stalk from the ground and made to leave. ‘His name’s Isaac Webb. But these days you won’t find him anywhere near Ginger Hill.’

Pyke found Charles Malvern on the lawn in front of the great house, standing over what turned out to be a camera obscura and a small copperplate. Malvern called him over and proceeded to explain how the process worked; he didn’t ask about Pyke’s tour of the estate or the strike or whether he was still interested in making an offer. He just wanted to talk about daguerreotypes and, in that sense, he reminded Pyke of a young boy who’d just found a new hobby.

‘You see,’ he said, pointing at the camera’s lens. ‘The light pours through here and projects an image on to the copper, here. But the plate has already been soaked in iodine and in about five minutes a very faint image will begin to appear. When that happens, I’ll take the plate inside and develop it over heated mercury; what happens is that the mercury amalgamates with the silver to make the image.’ He stood up, apparently pleased with himself.

Pyke glanced down at the camera and concluded, from the direction it was pointing, that the image would be of the house. ‘I’m surprised you’re able to keep abreast of such developments here.’

‘Actually I have my sister to thank for it. She’s been an enthusiast ever since she read about it in a newspaper. She sent me all I needed to get started and now I import the copperplates and iodine directly from a manufacturer in London.’

Pyke tried not to show his interest. ‘She sounds like a forward-thinking person.’ He was thinking about her attachment to Jemmy Crane, about his interest in daguerreotypes, and whether the two were connected.

‘She is.’ Malvern stopped what he was doing and looked up. ‘We used to be very close as children and our bond has remained strong. I’m not afraid to say I miss her dearly.’

Pyke looked searchingly into his face for signs that what Dalling had intimated was, in fact, true. ‘Then you must look forward to being reunited with her in London.’

‘Indeed,’ Malvern said, as though the matter were an awkward one. ‘I just wish…’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s nothing.’ He smiled weakly and turned his attention back to the camera.

‘When was your sister last here at Ginger Hill?’

Malvern screwed up his face. ‘A couple of years ago, I’d say.’ He looked around the garden. ‘Lizzy loved this place as much as I do. But she’s also devoted to our father; she has been ever since our mother passed away. When he announced he planned to retire in England, I rather hoped she might stay with me at Ginger Hill but in the end she chose to settle in London. I’m sure it was the right decision.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘After all, this is no place to find a husband, is it?’

‘You found a wife here.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ Malvern looked up at Pyke, almost sounding surprised. ‘And I miss her terribly.’ He waited for a moment, as though distracted. ‘I wish I could show you a daguerreotype of her, so you could see how attractive she is. I developed a number of images but they were stolen in a burglary earlier this year, together with some coins and bonds.’

For a moment Pyke wondered whether he was referring to Elizabeth or Mary.

‘Really?’ Somehow it seemed amiss: coins and bonds could be fenced, but who would want to buy a collection of copperplates?

‘The Custos never did find the person responsible.’ Malvern looked up and saw a servant coming towards them. ‘I tried to persuade her to pose for me again but this time she refused; said something about it bringing bad luck.’

The servant, Josephine, told Malvern it was time for his afternoon sleep. She spoke with a faint French accent and later Malvern explained that she’d been born in Martinique and had looked after him ever since he was a child. Pyke might not have been there, for all she noticed him. ‘Massa need his sleep now,’ she said.

‘Were all the daguerreotypes stolen?’

‘Yes, all of them.’ Malvern looked at him. ‘Why do you ask?’

But Josephine had already threaded her arm through Malvern’s, and before Pyke could answer, she was leading him across the lawn to the house.

That night, Pyke ate with Malvern and Dalling as the Pembertons had been invited to dine elsewhere. The conversation was stilted and awkward. A few times Pyke tried to steer it towards the subject of Malvern’s family, hoping to learn something more about the mother’s death, but Malvern was morose and seemingly incapable of speaking more than a few words at a time. Dalling appeared bored without Hermione Pemberton’s chest to gawp at and managed to restrict himself to a few barbed remarks about Pyke’s or rather Squires’ background. The first time it happened Pyke let it go; the second time, when Dalling asked him where he had grown up, Pyke announced he needed to take the air and waited for the bookkeeper to join him on the veranda.

‘I thought we had an arrangement,’ Pyke said, after making sure Charles was still sitting at the table.

‘We do, but I’m just making sure you know I’m not to be underestimated.’

Pyke stared out across the lawn in the direction of the stone counting house. ‘How do I know that what you told me about Charles and Elizabeth is the truth?’

‘You don’t. I don’t even know whether it’s true or not. I’m just telling you what I heard.’

‘So it’s only a rumour?’

‘I’m not saying another word until you’ve paid me what we agreed.’

Pyke hesitated and then pointed at the counting house. ‘I’ll meet you there tomorrow night at seven.’

‘With the money?’