Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

‘And you think it’s my fault?’

‘I didn’t say that, dear boy…’

‘But?’

‘Some people have lost everything. Their life savings. Ordinary people with wives and families.’

‘I just want my son. Gore knows where he is, what’s happened to him. When they give me Gore, I’ll let them do what they want.’

‘But they can’t hold out for much longer. Melbourne’s being crucified in the press for not doing anything to help.’

‘And if Cumberland gets the tiniest sniff that his claim to the throne might be a legitimate one, things will get much, much worse.’

Godfrey turned to face him, his expression almost pleading. ‘And would anarchy on the streets and the whiff of revolution in the air be enough?’

‘Enough in what sense?’

‘Would it be enough to compensate you for what you’ve lost?’ Godfrey patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘You’re grieving, my dear boy, and that’s understandable. You’ve suffered a terrible, terrible loss. But is it right or fair that you make everyone else suffer with you?’

‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

‘The handbills you asked me to distribute,’ Godfrey said, shaking his head. ‘This isn’t about continuing Emily’s legacy. She might have dreamed about bringing down this government but her ambitions always exceeded mere punishment and retribution. For her, it was about trying to build a fairer, more humane world. I look at what you’re doing now and it’s hard not to think this is about vengeance, pure and simple.’

‘If the prime minister wants to step in and save the day for all those who’ve lost their fortunes, he knows what he needs to do first.’

‘But he’s not going to do it,’ Godfrey said, exasperated. ‘Don’t you see that, dear boy? Gore’s one of them. They won’t give him up to a commoner like you. It’s just not in their nature.’

‘Then their nature will have to change.’

Royce appeared, carrying a bottle of claret and two glasses on a silver tray. There was a letter on the tray, too, and when Pyke asked why Royce hadn’t brought it to him before, Royce told him that the staff, such as they were, were so overworked that little things, inevitably, would be overlooked. Pyke took the tray, handed it to Godfrey and slapped the butler in the face. ‘The next time you don’t bring me a letter the moment it’s delivered, I’ll kill you.’

Godfrey didn’t say a word. He handed Pyke the letter, put the tray down on top of the piano and poured two large glasses of wine.

Pyke took the envelope, inspected it and then tore it open. Briefly he read the note, his expression giving nothing away.

‘Well?’ Godfrey asked, his lips moist with claret. ‘Is it good news?’

‘Not if you’re Abraham Gore.’

That got his uncle’s attention.

‘Gore has given himself up to Melbourne. The note says he’ll be delivered here, to me, tomorrow morning.’

‘So you’ve won, my boy? You’ve done it. You’ve got what you wanted.’ Godfrey sounded almost jovial.

‘I know what I want,’ Pyke said, staring out of the window, ‘and I know it can never happen.’ He turned back to his uncle. ‘That’s the hardest thing to come to terms with.’

Pyke walked the final half-mile up the drive towards the elegant Palladian house because he didn’t want to give Marguerite the chance to prepare for his arrival. In spite of Gore’s assurances, his stomach was knotted and he was so tired from the exertions of the previous week that he almost had to crawl on his hand and knees the final few yards to the front steps.

He found Felix sitting on Marguerite’s lap on a sofa in the drawing room. She was reading him a story. For a moment he watched from the threshold. If he hadn’t known otherwise, the scene could have been one of domestic bliss. A log fire burned in the grate and his son seemed enthralled by the story she was reading for him. With his rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, Felix appeared to be in good health, and while she read, Marguerite stroked his hair with obvious affection. She wore a simple dress and her long blonde curls tumbled down around her glowing face, radiating a contentedness Pyke hadn’t seen in her before.

It was Felix who noticed him standing in the doorway first and he bolted off her lap before she could stop him. ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ he screamed excitedly, as Pyke gathered him up into his arms and gave him a hug. His skin smelled of soap and his breath of chocolate. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he whispered in the boy’s ear.

‘Mrs Maggie promised that you and Mummy would come back and get me soon,’ Felix said, once Pyke had put him down.

‘And has Mrs Maggie treated you well?’ he asked, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘We’ve been walking every day and I’ve learned all these new words and we’ve been reading this story…’

Pyke bent over and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Perhaps you could leave us alone for a few minutes.’

Felix looked up at Pyke, sighed and then glanced over at Marguerite. ‘If I have to.’

When they were alone, Pyke remained where he was; not trusting himself to get any closer to her.

‘I was told you were dead. I can’t believe it. I’m so happy you’re alive,’ she cried, approaching and trying to embrace him, her face flushed with a look of relief that Pyke didn’t find altogether convincing.

‘Is that so?’ He pushed her away.

‘I was told you’d be killed…’

‘By whom?’

She again tried to embrace him but he pushed her away once more. For a short while they looked at one another, not speaking.

‘He’s a beautiful boy,’ she said, after a few moments, adjusting her petticoats and sitting down.

Pyke looked into her face. ‘What are you doing, Maggie?’

‘I live here.’

‘With my son?’

She was staring at the fire, one side of her face lit up by the flames. ‘Gore told me you were dead. Emily, too. He offered me Felix. Either I took him, Gore said, or he would spend the rest of his childhood in Prosser’s asylum.’

‘Yes, he told me about your cosy arrangement. He gave you my son and the deeds to this place and by way of exchange you gave Gore Morris’s shares in the Grand Northern Railway.’ Pyke could feel the heat on his skin, his anger not yet tempered by relief.

‘You make it sound so grubby.’ But she still refused to look up at him.

‘An apparently orphaned child for five thousand shares: how exactly does it sound to you?’

Maggie’s face became thoughtful, her eyes staring into space. ‘He looks so much like James. You know he’s the age James was when he died. But they’re such different personalities. James was rambunctious. Felix is far more circumspect, or perhaps cautious would be a better word, but he’s got such a sharp mind.’

‘And the other boy? The one you buried in the garden. Was he different again?’

She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘James said the two of you had spied on me from the edge of the field that day.’

‘James?’

‘Did I really say James?’ She laughed, as though the matter were inconsequential. ‘I meant Felix, of course.’

Pyke shook his head. ‘You need help, Maggie.’

That seemed to draw her out of herself. ‘ I need help? Is it wrong to want to give a destitute child a loving home?’

‘A child who I’d guess looks just like your dead son, plucked from the workhouse by Jake Bolter?’ There had been a resemblance to Felix, too.

‘ Our son, Pyke. Remember he was your child, too.’

Pyke watched her carefully and said, ‘You took him away from me. I never even knew he existed. As far as I’m concerned, Maggie, I’ve only ever had one son.’