Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

There were three men sitting on tree stumps around the fire and Pyke realised he already knew one of them, though it took him a few moments to work out how and where from.

Julian Jackman looked as surprised as Pyke but tried to conceal it behind the same easy smile he had deployed in their first meeting at the Brick Lane beer shop. This time, Pyke scrutinised his features more closely — his smooth complexion, his piercing green eyes and his thick, bushy hair — and realised, to his disappointment, that the radical was indeed attractive.

‘In what capacity are you here, Pyke? I take it not as your wife’s keeper?’

Pyke stepped forward as if to strike him and watched, with pleasure, as Jackman flinched slightly.

‘You know him, then?’ Perched on a tree stump, a navvy took off his white felt hat and scratched his carrot-coloured hair.

Jackman nodded. ‘I met him a few days ago in London. He’s married to Emily Blackwood, the campaigner. Maybe you’ve heard of her?’ It was odd to be described as Emily’s husband and Pyke wasn’t sure he liked it.

The redhead frowned. ‘Can we trust him?’

Jackman stood up. ‘I don’t know, Pyke. Can we trust you?’ Turning to the navvy, he added, ‘By profession, Pyke’s a banker.’

The navvy seemed amused. ‘A capitalist, eh? Is that right?’ He looked up at Pyke for the first time.

‘Who I am or what I do for a living doesn’t matter. What I’ve come here to tell you does matter.’

‘Well, sir, we tend to take folks as we find ’em.’ The navvy broke into a grin. ‘My name’s Red and this here is Billygoat.’ He pointed at the shaven-headed man next to him. ‘It seems you already know our friend from London so I won’t bother introducing him.’ He put on his felt cap and turned up the brim. ‘So what is it you’ve got to tell us?’

‘Did you know that the magistrate has been swearing in some of the townsmen as special constables and arming them with machetes and brickbats?’

Red scratched his stubble, digesting this news, but his expression remained calm. ‘And why d’you think we’d be interested to hear this?’

Pyke glanced across at Jackman. ‘They say to be forewarned is to be forearmed.’

‘Is that right?’ Red broke into a smile. ‘Is a gentleman banker such as yourself on our side now?’

‘I came here to investigate claims that a landowner has been conspiring to obstruct the progress of the railway across his land.’

‘Conspiring with whom?’

‘That’s what I’m here to find out.’

Red regarded him with interest but said nothing.

‘You mean to tell us that you haven’t been sent up here to keep an eye on radical activity?’ Jackman shot Pyke a sceptical look.

‘Personally I don’t give a damn whether you join a union or drink yourselves into an early grave.’ This time Pyke directed his remarks at Red.

‘And does the central committee of the Grand Northern Railway company feel the same way?’ Jackman asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘I don’t know.’ Pyke folded his arms. ‘I haven’t asked them.’

Red glanced over at the radical. ‘So you wouldn’t have any objections to us taking these oaths and then, say, striking for higher wages and better workin’ conditions?’

‘If that’s what you want to do, be my guest,’ Pyke said carefully. ‘Of course, if you took these oaths and declared a strike before other navvy crews had done likewise, it would put you in a weak position. That’s the thing about labouring jobs. There are always men willing to take your places.’

Red seemed to enjoy this remark. ‘I’d say you weren’t accustomed to the toils of being a navvy. Fact of the matter is, there ain’t too many folk are cut out for it.’ But Pyke could see that he had already considered this point.

‘Look,’ Pyke said, impatiently, ‘there are upwards of a hundred men waiting on the other side of the bridge with brickbats and pick handles and the magistrate seems to think you’re about to attack their town. My question is, where has he got that idea from?’

‘That would be because we are.’ Red’s expression was so calm that it took Pyke a few moments to comprehend what he’d said.

‘You’re going to attack the town?’

Jackman shot Red a worried look. ‘You think it’s wise to tell him about our plan?’

‘He ain’t going anywhere till we make our move, so what’s the difference?’

‘I still don’t understand,’ Pyke said, looking around the room. ‘Why attack a place that you know is very well defended? Why attack it at all?’

‘Come. I’ll show you.’ Red stood up and motioned for Pyke to follow him outside to the back of the shanty, where a body was laid out under a tarpaulin on a tatty hemp mat. It belonged to an old woman, and it looked as if she had been badly beaten before she died. Her neck was very much discoloured, as if her windpipe had been violently squeezed, and someone’s fingernails had clawed the skin over her trachea. Her breasts were purple with bruises and her face looked as if it had been attacked with a hammer. These injuries alone marked it as one of the most brutal beatings Pyke had ever witnessed, but this wasn’t even the worst of it: scarcely an inch of her body was free from contusions, but it was the marks around the old woman’s vagina which turned Pyke’s stomach and forced him to look away. He shared a brief look with Red. There didn’t seem to be any other conclusion that could be drawn. Before she had died the woman had been raped.

‘Our crew’s been together for a year. Mary joined us at the start; she’d cook and clean and help out around the camp. Two nights ago, she was washing some pots yonder when this thing happened.’ His expression darkened and he spat the words out. ‘Whoever did it must’ a clamped his brutish hand around her mouth ’cos none of us heard a thing. Billygoat found her later, down by the river, all wet and dead, stripped naked and lying there like a piece of meat.’ Red’s hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white.

‘And you think someone in the town was responsible for this?’ Pyke could barely bring himself to look at the body.

Red grabbed hold of his wrist. ‘Apparently some fellow in the Fountain inn has been boastin’ about it. We got a description. One of the lads saw someone matchin’ this description loiterin’ on the night it happened.’

‘Can you describe him for me?’

‘A hairy brute of a man. Whiskers all over his face. Close up, they reckon he has a glass eye, too.’

In the fading afternoon light, Pyke bent over to inspect the old woman’s corpse, and it was only then he saw the marks on her breasts. Burn marks, exactly like the ones he’d found on the headless body.

‘Have you seen these?’ Pyke pointed at the round burn marks, trying to play down his excitement.

Nodding, Red rummaged around in his pocket. ‘He might have used this. It was found next to the body.’ There in his open palm was a half-smoked cigar.

‘Can I have a look?’

Red hesitated and then thought better of it and handed the cigar to him. Pyke held it up to the light and inspected it. There wasn’t much to identify the brand but a tobacconist might be able to tell him more. He asked the navvy whether he could keep it. Red shrugged and said he didn’t see why not but added there were plenty of folk who liked to smoke cigars. But Pyke was already turning something else over in his mind. Now two bodies had come to light, within a few miles of each other, both with burns marks likely caused by the hot ash of a cigar.

What connected them?

Back inside the shanty, he sat down on a tree stump and looked over at Jackman. ‘Can I make an observation?’ Before either Red or Jackman could speak, he added, ‘You know that Jackman wants you to attack the town. It’s in his interest. If you march through the High Street looking for a brawl, there’ll be some townsmen waiting for you. So when a few of your men get hurt, perhaps badly hurt, Jackman here can exploit the situation for his own political ends.’