Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

‘It’s not that I won’t. I can’t. I promised.’ Emily offered him a pained look.

‘Promised who? Jackman?’

‘I can’t say. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m your husband, Emily. You’re my wife. We’re not leaving this place until you tell me.’

‘I want to tell you. And I will. I just need a few more days.’ Her tone was pleading now.

‘To do what?’

‘I want us to be a family again, Pyke. A proper family. But I need a few more days.’

‘And if I say no?’

‘We’re both keeping secrets here. Don’t try and colonise the high moral ground.’

‘What secrets am I keeping?’

Emily took his hand and placed it on her heart. ‘Promise me you haven’t been to see Marguerite since Morris’s funeral.’

Pyke faltered slightly but it was enough to sink him. He saw the disappointment in Emily’s eyes.

The following morning, when Pyke arrived at the bank, Townsend was waiting for him outside his office. One of the porters had already lit a fire, so the room was warm, but when he looked out of the window to see whether the ravens had returned, the sill and roof were bare. Pyke turned to face Townsend, who was standing awkwardly by one of the chairs, waiting to be asked to sit. Pyke did so with a flourish of his arm and asked whether his former colleague had unearthed anything significant either about his partner, William Blackwood, or Jake Bolter. Townsend said that he’d followed Blackwood for a couple of days and hadn’t turned anything up.

‘And Bolter?’

Townsend explained that when not occupied at Prosser’s asylum, Bolter had been accompanying an elderly gentleman around town. When Pyke asked where they had been and what they had done, Townsend shrugged and said they’d been to the old man’s club, to his bank, to some fairly ‘low’ taverns, and that was about it. Pyke told him to stick with it.

A little later, still thinking about the missing loan papers, he had told one of his clerks to round up everyone who worked at the bank and took the unprecedented step of closing the doors while he addressed them all in the main hall. He made sure William Blackwood was present too. Having checked and rechecked all the possibilities regarding the theft of the documents from the vault, and repeatedly questioned the watchmen, who continued to insist they hadn’t seen anyone in the building on the night of the theft, he had come to the conclusion that it had to have been perpetrated by an insider, an employee, someone who worked at the bank, and while Blackwood remained his chief suspect, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that someone else was involved. To gain entry to the vault, four keys were needed; three were locked up in a cabinet in the banking hall, and hence could have been accessed by anyone, but only Pyke and William Blackwood had a copy of the other key, which meant either that Blackwood was involved or the perpetrator had used the key that someone, most likely the old gypsy, had stolen from him.

In his address to the bank’s staff, he explained that there had been a serious breach of security and that no one was beyond suspicion. He said that some important documents had gone missing from the vault and until they had been found or returned everyone’s pay would be docked by five shillings a week. He explained that this wasn’t a punishment but rather a collective inducement to compel those who were harbouring information to come forward with it.

‘Someone has stolen what belongs to me,’ Pyke said, staring out at their glaring faces. No one wanted their pay to be docked. ‘I want the papers returned to me. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure this happens. I’ll make your lives miserable if I have to. I’ll hound each and every one of you until someone tells me something. Someone in this room knows what happened. And I’ll find you. Believe me, I’ll find you, and when I do I won’t be merciful.’

Afterwards Pyke waited until the hall had cleared before tackling his partner on the stairs.

Until now he hadn’t really thought what he might do if he couldn’t find either the loan documents or the missing ten thousand pounds, but as his partner’s resolve to address the matter through the law strengthened, he would have to take action. And there was no way he’d spend a single night in prison or pay a single penny of what he allegedly owed the bank from his own savings.

‘That was quite a speech,’ Blackwood said, apparently without a hint of mockery.

‘No one steals from me and gets away with it.’ Pyke kept his stare hard and firm. ‘You, of all people, should know that.’

Blackwood bowed his head, revealing a shining pate. ‘I had a visit from Mr Groat this morning. It appears an entire row of houses on Granby Street that he uses as a factory was burned down last night. A painted message claimed Captain Paine was responsible.’ He must have seen Pyke’s expression because he added, ‘No one was hurt. It seems all of the occupants had been forewarned. But he doesn’t have insurance and, in the light of your rather obtuse decision to call in what we loaned him last week, he fell on his knees and begged for more time to meet his debts. I said I’d ask you.’

‘In what way was my decision obtuse?’

‘You approved the loans in the first place.’ Blackwood sighed. ‘He’s been a good customer. I think, in the light of this abominable attack, we should give him the time he’s asking for.’

‘You do, do you?’

‘Unlike some, he hasn’t missed a single payment.’

‘Tell him if he doesn’t pay back what he owes by the end of the week, I’ll pursue the matter in the courts.’

‘But it’s Thursday today.’ Blackwood seemed appalled.

‘Yes, so it is.’ Pyke waited, and added, ‘And for the time being I’m still in charge of this bank.’

Blackwood licked his lips, his hand trembling a little. ‘On that matter, you should know that the lawyer Herries intends to issue a warrant for your arrest early next week, if suitable evidence corroborating the loan you made to Morris isn’t recovered.’

Pyke clenched his jaw and reined in an urge to rip his partner’s head clean off his shoulders. There was no way that William Blackwood would dare to speak to him in such a manner unless he had a serious backer. Stepping into the gap between them, he watched Blackwood flinch, but rather than strike him, Pyke tapped him gently on the left cheek and whispered, ‘Then I still have a few days.’

On the north side of Pall Mall the Travellers’ Club was housed in a grand building clad with dazzling stucco that resembled an Italian palazzo. There were two major-domos dressed in liveried uniform standing on guard, but Pyke managed to slip past them among a party of three well-fed older men. Inside, the lofty ceilings, intricate cornicing, walnut-panelled walls and marble floors testified to the wealth and standing of its members. If the Wat Tyler Brigade wanted to wipe out the Establishment in a stroke, Pyke mused, this was the place to target. Forget the Houses of Parliament or the King’s Palace. In the space of a few minutes he’d spotted Lord Auckland, the governor-general of India, and Palmerston, who was Foreign Secretary. It was the kind of place where the small matter of running the country was conducted between courses and in the smoking room over a couple of Cuban cigars.

Pyke found Sir John Conroy sitting alone at a table that looked out on to Pall Mall. The table had been laid for two and he was expecting someone to join him because when Pyke came up behind him, the royal comptroller leapt to his feet and looked expectantly into his face. His disappointment was replaced by suspicion. Recognising Pyke from the Bow Street courtroom, Conroy returned to his chair and folded his arms, waiting for Pyke to leave him alone. He cut a tall, handsome figure in his dark blue frock-coat worn over a frilly white shirt and cravat, with his grey hair, smooth complexion and strong jaw, but his swashbuckling charm was in short supply. He warned Pyke to leave or he would call the major-domos.