Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ Pyke said, making himself comfortable in the chair opposite him.

‘And why’s that?’ Conroy tried to appear composed, but his eyes darted back and forth across the room.

‘Because then I wouldn’t be able to tell you about some letters that have come into my possession and that I’m considering taking to the Duke of Cumberland.’

It had been a calculated gamble but almost at once Pyke knew he’d scored a direct hit. Conroy tried, too late, to feign indifference, but a momentary widening of his eyes and a slight puckering of his lip had told Pyke all he needed to know. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, smoothing the ends of his silver moustache.

‘No? Then you won’t mind if I take what I’ve got to Cumberland, then.’

That drew a pained smile. ‘You don’t have to do that, sir. Perhaps we should talk about the matter like gentlemen.’

‘Gentlemen who beat up a defenceless old man in his shop and nearly give him a heart attack?’

Conroy frowned, seemingly puzzled by Pyke’s remark. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You didn’t send two well-dressed coves to my uncle’s shop to forcibly retrieve your property?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Conroy ran his fingers through his silver hair. ‘Why should I want something from your uncle?’

‘Because Kate Sutton was, or rather is, the source of his information regarding the piece he wrote about you.’

A look of recognition and panic flashed across Conroy’s face. ‘Ah. I see.’

‘What do you see?’ Pyke thought about his uncle’s description of Conroy as a hothead and wondered whether the comptroller’s temper would get the better of him on this occasion.

‘Someone believed that that wretched creature had passed what she’d stolen from me on to your uncle for safe-keeping and paid him a visit.’ But Pyke could see he was far from happy with this idea.

‘So you’re not denying that Kate Sutton stole some letters from you or that you’ve been hunting her down, or rather you’ve employed others to do this job for you?’

‘I’m not admitting anything of the sort.’

‘But Kate Sutton did steal some letters from you.’ Pyke watched him from across the table. ‘I know this because, as I said, they’ve come into my possession.’

The anger returned. ‘So she did give them to your uncle?’

‘The question is whether I should return them to you or sell them to Cumberland.’

‘Now why on earth would you want to do something like the latter?’ Conroy said, his composure returning.

‘Because I’m certain he’d be interested to learn about their content and, of course, willing to pay a significant sum of money…’

Conroy interrupted, as Pyke hoped he would. ‘If it’s a question of money, perhaps you and I can come to an accommodation.’ It was as good as an admission that the letters contained potentially explosive revelations.

Pyke sat forward, his elbows resting on the linen tablecloth. It was time to turn the screw. ‘It’s very simple. I want you to own up to what you’ve done. To me, if not the law. I want you to tell me about your part in the murder and decapitation of a fourth-rate actor called Johnny who, as I’m you sure you know, was Kate Sutton’s betrothed. I also want to know how and why his body came to be dumped in a river outside Huntingdon, just as I want you to tell me about the nature of your association with Jimmy Trotter, Jake Bolter, Sir Henry Bellows and Sir Horsley Rockingham. Additionally, I’d like you to own up to your culpability in the deaths of Freddie Sutton and his wife in their Spitalfields home, and give me your word, for what little it’s worth, that if Kate Sutton is, by some miracle, still alive, she won’t be harmed by one of your ruffians.’

For a moment Conroy looked as if he had been run over by a fast-moving mail coach.

‘I want the truth, Conroy. That’s all. Either I get it from you or I take what I have to the duke.’

‘I could have you thrown out of here for talking to me in such a manner.’ A little of the comptroller’s composure had returned.

‘Except you won’t, will you? Because we both know I’m holding all the good cards.’

‘You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

‘With Cumberland waiting in the wings, I can afford to be. I don’t think you can.’

‘And how do I know you have what you claim?’

‘You don’t. That’s the beauty of this arrangement.’

‘Then I’m hardly likely to take a risk and try to meet some of your rather puzzling demands.’

Pyke leaned across the table and whispered, ‘In which case I’ll take it upon myself to further ruin your pathetic, sleazy little life.’ He paused to lick his lips. ‘And unlike my uncle, I’ll finish the job.’

The blood started to rise in Conroy’s neck and very soon his entire face had turned bright scarlet. ‘You might dress like a gentleman, sir,’ he spluttered, ‘but your presence in an establishment such as this one puts me in mind of the barbarians massing at the gates of Rome.’

‘Except I’m now well and truly inside the gates and sitting comfortably at the top table.’ Pyke offered Conroy a patronising smile. He knew he was close to his aim of pushing him over the edge.

‘And yet I can smell the gutter on you from here.’

‘Are you sure that wouldn’t be your dubious morals?’ Pyke folded his arms and relaxed. ‘Tell me. What was it actually like, fucking the Duchess of Kent up the arse? Did she scream?’ He made sure he spoke in a loud enough voice so that those sitting at nearby tables heard him.

Pyke watched with interest as Conroy struggled to control his fury, embarrassment and hatred.

Standing up, Pyke was halfway across the dining room when Conroy caught up with him. The comptroller’s face was flushed and blotchy. He tried to grab Pyke’s sleeve but Pyke was waiting for him. Spinning around, he landed a clean blow on Conroy’s chin and heard the comptroller grunt as he fell backwards on to a table where two elderly military gentlemen were quietly dining. Trying to hold on to something, Conroy grabbed the linen tablecloth, and as he toppled on to the floor, he pulled the cloth off the table and two bowls of soup landed on top of him. The hot liquid stung his scalp and cheeks and caused him to scream from the pain.

Pyke took a napkin from another table and wiped his hands before discarding it on the floor.

He had reached the marble-floored entrance hall before he was confronted by two burly major-domos, sweating in their liveried outfits, their faces grim with determination as they blocked his path. Pyke took a deep breath and readied himself. He would fight his way out of the building, if need be.

In the end, however, such action wasn’t necessary. He heard Gore’s voice before he saw him, and when he turned to face him, Gore had already come between him and the major-domos, assuring them that he would take care of the situation. Pyke saw him slip a few coins into their hands. That took some of the sting out of their desire to teach Pyke a lesson.

‘Perhaps you should attend to the disturbance in the dining room,’ Gore told them, ‘rather than bothering my good friend here.’

‘But…’ one of them started, before realising that he was talking back to a man of Gore’s standing.

‘Very good, sir.’

Pyke allowed Gore to lead him into the smoking room, where red leather armchairs supported well-fed old men smoking cigars and sleeping off their lunches. ‘I don’t think we’ve seen a proper to-do in this establishment since it opened.’ Gore broke into a laugh. He seemed delighted by what had happened. ‘I was just entering the dining room when you stuck it to the other fellow. It was as if you’d hit him with a bag of hammers. By the way, who was he?’