Andrew Pepper - The Revenge of Captain Paine

‘You must be beside yourself with worry,’ Gore began, still shaking his head. ‘It’s truly monstrous. Who would do such a thing? And to involve your delightful boy, as well. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all…’

‘I’m afraid that’s why I’m here.’ Pyke looked at Gore across the desk. ‘I might be clutching at straws but I’m worried my wife might have been targeted in a more general clampdown on radical activities here in the capital. I was hoping you might be able to call upon your various connections to determine whether this was the case or not.’

‘Your wife?’ Gore asked, sounding surprised. ‘Why on earth would she have been the target?’

‘You heard her last week at Morris’s house. She’s long been an ardent campaigner for political reform.’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ Gore said, rubbing his chin. ‘But do you really think a politician or a judge would sanction such an action? Your lad was involved, after all. I mean to say, would someone with their hands on the reins of power sink to such depths? I can’t think that your wife, delightful as she is, poses such a significant threat to the powers that be.’

‘Perhaps not, but in the week preceding the abduction I received two vague threats directed towards Emily.’

‘Threats from whom?’

‘A savage called Jimmy Trotter and Sir Henry Bellows.’

‘Bellows?’ Gore appeared upset by this news. ‘What’s that blithering idiot got to do with any of this?’

Pyke explained that Bellows was orchestrating this clampdown on radical activity in the city and that a number of arrests had been made over the past couple of days.

‘Arrests, but not a kidnapping, not abducting a woman and a young child in broad daylight…’

‘Will you at least see what you can find out for me? Who knows? You might be quite right. Bellows might have had nothing at all to do with the abduction. But I’d like to hear this confirmed by one of your contacts. I’m not accusing him of anything just yet but he’s never liked me and my recent encounters with him have all been acrimonious.’

‘Of course, I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll get to work on it immediately. I’m just glad you felt you could confide in me.’

Pyke nodded his gratitude. ‘It goes without saying that the fewer people who hear about the kidnapping the better. I don’t suddenly want to be inundated with false ransom demands.’

‘Quite, quite,’ Gore said, sitting forward in his chair, his face lined with concern. ‘In the light of this awful news, perhaps we should think about postponing our little piece of business…’

‘Why?’ Pyke said, more sharply than he had intended. ‘Are you suddenly having second thoughts?’

That seemed to wound Gore. ‘Not at all, my friend. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m chomping at the bit to get going with it.’

‘Then we should proceed as planned. After all, business is business.’

‘Admirable sentiments,’ Gore said, seriously. ‘Even more so in the light of your… difficulties.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And rest assured, I will do everything I can to help you. Everything in my power. I’m certain this dreadful business will work out in the end. Even though I have no faith to speak of, at times like this I can see why people turn to the Church. I wish I could offer you more than I’ve been able to.’

When the hack-chaise dropped him at the steps of Hambledon, he was met by Jo, the only servant Pyke had told about the kidnapping. Jo said that no ransom demand had been delivered to the hall and no new information had come to light She added that some of the servants were starting to question the story they’d been told — that Emily and Felix were visiting an old friend of hers on the south coast. Why hadn’t she told any of them about this trip? Royce had apparently been asking. Pyke dismissed these concerns with a shake of the hand. ‘So what,’ he said, bounding up the steps two at a time. He asked how Milly was. Jo explained that she was eating properly and looked quite well but that she still hadn’t spoken a word or ventured out of her room.

Pyke found Milly sitting on her bed, humming to herself. Laid out in front of her were a series of pencil drawings; one of a horse, one of a tree, one of a flower and one of a dog.

When she saw him, Milly tried to gather up and hide the drawings but he managed to retrieve the one of the flower from the bed before she could crumple it up. ‘This is very good, Milly,’ Pyke said, looking at the drawing from different angles. Clearly the girl had a talent for draughtsmanship.

Blushing a little, she relinquished the other drawings from her grip and Pyke took them in his hands and admired them in passing. He told her the drawing of the flower was his favourite and without hesitation Milly thrust it into his hand.

‘You mean I can keep it?’

She nodded.

‘Really? Are you quite sure you want to part with it?’

Smiling now, she nodded again.

‘Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put it in a frame and hang it over there on that wall. Would you like that?’

This time her nod of the head was less forthright.

‘I want to help you, Milly. I really do.’ He reached out to touch her gently on the cheek but she shrank from him, her blue eyes widening with fear. ‘But to help you, I need to know what happened that night when I found you under the table. Do you understand what I’m asking?’

She stared at him without blinking.

‘Please, Milly. I know it’s hard for you. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been, having to see what you saw…’

Milly retreated farther up the bed until her back was pressed against the frame. She had started to shake a little too.

Sighing, Pyke glanced down at the drawings on the bed and noticed that the dog was a mastiff. He picked it up and studied it more carefully. In the drawing, the beast had a sturdy, muscular frame, a fawn coat and a black face.

‘Have you ever seen a dog like this one before?’ When she refused to answer him, Pyke added, ‘Please, Milly. This is very important. Did you see a dog like this one on the night your mama and papa were…?’

Milly turned towards the wall and started to hum.

‘Milly, please…’

But she wouldn’t turn around and look at him.

That afternoon Pyke journeyed back into the city in his own carriage and arrived at the house on Berkeley Square just after five. For an hour, he wandered listlessly around the empty building, wondering quite what he had seen in it to begin with: the whole place had the feel of a mausoleum. Just after six, he met Townsend at the front door and saw at once from his expression that he had no news about Emily. The previous day, Townsend had seemed a little intimidated by the house so Pyke suggested they take a stroll around the square instead.

‘I talked with one of the watchmen at the bank,’ Townsend explained. ‘I hadn’t seen him before. He told me he’d been ill with a fever. He hadn’t even heard about the burglary, the fact that some papers had gone missing from the vault, but he was on duty that night. I asked him if he’d seen anything. He looked at me and said, “Not if you don’t count Jem Nash.” Apparently, Nash was there in the building between about two and two thirty in the morning.’

Walking ahead, Pyke contemplated this for a moment. Perhaps Nash had allowed himself to get mixed up in something untoward and had been killed for it? Perhaps he had stolen the documents for someone else, to clear his debt, and then been killed?

Turning to Townsend, who was lagging slightly behind, he said, ‘I’d still like you to keep a close eye on Blackwood and continue to maintain a presence at the bank.’

Townsend nodded.