When she didn’t answer, Pyke kicked away the table, grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back against the wall. ‘You sold Bessie to him, didn’t you? He wanted a girl, someone you didn’t particularly need, and the two of you agreed a price.’ Pyke squeezed his hand tighter around her flabby neck. ‘How much was it?’
Craddock’s face had turned white and her eyes had almost doubled in size. Pyke didn’t just want to strangle her; he wanted to tear out her throat. But at the last moment, he let go and watched her slide down the wall on to the floor, like a pool of water, holding her throat and gasping for air.
Bending over, he slapped her hard across the cheek once more and whispered, ‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘No.’ But this time she didn’t hesitate; he could smell the fear on her rancid breath.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not,’ she spluttered. ‘After that day, I never saw her again.’
‘Do you know what Crane wanted with her?’
‘Something about copperplates, I think, but I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell me. None of my business.’
‘How much did he pay you?’
‘Five guineas.’ Even she seemed ashamed of the paltry fee.
It took every ounce of self-control for Pyke not to pummel her face into a bloody mess.
She watched carefully as he prepared to leave but it was only when he was halfway along the passage towards the front door that she shouted, ‘You know I’ll go straight to Crane, don’t you? And you won’t be able to knock him around like you did me. Fact is, you don’t have any idea what you’re getting yourself into.’
That afternoon Pyke had just returned from walking Copper on the fields to the north of Pentonville when a figure caught his attention on the other side of the street. Her hair was tied up and covered by a straw bonnet but he recognised her immediately. Elizabeth Malvern.
‘I hope you don’t mind me disturbing you at home,’ she said, once he had crossed the street to join her. ‘I was hoping we might be able to take some air and talk at the same time.’ Her plain dress, although respectable, neither copied the Empire waistlines of the Regency era nor conformed to the more contemporary preference for hooped skirts and flounced sleeves. It was slim fitting and showed off her hips. Her arms were covered by a shawl.
Pyke looked up towards his house on the other side of the road and saw Jo move away from the window. ‘I could spare a few minutes.’ He allowed her to walk ahead of him by a few paces and then followed, Copper hopping along by his side. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘This is difficult for me to say because I know it will reflect badly on me, but I wasn’t entirely honest with you last night.’
‘In what sense?’ Now they were out of view of the bay window, Pyke caught up with her and took his place at her side.
‘You asked me what need I had for a pistol and I was evasive in my answer.’
‘I noticed.’
She bowed her head and blushed slightly. ‘I wasn’t entirely truthful about my reasons for not travelling to Jamaica or for deceiving my…’ She paused for a moment. ‘… my father either.’
At the crossroads, they waited for a dray and a wagon to pass and hurried across the street.
‘A few months ago I had a visit from this… this man.’ She hesitated. ‘He was more of a beggar, actually, and he wore patches over both of his eyes. He said he was blind and he used a long stick to feel his way around.’ A moment passed. ‘He clearly wanted to talk to me but I was frightened and I chased him away.’
‘And did he go?’ Pyke kept his face composed in spite of this new information.
‘Initially, yes, but he came back. That’s when he told me he was my uncle.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘What do you think I said? I told him not to be so ridiculous and to leave me alone.’
‘And did he?’
Elizabeth turned to face him, her face lined with worry. ‘He told me he was my father’s brother, Phillip, and when I tried to say my uncle Phillip had died a long time ago, when I was still a girl, he told me that it wasn’t true and then proceeded to talk about my family and about Ginger Hill in a way that no one else could possibly have done. I suppose I believed him in the end.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘At the time I shooed him away. It was too much for me to take in. But then I went and told my father.’ She waited and bit her lip. ‘I’ve never seen him so angry, or so scared. That’s when he gave me the pistol and said if this man ever turned up on my doorstep again, I was to brandish it in his face and, if he refused to leave or tried to harm me, I was to shoot him.’
‘I thought you said you only communicated via correspondence?’
Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. ‘This was before…’
‘Before?’
‘Before this whole business.’ A steeliness had crept into her tone.
Pyke nodded. ‘Did he acknowledge that this man was, or at least might have been, his brother?’
‘He didn’t believe me at first, but then I told him about the patches over his eyes and he went very quiet.’
They walked on for a few yards and then crossed over the Regent’s Canal, where fields appeared on either side of the road. Copper crouched and urinated against a fence post.
‘You have to understand my father isn’t well. He’s old, his memory is failing him and it frustrates him. On occasion he lashes out.’
‘Verbally or physically?’
Elizabeth looked out across the fields and took in a breath of air. ‘He used to be such a healthy, vigorous man. It’s hard for him, being confined to that chair.’
Pyke thought about the frail specimen he’d seen and wondered whether the old man was actually capable of hurting anyone except himself.
‘Did you ever see this other man again — the one claiming to be your uncle?’
‘No.’
‘And did you have another conversation with your father about him?’
‘I tried to. After…’
‘After what?’
This time when she turned to face him, she looked genuinely afraid. Either that, or she was a better actress than he’d imagined. ‘After I found out how Mary had been killed, her eyes cut from their sockets.’
Pyke’s skin tightened across his face. ‘How did you find out about that?’
‘My servant heard it from one of my father’s servants. She’d overheard him talking to a policeman about it.’
‘Inspector Pierce?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’ She pulled her shawl up over her shoulders and stared down at the ground.
‘And what did you think?’
‘What did I think about what?’
‘About the way Mary’s face had been mutilated.’
She walked a few paces ahead of him then turned around. ‘To be honest, I didn’t want to think about it. So I asked my father.’
‘And?’
‘He was angry at first and then he tried to deny any involvement in the matter.’
‘But you suspect that Mary’s death might have had something to do with your uncle?’
Elizabeth stood there, very quiet. ‘One of the things Phillip told me was that my father had been responsible for blinding him.’
‘And you thought the business with Mary might have been a case of history repeating itself?’
Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. ‘I didn’t know what to think. I’m so confused I don’t know my own mind.’ She turned around and stared out at the open space. ‘But that’s the reason I’ve been hiding from my father; why I write to him rather than visit him in person. It’s why I refused to go to the West Indies. I don’t know what to say to him any more. I always adored him, even as a child. And now he’s so thin and weak. I’m afraid he’s going to die…’
Without thinking about it, Pyke went and stood next to her. When she looked up at him, her cheeks were stained with tears. Perhaps she was lying to him but Pyke wasn’t sure; every detail of her story matched what he’d been told in Jamaica. Still, he wasn’t wholly convinced by her performance. And more to the point, she was, according to Field at least, Crane’s mistress.