TWENTY-FIVE
Elizabeth Malvern must have seen him coming up the mews because even before he had knocked on the front door, it swung open and she was standing in the hall to greet him. She was wearing the same dress as before but this time her hair was down, framing her slim, oval face and cascading down her back almost as far as her waist.
‘I want the truth this time,’ Pyke said, trying to reconcile his desire for her smooth, tanned skin with his lingering urge to destroy anything in his path.
‘The truth about what?’ She regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement.
‘You and Jemmy Crane.’
Pyke saw at once that the name had registered in her expression. ‘Jeremy used to be part of my circle of friends until I got to know him better and discovered how he makes his money.’
‘I know you were Crane’s mistress: maybe you still are.’ Elizabeth pulled some hair away from her face and frowned. ‘Why would anybody say that?’
‘So it isn’t true?’
She stared at him with something approaching anger. ‘ No, of course it isn’t true.’
Their eyes locked and, in the end, Pyke had to look away first.
‘Are you going to let me know who told you this lie?’
‘Harold Field.’
She looked blankly at him. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘He owns a slaughterhouse in Smithfield together with a dozen ginneries and taverns and half of the gaming clubs in the city.’
‘And you imagine that’s the kind of company I keep?’ But some of her indignation had started to abate. ‘Why is this man insisting I’m Crane’s mistress?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘I don’t know what to believe.’
‘Do you believe me?’
Pyke didn’t answer.
‘I don’t have to justify myself to him, or to you,’ Elizabeth said, eventually. ‘I haven’t seen Crane in more than a year. That’s the God’s honest truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.’
‘What about Arthur Sobers?’
That drew a different reaction, one of concern rather than irritation. ‘What happened at the trial?’
‘Why do you care what happened?’ Pyke studied her reaction. He could smell his own sweat, a reminder of his recent rampage through Crane’s shop.
‘What is this, Pyke? Why the inquisition? You know about my family’s interest in the murder and the investigation. It’s not a secret. I just asked whether the jury had delivered their verdict.’
‘They didn’t need to. He pleaded guilty.’
For a moment this news seemed to jolt her but she quickly recovered her composure.
‘You knew him, didn’t you? That’s why he was arrested near by. He’d come to visit you, hadn’t he?’
She absorbed the heat of his gaze and waited for a moment. ‘I’ve no idea what he was doing in this street and I’ve never even laid eyes on the man.’
‘You’re not sorry he’s going to hang, then?’
‘If he killed her, then no, I’m not.’
Pyke studied her expression. ‘I saw your father outside the Sessions House. He seemed pleased by the verdict, too.’
‘Who said I was pleased? The man pleaded guilty. Surely it’s just a matter of justice being served?’
Pyke took a breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He’d intended to confront her and force the truth out of her but now she was calm and he was floundering.
‘I should go,’ he said.
‘But you’ve just got here,’ she replied, puzzled.
‘I’ve had a long day.’
She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘Look, I won’t offer to cook for you but I can put a glass into your hand.’
Pyke was exhausted but in truth he didn’t have anywhere else to go. If he went home, the police might be waiting for him. Briefly, he wondered whether the fire had spread beyond Crane’s shop and what kind of damage had been caused.
‘Maybe just a quick drink.’
Elizabeth’s eyes were sparkling as she led him into the house.
They sat opposite one another at her kitchen table. It was an informal arrangement, the kind he might have enjoyed with an old friend, but with her, the informality seemed contrived, as if it had been conjured solely to elicit his approval. She seemed to want him to like her, and if he was honest he found himself thinking about her more and more. But he couldn’t get away from the fact that she was somehow involved in the matter he was investigating and, as such, he had to be cautious.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Terrible things have happened in these last few months but I’ve been happier here, on my own, than I would have been enjoying the delights of the Season.’
Pyke nodded, trying to appear genial. ‘I’d rather swallow a razor blade than listen to the inbred fools and their dull-witted wives chatter about the wonders of opera.’
Her laugh was throaty and, he felt, a little dirty. ‘It’s the women I detest more than the men. Often their opinions simply parrot their husbands’.’
‘The blind leading the blind.’
She looked at him, perhaps surprised by his reference to blindness. ‘You’re different, Pyke. You don’t seem afraid…’
‘Afraid of what?’
‘Saying what’s on your mind, doing things, getting things done.’ Her gaze seemed to take in his whole body. ‘There’s nothing predictable about you.’
‘I could say the same thing about you.’
Elizabeth held his eyes. ‘But I can see you still don’t trust me.’
‘Or you me.’
‘Why wouldn’t I trust you?’
‘Because you think the only reason I’m here is to ask you more questions about your family.’
‘I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re here.’
Pyke felt his stomach tighten and knew he had to change the subject. ‘Tell me about your interest in daguerreotypes.’
‘Ah, back to the interrogation.’ Her smile was sly and warm. ‘In that case I’m going to need a drop of something to loosen my tongue.’ In the pantry, she dug out a bottle and put it down on the table, together with two glasses. ‘The drink I promised you. Rum from Jamaica. I have it shipped to me.’
‘Kill-devil.’
This made her look up. She filled both glasses to the brim and handed one of them to Pyke. ‘I haven’t heard it called that for a while.’
‘You don’t take yours with water?’
Elizabeth picked up the glass and poured the rum down her throat. It didn’t seem to affect her. ‘Tell me about your time in Jamaica.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What were your impressions of the place? Where did you go? Who did you meet?’
Pyke took a sip of rum; it tasted smoother and sweeter than the spirit he’d drunk in Jamaica. ‘I thought I was the one questioning you.’ Ignoring his better judgement, he followed suit and downed what was in his glass in a single gulp.
She gave him a crooked smile and refilled their glasses.
For the next half an hour, they talked about Jamaica. Pyke kept his descriptions vague and didn’t mention any names unless they were attached to Ginger Hill. For the most part, Elizabeth listened intently and filled their glasses when they were empty. Pyke was careful about what he said about her brother and, for some reason, she didn’t press him for further information. She seemed more interested in what he’d done in Falmouth, and when he mentioned he’d ventured into the middle of the island, she wanted to know why and where he’d gone. He gave evasive answers and eventually her interest began to wane.