‘What did you mean, then?’
Mary wiped a strand of hair from her eye and took a tentative step into the room. Pyke looked down at the book he’d been reading, trying to ignore his groin and the hammering of his heart.
‘If you’d asked me a month ago, I would have told you how much I longed to be back in Jamaica. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, see my old friends.’
‘And now?’ His gaze followed the curve of her cheekbones down to the smoothness of her neck.
‘Now I don’t know what I feel.’ She took another step into the room, and was almost close enough for him to reach out and touch her. ‘Do you know?’
‘What about?’ He tried to swallow but couldn’t.
‘About what happened between you and me.’
She stared at him. But in saying it, in calling attention to what had happened, it was as if some kind of spell had been broken. This time, when Pyke patted the place for her on the bed, she sat down next to him.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about the few weeks that I spent in Jamaica.’ He hesitated. ‘At the time, it didn’t make sense to me why no one seemed much interested in helping me to find your murderer.’
‘You didn’t ever suspect what we’d done?’
Pyke shrugged. ‘Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn’t. It’s hard to remember with any degree of certainty what I thought. But that’s not what I’m trying to say.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. It’s just…’ Pyke hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about a conversation I had with Isaac Webb.’ He looked over at her, but her expression remained blank. ‘I’m sure, looking back on it, he’d been told to kill me. I was becoming a nuisance. If I’d been allowed to return to London, I might’ve discovered the truth and threatened everything. It wasn’t personal — in fact, I think Harper and Webb liked me for some reason. In any case, I pre-empted Webb — I knew what he was going to do and I pulled my pistol on him instead. Thinking about it now, I’m certain he could have followed me and finished the job. I told him that my place was here, with my son. He told me about his son and in the end, I think he let me go because he didn’t want any more blood to be spilled. But as I rode away I remember thinking about home, about London, and how I didn’t belong there in Jamaica.’
Her jaw tightened a little. ‘And by that you mean I don’t belong here?’
‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant that Webb and I seemed to come to an accommodation. Over there was his place.’
‘But it isn’t his place. Isn’t that the whole point? It belongs to Silas Malvern, and when he dies it will be sold to another white planter. It will never be our place unless we’re prepared to do something about it.’
Pyke absorbed the heat of her gaze but his silence seemed to make her angrier. ‘Here in this room, in this house, what you have is all yours. You can do as you please. You have no idea how lucky you are — and how many things you take for granted.’
Pyke nodded, to concede the point. He knew what he had to say but the words seemed to catch in his throat. ‘There’s a…’ He hesitated and tried to swallow. ‘There’s a steamer leaving from Southampton in two days. I’ve booked your passage as far as Kingston.’ He couldn’t bring himself to look at her but he sensed her body going rigid.
‘Just like that?’ There was still a small spark of hope in her voice. She reached out and touched his hand and he had to bite back an urge to pull her towards him.
‘I’ll accompany you as far as Southampton, to make sure you take up your cabin.’
That drew a hollow laugh. ‘A cage with golden bars.’
‘Better that than a prison cell here in London.’
‘And Silas Malvern?’ She gave him a hollow look. ‘What will you tell him?’
‘I’ll tell him the truth.’ This time he looked directly at her and sighed. ‘That’s all I can do.’
Picking up the half-full bottle, Fitzroy Tilling leaned across the table and poured them both a glass of claret.
‘You know what I think?’ he said, chewing a piece of bread. ‘I think, in the end, there isn’t a great deal that separates us. I’d even go as far as to say there could be a place for you in the New Police if you wanted it. The political winds are shifting. There’ll be an election within the year and Peel will win it. The current Liberal administration is a spent force. I’ve talked to Peel about your ideas vis-a-vis detection, rather than just prevention, of crime. He seems keen on the idea of a detective bureau and I think he might offer you a position. What would you say to that?’
‘Me? A police officer?’ Pyke started to laugh.
‘A detective. And remember you were once a Bow Street Runner.’ Pyke took a sip of claret. He would have to think about Tilling’s offer, but it was true that he enjoyed the work. Sitting back in his chair, he looked at the man across from him and wondered about their similarities.
‘Did anyone ever connect you with the attempt to break Morel-Roux out of Newgate?’
Tilling looked up from his food, a grilled lamb chop, and shrugged. ‘They investigated, of course, and found that a PC William Dell and I left the prison through the main gate at a quarter to ten.’
‘You know, I got him as far as the chapel window. All he had to do was climb down the rope. But he froze. He was terrified of heights.’
Tilling put down his cutlery and exhaled. ‘We did all we could, Pyke.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Pyke could tell that Tilling was still troubled.
‘If I had the chance to do it again, to try to rescue Morel-Roux, I wouldn’t. The law’s the law. It’s the only thing that separates us from beasts.’
‘But the law is also the means by which men like Silas Malvern have accrued their fortunes.’
Tilling chewed a piece of meat and washed it down with a mouthful of claret. He didn’t have an answer. One of the things Pyke liked best about Tilling was that they disagreed so fundamentally on so many different things but somehow managed to keep those disagreements at bay. He wondered what this said about their friendship.
‘I had lunch with the governor of the Bank of England today,’ Tilling said, breaking the silence.
‘Oh?’
‘In light of what happened, they’ve just completed an audit of their bullion reserves.’
‘And?’ Pyke pretended to concentrate on what was on his plate.
‘Twenty gold bars have gone missing.’
‘Just twenty?’
‘Indeed, given what might have happened, he seemed rather relieved.’
‘Could’ve been a lot worse.’
‘And he knows he has you to thank for that.’ Tilling wetted his lips. ‘You were the one who foiled Crane’s plans, after all.’
Pyke accepted the compliment. ‘What’s he going to do?’
‘Any more than twenty, I’d say he would have called in the City of London police.’
‘But a man in his position wouldn’t want to advertise that even one single gold bar had gone missing, would he?’
Tilling pushed a piece of meat around his plate with a fork. ‘The hole leading up from the sewer came out directly in front of the guard room. To get in and out of the bullion vault, someone would have had to be fairly sure that no guards would be present. That’s what Crane was counting on. But what if someone knew, for example, that on the Sunday morning before the robbery, a meeting had been called in the governor’s chamber, involving all the soldiers, and hence the entrance to the bullion vault would have been left unguarded for at least half an hour?’
Pyke took a sip of wine and held Tilling’s stare. ‘That’s quite an elaborate story. But I don’t know what it’s got to do with me.’
Tilling’s eyes narrowed. ‘It pleases me to hear you say that. Because if I thought you’d used me, I’d do my utmost to see you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.’
Pyke said nothing.
‘Listen, I mentioned this idea of the detective bureau earlier because I think you’re the most tenacious, gifted investigator I’ve ever known. I think you enjoy it, too. But these are changed times. Any slip-ups, any vague flirtations with criminality, and Peel won’t touch you with a ten-foot stick.’