The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [104]
‘Did Quince tell you I had need of his services?’
‘You saw Quince?’ Godfrey stared through his bushy eyebrows.
Pyke produced a sheaf of papers from the table next to his bed. ‘I had him draw up a contract. I’ve signed the gin palace over to you.’
‘To me?’ Godfrey’s brow wrinkled with bewilderment. ‘What on earth will I do with it?’
‘Isn’t that akin to asking a lion what he intends to do with a bloodied carcass?’
‘I am no rapacious businessman.’
‘But you are a rapacious drinker.’
‘Ah, indeed.’ Godfrey’s expression lightened. ‘But why sign it over to me?’
‘Call it penance on my part. Or part-payment for time served.’ Pyke handed him the papers.
‘Very decent of you.’ Godfrey nodded. ‘It would seem churlish or ungrateful of me to mention another agreement we had . . .’
‘It would.’
‘Quite.’ His expression became pensive. ‘Of course, you would not have heard.’
‘Heard what?’
‘After your escape from Newgate, a lynch mob set upon your gin palace. The staff did what they could to defend it but there were too many of them. The place was stoned and set on fire.’ Godfrey held up the contract and shrugged. ‘I’m sure the lease is still worth a great deal . . .’
Pyke took his time digesting this news.
Downstairs in the gaming room, a ratting contest was taking place. All traces of human and bear matter had been removed from the pit and a sizeable crowd had amassed around the ring. Some carried stop-watches; others ale pots and slips of paper. The betting was furious. In the ring itself, a determined bull terrier had pulled a solitary sewer rat from a larger pile of rats and was biting into its wriggling body. Specks of blood peppered the dog’s snarling mouth. Pyke and Godfrey passed through the room unnoticed and settled in the parlour on the ground floor. Unlike Pyke’s gin palace, this was an older tavern without a counter. They were served at their table by a pot boy who brought their drinks from a bar room in the middle of the building.
Pyke poured a few drops of laudanum into his gin. Godfrey watched him carefully but said nothing. The room was empty, but Pyke wore his black cap low over his face, nonetheless. It was difficult, becoming accustomed to his status as prey. Each time he left his garret it felt as though a phalanx of police constables might be waiting around the next corner to ambush him. But he also knew that the real threat to his liberty came not from the police but from snitches who might hear of his return and happen upon him by chance.
‘Don’t worry, m’boy. After the last time, I made certain that I wasn’t followed,’ Godfrey said, glancing nervously at the door.
‘You think that’s why they released you?’
‘Perhaps they heard you were back in the vicinity.’ Godfrey shrugged. ‘I know for a fact there’s two of ’em watching the shop and two outside my apartment. I’d say it’s a safe bet that someone in a position of authority would like to see you swing from the scaffold.’
Pyke wondered whether these men were police constables and whether they’d been dispatched by Peel.
‘No one knows I’m here. Apart from Villums.’ Pyke had also told Emily but did not mention her.
‘And you trust him?’
‘Not really. But I’m paying him well. Too well. And he hasn’t seen a penny of it, as yet.’
‘I won’t ask what your plans are, but just be careful, will you?’ A glint appeared in Godfrey’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to have to rescue you from Newgate for a second time.’
Pyke was about to speak when he noticed someone he recognised on the other side of the room. His first instinct was to bolt. Godfrey noticed his reaction and turned around, saying, ‘What is it?’ He sounded breathless and afraid. Standing on the threshold of the parlour room, wearing a simple brown dress and white bonnet, was Emily Blackwood. Despite her efforts to dress in a manner appropriate to her surroundings, she looked as out of place as a peacock in a pit full of snakes.
Her