The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [110]
It was only later that it struck him where he had seen her before. It was not her face that he recognised but her voice - the voice that had warned him in the Blue Dog. He could not be absolutely certain of this but, if it was the case, it meant that Emily’s servant had been keeping an eye on him even before he had first visited Hambledon Hall.
TWENTY
In thick early-morning fog that made it all but impossible to see for more than a few yards ahead, the armoured carriage departed from the Bank of England on Thread-needle Street shortly after six o’clock, just as Emily had predicted. It had rained heavily during the night and the streets, though empty of traffic, were muddy and treacherous. The occasional gas light illuminated the otherwise gloomy route. Pyke followed the carriage at a respectful distance, riding a clapped-out nag Townsend had procured from a band of gypsies on Hampstead Heath. The carriage was a converted stagecoach: iron bars protected the doors and windows. Alongside the driver were two heavy-set figures dressed in black cloaks and hats. Pyke presumed them to be security men and supposed they were armed. The coach itself was pulled by four sturdy horses. The newly macadamised turnpike beyond would be more heavily patrolled and, on such ground, the carriage would be able to outrun them without difficulty, which was why they had opted to attack it in the city. Such a tactic also meant they would be able to lose themselves in the vastness of the metropolis before any alarm could be raised.
The thickness of the fog made it hard for Pyke to keep the armoured carriage in sight but he did not mind the inconvenience because the poor visibility would assist them in the robbery.
It was still too early for traders to be setting up their stalls - it was barely light and in this part of the world commerce did not properly commence until eight or nine in the morning - but the streets were not entirely clear of carts and barrows. As they rattled along Bishopsgate Street they passed the occasional street sweeper and beggar pushing a makeshift cart, scouring the roadside for scraps of food. Sewer rats as large as dogs scuttled down deserted alleyways, startled by the clip-clopping of iron hoofs on stone cobbles.
The laudanum Pyke had ingested earlier had calmed him slightly, but as they reached the outskirts of Shoreditch he felt his nerves jangle and the muscles in his stomach tighten. Reaching down, he made sure that the two pistols and length of iron pipe were safely tucked into his belt. Nearing the spot where the attack was due to take place, Pyke kicked his boots into his horse’s midriff and urged it on. The beast responded, though less willingly than he would have liked. Evidently concerned by Pyke’s presence, the driver of the armoured carriage conferred with the two guards and proceeded to lash his whip against the horses’ backs to quicken their pace. Pyke stepped up his pursuit. Ahead of him, the carriage bounced more vigorously as it raced across the uneven surface of the road. The guards were shouting at each other and, as far as Pyke could make out in the fog, had turned to look at him, rather than focus on the road ahead.
It meant they would not see the wire that Goddard and Townsend had pulled taut across the entire width of the road and fixed to gas lamps on either side of the street.
Ahead were the rising spires of St Leonard’s church. Pyke prepared himself for the attack. The carriage was now speeding across the uneven cobbles at such a velocity that when it passed under the