The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [111]
Pyke heard them land on the cobbles with a dull thump but did not have time to determine the exact nature of their injuries, though he was relieved to see that there had been nothing as calamitous as a beheading. This had been Townsend’s fear: that the wire, if placed at the wrong height, might slice clean through their necks and behead the driver and guards. Rather than concerning himself with these matters, Pyke took care to duck underneath the wire himself and pursue the now driverless carriage as it careened onwards, zigzagging across the road and narrowly avoiding a fruit seller who was hauling his barrow up on to the pavement. It had been his plan to overtake the carriage, if this was possible, and somehow bring the horses under control, but such was their speed, or his own nag’s weariness, that the best he could do was pull alongside the back wheel of the now out-of-control carriage and thrust the length of lead piping into the wheel’s spokes. The effect was instantaneous. Pyke pulled back behind the carriage as the wheel splintered and disintegrated; the carriage teetered momentarily on its one good rear wheel before toppling sideways and crashing into the pavement, where a chestnut seller was setting up his stall. The carriage obliterated the wooden stand and narrowly missed the man himself, who just managed to take evasive action. The impact of the crash snapped one side of the yoke and freed two of the horses, but the other side of the yoke somehow held together, and the petrified beasts continued to surge forward, dragging the stranded carriage on its side through mud and puddles, producing a grim, ear-splitting noise.
Eventually, the effort of having to drag a heavy object on its side through thick mud took its toll and the two horses slowed to a trot and then a complete stop, and neighed to show their unease. As Pyke dismounted, he saw that Goddard and Townsend were rattling towards him on their horse and cart. All of them had pulled black handkerchiefs up over the lower part of their faces.
Afterwards Pyke could not remember exactly what had happened next, though he knew, for obvious reasons, that it was Goddard who had first approached the rear door of the prostrate carriage. Later, Townsend told him Goddard was attempting to rip off the damaged rear door when a shot, fired from inside the carriage, struck him squarely in the chest. He died before either of them reached him.
While the guard who had fired the shot attempted to reload his pistol, Townsend tore open the door, hauled the trembling man out and kicked him into an unrecognisable mess of quivering, bloody flesh.
Pyke attended to the contents of the carriage. A small crowd had gathered, albeit at a distance, around the crash site, and he knew they did not have much time. He had expected the carriage to be empty of everything except its cargo, but as he peered into the darkened recesses of the coach, through fog and gunpowder smoke, he came upon the dazed face of William Blackwood. Edmonton’s brother had scrambled on top of a metal trunk. His expression was a mixture of fear, veneration and defiance. Somehow, during the crash, he had managed to retain his pistol, which he held in trembling hands.
Pyke pulled the handkerchief from his face and watched Blackwood’s fortitude dissolve as easily as the carriage’s wheel.
Once Pyke and Townsend had, between them, carried the trunk to the waiting horse and cart, Pyke returned to Blackwood; the banker had started to weep.
‘They’ll get you for this, you know, Mr Pyke. Edmonton won’t rest till you’re hanging from a scaffold.’
‘I look forward to a day of reckoning with your brother,’ Pyke said, pointing his pistol at Blackwood’s face. ‘But I do have a question for you.’ He smiled easily. ‘That first time we met, at Hambledon Hall, when your brother employed my services to investigate an alleged