The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [117]
Emily had followed him across to the window and when he turned around she was standing so close to him that he could count the freckles on her nose. He reached out and touched her face. Her smile was a sad one.
‘What is it that you want from me?’ he said, finally. His fingertip brushed across the top of her lip.
‘Who says I want anything from you?’
‘I seem to disappoint you.’ He shrugged.
That drew a puzzled expression. ‘I’m not disappointed by you.’
‘But?’
‘You paint me as this saintly prig.’
‘Because you’re always talking about your work.’ He waited for a moment. ‘Not about what you want, what you desire . . .’
Outside on the street, a coach came to halt.
‘You don’t think I desire you?’ Emily said, in part distracted by the sound of someone approaching the front door.
Moments later, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jo peered into the room. She said that Lord Edmonton’s coachman was downstairs in the hall, demanding that Emily, on her father’s explicit orders, accompany him back to Hambledon.
‘But it’s so late . . .’ Emily looked at Pyke, frowning.
‘The coachman is quite insistent. Apparently your father is demanding your presence,’ Jo said, with a shrug. ‘Perhaps you could talk to him yourself?’
‘Of course.’ As Emily gathered her shawl and bonnet, she turned to Pyke and said, ‘I shall have to travel to Hambledon tonight. If I refused, it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.’ She shrugged apologetically.
‘Do you think it might have something to do with the robbery?’
‘It might.’ She began to tie her bonnet. ‘But my father is notorious for his temperamental behaviour. I am guessing he just wants someone to listen to his rants.’
She picked up her gloves and turned to face him. Her smile was forced. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave . . .’
‘And I am sorry for some of my intemperate remarks.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s just . . .’
‘Yes?’ Her eyes lit up with hope.
But he could not bring himself to say what he imagined that she wanted to hear. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Oh.’ She seemed disappointed but sought to conceal this by pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. ‘You shall stay here tonight, of course. There is a bed on the upper floor but you might find it more hospitable on the sofa.’
‘When will I see you again?’
From the doorway, she turned around. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’ Her tone was formal, perhaps because Jo was waiting for her on the landing.
‘Emily . . .’
Her expression seemed both annoyed and expectant.
‘Yes?’
Pyke swallowed his disconcertion. ‘I hope that your father doesn’t suspect you.’
‘I hope so too.’ And she was gone.
Pyke watched her leave from the drawing-room window and settled down on the sofa. Jo had already laid out a blanket and a pillow for him. He had not planned to stay the night in Edmonton’s house - in spite of Emily’s insistence, he did not think it was entirely safe for him to do so - but the long trip to Portsmouth and the exertions of the robbery had taken their toll, and as soon as he laid his head on one of the pillows and pulled the blanket over him, tiredness overcame him. He remembered thinking that he should rouse Jo and ask her whether she had indeed followed him to the Blue Dog tavern and warned him of Flynn’s presence, but as his face burrowed down into the soft pillow, such thoughts ebbed away and, before he knew it, he had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
TWENTY-ONE
The following afternoon, Pyke met Townsend at the Red Lion inn in Highgate and there they hired a private coach and driver to take them around a collection of villages located within Edmonton’s two-thousand-acre estate, just to the north of the outer fringes of the metropolis. It was only late September but already there was an autumnal chill in the air; the leaves had turned from green to gold and many had already fallen on to muddy ground. The overcast skies did little to lift the melancholy air that seemed to hang over the villages they visited, places made up of little