The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [121]
Emily came from aristocratic stock and it was folly to contemplate a different life with her. Nonetheless, he felt drawn to her in a way that assumed, perhaps foolishly, that such desires were reciprocal. Part of him wanted to give in to his yearnings, but he was also aware of the dangers this course of action posed. Like it or not, he couldn’t get Emily out of his mind. In his pocket, he ran his fingers over the bottle of laudanum to check it was still there.
‘Hello, Sir Richard.’ Pyke stepped into the light being emitted from candles resting on the mantelpiece. Above the fireplace, on the wall, was a portrait of Sir Henry Fielding.
Fox stopped writing a letter, and looked up at Pyke, suddenly ashen-faced. The quill fell from his trembling ink-stained fingers. He started to say something but the words wouldn’t form on his tongue. ‘My God,’ he finally managed. ‘It is you.’ He looked older and frailer than Pyke remembered. He had lost some weight, too, and the skin seemed to hang off his face and neck. Fox stood up, grimaced a little, pulled down his frock-coat, and shuffled around his desk to greet him. Pyke wasn’t sure whether the old man wanted to hug him or shake his hand. In the end, they managed an awkward mix of the two. ‘You are alive,’ Fox said, not wanting to let go of his arm.
Pyke disentangled himself from Fox’s embrace. ‘So it would seem.’
‘I had given up hope,’ Fox said, guardedly.
‘I wasn’t aware you were hopeful.’ He stared at the old man. ‘But I see you’ve been keeping up with recent developments. ’ He pointed at the newspapers laid out on Fox’s desk.
‘I heard you were in the capital, of course, but I didn’t know whether to believe the stories or not.’ Fox’s expression was polite and opaque. ‘Was that you? The robbery?’
‘I came back to take care of some unfinished business.’
‘Not with me I hope,’ Fox said, with a chuckle.
Pyke raised his eyebrows and folded his arms.
‘There was nothing I could have done, Pyke. Nothing at all. Peel wanted you dead. There was no way of overturning the sentence.’
Pyke thought about this for a while. ‘Did you even try?’
‘You might not have noticed, Pyke, but my authority, such as it is, has been much curtailed these days.’ He sounded both aggrieved and irritated.
‘I see the new police everywhere.’ Pyke walked over to the window and looked out at the Brown Bear tavern on the other side of the street.
‘Bodies on the street only matter in times of civil unrest. What this city needs, what I have always hoped that Bow Street might become, is a central clearing house for information regarding crime and criminals. Prevention without detection is as worthless as a pistol without powder.’ Fox looked up balefully at the portrait of Sir Henry Fielding. ‘But Peel’s having none of it. In ten years’ time, nothing of the old ways will remain.’ He shook his head. ‘Listen to me. I sound like a Tory.’
Pyke turned from the window and said, ‘I want two things from you. Then I’ll never bother you again.’
‘What things?’ Fox looked at him suspiciously. His eyes narrowed to pale grey slits.
‘I want you to provide me with two home addresses. That’s all.’
‘Addresses?’
‘Fitzroy Tilling and Brownlow Vines.’
‘What do you want with Brownlow?’
‘That’s my business, not yours.’
‘I don’t have Tilling’s home address.’
‘But you can get it, can’t you?’
Fox waited for a moment, pondering Pyke’s request. ‘I might be able to.’
‘What about Vines?’
‘Brownlow?’ Fox laughed nervously. ‘I’m afraid he’s out of town at the moment.’
‘Where’s he gone?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. Scotland, I think. For a family wedding.’
Pyke digested this information. ‘When will he be back?’ ‘Another week, perhaps.