The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [135]
‘I’m sure the top brass who dispatched troops to quell the working poor at Peterloo said much the same thing as they quaffed their cognac.’
Peel was outraged. Springing to his feet, he spluttered, ‘Take that remark back, sir.’
‘Perhaps it was just tea they quaffed.’
Tilling shot him a hard stare. ‘I’m sure Pyke didn’t mean his flippancy to cause serious offence.’
Peel sat down, a little sheepish at his outburst. ‘Well.’
‘What I’m suggesting is that when virtue is defined by its consequences, it is possible good intentions can be hijacked for other purposes.’ Pyke shrugged, as though the matter were of no consequence.
Peel nodded, calmer now. ‘Nonetheless we have to make decisions - difficult decisions, sometimes - because we feel that they are in the best interests of the majority.’ He paused. ‘I’m sure you have been compelled to make such decisions too.’
‘But if the innocent are slaughtered and the guilty go unpunished only because it better serves the greater good, is that morally acceptable?’ Pyke said, surprised he had proposed this argument.
‘But morality and real politics are sometimes strange bedfellows.’ Peel shook his head. ‘As a follower of Machiavelli, I would have thought you might be sympathetic to this dilemma.’
Pyke nodded amiably. ‘I am well aware that people such as yourself have to make difficult decisions at every turn, but my point is simply that the very nature of those decisions makes it difficult for you to be wholly good.’
‘Are you suggesting that I am somehow not good?’ This time, Peel seemed puzzled more than angry.
‘Neither good nor bad,’ Pyke smiled. ‘Like me.’
‘I would hope and pray I am nothing like you,’ Peel said coldly.
‘No.’ Pyke was suddenly weary of the sound of his own voice. ‘You are much more powerful.’
‘And now you want me to use my power to grant you clemency?’
‘Yes,’ Pyke said, folding his arms.
The ginger cat strolled into the room and curled itself around Peel’s leg. Tilling went to shoo the cat from the room but Peel shoved it away with the end of his boot. The cat scurried over to where Pyke was standing. Pyke bent over to stroke it. The cat arched itself around his leg and began to purr.
‘I know what you intend to ask me but I am afraid nothing can be done in this instance.’ Peel’s smile had no warmth. ‘Given the extent of your own lawlessness and the rather odd and disrespectful manner in which you conducted yourself at your trial, I am not in a position to grant you a pardon.’
‘I’m sorry about that, because it will force me to place the contents of this document in the public domain.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and produced an envelope.
Peel’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what, pray, is this document?’ Pyke removed the first page from the envelope. ‘It’s an affidavit sworn by Andrew Magennis, the father of Davy Magennis, before a solicitor in Armagh.’ He passed it to Peel. ‘In it, he describes how Tilling rode to Armagh in person in order to recruit Davy into the Irish Constabulary.’
‘So?’
Pyke felt the coldness of Peel’s stare. ‘On subsequent pages, he recounts a confession Davy made to him shortly before he took his own life. Davy admits to having murdered his brother, his brother’s mistress and baby.’
‘May I see the rest of it?’
‘Not at this juncture. What would be the point? I have no promise of goodwill on your part.’
Peel glanced nervously at Tilling. ‘If it could be proven this man was responsible for the murders . . .’
Pyke nodded, as though giving this notion serious consideration. ‘I’m still not minded to let you see the rest of the affidavit. I would, though, like to make you aware of a man called Simon Hunter, a rector from a church in Mullabrack, County Armagh. Hunter also heard Davy’s confession and said that, if he was instructed to give evidence in court and was placed under oath, then he would corroborate this assertion.’
‘That Magennis committed the St Giles murders?’ Tilling sounded sceptical.