The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [142]
‘But?’
‘In the end we all have to make choices.’ Pyke could not bring himself to look at her. ‘And with choices come consequences.’
‘You’re saying I have to make a choice between you and my rightful inheritance?’ She sounded pained.
‘No,’ he said, as softly as he could. ‘That’s what you seem to be saying.’
Emily turned away from him and stared at the wall.
‘Just now, when I said choices bring consequences . . .’
‘Yes?’ But she did not turn around.
‘One might be that when I walk out of this door, we never see one another again.’
He saw that her whole body quivered but still she did not turn to face him.
Later, when Pyke could not sleep, he returned to the living room and found Godfrey sitting up in his easy chair, a blanket wrapped around his legs. His uncle put his book down. ‘You couldn’t sleep either?’
‘Afraid not.’
Godfrey nodded. ‘She’s a lovely girl. And she seems devoted to you.’
‘You think?’ He laughed bitterly.
‘Have to be blind not to see it,’ Godfrey said, reaching for his brandy glass.
‘Perhaps I am.’
‘What? Blind?’
Pyke just shrugged. His whole body felt listless.
Godfrey laughed. ‘Since I rarely find you in such a confessional mood, can I ask you a question?’
‘So long as it has nothing to do with this damned book you want me to write.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ Godfrey said, shaking his head. ‘But don’t think I’ve forgotten about your promise.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘In all the time I’ve known you, you haven’t once asked me about your father; or, for that matter, about your mother.’
Pyke felt his chest tighten. ‘So?’
‘Don’t you want to know what kind of a man he was?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because he was your father, for a start,’ Godfrey said, exasperated.
‘You were more of a father to me than he was.’ Pyke looked away, uncomfortable with this subject.
‘It’s kind of you, my boy, and I’m gratified to hear you say it, but your father produced you.’
‘Let me ask you a question, then. What good would it do me, to hear what a great man or, alternatively, what a fool he was?’
‘I just thought you might be interested,’ Godfrey said, sounding disappointed. ‘That’s all.’
Pyke took a piece of paper from his trouser pocket, unfolded it and handed it to his uncle. ‘I’ll be gone tomorrow by the time Emily rises. Could you possibly take her to this address for me?’
Godfrey stared at the address for a few moments and frowned. ‘Can you tell me what this is about?’
Pyke shook his head.
‘Will Emily know?’
‘She won’t at first,’ Pyke said, choosing his words carefully. ‘At first, it’ll be a terrible shock. If she can’t guess, tell her I visited an asylum in Portsmouth . . .’
‘An asylum?’ Godfrey screwed up his face. ‘Really, Pyke, what is this about?’
Pyke stared at the fire but didn’t give his uncle an answer.
Brownlow Vines was dining alone at Simpson’s on the Strand. He was eating boiled mutton and washing it down with a bottle of claret. Dressed in a stylish black frock-coat, fitted trousers, polished leather boots and a starched white cravat, he looked every inch the dandy. His foppish sideburns and tousled hair completed the look. Pyke waited until he had finished his meal before he appeared. He took a seat opposite him without being invited. Vines stared at him, open-mouthed.
‘Pyke, my God. This is a . . . surprise.’ Vines glanced around the crowded restaurant for assistance.
‘You have to answer for what you did,’ Pyke said, taking his time. He was not in any hurry.
Vines picked up his glass and finished what was in it. ‘Listen, man . . .’ His voice was hoarse. He took off his frock-coat, and Pyke noticed a large sweat stain underneath each armpit.
Pyke leaned forward across the small table and whispered, ‘At any moment, you will start to experience stomach cramps. These will get progressively more painful. Eventually, you will not be able to breathe. The poison you have just ingested’ - Pyke motioned at the empty plate in front of him - ‘is quite deadly but, unlike cyanide or arsenic, it is not a fast-acting agent.