The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [39]
‘You can’t apply rational logic to the deeds of the insane,’ Hume said, as though the issue were beyond discussion.
‘Except that this wasn’t the work of a madman. A man blinded by hate, perhaps . . .’
‘This city is about to tear itself apart and you’re proposing that we further stoke the flames by making it public we’re looking for some kind of religious bigot?’
‘I’m not proposing to make anything public,’ Pyke said. ‘I just don’t want to see a man go to the gallows simply to expedite the government’s political ambitions.’
That pushed Hume too far. He was a military man and didn’t understand the subtleties of political brinkmanship. He rounded his desk and stepped towards Pyke, as though preparing to strike him.
‘Take that remark back, sir.’ Hume’s neck was corded with veins.
‘When your man hangs and your puppet-masters pat you on the back, remember this conversation and think about how you feel.’
‘If and when he hangs, it will be because a court of law and a jury of his peers have found him guilty.’
Pyke made to leave. ‘Tell that to yourself when you are lying awake at night,’ he said, hesitating at the door without turning around to face Hume.
Behind him, Hume was now shouting: ‘This investigation is closed. Go back to Bow Street while you still have a position.’
EIGHT
The springs of the carriage groaned as the figure inside edged towards the window. The footman, an unsmiling man Pyke did not recognise, stood beside the carriage but made no attempt to pull down the steps, or open the door, either to permit the passenger to disembark or to invite Pyke into the carriage’s interior. Nonetheless, it was clear from the manner in which the vehicle was parked outside the gin palace, and from the general demeanour of the footman, that Pyke’s attention was being solicited. It was a windy night, and the visibility, impaired by swirling fog, was improved only slightly by a gas lamp that hissed noisily at one end of the narrow street. The unusual sight of a gentleman’s carriage in the vicinity of Bartholomew’s Field had already attracted the attentions of a gang of children who were prodding the unsettled horses, compelling the footman to round the vehicle and chase them away with an umbrella. Pyke took this opportunity to step forward and peer into the gloom of the carriage’s interior. Edmonton’s chalky face, slick with perspiration, stared back at him, like an apparition.
‘It’s always revealing and indeed gratifying to see creatures in their natural habitats,’ Edmonton said, glancing contemptuously at the entrance to the gin palace. ‘I thought the other day, when you visited Hambledon, that there is nothing more unpalatable than seeing vermin feast at the table of a gentleman.’
Pyke looked into the old man’s arid eyes. ‘Your servants seem to manage well enough.’
This drew a flinty smile. ‘Part of me wants to admire you, for your spirit, pathetic and misguided as it is.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t feel able to reciprocate your generosity.’
They eyed one another warily, like two beasts circling in a cage.
‘I presume you have followed Swift and that he has led you to my money,’ Edmonton said, eventually, settling back into his cushioned seat.
‘I have certainly followed him.’
‘But not found my money?’ It was Edmonton’s money now, not the bank’s.
Pyke heard a scream from one of the adjacent buildings and momentarily looked away.
Edmonton coughed up some phlegm into a large white handkerchief and then said, ‘You will, of course, know that Swift has vacated his position in the bank and disappeared, then.’
Pyke didn’t know but concealed his interest in this development. Again, he wondered what business Swift had in the lodging house.
Edmonton continued, ‘But since you have been keeping a close eye on him, you will no doubt know whereabouts the brigand has fled to.’
‘I have had other business to attend to.’
‘What other business?’ Edmonton’s face glowered with indignation. ‘Damnation, man, I’m paying you to work for me.’ He spat these