The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [44]
As the frozen landscape flashed past him, he tried to remember what his own father looked like but could not summon forth a picture in his head. Often, he had watched as Lizzie tended to George, her bedridden father, and thought about his own father and mother and whether it mattered that he knew little or nothing about them, whether it hampered his progress through the world.
They found the entrance to Wren’s farm with little difficulty and Pyke alighted from the carriage, instructing Gaines to wait in the same spot for his return. He decided to approach the farm itself on foot, not wanting to give away his position and frighten the runaway girl.
Keeping an eye out for man-traps - metallic contraptions that could snap one’s arm or leg - Pyke undertook a preliminary tour of the farm, no more than a couple of acres in total. It was early March and there were no workers to be found anywhere. The ground was as unyielding as marble. There was smoke rising from the chimney of the main house, indicating that the owner and his family were perhaps still living there. If Mary Johnson was hiding on the farm without Wren’s knowledge or consent, then it meant she had taken up a position in one of the two small greenhouses situated on the river side of the farm. Pyke dug his hands deep into his pockets, to protect them from the cold, and hid himself in a large bush that offered him a vantage point to both greenhouses.
He did not have to wait for long.
NINE
Mary Johnson was too frightened to speak.
In a ramshackle building that was both a shed and a greenhouse, she cowered under her blanket like a whipped dog. There was no warmth in the building and Pyke wondered whether she had already contracted pneumonia. Her brown hair was straggly and wet, her freckled skin almost translucent, and her lips had turned an eerie shade of blue. Her frame shook underneath the blanket. Under different circumstances, she might have been attractive, but on this occasion Pyke felt only pity for the girl. The smell of stale cut lavender was as oppressive as the freezing temperature.
Pyke explained he just wanted to find out what had happened to Stephen, Clare and the baby.
‘And who are ye?’ A boy who had introduced himself as Gerry stood guard over the girl and stared angrily at Pyke. He was a lantern-jawed adolescent, with freckles and thick tufts of ginger hair. If sufficiently frightened or provoked he might have been a dangerous adversary, but after Pyke had explained who he was, and that he just wanted to talk with Mary, the lad stood aside and let Pyke have a proper look at her.
Pyke repeated that he had no intention of hurting either of them. He just wanted to ask a few questions. Mary didn’t even have to answer him directly. She could just nod or shake her head, as appropriate. He asked whether she could manage to do that. She looked up at him and nodded once. Pyke removed his wool coat, bent down and placed it over her shoulders. He saw her smile.
‘From time to time, you’d stay with Stephen and Clare in their room in Miss Clamp’s lodging house.’
Mary nodded. Now, with his view of her unimpeded, she did not look any older than sixteen or seventeen.
‘And Clare was your cousin.’
This time she spoke. ‘She was older than me. My da and hers were brothers. After Mammy died, when I was just a girl, Clare would look out for me.’ Her brogue was soft but distinctive.
Pyke waited for a moment. ‘It can’t have been easy for your family, her running away with a Protestant.’
The surprise registered in her eyes but his comments seemed to embolden her. ‘I can’t say any of us were too delighted by the idea but, then again, we weren’t the problem.’
‘You’re saying it was his family who caused the difficulties?’
This time she held his gaze. ‘You’ve not spent