The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [83]
‘I saw some of that prosperity on the streets surrounding the mill.’
‘Did ye now?’ Arnold eyed him cautiously.
‘More cripples than you could shake a stick at.’ He held the mill owner’s stare.
Arnold smiled, not rising to the bait. ‘I suppose your own labourers don’t suffer from leg injuries or chest diseases, Mr Hawkes?’
This time Pyke returned the smile.
‘Which part of Lancashire did you say you were from?’ Campbell asked.
‘Bury.’ Pyke waited for a moment. ‘The town that gave us our fine Home Secretary.’ He fixed his gaze on Arnold.
‘That would be a matter of personal opinion,’ Arnold said, folding his arms.
‘What? That Peel and myself share a common heritage?’
‘That he’s a fine man,’ Arnold replied, through gritted teeth.
‘Oh?’ Pyke tried to sound appropriately bemused.
‘He did a good enough job while he was here, I’ll give him that.’ Arnold filled up his whisky glass. ‘Makes it harder to believe he could turn papist and live with himself.’
‘You knew him when he was the Chief Secretary here?’
Arnold’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of him, aye.’
‘Then you must have known a friend of mine who worked for him. Still does, I think.’
‘And who might that be?’
‘Fitzroy Tilling.’
But Arnold’s stare gave nothing at all away. ‘Aye, I know the man.’
‘Well or not?’
‘He’s a friend a’ yours, ye say?’
‘We haven’t spoken to one another in a while.’
‘I never much warmed to the man myself.’ Arnold took a sip of whisky and tossed a guinea into the pot. ‘Any of you interested in playin’ a game of cards?’ he said, this time avoiding Pyke’s stare.
Earlier in the day, Pyke had considered holding a knife to Arnold’s throat and asking him about his relationship with Tilling. On reflection, though, he had ruled out such an idea. From experience, he knew that people didn’t necessarily provide truthful answers when confronted with physical violence.
It had been his plan to see how Arnold reacted when Tilling’s name was mentioned. Now, though, he felt confused and disappointed. At the very least, he had hoped that Arnold might be thrown off kilter, but the man had responded as though he barely knew him. Pyke took a moment to organise his thoughts. He knew that Tilling had once acted as Peel’s eyes and ears in Ulster. He had been told by Mary Johnson, in London, that Davy Magennis had been drafted into the Royal Irish Constabulary because his father, Andrew, had asked Arnold to recommend him. Mary had insisted that, on the strength of this recommendation, someone had travelled to Armagh, in person, to offer Magennis a position in the new force. For some reason, perhaps because of Tilling’s reaction to his mentioning Davy Magennis’s name, Pyke had assumed that Tilling was the person who had travelled to Armagh. Now, though, he was not so sure. On the evidence of Arnold’s tepid response, it didn’t seem the two men were even on friendly terms.
Pyke wondered whether Tilling was as important to his investigation as he wanted to believe.
For the following two rounds, Pyke waited in vain for another six, to add to the one he had hidden up his sleeve. He betted moderately and lost unspectacularly. The game was a little under two hours old when Pyke dealt himself a hand that included the six of hearts and the six of diamonds. Together with the hidden card, it gave him a very strong hand. Seated to his left, Arnold opened the betting and pushed five guineas into the pot.
Meanwhile, Pyke had steered the conversation on to the subject of the marches.
‘The rank and file will march tomorrow, in defiance of what the Grand Master has instructed them to do,’ Campbell muttered, as though he did not approve.
Arnold shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m giving my workers a holiday. Good luck to ’em if they decide to march. Fact is, I’ve told ’em that if they can walk, then they should bloody well march.’ That drew an approving murmur from the gathering. Then Arnold added, mostly for Pyke’s benefit, ‘You’ll see blood spilled tomorrow, that’s for sure.’
Campbell winced. ‘We’re not a violent