‘I don’t know. If the letters are from different people in the same gang, perhaps this is some kind of dress rehearsal, to see if you can be trusted.’
‘And if they’re from different gangs?’
‘Then perhaps someone else has heard about the kidnapping and is attempting to turn this information to their advantage.’
Zephaniah eyed Pyke carefully from the armchair. ‘So what do you recommend we do, Detective-inspector?’
‘That depends on whether you’ve decided to pay the ransom or not.’
‘Of course we’ve decided to pay,’ Jonah said impatiently.
Zephaniah’s tone was more conciliatory. ‘The important thing is to get the boy back here where he belongs. Maybe, sir, you could be persuaded to take the hundred pounds out to the old quarry?’
Momentarily distracted by the sound of footsteps in the room directly above them, Pyke nodded without realising what he had agreed to.
‘I’m still going to need to talk to your driver… and your wife.’
‘I’ll have someone fetch the driver. You might also want to find and question the boy’s former nursemaid. Maggie Atkins. She left this household under a cloud.’
‘What kind of a cloud?’
‘We caught her stealing. In the end, we chose not to involve the police; we didn’t want to make a scene. She always denied it, and was bitter about her dismissal.’
‘Bitter enough to take matters into her own hands?’
‘I just thought I’d mention it, Detective-inspector. I’ll have one of the servants look out her address.’
Pyke glanced at Zephaniah and then let his gaze return to Jonah Hancock. ‘It would be more helpful if you could summon your wife.’
Their eyes locked. Jonah licked his lips. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t come down from her room to greet you.’
‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring her down?’
The younger Hancock pondered this request then left the room. Pyke and Zephaniah Hancock stared uneasily at one another.
‘Tell me, sir,’ the older man said. ‘Did you come up here directly from the railway station or did you perhaps call in on the station-house on your way?’
‘The latter. I had a very brief chat with Superintendent Jones and Sir Clancy Smyth.’
The old man assimilated this news without reacting. ‘In which case, I don’t imagine you’ve formed a favourable impression of my family.’ When Pyke didn’t respond immediately, he smiled. ‘Be that as it may, Jonah loves his son and there is nothing he — nothing we — won’t do to ensure his safe return.’
None of the stories Pyke had heard about Zephaniah had portrayed him as a devoted family man. ‘Do you have any other children or grandchildren?’
‘I do have another son, but alas I see him very infrequently. He takes care of my family’s ancestral home in Hampshire.’
‘And is William your only grandchild?’
Zephaniah gave him a puzzled stare. ‘My other son, Richard, has two children.’ Then he seemed to relax and added, ‘Look, I won’t pretend I’m sentimentally attached to William, or children in general, but it doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for his well-being. And William is the firstborn of the firstborn. Is it so wrong to want to see one’s family name survive long after one’s death?’
Before Pyke could answer, there were footsteps in the hallway. Jonah entered the room, closely followed by Cathy.
Seeing her for the first time in five years was both exciting and a disappointment. It was undoubtedly true that she had blossomed into a beautiful woman; her slender figure, pronounced cheekbones, ash-blonde hair and slim, pretty face were all reminders of the adolescent Pyke had once known. Nonetheless he saw straight away that the naivety and innocence he’d once associated with her had been replaced by an unfamiliar reserve. Before him was a woman whose expression was like the hard surface of a mirror: she smiled politely and held out her hand for him to shake. Drawn into her ambit, he smelled the sourness of claret on her breath as he tried in vain to find even the smallest flicker of warmth in her eyes. As he took her outstretched hand, she swayed towards him, whispering, ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
While Pyke tried to work out what she had meant, Cathy went over to join her husband. She was wearing a carefully brocaded white lace dress with puffed sleeves and a crinoline skirt. He noticed that Zephaniah had been watching their encounter.
‘My wife will answer any questions you have tomorrow, Detective-inspector.’ Jonah reached out and gently squeezed her hand. ‘She is feeling a little tired, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to escort her up to her bed.’
They didn’t want, and didn’t wait for, Pyke’s sanction. He expected Cathy to look up at him on her way out but she swept by without acknowledgement.
‘Don’t take it personally, Detective-inspector,’ Zephaniah said, grinning, after they had left the room. ‘I do hope you’ll stay here with us, sir,’ he added, full of bonhomie. ‘I’m afraid the accommodation in town is universally dreadful. It would be nice to have a man’s company for a change.’
Pyke didn’t miss this barbed reference to Jonah Hancock but decided to let it pass.
‘It might surprise you to know that Catherine has always talked about you in very admiring terms.’
‘I can’t think why,’ Pyke said. ‘I hardly knew her when she was living in London. She was just the daughter of a friend of my uncle.’
‘Indeed, sir. But who knows what passes for thought inside a woman’s head. Perhaps she saw you as her knight in shining armour.’
The old man smiled. Pyke took the opportunity to change the subject. ‘I believe a sum of a thousand pounds was mentioned if I ensure your grandson’s safe return?’
‘We men are always far happier to discuss money than women, aren’t we?’ Zephaniah tried to sit up straighter. ‘Still, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you, I suspect, if I were to proffer the opinion that my daughter-in-law has always carried a torch for you, sir.’ He held up his hand to stop Pyke from interrupting. ‘Be that as it may, when your name was mentioned in the context of our difficulties, I took the liberty of asking about you. I found out that you’ve received two prison sentences, one for the non-payment of debts and one for murder.’
‘I received a full pardon for the latter.’
‘You miss my meaning, sir. I am always impressed when a man has risen above adversity. The fact that you are an inspector at Scotland Yard’s Detective Branch suggests an impressive guile and determination, a survivor’s instinct. I hope you won’t think me excessively melodramatic if I were to suggest that the future of the house of Hancock lies in your capable hands.’
Pyke was tired from the journey but he knew he couldn’t let down his guard. Zephaniah had gone out of his way to seem welcoming but Sir Clancy Smyth’s warning was still ringing in his ears. Eventually he managed a thin smile. ‘We’ll get your grandson back, don’t worry.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Detective-inspector,’ Zephaniah said. ‘I have every faith in your abilities.’
SIX
FRIDAY, 8 JANUARY 1847
Tipperary Town, Co. Tipperary
Knox had set off for Tipperary Town at first light, forgoing his breakfast because he hadn’t wanted to wake the baby. He had walked the first couple of miles but just before the town of Golden, a dray had pulled over and the driver had offered him a place next to him. A mile or so beyond Golden they had passed a dead body lying at the side of the track. They hadn’t stopped. The driver, a shoemaker from Cashel, had looked at Knox but neither of them had spoken. What was there to say? Eventually the body would be claimed by nature or the authorities. Knox had known it was wrong to leave the body lying there but it was someone else’s responsibility. The driver had dropped him in the centre of the town and Knox had spent the next hour or two trudging around the various lodging houses, hoping that someone might recognise the man in his copperplate. He had described the man as an outsider, possibly from England, but by lunchtime, when he had had no success and was famished, he wondered whether his initial assumption — that the dead man had been a well-to-do traveller — was correct. No one in Cashel had remembered him and there was just one place left in Dundrum to check. After that, he would have to extend his search farther afield. Clonmel, perhaps even Thurles.