‘Well?’ Johns fell in next to him and they walked a few yards in silence.
‘Jonah Hancock isn’t the most popular figure in the Three Horse Shoes. Nor is John Wylde. But I’m pretty sure Flint didn’t know anything about the Hancock boy.’ Pyke let a drunken reveller barge past them. ‘Isn’t it about time you told me how you know about the kidnapping?’
Johns looked directly at him and said, ‘Cathy Hancock is a friend of mine.’
Pyke tried to cover his surprise but he didn’t do a good job of it. The fact that Johns would openly describe Cathy as his friend seemed — given their differing social stations — a breach of decorum. Either he felt he had no choice but to reveal their friendship or he didn’t care what Pyke thought. Pyke wanted to ask how good a friend Cathy was but he knew Johns wouldn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned his thoughts back to his conversation with Flint.
‘Bill Flint said something interesting. Made it seem like the Hancocks might use this situation as an excuse to clamp down on dissent at the ironworks.’
Johns dug his hands into his pockets. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I don’t know… Would you put it past the Hancocks to arrange the kidnapping, and then use it as an excuse to come down hard on whoever is suspected?’
Johns didn’t have an answer but Pyke could see he’d struck some kind of nerve.
When he returned to the Castle, Pyke found Cathy Hancock taking tea on her own in the drawing room. Her blonde hair had been arranged into ringlets and she was wearing an elaborately brocaded pink silk dress with puffed sleeves and a waist gathered in by a whale-boned corset. She looked like she was there to ornament what was an otherwise masculine room. The paintings on the walls were of unsmiling old men and a pair of deer antlers hung to one side of the fireplace. When Cathy saw Pyke, she sat up straighter and smiled; a display of politeness rather than an indication of intimacy.
‘Detective-inspector,’ she said, taking care to avert her eyes from his. ‘I believe you wanted to ask me some questions.’
Pyke sat down in the armchair nearest to her and whispered, ‘Last night, why did you tell me I shouldn’t have come?’
‘ Did I?’ She lifted her blue eyes to his and smiled, two dimples appearing at the sides of her mouth. ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember.’
Pyke tried to find some indication of the person — the girl — he’d once known. ‘You must have had a reason for saying it — even if you don’t remember speaking the words.’
‘This last week has been a stressful time for me. I’m sure you can understand.’ She pulled a dainty woollen shawl over her shoulders.
‘Quite so.’ Pyke removed a notepad and a piece of charcoal from his pocket. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what happened last week. I believe that you and William were returning from the cemetery at Vaynor.’
She nodded carefully. ‘My husband and I had a daughter, Mary. She died two years ago. Every week I go there with my son to put flowers on her grave.’
‘And your carriage was ambushed on the road back into town. You remember how many of them there were?’
She bit her lip gingerly. ‘Four, I think. One of them held me down while another one snatched William.’
‘Do you remember anything about the man who held you down?’
Cathy inspected her gloved hands. ‘He was dirty — that much I do remember. His breath smelled of beer. He’d tied a handkerchief around his face, to hide his features, but I could see he had a beard and two small, quick eyes.’ Until this point she hadn’t displayed a modicum of sentiment but now her top lip began to tremble. ‘It was horrible, quite horrible. Just the thought of it makes me quiver with fear.’
‘I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your son is returned to his home safely.’
‘Thank you.’ Briefly she raised her head and Pyke felt that she was truly looking at him for the first time.
‘Am I to understand that my assistance was sought on your recommendation?’ He let his gaze linger on the whiteness of her neck.
‘Your ability as a detective is well known in this household. Therefore when this terrible thing happened, it was naturally to you that my husband wrote.’
Pyke digested what Cathy had just told him, unsure what to make of it. It seemed to confirm what she had intimated the previous evening: that he was there at Jonah Hancock’s insistence, not hers.
‘Last night, your husband suggested I interview your son’s former nursemaid, a woman called Maggie Atkins. Apparently she left under a cloud. Do you think I should bother with her?’
‘Who… Maggie?’ Cathy tried to laugh but the tension in her voice was clear. ‘Not in a million years.’
‘Then why would your husband tell me she should be a suspect?’
She looked down and fingered a frayed piece of lace on her dress.
Pyke decided to try a different approach. ‘I met a friend of yours today. A man called John Johns.’
That was sufficient to puncture her facade. Her expression suddenly fell and she shot him a pleading look.
Pyke’s eyes darted around the room, aware for the first time that someone might be listening to their conversation. He stood up quickly and stretched. ‘That will be all for now. In the meantime, I’d just like to repeat what I said earlier. We will do our best to ensure that you and your son are reunited.’
As he went to leave, her eyes were moist and she mouthed a silent thank-you.
Dinner was an awkward affair; Jonah Hancock at one end of the table and Cathy at the other. Pyke was sitting opposite Zephaniah, who had to be fed by one of the servants. When Jonah wasn’t speaking, the only sound in the cavernous dining room was the clinking of silver cutlery on bone china. Zephaniah didn’t say much but his eyes didn’t leave Pyke.
‘In this household, Detective-inspector, we’ve always been assiduously reminded of your abilities.’ Jonah looked directly at Cathy, whose stare remained fixed on the food on her plate, which she barely touched.
It had been a petulant remark and once again Pyke thought about Zephaniah’s claim from the previous evening. My daughter-in-law has always carried a torch for you.
After dinner, the three men retired to the library to have their brandies and cigars, and discuss Pyke’s plans for the rendezvous at the old quarry the next morning.
‘You’ll have to trust me to do my job. The letter instructed me to go there alone and so I will go there alone.’
Some of Jonah’s bonhomie had returned and he nodded briskly. ‘A sensible decision, sir. You have the hundred pounds?’
Pyke nodded. Zephaniah Hancock had given him the purse full of gold sovereigns before dinner.
‘Let’s just hope that tomorrow we’ll be clearer about the second letter and whether or not it was sent by my son’s kidnappers.’ With a cigar in hand, Jonah Hancock blew a smoke ring up into the air. He watched it rise and then dissolve.
Zephaniah looked at Pyke and smiled, as though they shared a secret. ‘I would trust the detective-inspector with my own life, son. He will do as he sees fit and we will support him.’
Jonah seemed perplexed by his father’s changed attitude towards Pyke and it took him a moment to recover. ‘Quite so.’
‘Perhaps, sir,’ Zephaniah said, still staring at Pyke, ‘you would tell us your opinion of my radiant daughter-in-law?’
Pyke saw Jonah stiffen. The old man was evidently savouring his son’s discomfort. ‘In what sense?’
‘Well, I believe you knew her when she was a girl. I was wondering whether you find her much changed.’
‘I’m sure that anyone who knew me as a child would find me much changed.’ Pyke took a sip of brandy and put the glass down on the table. ‘But to answer your question, sir, I find Catherine a charming, well-mannered young woman.’
‘Indeed so.’ Zephaniah’s eyes were glinting.
Pyke had had enough of the old man’s games and announced he was ready for his bed. Jonah ushered Pyke to the door, patted him on the shoulder and wished him luck for the morning.