Knox was about to ask Cornwallis what he was so afraid of — why he had tried so hard to bury the murder inquiry — but he managed to stop himself.
‘What I do need to know is how is you were able to identify the deceased as a police detective from Scotland Yard.’
Knox shuffled uncomfortably on the cushionless seat. ‘You’ve taken my job and my home. Why should I help you now?’
Cornwallis broke into a gummy grin. ‘You’re forgetting my benevolence towards your mother and father.’
‘You would throw them out too? A woman who’s served you loyally and without question for forty years? What kind of a monster are you?’
Cornwallis’s eyes narrowed, his mouth hardening. ‘Now I’m prepared to overlook your impetuous behaviour just this once. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.’
Knox fell into a sullen silence. The aristocrat had him in the palm of his hand and they both knew it.
‘Your misfortunes are wholly self-inflicted, but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t also say that they bring me deep personal anguish.’ Cornwallis waited. ‘I asked you a question, sir. I should like an answer.’
Knox stared out of the mud-stained window, wondering whether Martha was at home. If she was, she would have seen the horses and brougham.
‘The deceased took a room at the New Forge Inn in Dundrum. I found letters there, written to him by his son.’ Knox decided not to mention the pistol and knife which he’d also found, or the two daguerreotypes.
‘I should like to see those letters.’
Knox looked at the old man and felt pure hatred welling up inside him. ‘Why are you so concerned about the death of a man you dismissed as a vagrant?’
Cornwallis’s face seemed to shrink. ‘One word from me, boy, and your mother will be driven from her home. Please don’t underestimate my willingness to do what is necessary.’
Knox reached inside his greatcoat and produced the letters. He had intended to keep them from his superiors at the constabulary but that didn’t matter now. Better to try to limit the damage, make certain that his mother and brothers didn’t suffer the same fate that would befall Martha and James. Cornwallis took the letters but didn’t inspect them.
‘If I find you’ve held anything back from me, I’ll be seriously displeased. Your family will learn of my displeasure also.’ Cornwallis used his walking cane to bang the roof of the brougham.
The door swung open and one of the footmen appeared. ‘Now get out of my sight.’
‘You’ve taken my livelihood. At least allow me to remain in my home.’
‘That, sir, is a courtesy I am already bestowing on your family. Do not expect me to extend the same generosity to you.’
Knox climbed out of the carriage. As soon as he’d done so, the door slammed closed and the driver took up the reins and shouted at the horses. The brougham lurched forward and Knox watched as it rattled away down the track.
Martha was waiting for him by the front door.
‘God, Michael. What have you done?’ She looked him up and down, noticing his shabby clothes.
Knox blinked and stood by the gate, not wanting Martha to see that he was on the verge of tears.
THIRTEEN
SATURDAY, 21 NOVEMBER 1846
Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales
Jonah Hancock announced that a letter had been delivered that morning to the offices of the Merthyr Guardian and that the editor — who had been told what to do but not why — had forwarded it to the Castle. Pyke took it from Hancock and carefully inspected the writing. The style matched that of the original letter. The message was simple. Twenty thousand pounds in banknotes was to be left in the first-class carriage of the train for Cardiff departing at nine o’clock on Monday morning. The man delivering the suitcase of money was not to travel on the train. Failure to follow these instructions would result in the death of William Hancock. If these instructions were followed, William would arrive at Merthyr station on the eleven o’clock service from Cardiff. Pyke read the letter again. There was no reference to Scottish Cattle.
‘My guess would be that it’s genuine,’ Pyke said, glancing around the dining-room table.
‘That’s what we thought, too,’ Zephaniah said. ‘Same handwriting as the initial letter.’
‘So what do you think? What do you want to do?’ This time Pyke directed his question at Jonah Hancock, but it was Cathy who answered.
‘My husband says he wants to move the rendezvous spot to China — of all places.’ Her frustration was palpable.
‘ China? ’
Jonah Hancock reddened. ‘There’s one way into China and one way out. This way we can get enough men on the ground to control the territory.’
Pyke shook his head. ‘Out of the question. First, it’s too dangerous. I heard that one of the bullies, Ben Griffiths, robbed John Wylde at gunpoint yesterday. Shot off his hand, too. Wylde will try to retaliate. There’s no way we can guarantee your son’s safety in that kind of environment.’ Clearly Jonah Hancock hadn’t heard about the trouble. He looked appalled.
‘And second?’ Zephaniah said, stirring milk into the coffee that one of the servants had poured.
‘This is a good arrangement — for all concerned.’ He turned to Jonah. ‘What you don’t want is anything that will make the kidnappers nervous. The railway station is perfect. There will be lots of people, plenty of distractions.’
‘But what my son is saying, Detective-inspector, is that we cannot keep a public place of that size under surveillance.’
‘And the kidnappers know that.’ Pyke looked at Jonah. ‘That’s why they’ve chosen it. But you read the letter. If you decide to put a man on every entrance and exit, and on the train, and the kidnappers realise what you’re doing, then your son’s life will be put at risk.’
‘That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to make clear,’ Cathy said, from the other end of the table.
‘So we just leave a suitcase containing twenty thousand pounds in the luggage rack of the first-class carriage and wait? Hope they’ll do as they say, and send my son back here on the next train?’ Jonah said.
‘I don’t see what other choice you have — that is, if you’ve agreed to pay the ransom.’
‘We’re going to pay,’ Zephaniah said, a trace of irritation in his voice. ‘I thought we made that clear.’
‘You have the money?’
‘We’ve had it on deposit at the bank ever since we received the first letter.’ The old man took a sip of coffee. ‘Don’t worry, Detective-inspector. We’ve no plans to upset the apple cart, at least not until we know the boy is safe.’
Pyke went across to the doors and closed them. ‘No one else is to be told about these arrangements. I mean no one. Not the servants, not the police. Is that clear?’
They all nodded but Pyke wondered whether they would be able to keep the news from spreading. He thought again about the boy’s coat and Cathy’s suspicions — that William had not been wearing it on the day he’d been kidnapped. In which case how had it ended up on Irish Row? And why had the coat and a shoe been left at a house that the dead man, Deeney, hadn’t even lived in? The whole situation struck Pyke as a set-up, but by whom and for what end?
Pyke decided not to push the point. Instead he said, ‘Unless anyone has an objection, I’d like to be the one to take the suitcase to the railway station.’
Zephaniah nodded. Cathy said, ‘Yes, I’d feel much better if you handled it.’
‘This trouble in China,’ Jonah said, when they had finished and were making their way out of the room. ‘Did you hear what might have set it off?’
‘I heard that two masked men held up a beer shop at gunpoint. They escaped with most of Wylde’s money.’
Pyke watched the skin tighten around the ironmaster’s pale eyes.
‘Why do you ask?’ Pyke stared at the man’s flabby face. ‘Surely you have no interest in the affairs of a couple of bullies?’