Knox glanced over at the daughter. ‘So what happened?’
‘This young man in military uniform turned up at the hall one day. He went to see his Lordship, had this blazing row. Afterwards, Moore was angrier than I’d ever seen him. He threw a wineglass at the wall while I was in the room, claret, then made me scrub it up, and pick up the glass with my fingers.’
‘Did anyone find out what the row was about?’
‘Not this one.’
‘And did anyone know who the soldier was?’
‘I didn’t, of course, but I’d only just started there. Afterwards, I was told he was the gatekeeper’s lad. Apparently Moore had big plans for him but the lad had gone off and joined the army.’
‘And what happened to the gatekeeper?’
‘Died, long time ago. The wife lived a little longer but she’s been dead for ten years now.’
‘Any other children?’
‘Not that I know of.’ The old woman sniffed.
‘What was the gatekeeper’s name?’
Maria Doran’s attention switched to the nearly cooked bird as her daughter turned it on the spit. The room was warm and the smell was incredible. Knox thought of the small fortune he’d spent, and then about Martha and James, what, if anything, they’d had to eat. He missed them with an intensity that shocked him, a physical craving that hadn’t let up since he’d watched them disappear around a bend in the track on their way to Clonoulty.
‘The name?’
The old woman turned towards him and frowned. ‘Johns.’
‘John what?’
‘Johns,’ she said, still scowling. ‘That was the family name.’
Knox made a mental note of it and wondered whether he wasn’t wasting his time.
Later, as he lay on the mud floor under his blanket listening to the others sleep, he knew he was fortunate, to have a full belly and to be protected from the cold, and that by the morning, countless others across the island would be dead.
SEVENTEEN
MONDAY, 23 NOVEMBER 1846
Merthyr Tydfil, South Wales
Pyke glanced out of the carriage window as they crossed Jackson’s Bridge and then looked over at Jonah Hancock and Cathy, sitting at either end of the bench opposite him. The suitcase containing the money had been set on the floor between them. They hadn’t spoken since leaving the Castle and Pyke hadn’t seen Cathy since she’d come to his room. Huddled in the carriage, she refused to look at him.
‘So you’re to take the suitcase and put it in the luggage rack in first class and then return to the carriage where we’ll be waiting for you.’
Pyke nodded. Jonah had been through this four or five times already. ‘If all goes to plan, William won’t arrive at the railway station until eleven. Perhaps you should go back to the Castle or to a hotel, wait there,’ he suggested.
‘We’re not moving from the front of the railway station,’ Cathy said, looking at Pyke for the first time.
They had turned from Market Square on to High Street and passed the chapel on the left-hand side. Pyke checked his pocket watch. It was already half-past eight.
‘After I’ve left the suitcase on the train, I have some business to attend to in the town.’ He paused, looked at Jonah. ‘I’ll find you in front of the station concourse at around ten.’
‘What kind of business?’ Jonah Hancock was frowning.
Pyke ignored his question. ‘Just so I know. You haven’t made any secret arrangements to position some of your men inside the railway station or on the train?’
‘I hope not,’ Cathy said quickly. She shot her husband a vicious look.
Jonah shook his head. ‘This is my son’s life we’re talking about, sir. I’ve done exactly as the letter demanded.’
Pyke didn’t pursue the matter but somehow he didn’t quite believe that the Hancocks were about to give up twenty thousand pounds without a struggle.
The train was due to arrive at 8.45 and leave again at nine. It was a stopping service from Cardiff and there was no way the Hancocks, even with their resources, could put a man at every station between Cardiff and Merthyr. The only other option was to hide a man on the train itself, but Jonah Hancock had assured Pyke he wasn’t about to imperil William’s life.
They had reached the bottom of High Street. Ahead of them, across a stagnant stretch of water, was the railway station. Pyke studied the faces milling around in front of the building as the carriage juddered to a halt. It was twenty minutes to nine.
Jonah Hancock picked up the suitcase and thrust it into Pyke’s hand. ‘Back here at ten, then?’
‘I don’t need to check it’s all there?’
‘I counted it myself this morning.’
‘Well, then.’ The door swung open. Pyke looked first at Jonah and then at Cathy. ‘Wish me luck.’
As he was alighting, Cathy touched him gently on the arm and whispered, ‘Please bring my son back.’
Pyke entered the station through the main door, the suitcase in his left hand. Straight ahead was a book-stand and the ticket office. He followed one of the porters to the platform where the service from Cardiff was due to arrive, then stopped and had a look around. A man with a pale face and red-rimmed eyes shuffled past him, closely followed by a boy with a bow-legged gait and malnourished cheeks. Pyke’s gaze shifted to a well-dressed woman who was carrying a small dog in her arms. He couldn’t see Felix anywhere, but he didn’t see any of Hancock’s men lurking in the shadows either.
A crowd had gathered at one end of the platform and in the distance Pyke saw plumes of white steam rising up and heard the sharp iterations of the engine’s pistons. The locomotive came into view and pulled into the station, crunching against the buffers, the carriages and trucks clanking together. Porters swarmed towards the first-class carriage. Pyke waited while the passengers disembarked, the trickle becoming a steady stream. Momentarily forgetting why he was there, Pyke studied their faces for any sign of Felix but once again his son wasn’t among them. A newsboy walked by him, inadvertently knocking the suitcase, and his attention was wrenched back to the present.
He was keeping an eye out for his son but he was also being a policeman, looking for people who were acting suspiciously. Policemen always looked at the world in a different way, never trusting what they saw, never mistaking the apparent for the real. He thought about Frederick Shaw for some reason, the debacle in the warehouse. He had seen something on that occasion and fired his pistol, shouted a warning and then squeezed the trigger. He had trusted his eyes, his judgement, but both had been shown to be faulty. Nothing in the station was making him nervous. But could he trust his intuition?
Taking his time, he had another look around the building to make sure he wasn’t being followed then started along the platform towards the front of the train where the first-class carriage was located. A porter appeared from one of the doors but Pyke strode past him, confident, as if he knew where he was going. He reached the first-class carriage and stopped. There was no one inside.
It was ten to nine and the first passengers for the service back to Cardiff were starting to appear. At the far end of the platform, Pyke heard someone announce the forthcoming departure. Yanking open the door, he climbed into the carriage. The luggage rack was directly in front of him. As expected, it was empty. Pyke put the suitcase down and decided to have a quick look inside. He tried one of the catches then realised it was locked. Jonah Hancock hadn’t mentioned anything about a lock. Pyke jiggled it again, to no avail. With a little more time, he could have picked the lock, but looking up he saw the first of the first-class passengers pass by the window, heard the door swing open. Peering over the seat, Pyke studied the new arrival, but he didn’t recognise him. Another passenger joined them, much older. He sat down and picked up his newspaper. Pyke shoved the suitcase into the luggage rack and waited. More doors opened and slammed shut.