‘So when Cathy came home that day and told you William had been snatched, you had everything in place. You were the one who sent the second ransom demand. You arranged for Captain Kent and Considine to be up on that hill, paid some poor, innocent Irishman to pick up a parcel from the cabin, sacrificed him; planted a rent book in his pocket, a few of the boy’s clothes in a house on Irish Row, and let rumour and insinuation do the rest.’
‘Just details,’ the old man purred. ‘You’re not able to see the whole canvas, what we’ve been able to achieve.’
Zephaniah seemed almost proud of what he had done. Pyke had to use all of his self-control not to tear the man’s throat out with his bare hands.
‘You consider what’s happened in the town — the deaths, the rioting, the hatred — an achievement?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Now you’re talking like my son, the sentimental fool. I’ll tell you what I told him — the good of the works comes first. First, second and third. Nothing else matters. Is that too hard-hearted for you? I’ll put it in plainer English. There was no way on earth I was going to allow that bastard to inherit what isn’t, wasn’t, his. Now, at least, the future of the works is assured and it will pass to someone with bona fide Hancock blood running through his veins.’
‘Let’s talk about the whole canvas, then.’ Pyke looked into the old man’s watery, bloodshot eyes.
Zephaniah sighed. ‘You seem to have all the answers, sir. Why don’t you enlighten me.’
‘Set up the Irish as scapegoats so that when news of the kidnapping, and eventually the boy’s death, spreads, the natives will turn on them. But because you’d already cut back on the number of Irish workers, Caedraw wouldn’t be too badly affected. Not so with Morlais, though. That was the point, wasn’t it? To drive the competition out of business. Because of the rioting, the fighting, the bad blood, Webb’s been forced to close Morlais. After all, about a third of his workers are Irish. But at the same time he needs to increase his productivity — if he’s to meet this order from Russia by the end of the year. That was the first front you opened against Morlais. For the second one you needed Sir Clancy Smyth.’
‘Everyone has a price, sir. Even you.’ Zephaniah managed the thinnest of smiles.
‘You used Smyth’s friendship with Morlais’ landowner to force up the rent. In the meantime, you got Smyth to work for you, used him to do your dirty work, with house-to-house searches of Quarry Row, stories of an Irish mob seizing William fed to the local newspaper. What did it take? How much? Ten thousand?’
‘As I said, everyone has their price. Smyth’s estate has fallen on hard times. But when this blows over, if it blows over, he’ll get what he wants. The troops will have brought order to the streets, the town will have been cleaned up, China a shadow of its former self…’
All cleaned up and ready to go to the dogs again, Pyke thought. Cut off one head, two heads even, and more will appear. Zephaniah Hancock was not long for this world but Pyke knew it was a futile act, one that would have little bearing on the lives of most of the people in Merthyr. In that sense, Zephaniah was right: the ironworks did come first. And in the end men like Smyth always bent to the ironmasters’ will.
‘Smyth didn’t see you were using him, did he? That he was being lined up as someone to blame for the boy’s death in case you weren’t able to deal with Johns — or me.’
‘I never wanted you here in the first place. That was Jonah’s idea, a stupid one. Plenty of other people we could have given that suitcase to. Someone to blame, someone greedy, who wouldn’t think twice about running off with the twenty thousand. The public and police would need a reason why the boy was murdered. If they believed you’d absconded with the money, left the kidnappers with nothing, well, that would have been enough.’
‘That was why he wrote to me?’ Pyke felt sick, knowing he had been lured down there by the promise of money in the first place.
A thousand pounds; Jonah Hancock had paid him too. Blood money. If it had meant nothing to him, he would never have come. Felix would never have come. His son would still be alive.
‘Offered some astounding sum, he knew you’d come here sniffing, either for Cathy or the money or both. He was right about that, but I saw straight away you’d be dangerous. I couldn’t talk him round, though. For years, he’d had to endure that bitch’s taunts — that he was a lesser man than you. This was his chance to sully your name and rub Cathy’s face in it.’
Pyke felt himself shrivel up inside.
‘Jonah didn’t know I intended to kill the boy, of course. And when he found out about the death, he went berserk, threatened to kill me, kill himself. In the end, I made him understand.’
‘And Cathy?’
‘That’s where Smyth was useful to us. I wasn’t too concerned about Cathy but I didn’t want that brute John Johns coming after me. That’s why I made certain that her nanny, that Atkins woman, saw Smyth when we snatched the boy, why we let her live. Sure enough, she ran back to Cathy and Johns and blabbed, as she was meant to do.’
‘But Cathy must have suspected that you had something to do with her son’s death?’
‘Why? A woman she trusted with her life saw Smyth with her own eyes. And she knew that Smyth hated this family.’ Zephaniah grinned to reveal raw, bloody gums. ‘I was able to break the news to Cathy, tell her the boy had died at Smyth’s hands and, best of all, that you’d absconded with the ransom money.’
‘I found her body in the underground passageway. You as good as put the knife in her hand.’
Zephaniah nodded blankly as though he’d just been told the latest stock prices. ‘It was Jonah who found her first. He wanted to give her a proper burial, in spite of what she’d done, what she’d been planning to do. I talked him round. Told him the rats would get her if we left her there long enough.’
Pyke closed his eyes. So she had died believing that he had turned his back on her, sacrificed her son’s life for a tidy sum.
‘And William?’
‘What about him?’
‘Who actually killed him?’ Pyke realised that he didn’t know how the boy had died.
‘Does it matter?’ Zephaniah shrugged. ‘The point is, his death tipped the scales, set the fuse.’
‘Did Smyth ever realise you’d set him up?’ he asked eventually.
‘Didn’t have to have the conversation. I was going to suggest to him that he lie low for a while, perhaps go back to Ireland for a month or two, and then I heard he’d fled the town of his own accord.’
‘To?’
‘Ireland, I believe.’
‘Do you know why?’
Zephaniah shook his head. ‘Perhaps he realised what he’d become a part of. It worked out perfectly for us, though. Johns went after him, of course. Johns and Smyth, both out of the way, Johns blaming Smyth for the boy’s death. The Hancock family devastated by the loss and above suspicion.’ The old man eyed the pistol in Pyke’s hand. ‘Listen to me. Why don’t you put that thing down and we can have a proper conversation?’
Pyke watched the old man, listened to him talking, so pleased with himself and with his cunning. He rammed the barrel of the pistol into the old man’s cheek.
‘So why stay here? Why not get out, and come back when the dust had settled?’
‘You’re a funny fellow, aren’t you? Leave? When there’s business to be done? Last week I met with the Russians, promised them the iron, the full order, as Morlais won’t be able to produce it in time. When the deadline elapses, the Russians will tear up their contract with Webb and come over to us. Our iron is ready and waiting. Morlais will be forced to close, at least temporarily. But once Webb has gone, the works will reopen under new owners, us, and Caedraw will become the biggest ironmaker in the world.’ The old man took a breath. ‘It’s why money isn’t an issue. I’ll give you whatever you want. Let’s say fifty thousand, to make you go away?’ He seemed certain that Pyke would agree to his price or name a higher one.