‘I don’t doubt that he is,’ Pierce said, swatting a fly with his hand. ‘But we don’t need to rush into a decision right away, do we?’
‘If I have your approval,’ Pyke said, addressing Mayne, ‘I intend to leave at once on the afternoon train to Bristol.’ He’d already looked into the journey: he would stop and see Felix in Keynsham, then from Bristol he would catch a boat to Cardiff and take a train from there to Merthyr.
‘Detective-sergeant Whicher has always struck me as a very capable detective.’ Mayne drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. ‘How long do you imagine you’ll be away?’
‘It depends what I find when I get there.’ Pyke paused. ‘A month maybe.’
‘That long?’ Mayne regarded him sceptically.
Pyke reached out, took the letter and put it into the pocket of the frock-coat he’d just purchased from his tailor.
‘If you’re successful,’ Pierce said, ‘you’ll be expected to register your reward with the Returns Office.’
‘If I’m successful, a young boy’s life will have been saved.’
Pierce’s face reddened but he said nothing.
‘I know one of the magistrates in Merthyr,’ Mayne interrupted. ‘A fellow called Sir Clancy Smyth — a good sort, from an old Anglo-Irish family.’ He stood up, walked around his desk and accompanied Pyke to the door. ‘Pass on my best wishes and tell him you have my fullest support.’ He offered Pyke his hand and Pyke shook it.
Later, Pyke came upon Benedict Pierce waiting for him in the corridor.
‘I just came to wish you happy travels.’
Pyke came to a halt a yard from where Pierce was standing and studied his face for a moment. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.’
Pierce didn’t move. He folded his arms, the smile curdling at the corners of his mouth.
‘Is there something else you want to say?’ Pyke was a head taller than Pierce and stepped forward into the space between them.
‘We both know why you’re so keen to take this assignment. Don’t think Sir Richard is blind to your motives, either.’
Pyke was about to say something but thought better of it. He went to open the door to his office.
‘Pyke?’
Pyke tried to keep his irritation in check. ‘Are you still here?’
But Pierce had moved off in the direction of the stairs.
Pyke caught the two thirty from Paddington and broke his journey in Bath, where he took the slower train to Keynsham. He arrived there after dark and made his way to the church, St John’s, in the middle of the town. In the vestry, he found Martin Jakes attending to one of his parishioners. The elderly curate was dressed in a black cassock and when he spotted Pyke he extricated himself from the conversation and bustled over to greet him, smiling and shaking his head. ‘You should have told us you were coming. Have you been to the vicarage yet?’
When Pyke said he had not, Jakes informed him that they would go at once, adding that Felix was proving to be a most able student.
Pyke nodded but secretly he’d been hoping that Felix’s enthusiasm for a life in the Church might have waned in the months since he’d been there. This was not a reflection of the affection Pyke felt for Jakes — who he’d met a few years earlier and who, uniquely in his opinion, combined religious belief with a real concern for the poor. It was just that he hadn’t envisaged Felix might actually want to become a vicar, and this brought into sharper focus his own lack of faith: not simply agnosticism, which he presumed described the perspective of most people, but a scepticism that bordered on total hostility. He’d always viewed the established Church as a bloated organisation intent only on maintaining its own privileged position in the world.
It was a five-minute walk from the church to the vicarage. There, he found Felix where Jakes had said he would be: sitting at a davenport in a sparsely furnished upstairs room, a copy of the Bible set before him. Felix greeted Pyke with a hug and berated him for not warning them of his visit. Now sixteen, Felix was nearly as tall as Pyke and he’d filled out considerably. With curly chestnut-brown hair, a clean-shaven face, soft skin, blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, Felix had turned into a good-looking young man. He listened carefully as Pyke explained why he was there, and then peppered Pyke with questions about their home in Islington, Copper, Mrs Booth, their housekeeper, and Pyke’s life since they’d said goodbye on the station platform at Paddington station six months earlier.
Pyke hadn’t written to Felix nearly as often as the lad had written to him and he’d been unduly nervous about this reunion. Part of him had been hoping that, having spent six months under Jakes’s tutelage, Felix might have become disillusioned by the prospect of a life in the Church and would consider coming back to London — to take up an apprenticeship in, say, business or politics. Looking at Felix, Pyke knew immediately that this wasn’t the case and it heartened and depressed him in equal measure. He didn’t want his son to be unhappy but he knew that the more seriously Felix took his apprenticeship, the less likely he was to return home. Rather than admitting that he had missed Felix, Pyke told him that Copper had pined for weeks, which was true, and that the house was not the same without him, which was also true.
Felix studied him for a moment. ‘You look exhausted. Are you quite sure everything is all right?’
‘I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. I’ve probably been working too hard.’
‘You always work too hard.’
‘I’ve been promised some leave. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I stopped here for a few days on my way back from Wales.’
‘You know you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. We won’t even try to make a Christian of you.’ Felix laughed uneasily.
Pyke rubbed his temples. He’d experienced some pain during the journey from London but now it had developed into a full-blown headache. Trying to ignore it, he gestured at the Bible on the davenport. ‘How are your studies progressing?’
‘Good. And the Detective Branch?’
‘Good too.’ They stared at one another, unsure what to say next.
Pyke sat down on Felix’s bed and looked around the room. He hadn’t intended to say anything about Shaw but suddenly he felt compelled to mention what had happened. ‘About a month ago… I killed a man, shot him in the back. Turns out, he was one of my men. Detective-sergeant Shaw. I’m sure you met him once. A good man and a good detective.’
Felix sat down on the bed next to him. ‘So what happened?’ he asked finally.
‘We were raiding a warehouse in the East End. I thought he was one of the gang we were there to arrest.’
‘It was an accident, then.’
‘I shouted at him to stop but obviously he didn’t hear me.’
Felix handed Pyke a handkerchief and Pyke took it and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
‘Was there any inquiry?’ he asked gently.
‘The death was ruled an accident.’
‘That’s something, isn’t it?’
‘Shaw left behind a wife and a young boy.’
Pyke let his stare drift towards the window, the unfamiliar darkness. He imagined Felix lying there at night. Did the lad ever think of home? ‘Do you think this will be your life, then?’ He tried to keep the disapproval from his voice.
Felix regarded him with caution. ‘I like what I’m doing, I suppose. I like the discipline; knuckling down to something I think is worthwhile. It isn’t easy or comforting, though: giving yourself up to something, someone, you can’t even see. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’
As Pyke listened, he thought about how much the lad had grown up. ‘You seem to be happy.’
‘It hadn’t really crossed my mind, whether I’m happy or not. But now you mention it, I suppose I am.’ Felix looked at him and smiled. ‘You never told me why you’re going to Wales.’
‘A child has been kidnapped.’
‘A child?’ Felix’s expression changed. ‘How old?’
‘Four or thereabouts.’ Pyke paused. ‘I used to know the mother and father.’