That had been another part of their agreement. Pierce would never have turned down the chance to feather his nest. Their lives had paralleled each other for many years, Pyke thought, first as Bow Street Runners and latterly as policemen for the Metropolitan Police. Pierce had once been head of the Detective Branch, too. Perhaps, Pyke decided, they were more alike than he had ever cared to admit.
‘And where will you go?’
‘It’s probably too late for me to start over.’ Pyke shrugged. ‘But I can’t stay here and I can’t go back to England. Too many memories.’
Pierce nodded.
‘There are ships leaving every day for Canada and the United States. I fancy New York City.’
‘Where they used to transport convicts.’ Pierce managed a smile.
‘Appropriate, then.’
Pierce passed his hat from hand to hand. Pyke could see he didn’t want to be there. ‘I suppose I should go. My cab is waiting.’
Pyke opened the door and waited for Pierce to pass through. At the last moment, Pierce turned around. ‘I’m sorry about what happened, your son…’
Pyke nodded: there were no words. Instead he shook Pierce’s hand and then watched him disappear down the stairs.
Much later, Pyke lay on his bed and listened to the sounds from the street. It was an end, he thought, this place, this time. But perhaps in another country he would learn to live again.