As he stumbled down the steps, Pyke thought about the sins that he imagined Malvern had committed and weighed them against the lives he had taken; he wondered — once again — what gave him the right to judge people who were as flawed as he was.
The first thing Pyke had done, after returning from Jamaica, was to use some of the money he’d accrued from playing cards on board the steamer to rent a stout, terraced house in a respectable street in Pentonville. He’d gone to his uncle’s apartment early the next morning and surprised Felix and Jo with the news they would be moving into a new house immediately. He’d arranged for a wagon to take their possessions the mile or so to Pentonville, and later that day he had shown Jo, an excitable Felix and an even more excitable mastiff around their new lodgings. It hadn’t taken Felix long to forget the reason why he’d hated Pyke and, despite some tears at having to leave Godfrey, to whom he’d become very attached, he’d quickly come around to the new arrangement. It never failed to amaze Pyke how swift children were to forgive people and not dwell on the sins committed against them. Pyke had taken the largest bedroom at the front of the property, and Felix had chosen the slightly smaller room at the rear, overlooking the yard. The only awkward moment had been when Pyke had tried to persuade Jo to take the airy bedroom next to his. Jo had considered it for a while but when he’d given her no further encouragement, she’d opted for a much pokier bedroom on the top floor. Pyke’s clumsy attempt to give her enough money to hire a cook had only made matters worse and, later on, when he’d proposed taking a bottle of claret into the garden, after Felix had gone to bed, she had shaken her head and then left the room.
When Pyke arrived home after his confrontation with Silas Malvern, Jo and Felix were playing in the garden. For a while he watched them from the window, Felix squealing while Jo chased him across the yard. He thought about the news he’d just delivered to Silas Malvern. What would he do if someone told him that Felix had perished? It was, he recognised, one of his many failings; that he never quite saw the rich as being human and fallible in the same way that everyone else was. To distract himself from this thought, he took time to admire Jo’s pale complexion and unassuming beauty and found himself wondering, not for the first time, what a life with her might be like, and whether his feelings for her were a measure or a reflection of how much Felix adored her.
When Felix saw Pyke in the window, he ran inside to greet him and they chatted for a while about the birds and insects Pyke had seen in Jamaica and what Pyke intended to cook for them later. Pyke told Felix he was going to prepare a meat stew because he didn’t want the lad to see the rabbit he’d picked up and would have to skin. Jo hardly said a word throughout this conversation. Eventually Pyke managed to persuade Felix to go up to his room and begin unpacking his belongings, and when he heard Felix traipsing up the stairs, he went and joined Jo in the kitchen. She had a knife in her hand and had already started to skin the dead animal.
‘I was going to do that.’
Jo turned, suddenly wrenched from her thoughts. ‘You must be pleased. You’ve made Felix very happy.’
‘Godfrey told me that the boy’s behaviour was much improved during my absence.’ Pyke hesitated. ‘And he made no further attempts to pick old men’s pockets.’
‘Whatever you said to Felix before you left for Jamaica had the desired effect. I’d say he’s grown up a little.’ But Jo wouldn’t meet Pyke’s gaze and her manner with him was cold and formal.
Pyke waited for a moment. ‘And yet I seem to have made you unhappy at the same time.’
Jo put the knife down on the cutting board. ‘Do you want to know how I felt yesterday when we first arrived here? I felt like an old piece of your furniture being moved into your new house.’
Pyke took a step towards her, but saw her face and stopped. ‘I’m clumsy. Sometimes I say the wrong things.’
‘Yesterday at Godfrey’s apartment, you made Copper feel more welcome than me.’
‘I’ve missed you.’
‘And that’s supposed to make everything right? You’ve missed me.’ She pulled a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head.
Pyke tried again. ‘I wanted to take you in my arms but I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of Godfrey and Felix.’
Jo stood there, hands on her hips. ‘I’m not Emily, Pyke. I’m nothing like her. No one could be. I’m also not Felix’s mother. I’m just a plain red-headed girl. I’m a servant, Pyke. You pay my wages. That’s how it should be.’
‘I’m no better than you or anyone else.’
‘But why me? Why not a woman who’s wealthier, better looking, and more intelligent than I am?’
‘You don’t see your good qualities, that’s all.’ He wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words.
‘You don’t even know me, Pyke. That’s my point. You don’t know a thing about me.’
‘I don’t know you? Don’t be absurd. We’ve lived under the same roof for almost ten years.’
‘As your servant, Pyke,’ Jo said, exasperated. ‘Where was I born? What are my parents’ names?’ She must have seen his expression because she added, quickly, ‘You didn’t even know they were still alive, did you?’
‘So I don’t know their names. I’ll learn. I’ll make a special trip to your birthplace. But what will that really change? I know you. That’s all that counts.’
But Jo wasn’t mollified. ‘I’m your servant, Pyke, not your mistress. For ten years you’ve hardly noticed me. I’m not trying to chastise you. I’m just being truthful. So what’s changed all of a sudden? Why now? I’m not stupid, Pyke. I have a good rapport with your son and you’re just nostalgic for the way things used to be when Emily was alive.’
Pyke didn’t answer her because he didn’t want to concede that she might, in part, be right. But his silence seemed to make her even more angry. ‘I remember what Godfrey said about you going to Jamaica. He reckoned you were chasing after a ghost — that if you found justice for this woman you would somehow find justice for Emily.’
Pyke stood there, simultaneously wanting to embrace Jo and slap her around the face. ‘You think I don’t know Emily’s dead?’
Jo ignored him. ‘Even if you do find this woman’s killer…’ Her face turned the colour of beetroot. ‘What then?’
‘It’s just a job. It’s what I do, Jo. What I feel for you has nothing to do with Mary Edgar or indeed Emily.’ But as he said it, Pyke could hear how unconvincing his voice sounded.
‘And what do you feel for me?’ Jo stared at him. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Do you love me?’
There were so many ways he could have answered this question but in the end they all sounded hollow, so he said nothing.
‘I think I understand my position better now.’ Jo gathered up her petticoat and ran up two flights of stairs to her room.
*
Pyke wasn’t ready to let Jo have the final word on the matter and after supper, once he’d put Felix to bed, he knocked on her door. When she didn’t answer, he pushed it open and stepped into the small room. She was lying on her bed, facing the wall. A candle flickered in its holder on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Not saying anything, Pyke crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. She didn’t move. Gently he reached out and touched the back of her neck. When she finally turned over to face him, Pyke saw she had been crying.
‘What do you want?’ she said, staring up at him. She sounded weary but also hopeful.
‘When you asked me just now whether I loved you…’ Pyke hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘I don’t know how to explain it. All I can say is that when Emily died, something inside me died as well. I can’t let myself be hurt like that again.’
Pyke was going to say more but she coiled her hand around his neck and gently pulled him down towards her. That first kiss seemed to have settled any doubts Jo might have been having but then, without warning, she pulled away from him.
‘I can’t. Not again.’ She bit her lips and looked up at Pyke, her eyes glistening in the candlelight. ‘Not until I know what you think, what you feel…’