‘Last year the coal-whippers went on strike demanding higher wages and a reduced working day. This month the tailors are going to strike. Next it’ll be the bakers, the shoemakers, the carpenters, the bricklayers, the brass-founders, the cabinet-makers. I’ve been led to believe this Captain Paine has been instrumental in promoting all of these causes and that he’s offering to support the strikers financially while they take their action. I’ve also been informed he’s taken an interest in the navvies and that he’s currently stirring up trouble among the men gathering in Huntingdon to begin work on the next section of the Grand Northern.’ Peel glanced over at Morris for support.
‘You believe he actually exists, then?’ Pyke regarded him sceptically.
‘Whether he exists or not, or whether he’s the same figure who led the agricultural riots a few years ago, isn’t the point. First, a workhouse in Bethnal Green was burnt to the ground. That was six months ago. Then a garment factory in Aldgate was broken into and ransacked. Finally last month — and this might concern you — a bank in Stepney that had lent some money to the so-called middlemen or sweaters working in the manufacturing of clothes and shoes was set alight with rags soaked with oil.’ Peel studied Pyke’s reaction carefully. ‘But in answer to your question, yes, I do believe there is a particular individual posing as Captain Paine. I think he’s personally wealthy or has a wealthy backer and that he’s willing to use this wealth to support all manner of subversion.’
‘Like encouraging people to join a union?’ Pyke asked, trying to remember whether he’d heard anything about the bank in Stepney.
Peel reddened. ‘I’m well aware the Combination Acts have been revoked.’
‘But you still consider that encouraging other people to join a union is a criminal act?’
‘No, I consider wanton damage to property to be a criminal act.’
‘Tell that to the Tolpuddle labourers.’
A short silence hung between them. ‘If you remember, it was Whig ministers and Whig magistrates who found them guilty, not my party.’
Ever since six Dorsetshire labourers had been transported to Australia two years earlier, having been found guilty of taking a pledge of loyalty to their union and thereby violating a law that had been brought in during the Napoleonic Wars to counter the threat of navy mutinies, huge pressure had been brought to bear on the government to quash their conviction.
‘In which case, perhaps you could tell me why a former Tory prime minister would seem to be so keen to repeat their mistakes.’
Peel stared into the distance, his expression inscrutable. ‘Notwithstanding the fact that I regard all radical activity to be unwelcome and detrimental to the long-term interests of this country, you could simply say that, in this particular case, I am merely assisting a friend.’ Peel gave Morris a nod.
‘You could say that but I wouldn’t believe it.’
‘That I wouldn’t help a friend?’ Peel seemed appalled by the insinuation but Pyke wondered how much of it was for Morris’s benefit.
‘Then go ahead and help him.’ Pyke relaxed in his chair. ‘But I still don’t see what all this has to do with me.’
Morris cleared his throat, trying to draw their attention to his presence. ‘Perhaps if I could say something, Sir Robert?’
‘Go ahead, but I told you, he’s stubborn and won’t be talked around.’
‘I was having dinner with Sir Robert last week,’ Morris said. ‘Your name came up in the conversation, Pyke. Sir Robert here is not an easy man to impress but he described you as a formidable figure. A fellow you’d want to have on your side, if it was humanly possible.’ In the gloomy room, candlelight glinted off his shiny forehead. ‘I have to travel up to Cambridge early next week and I’d very much like you to accompany me.’
Before Pyke had time to answer, Peel produced a copy of the Morning Chronicle and held up the front page. The headline required no further elaboration:
HEADLESS CORPSE DISCOVERED IN HUNTINGDON
‘I thought it might appeal to your sense of the macabre.’ Peel smiled weakly.
Like the rest of London, Pyke had read about the matter. A headless, decomposing body had been found floating in the Ouse just outside Huntingdon, but no one seemed to know who the dead man was or why he had been killed. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the story had caused a sensation among the metropolitan populace, and rumours had already started to spread that an axe-wielding lunatic sent by Satan had been let loose on the countryside.
Pyke regarded him with a tight expression. ‘So why is the leader of the opposition so concerned about a squalid murder that happened somewhere in the provinces? What is it you’re not telling me?’ From experience, he’d always found Peel a difficult man to read and this occasion was proving to be no exception.
‘Not telling you? God, man, I know even less about this business than the person who wrote this report.’ Peel held up the newspaper. ‘But as someone who always has the best interests of this country at heart, it worries me greatly that a headless corpse has been unearthed just a few miles from the spot where radical types, possibly led by this Captain Paine, are busy organising themselves.’
‘That still doesn’t explain why it’s any concern of yours,’ Pyke said. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, your administration only lasted for a hundred days before the electorate spoke.’
‘I thank you for the reminder.’
A moment of silence passed between them. ‘Even if your interest in this business is purely altruistic, Sir Robert, I fail to see how it has anything to do with me.’
Ignoring Pyke’s mocking tone, Peel looked over at Morris. ‘Perhaps you’ll leave us for a moment, Edward?’
When Morris had pulled the door closed behind him, Peel stood up and walked to the window of his office. Outside was a view of the buttresses and passageways leading to the New Palace yard. A year earlier, a fire had ripped through the Palace of Westminster and destroyed the chamber used by the Commons as well as St Stephen’s Chapel. The old House of Lords had survived the blaze and had now been colonised by the Commons, but the resulting pressure for space had meant that men as senior as Peel had been forced into accommodation far beneath their circumstances.
‘I have been led to believe that a radical from the East End of London called Julian Jackman might know something about this Captain Paine.’ His words were measured and his face composed. ‘I’d like you to confirm or disprove this claim.’
Pyke drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘And, short of killing my wife and framing me for the murder, how do you imagine that you’re going to persuade me to accept such a poisoned chalice?’
That, finally, shattered the Tory leader’s composure. Blood rose in his cheeks and, choked with indignation, he seemed unable to speak for a few moments. Six years earlier, Pyke’s mistress had been stabbed in her bed while he slept with her, and he had been tried and convicted of her murder. Pyke had initially suspected Peel’s involvement in the case and though his subsequent efforts to clear his name and find the killer had exonerated Peel of any blame, the accusation that the Tory leader could have orchestrated such an act still rankled.
Instead of exploding with anger, Peel became very quiet. ‘A few hundred years ago, that kind of remark to a man in my position might have earned you a jail cell in the Tower.’
‘Then I am fortunate to be living in more enlightened times.’
‘But your rudeness is prescient all the same,’ Peel said, returning from the window and taking his seat. ‘For in this instance I do have a stick to wield…’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s come to my attention that you might be using your office as banker to further certain illicit practices.’
Pyke’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m presuming you have a specific charge in mind?’