Bloody Winter: A Pyke Mystery (12 page)

‘I think I saw it as my penance.’

‘And what kind of welcome did you receive?’

‘Most people didn’t know; not at first. Not until old man Hancock let it be known who I was and what I’d done.’

‘What you’d done on
his
orders.’

‘That didn’t seem to matter. I’d pulled the trigger. The blood was on my hands.’

‘Why would he do a thing like that?’

Johns shrugged. ‘I don’t think he liked the notion of me settling in
his
town. It made him nervous. He tried to force me to go elsewhere. Catherine came to my rescue. I think she heard the two Hancocks discussing my situation and took pity. Managed to convince Jonah that I wasn’t a threat.’

‘And are you?’

‘What …
me
? A threat?’ Johns turned to face him, his hands
gripping the reins. They were nearly at the top of the hill, the Castle right in front of them.

They looked up and saw Jonah Hancock standing on the front steps. As soon as he saw the horse and cart, he rushed down the steps, his face creased with worry. ‘Superintendent Jones has just paid us a visit.’

Pyke saw Cathy emerge from the entrance. Her hair was loose and blowing in the gusty wind.

‘They’ve found a body under Jackson’s Bridge, a young boy.’ Jonah gasped for air. ‘Jones thinks it might be William.’

n. a region remote from urban areas

n. a remote and undeveloped area

n. unexplored territories full of mystery and danger

A
t the previous day’s constabulary meeting Sub-inspector Hastings had read out new crimes that had been perpetrated. The post-car from Cashel to Thurles had been held up and robbed; a home in Mullinahoue had been burgled by a gang of masked gunmen; a man had been set upon about a mile from town and relieved of his purse and his double-barrelled fowling piece; and worst of all, a policeman had been shot and seriously wounded when he had tried to prevent a pay clerk being robbed in Caher. Hastings had told them that the situation was unacceptable and it was their job to find and punish those responsible. He’d slammed his fist on his desk and told them that if they were doing their jobs properly, people would be too scared to commit any crimes. Knox hadn’t dared point out this was utter nonsense and crime was rising for the simple reason that people were desperate.

After the meeting, the sub-inspector had asked Knox how his murder inquiry was progressing. Knox had already decided not to tell Hastings that he’d identified the dead man and so he gave only a vague answer. The sub-inspector had grunted and reiterated his demand that Knox was to return to normal duty first thing on Tuesday morning. Cornwallis wanted the whole matter to go away and what Cornwallis wanted, men like Hastings endeavoured to make happen.

Therefore, when a note arrived at the barracks from the landlord of the New Forge in Dundrum requesting that Knox go there at his earliest convenience, he didn’t mention it to the sub-inspector.

After breakfast on Sunday, Martha and James set off to visit her sister in town and Knox picked up a ride from a shopkeeper
who was on his way to Dundrum Hall to deliver some provisions. They exchanged a couple of pleasantries and then lapsed into silence. The air had a wintry feel and halfway between Cashel and Dundrum rain started to fall as sleet, the sky grey and threatening like gunmetal.

Knox found the landlord sweeping damp sawdust into piles in the taproom of the New Forge Inn. This time the man’s greeting was a little warmer. He offered Knox a nip of poteen, which Knox declined.

‘The maid was cleaning the room we were in the other day and found these stuffed under the mattress.’ He walked across to the counter and retrieved what turned out to be a thin bundle of letters.

Knox thanked the landlord and asked whether he could sit in a quiet corner and read them. ‘And I’ll take that poteen now, if you don’t mind.’

He settled down at a table at the far end of the narrow room and laid out the envelopes in front of him. In fact, there were just three. Carefully Knox removed the letters and scrutinised their contents. Penned by the same hand, they were addressed to Pyke and signed by someone called Felix. The first and second letters had been sent to an address in London; the final one, to the station-house in Merthyr Tydfil in Wales. In each letter, the return address had been given as St John’s church in Keynsham, Somerset. Knox took the earliest one, dated the fourth of August, and read it carefully once more. The author announced that he’d arrived safely and that he had been met at the train station by ‘Martin’ and was settling into his new accommodation very well. Everyone had been welcoming, he wrote, and he was looking forward to beginning his studies. He hoped that everything was fine at home and asked Pyke to pass on his best wishes to Mrs Booth and to give Copper – presumably a dog – a pat on the head. The letter was signed ‘With love, Felix’.

Knox put it back in the envelope. The tone was warm but not overly familiar. Felix was clearly the younger party and the reference to ‘home’ made Knox think that Felix might be the dead man’s son.

The second letter, dated the fourteenth of October, was longer and, Knox felt, more intimate. He focused on a passage from the middle.

I know you don’t want me to but I pray for you every morning. You sounded sad in your last letter. I know you claim no affiliation or belief but this must mean you feel terribly alone and even lonely at times. When I am lonely or afraid I pray to God and He helps comfort me. I know, of course, that you are
never
afraid but I worry that your sadness is something you won’t be able to alleviate on your own. You always told me that turning to someone outside of our family in times of need is a sign of weakness. I know Godfrey was a great support to you – and I hope I was too, though I was probably a burden as well – but now he has gone and I have moved here, who is there to help you? Who can you turn to in your hour of need?

Knox put down the letter and realised there were tears in his eyes. It wasn’t so much what had been written that had affected him; it was the fact that Felix cared greatly for the dead man and would now have to be told that his father had been murdered. Briefly Knox thought about his own father and how he would not mourn the man’s passing.

Further answers were provided by the final letter. This one was much briefer and to the point. Felix mentioned Pyke’s visit to Keynsham, referred to a kidnapped child and said that he hoped the child had been found. He finished the letter by announcing he’d been given a few days’ holiday from his studies and wanted to visit Pyke in Merthyr for a day or two. He said he would arrive some time on Sunday the twenty-second and stay with Pyke until the Tuesday morning.

Knox folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He had another look at the address.
The station-house, Merthyr Tydfil
. When Knox had first noticed Felix’s reference to an investigation, he’d assumed that Pyke was some kind of private agent but now it struck him that Pyke might be a policeman. The letter had also mentioned a kidnapped child. What if Pyke had been sent to Merthyr to try to find this child? Still, there was nothing in the letter that explained what had brought Pyke to Ireland – or who might have wanted him dead.

Knox looked down and saw that his hands were trembling. What if the corpse were a senior policeman from London? The situation made him feel ill.

Carefully Knox placed the letters in his coat pocket and thanked the landlord for the poteen he hadn’t touched.

Outside the sleet had turned to snow. It was midday and he looked up and down the street for any sign of a carriage or cart. Folk would be coming out of church and he might be lucky enough to find a ride back to Cashel.

‘Knox.’

He looked up and saw Maxwell hurrying across the street in his direction. Cornwallis’s agent was red-faced.

‘Someone saw you earlier and word got back to his Lordship. He has a problem and asked me to come and find you.’

Knox felt his stomach knot. ‘What kind of a problem?’

Maxwell seemed to notice Knox’s unease and appeared to enjoy it. He offered Knox a thin smile. ‘His Lordship will explain.’

They found Cornwallis in the stables. The aristocrat was wearing tan breeches, black leather riding boots, a bright red waistcoat and a grey cutaway coat. He was pacing up and down outside a stable door.

‘Your presence in Dundrum is most fortuitous, Constable. I presume you were visiting your family?’

Knox just nodded. He had no intention of telling Cornwallis the real reason for his visit.

‘I would like to think they’re happy in their new accommodation.’ He glanced over at Maxwell. ‘I imagine they will find things a good deal more pleasant where they are.’

Knox didn’t want to agree because that would put him in Cornwallis’s debt, but he didn’t want to disagree and risk eliciting the old man’s ire.

Cornwallis nodded impatiently. ‘Anyhow, boy, now you’re here, you can take care of a little problem for me.’

‘Has something happened, your Lordship?’

Cornwallis removed a key chain from his one of his pockets and went to unlock the stable door. ‘Maxwell here caught him red-handed. The brigand was trying to draw blood from one of my cattle.’

It took Knox a few moments to realise that he knew the man slumped on the wet hay. He was about the same age as Davy McMullan and they had known each other when they were children.
Knox had last seen him about three years ago, when they had crossed paths on the main street in Dundrum and exchanged a brief, cautious nod. This time, Davy McMullan looked up at him indifferently. If he recognised Knox, he didn’t show it. His skin looked jaundiced, his whiskers were unkempt and his face was positively skeletal. His only item of clothing was a soiled smock-frock.

‘We’ve long suspected people have been stealing from us,’ Cornwallis said, triumphant, ‘but this is the first time we’ve caught one of them red-handed.’ He nodded for Maxwell to take up the story.

‘Clever buggers, they are. They cut a vein in the cow’s neck, draw off a pint or two into a jar, then stop the bleeding by putting a pin across the incision, holding it in place with a few hairs from the tail.’

Knox glanced at McMullan. He didn’t look strong enough to stand up without assistance, let alone commit theft. Bending down, Knox whispered, ‘When did you last eat a meal, sir?’

McMullan wouldn’t look at him but murmured, ‘Three days ago, I think.’

Knox stood up a little too quickly and felt dizzy. He turned to Cornwallis. ‘This man needs a good meal, not further punishment.’

The aristocrat stared at him, hands on hips. ‘I beg your pardon, man?’

‘Can’t you see this man is on the verge of starvation?’ Knox was desperately trying to censor himself but he was also angry.

‘And you think that’s my concern? Or
your
concern, for that matter? Do you think it’s unimportant that this man broke the law?’

Knox knew he’d waded into an argument he couldn’t win. ‘These matters are never
un
important …’

‘But you think I should pat this man on the back and perhaps set a place for him at my table?’

‘If he did, in fact, do as you said, he should be punished under the letter of the law. But anyone can see he’s starving. I think we should treat someone like this with a little compassion.’

The old man’s facial features seemed to shrivel into each other.

‘Since when does a man of your lowly rank tell me – a viscount – what is and what is not appropriate behaviour?’

Knox knew he’d said too much and felt his anger turning to contrition. ‘I’m sorry, your Lordship.’ He bowed his head, not sure what else to say.

‘If the law means nothing, perhaps we should permit people to rape and pillage as they see fit? Maim and murder, even. Is that what you would like to see, boy?’

‘No.’

‘But you still think I should show this wretch some compassion, even though he stole from me?’

‘If he committed a crime, then he should be brought before the magistrate.’

‘If?’ Cornwallis’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you doubting my word now?’

‘What I meant to say, your Lordship, is that of course he will be brought before the magistrate.’

‘See to it he is, boy. You’ll take him with you back to Cashel and deliver him to the barracks there.’

Knox nodded. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any transportation of my own …’

Cornwallis waved away his objection. ‘Maxwell will provide you with a horse and cart. I’ll send one of the stable hands to collect it from you in the morning.’

Knox stared down at the forlorn figure of Davy McMullan and felt as bad as he had felt in a long while.

Knox had long since become accustomed to other people’s suspicions, their sullenness in his company. Not their open hostility; just the notion that he had picked the wrong side and thrown in his lot with the enemy. For a few years, he had entertained the fantasy that he and his fellow constables, Catholics to a man, were united in a desire not to punish and coerce the local people but to help them, Catholics and Protestants together, keeping alive the spirit of the United Irishmen movement. Such a notion had, of course, been hopelessly naive, and as soon as the second potato crop failed and desperate men and women started to attack grain barges bound for Waterford, his complicity in a system established to safeguard the rich was impossible to ignore. Before this, Knox knew that some of the constables overlooked minor transgressions, a pheasant poached here, a rabbit taken there, as he had done, but since the autumn, their orders had been clear: no mercy, no tolerance. Two weeks ago, McCafferty had been dismissed for refusing to arrest a man who had
dug up his neighbour’s turnips, and last week a second constable, Mearns, had been forced out for speaking his mind at a meeting.

As he led Davy McMullan to the cart, Knox wondered what would happen to him if Cornwallis ever decided to complain about his behaviour. The snow had stopped falling but an inch had settled on the ground and was already melting into a brown sludge.