accept that my loyalties may lie somewhere other than at Hambledon? ’
‘It is hard but not that hard.’ This time he reciprocated the embrace. A hot spike of desire swelled up within him. ‘Of course, if this information fell into the wrong hands, it could cause your father significant harm.’
Emily nodded. ‘There would certainly be no money available to the farmers to pay my father’s rents.’
‘Would that cause him difficulties?’
‘At present?’ Emily shrugged. ‘I would think so.’
Pyke nodded. ‘Such an undertaking could be highly dangerous.’
‘It shouldn’t be undertaken lightly, that is certain.’ Emily reached out and ran her fingers across his cheek. ‘Nor might such action be suitable for the faint-hearted.’
‘One would have to be of a particular constitution, I agree.’
‘One would have to be bold,’ Emily said, nodding.
Pyke nodded, playing along. ‘Strong as well as bold.’
‘That goes without saying.’ Emily broke into a wide smile.
‘Strong enough to chase down a stagecoach on horseback? ’
‘I would say so.’
‘Strong enough to fire a pistol?’
That drew a slight frown. ‘Would that be necessary?’
Pyke waited until she was looking at him. ‘Strong enough to stand up to your father?’ His remark registered and he wondered why he found her disconcertion as sexually gratifying as her more obvious attempts to appeal to him. But when he tried to kiss her again she pulled away from him and gathered herself to leave, as though unaware that his ardour could not as easily be put aside.
The air in the crowded taproom was musty and the floors were caked in mud. The room itself was heaving with red-faced milliners and seamstresses dressed in tatty shawls and bonnets, carousing with drunken hop- pickers, flush with the earnings of their labours in Kent. Urged on by the melodious strains of a fiddle, they may have looked like a good-natured lot, dancing ankle-deep in butcher’s sawdust that still carried the stink of rancid meat, but Pyke knew that every one of them would have crawled over their loved ones’ corpses for the chance to earn the reward that had been offered for information leading to his arrest.
Along with Townsend, Goddard was an acquaintance from Bow Street. Though younger and more immature than his partner, Goddard was, perversely, the one with a family. His wife had just given birth to twin daughters. He had a thin face, with sunken cheeks that accentuated the dark patches around his eyes. Pyke listened while he explained that the Runners were effectively being dismantled, despite Fox’s best efforts to sabotage the new dispensation for law enforcement.
‘Sir Richard’s even got us ingratiating ourselves in radical circles, Hunt’s lot, to try and stir up some trouble,’ Townsend added. ‘To see if he can’t overstretch the new force and show Peel the Runners are still needed.’
‘He’s losing his fuckin’ mind, more like,’ Goddard said.
‘Peel’s having none of it,’ Townsend added, ignoring that last remark. ‘And he won’t let any Runner join the new force. Says he wants a clean start.’
Pyke had already told them about his plans to rob Blackwood’s armoured carriage and both had willingly consented to help him. Townsend needed no persuasion - any opportunity to upset Edmonton’s affairs was to be welcomed - and Goddard was attracted by the monetary incentive. For Pyke, such a venture carried certain risks, not least because it would draw Edmonton’s attention to his presence in the capital. But the potential benefits outweighed the risks. The money, which would be divided equally between them, would be extremely welcome. But the real reason Pyke was willing to pursue such a venture was because it would undermine Edmonton’s financial stability and perhaps draw Jimmy Swift from his hiding place.
In hushed voices, they discussed the best place to stage the attack and contemplated the most appropriate course of action. They had agreed upon a plan and Goddard excused himself. A few moments later, Townsend turned to Pyke and said, ‘Before you went away, you asked about the mother.’
Pyke frowned. ‘Whose mother?’
‘The daughter’s. Edmonton’s wife.’
Pyke strained to conceal his interest. ‘Apparently she died, while incarcerated in an asylum.’
‘That was the commonly held assumption.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
Townsend seemed to be enjoying himself, ‘Do you know of anyone who attended the funeral?’
‘The daughter wasn’t permitted to.’
‘But she believes her mother to be dead?’
‘Are you saying that she’s still alive?’
Townsend took a swig of ale. ‘I managed to track down one of the old servants. She didn’t want to talk to me at first - it seems that even former employees are terrified of Edmonton’s vindictiveness - but she remembered my brother and eventually opened up to me.’
‘I am interested.’ Pyke shrugged. ‘I can’t pretend otherwise. ’
Townsend leaned closer and whispered, ‘The old woman was adamant. The mother is by no means dead.’
‘Does she know where I might be able to find her?’
‘Perhaps.’ Townsend wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.
‘But this information is going to cost me,’ Pyke said, nodding his head.
Townsend shrugged.
‘What if I were to offer you half of my share of the robbery proceeds?’
Townsend whistled and raised his eyebrows. ‘She must be important to you.’
‘You mean the mother?’
‘Or the daughter.’
When Pyke looked up, he saw Emily’s servant, Jo, enter the taproom. Compared to the dressmakers and shop workers who frequented the tavern, she stood out in the surroundings almost as sorely as her mistress. Pyke excused himself and went to join her. They exchanged formal pleasantries and he suggested that the relative quiet of his garret might be a more convivial place to talk. As they ascended the staircase, he wondered why Emily had not come herself.
‘My mistress has asked me to pass on a message. She assured me you would know what it meant.’
With a buxom figure and a round, rosy-cheeked face that, above all, intimated a sense of ripeness, Jo seemed nervous and fidgeted as she stood in the doorway, unwilling to enter his room. Not for the first time, he was struck by the thought that he had come across her before.
‘I would be able to respond to that sentiment if I knew more about the message itself,’ he said, with a smile.
‘Of course.’ She seemed flustered. Pyke wondered whether it had been wise to bring an unaccompanied young woman - Emily’s servant, no less - up to his garret.
‘Tomorrow, at six in the morning.’ Jo looked at him. ‘She said you would know what it meant.’ Jo had painted her eyelashes and Pyke wondered whether this was usual for a servant.
It was the time that the armoured carriage was due to depart from the Bank of England. Again he wondered why Emily had opted to send her servant with such an important message. Since he could not ask Jo such a direct question, he enquired after Emily’s health. Jo informed him that her mistress was perfectly well.
Despite her apparent nerves, Jo did not seem to be in any hurry to leave. Instead, she removed her bonnet and started to rearrange her hair. Without it, he was able to admire her smooth round face, her flawless pale skin and her extraordinary red hair.
‘I made sure no one followed me,’ she said, still unwilling to meet his stare. Her accent indicated a certain level of education. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘Please, take all the time you need.’ Pyke watched as she bent forward to attend to her boots. He found himself wondering what her relationship with Emily was like and whether there was any kind of ulterior motive to her presence in his room. He also didn’t know what she knew about him and whether he could trust her.
‘There.’ Jo stood up and smiled. ‘Done.’
She went to retrieve her bonnet but Pyke had already picked it up. He handed it to her. ‘This may sound like
