‘I am certain he has no idea about the extent of our . . . liaison.’ Her mood seemed to darken. ‘But I had to fight him to allow me to stay here even for one night.’
On the table in the large bay window was the same evening-newspaper report that he had consulted. ‘Contrary to what the report claimed, there wasn’t anything like twenty thousand pounds.’ He removed a sealed envelope from his pocket. ‘That’s a small contribution for your charity.’
Emily stared at the envelope, as though it were a dagger. He thrust it into her trembling hands. ‘Here. Take it.’
‘I can’t.’ She allowed the envelope to drop on to the Turkey carpet.
‘Can’t or won’t?’
She exhaled loudly. ‘A man was killed. Two others, a guard and the driver, are grievously injured. The driver may never walk again.’ She looked up at him. Her eyes were dry. ‘Was he a friend of yours?’
‘The man who was killed?’ Pyke didn’t know whether to be relieved that she didn’t seem to know about his foolishness with Jo or concerned that something new had come between them.
Emily nodded.
‘He understood the risks. It was a robbery.’
‘Did the driver of the coach understand the risks, too?’
Pyke allowed a little of his frustration to show. ‘What do you want me to say? That I regret what happened to him? That I’m sorry for what we did?’
‘Perhaps,’ Emily said, staring down at the envelope on the carpet.
‘If I felt that way, then we shouldn’t have undertaken the robbery in the first place.’ It was as though he had punched her in the stomach.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the grandfather clock. ‘Does it fill you with satisfaction,’ she asked, finally, ‘that I’ve now been initiated into your world?’ There was weariness rather than bitterness in her tone.
‘My world? And what exactly is my world? If you are referring to a place where one has to take hard decisions that, in turn, have unedifying consequences, then it does fill me with satisfaction.’
His remarks stung her, as they were meant to. ‘Do you really think the work I do is straightforward and doesn’t require having to make hard choices?’
‘Perhaps not, but surely this experience has softened your attitude to other people’s failings?’
‘When people are powerless and cannot help themselves, I am more than sympathetic to their plight,’ she snapped.
Pyke waited for some of her anger to cool. ‘Then you should understand that decisions, taken in rushed circumstances, sometimes lead to unpleasant outcomes.’
This didn’t entirely placate her. She laughed bitterly. ‘And in the end, one cannot tell right from wrong.’
‘Perhaps right and wrong are not the absolute markers you imagine them to be.’
Emily’s gaze betrayed her disappointment. ‘Is it right that children as young as six have to work for fifteen hours a day in windowless rooms for only a few shillings a week?’
‘Or that an aristocrat arranges the slaughter of innocent people for no other reason than to satisfy his own bigotry?’
Emily stared with consternation but she did not know how to answer him.
‘What if punishing this person could not be achieved without hurting other people?’
‘You’re asking me to sanction the loss of innocent lives as a way of legitimising this feud between you and my father?’ She sounded weary.
‘I’m not asking for your sanction.’ Pyke walked across to the bay window. The curtains were drawn. ‘I’m asking for your understanding.’ He turned to face her. ‘You make it sound as though my reasons for hating him are entirely selfish.’
‘So you do hate him?’
‘Don’t you?’
Emily shrugged. ‘I have my reasons.’
Pyke peeked through the curtains and looked down at the empty street below him. He thought about Emily’s mother and wondered how she was settling into her new living arrangements.
Emily had followed him across to the window and when he turned around she was standing so close to him that he could count the freckles on her nose. He reached out and touched her face. Her smile was a sad one.
‘What is it that you want from me?’ he said, finally. His fingertip brushed across the top of her lip.
‘Who says I want anything from you?’
‘I seem to disappoint you.’ He shrugged.
That drew a puzzled expression. ‘I’m not disappointed by you.’
‘But?’
‘You paint me as this saintly prig.’
‘Because you’re always talking about your work.’ He waited for a moment. ‘Not about what you want, what you desire . . .’
Outside on the street, a coach came to halt.
‘You don’t think I desire you?’ Emily said, in part distracted by the sound of someone approaching the front door.
Moments later, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jo peered into the room. She said that Lord Edmonton’s coachman was downstairs in the hall, demanding that Emily, on her father’s explicit orders, accompany him back to Hambledon.
‘But it’s so late . . .’ Emily looked at Pyke, frowning.
‘The coachman is quite insistent. Apparently your father is demanding your presence,’ Jo said, with a shrug. ‘Perhaps you could talk to him yourself?’
‘Of course.’ As Emily gathered her shawl and bonnet, she turned to Pyke and said, ‘I shall have to travel to Hambledon tonight. If I refused, it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.’ She shrugged apologetically.
‘Do you think it might have something to do with the robbery?’
‘It might.’ She began to tie her bonnet. ‘But my father is notorious for his temperamental behaviour. I am guessing he just wants someone to listen to his rants.’
She picked up her gloves and turned to face him. Her smile was forced. ‘I’m sorry I have to leave . . .’
‘And I am sorry for some of my intemperate remarks.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s just . . .’
‘Yes?’ Her eyes lit up with hope.
But he could not bring himself to say what he imagined that she wanted to hear. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Oh.’ She seemed disappointed but sought to conceal this by pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. ‘You shall stay here tonight, of course. There is a bed on the upper floor but you might find it more hospitable on the sofa.’
‘When will I see you again?’
From the doorway, she turned around. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’ Her tone was formal, perhaps because Jo was waiting for her on the landing.
‘Emily . . .’
Her expression seemed both annoyed and expectant.
‘Yes?’
Pyke swallowed his disconcertion. ‘I hope that your father doesn’t suspect you.’
‘I hope so too.’ And she was gone.
Pyke watched her leave from the drawing-room window and settled down on the sofa. Jo had already laid out a blanket and a pillow for him. He had not planned to stay the night in Edmonton’s house - in spite of Emily’s insistence, he did not think it was entirely safe for him to do so - but the long trip to Portsmouth and the exertions of the robbery had taken their toll, and as soon as he laid his head on one of the pillows and pulled the blanket over him, tiredness overcame him. He remembered thinking that he should rouse Jo and ask her whether she had indeed followed him to the Blue Dog tavern and warned him of Flynn’s presence, but as his face burrowed down into the soft pillow, such thoughts ebbed away and, before he knew it, he had slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
