Read Kill-Devil and Water Online

Authors: Andrew Pepper

Tags: #Jamaica, #Murder, #England, #Sugar Plantations, #London (England), #Mystery & Detective, #Prostitutes, #Crimes Against, #Fiction, #General, #Investigation, #Historical, #London, #Crime

Kill-Devil and Water (32 page)

BOOK: Kill-Devil and Water
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This made Malvern sit up in his chair. ‘My
family
?’ His face was damp with perspiration. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
 
‘I thought you told me that your father and sister had relocated to England as well.’ It was something Malvern had mentioned the previous night over dinner.
 
‘Mr Squires, I mean Monty ...’ Blood was vivid in Malvern’s cheeks. ‘My father helped to build this estate into what it is today and, in the end, he earned the respect of the slaves who worked here. In turn, he came to appreciate their grudging work ethic and loyalty. But do you really think he would ever consent to me, his heir and only son, marrying a mulatto girl? Enjoy carnal relations with her, perhaps, but marry?
Never
. He’d string me up before allowing it to happen.’
 
Pyke considered what he’d just been told and whether it implicated Silas Malvern in Mary Edgar’s murder. What if the old man had found out about the proposed marriage? What if he’d told Elizabeth and she’d tried to frighten Mary off using Jemmy Crane? What if all of that had failed?
 
‘Then surely you’re taking a risk,’ Pyke said, as though the thought had just come to him, ‘by planning to marry in the city where he now lives?’
 
‘But he doesn’t know about the engagement. He doesn’t even know Mary is in London,’ Malvern said, puzzled. ‘I’m hoping that when we finally do marry, he’ll come to accept us. I mean, he’ll have to, won’t he?’ Malvern’s naivety was both endearing and pathetic.
 
‘So you’ve made arrangements for her to stay with friends until you’re able to conclude your affairs here and join her in London?’ Pyke did his best to suppress an urge to ask Malvern directly about William Alefounder, whether he’d stayed at the great house and, if so, whether he’d shown any interest in Mary.
 
Malvern looked at him quizzically, perhaps taken aback by the personal nature of the question. ‘My godfather was happy to take her in and will look after her for as long as is required. You see, Uncle William lives on his own in a large house in Mayfair.’
 
Pyke took note of this detail. It explained why Mary had asked McQuillan about that part of the city but didn’t begin to shed light on why she’d also taken a room at the lodging house on the Ratcliff Highway. ‘I’m pleased for your sake this man is more enlightened than your father.’
 
‘He just wants me to be happy. I wrote to him and explained the problem towards the end of last year. Indeed, it was his idea. And I know for a fact he won’t say a word about it to my father.’ Malvern looked over at Pyke, frowning. ‘Anyway, why are you so interested in my personal affairs? They have no bearing on the status of Ginger Hill.’
 
Pemberton had just stepped out on to the veranda.
 
‘If I’m buying anything - a horse, a house, an estate - I want to know
exactly
why the seller is willing to give it up,’ Pyke said. ‘In this instance, if my questions have been of too personal a nature, forgive me. But for my own peace of mind, I needed to ask them.’ He stood up and left the two men to discuss their affairs.
 
 
Pyke found his horse at the stables. It had been fed and watered after the long ride up from the town and, having saddled it himself, he mounted the docile creature and urged it into a canter with a kick of his boots. From the stables, he followed the flint track down the hill to where a stone bridge crossed the river; there, next to the river, was the boiling house, a larger building than he’d been expecting. It looked deserted but Pyke didn’t stop to check. A little farther up the hill on the other side of the river was the grinding house, a slightly smaller building, again made of stone, which was connected to the boiling house via a wedge-shaped trough. As Pyke understood it, the freshly cut cane was ground using vertical iron rollers powered by a waterwheel. The cane juice then ran down the trough into the boiling house, where it was rinsed, skimmed and emptied into copper vats; there it was boiled down into raw sugar and the skimmed molasses was turned into rum. But there was no one working in either of the buildings, and the whole place felt like a cemetery. As he rode up the hill into the fields on the plateau above the river, Pyke thought about the dilemma facing Malvern - pay a higher wage or risk losing the whole crop - and wondered why the planter hadn’t compromised in the short term. It seemed Malvern had been badly advised, and Pyke wondered whether the attorney really did have his best interests at heart. He also thought about what Malvern had just told him about Mary Edgar, and how distraught the planter would be when he learned about her fate.
 
There were more clouds in the sky than there had been the day before and the air was more humid. Pyke had ridden deep into the cane fields and the ripe canes, seven or eight feet tall, swayed in the gentle breeze. About a mile or so farther along the track, he heard some voices and then caught sight of Pemberton slouched on his grey horse, staring idly into the distance. Pyke didn’t think the attorney had seen him and climbed down from his own horse, tying the reins around a cotton tree. He hadn’t seen a single field hand anywhere during his ride and was therefore surprised to see a crew of about twelve men, all black, sitting under the shade of a giant mango tree, talking freely with one another and laughing. Pyke didn’t want to draw attention to his hiding place and so didn’t risk getting close enough to hear what they were talking about, but in all the time he watched them, they didn’t move from their spot, and Pemberton, for all his rhetoric about ‘nigger knocking’, didn’t make them. Certainly no one seemed too interested in the ripe cane plants and, from what Pyke could see, none of the surrounding fields had been harvested.
 
Back at the stables, Dalling was waiting for him. He was leaning against the gate, with a blade of grass in his mouth.
 
‘I was wondering if you’d thought any more about the conversation we had last night?’
 
‘I don’t carry that amount of money around with me.’
 
Dalling offered Pyke a lazy smile. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence. You strike me as a resourceful fellow. Go out and be resourceful.’
 
Briefly Pyke ran through his options, or lack of them. Dalling already knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be and Pyke had as good as confirmed it. But Dalling wouldn’t go to Pemberton or Malvern with his suspicions until he was absolutely convinced that he wouldn’t be paid. Until then he would keep his mouth shut, which, in turn, meant Pyke could ask him a question.
 
‘You must have known Mary Edgar, or at least you must have seen her around the great house.’
 
Dalling’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘What has she to do with anything?’
 
‘Did you get the impression that she and Malvern were as devoted to one another as he’d have people believe?’
 
That drew a snort of derision. ‘If you count fucking one of the field hands as devotion then maybe they were.’ Dalling’s nostrils were black with snuff. ‘Of course, given that he used to fuck his own sister, he isn’t exactly a saint, either.’
 
That stopped Pyke dead. ‘Charles slept with Elizabeth?’
 
‘You know her, then?’ Dalling smirked. ‘Well, if you want to know more, you’re going to have to pay more.’
 
‘Look, I’ll get you your hundred and I’ll give you another hundred on top of that if you tell me what you know about Charles, Mary and Elizabeth, the lot of them.’
 
‘Is that why you’re here?’ Dalling’s eyes narrowed.
 
Pyke’s head was spinning with possibilities. ‘Did Charles know that Mary was sleeping with another man?’
 
‘Course he knew. That’s why he sent her away.’
 
‘What was the man’s name?’
 
‘I’m not that stupid. If I tell you, you won’t have to pay me.’
 
‘Two hundred for everything,’ Pyke said.
 
‘Gives you a thrill, does it? Imagining the brother and sister going at it under the sheets?’
 
‘I can get the money by tomorrow night,’ Pyke said, his throat dry from the heat. ‘But I’ll need the name of the field hand now.’
 
‘If you try to double-cross me, I’ll go straight to Pemberton. Is that understood?’
 
A silence hung between them. ‘Well?’ Pyke asked finally.
 
Dalling picked another stalk from the ground and made to leave. ‘His name’s Isaac Webb. But these days you won’t find him anywhere near Ginger Hill.’
 
 
Pyke found Charles Malvern on the lawn in front of the great house, standing over what turned out to be a camera obscura and a small copperplate. Malvern called him over and proceeded to explain how the process worked; he didn’t ask about Pyke’s tour of the estate or the strike or whether he was still interested in making an offer. He just wanted to talk about daguerreotypes and, in that sense, he reminded Pyke of a young boy who’d just found a new hobby.
 
‘You see,’ he said, pointing at the camera’s lens. ‘The light pours through here and projects an image on to the copper, here. But the plate has already been soaked in iodine and in about five minutes a very faint image will begin to appear. When that happens, I’ll take the plate inside and develop it over heated mercury; what happens is that the mercury amalgamates with the silver to make the image.’ He stood up, apparently pleased with himself.
 
Pyke glanced down at the camera and concluded, from the direction it was pointing, that the image would be of the house. ‘I’m surprised you’re able to keep abreast of such developments here.’
 
‘Actually I have my sister to thank for it. She’s been an enthusiast ever since she read about it in a newspaper. She sent me all I needed to get started and now I import the copperplates and iodine directly from a manufacturer in London.’
 
Pyke tried not to show his interest. ‘She sounds like a forward-thinking person.’ He was thinking about her attachment to Jemmy Crane, about
his
interest in daguerreotypes, and whether the two were connected.
 
‘She is.’ Malvern stopped what he was doing and looked up. ‘We used to be very close as children and our bond has remained strong. I’m not afraid to say I miss her dearly.’
 
Pyke looked searchingly into his face for signs that what Dalling had intimated was, in fact, true. ‘Then you must look forward to being reunited with her in London.’
 
‘Indeed,’ Malvern said, as though the matter were an awkward one. ‘I just wish ...’
 
‘Yes?’
 
‘It’s nothing.’ He smiled weakly and turned his attention back to the camera.
 
‘When was your sister last here at Ginger Hill?’
 
Malvern screwed up his face. ‘A couple of years ago, I’d say.’ He looked around the garden. ‘Lizzy loved this place as much as I do. But she’s also devoted to our father; she has been ever since our mother passed away. When he announced he planned to retire in England, I rather hoped she might stay with me at Ginger Hill but in the end she chose to settle in London. I’m sure it was the right decision.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘After all, this is no place to find a husband, is it?’
 
‘You found a wife here.’
 
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Malvern looked up at Pyke, almost sounding surprised. ‘And I miss her terribly.’ He waited for a moment, as though distracted. ‘I wish I could show you a daguerreotype of her, so you could see how attractive she is. I developed a number of images but they were stolen in a burglary earlier this year, together with some coins and bonds.’
 
For a moment Pyke wondered whether he was referring to Elizabeth or Mary.
 
‘Really?’ Somehow it seemed amiss: coins and bonds could be fenced, but who would want to buy a collection of copperplates?
 
‘The Custos never did find the person responsible.’ Malvern looked up and saw a servant coming towards them. ‘I tried to persuade her to pose for me again but this time she refused; said something about it bringing bad luck.’
 
The servant, Josephine, told Malvern it was time for his afternoon sleep. She spoke with a faint French accent and later Malvern explained that she’d been born in Martinique and had looked after him ever since he was a child. Pyke might not have been there, for all she noticed him. ‘Massa need his sleep now,’ she said.
 
‘Were all the daguerreotypes stolen?’
 
‘Yes, all of them.’ Malvern looked at him. ‘Why do you ask?’
 
But Josephine had already threaded her arm through Malvern’s, and before Pyke could answer, she was leading him across the lawn to the house.
 
 
That night, Pyke ate with Malvern and Dalling as the Pembertons had been invited to dine elsewhere. The conversation was stilted and awkward. A few times Pyke tried to steer it towards the subject of Malvern’s family, hoping to learn something more about the mother’s death, but Malvern was morose and seemingly incapable of speaking more than a few words at a time. Dalling appeared bored without Hermione Pemberton’s chest to gawp at and managed to restrict himself to a few barbed remarks about Pyke’s or rather Squires’ background. The first time it happened Pyke let it go; the second time, when Dalling asked him where he had grown up, Pyke announced he needed to take the air and waited for the bookkeeper to join him on the veranda.
BOOK: Kill-Devil and Water
4.71Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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