intensity.
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘It would not be possible to offer you any financial inducement.’
‘Nor would I expect it.’
‘But if, say, you were to continue with your own investigation, then perhaps as a courtesy to my office, you might share your findings with Charles Hume. Such an arrangement might be beneficial to our shared ambition of finding and being seen to find whoever carried out these abominable acts.’
Pyke digested this request. ‘And if, for any reason, I needed to get in touch with you?’
‘I would expect all of our correspondence to take place through Charles.’
Pyke decided to push the point. ‘But say I had some cause to pass a message to you in person?’
For the first time, Pyke sensed Peel’s unease. Taking his time, Peel motioned towards the dark-haired man who was sitting behind Pyke and said, ‘Let me introduce Fitzroy Tilling. He served under me while I was Chief Secretary in Ireland.’ Pyke turned around to acknowledge Tilling.
‘Let’s just say, should the need arise and should Charles Hume be unable to assist you, you could contact me via Mr Tilling here.’
‘It means you can have it both ways.’ Pyke held Peel’s formidable stare. ‘Find out what I know and keep an eye on me at the same time.’
‘You think me too devious.’ Peel rested his large hands on his desk. ‘I’m going to be blunt with you, Pyke, and you might think me hard for saying this. I am not particularly concerned about the deaths that you’re investigating. I think them abhorrent, of course, but I am compelled to address my attention to a more general set of circumstances. If I am honest, I believe the Irish race to be an inferior one, at a lower stage of development than our own and, therefore, do not intend to alter any course of action already deemed by myself to be in the best interests of this country as a result of a few deaths, whether those who died were Catholics or Protestants. But I am, and have to be, concerned about the implications for public order, and the sooner this business is resolved the better it will be for everyone. I am not afraid to call in the armed forces because I am not afraid of being unpopular, but I see this course of action only as a last resort.’
When Pyke said, ‘It is far better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both,’ he saw the recognition register in Peel’s eyes.
He was about to follow it up with another quote from the same source when the door to Peel’s private office flew open and into the room strode a tall, muscular man, older than Peel by some years, dressed in a red riding coat, a silk cravat and buckskin breeches worn over stockings. He was striking rather than handsome, with grey hair, sideburns, a Roman nose and ear lobes that were as fat and long as half a pear. He limped ever so slightly. ‘The King really is the worst man I have ever had to deal with, the most false and with no redeeming qualities.’
The man still hadn’t noticed Pyke and continued, ‘And have you heard the King’s brother has recently returned from Hanover and is causing untold mischief?’ As he slumped into a chair next to Pyke, the man finally realised Peel was not alone.
That was how Pyke found himself sitting next to the Prime Minister, the grand old duke himself, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of what he could do in that moment. Pyke was not enamoured of the aristocracy, nor did the duke’s battlefield exploits impress him. He did not necessarily like or dislike the man, but simply because the opportunity had presented itself he imagined drawing out his pocket knife and driving it into the duke’s heart.
‘Arthur. Mr Pyke here and I were just discussing the relative merits of Machiavelli’s account of statecraft.’
‘Who? ’ The duke looked at Peel and frowned.
‘Mr Pyke is a Bow Street Runner.
‘Not him, dammit,’ the duke muttered, ignoring Pyke. ‘The other fellow.’
‘A Florentine consort, I believe. He
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘It would not be possible to offer you any financial inducement.’
‘Nor would I expect it.’
‘But if, say, you were to continue with your own investigation, then perhaps as a courtesy to my office, you might share your findings with Charles Hume. Such an arrangement might be beneficial to our shared ambition of finding and being seen to find whoever carried out these abominable acts.’
Pyke digested this request. ‘And if, for any reason, I needed to get in touch with you?’
‘I would expect all of our correspondence to take place through Charles.’
Pyke decided to push the point. ‘But say I had some cause to pass a message to you in person?’
For the first time, Pyke sensed Peel’s unease. Taking his time, Peel motioned towards the dark-haired man who was sitting behind Pyke and said, ‘Let me introduce Fitzroy Tilling. He served under me while I was Chief Secretary in Ireland.’ Pyke turned around to acknowledge Tilling.
‘Let’s just say, should the need arise and should Charles Hume be unable to assist you, you could contact me via Mr Tilling here.’
‘It means you can have it both ways.’ Pyke held Peel’s formidable stare. ‘Find out what I know and keep an eye on me at the same time.’
‘You think me too devious.’ Peel rested his large hands on his desk. ‘I’m going to be blunt with you, Pyke, and you might think me hard for saying this. I am not particularly concerned about the deaths that you’re investigating. I think them abhorrent, of course, but I am compelled to address my attention to a more general set of circumstances. If I am honest, I believe the Irish race to be an inferior one, at a lower stage of development than our own and, therefore, do not intend to alter any course of action already deemed by myself to be in the best interests of this country as a result of a few deaths, whether those who died were Catholics or Protestants. But I am, and have to be, concerned about the implications for public order, and the sooner this business is resolved the better it will be for everyone. I am not afraid to call in the armed forces because I am not afraid of being unpopular, but I see this course of action only as a last resort.’
When Pyke said, ‘It is far better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both,’ he saw the recognition register in Peel’s eyes.
He was about to follow it up with another quote from the same source when the door to Peel’s private office flew open and into the room strode a tall, muscular man, older than Peel by some years, dressed in a red riding coat, a silk cravat and buckskin breeches worn over stockings. He was striking rather than handsome, with grey hair, sideburns, a Roman nose and ear lobes that were as fat and long as half a pear. He limped ever so slightly. ‘The King really is the worst man I have ever had to deal with, the most false and with no redeeming qualities.’
The man still hadn’t noticed Pyke and continued, ‘And have you heard the King’s brother has recently returned from Hanover and is causing untold mischief?’ As he slumped into a chair next to Pyke, the man finally realised Peel was not alone.
That was how Pyke found himself sitting next to the Prime Minister, the grand old duke himself, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of what he could do in that moment. Pyke was not enamoured of the aristocracy, nor did the duke’s battlefield exploits impress him. He did not necessarily like or dislike the man, but simply because the opportunity had presented itself he imagined drawing out his pocket knife and driving it into the duke’s heart.
‘Arthur. Mr Pyke here and I were just discussing the relative merits of Machiavelli’s account of statecraft.’
‘Who? ’ The duke looked at Peel and frowned.
‘Mr Pyke is a Bow Street Runner.
‘Not him, dammit,’ the duke muttered, ignoring Pyke. ‘The other fellow.’
‘A Florentine consort, I believe. He
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