Free Kill-Devil and Water by Andrew Pepper Page B

lazily as he contemplated Pyke’s response. In the end, he just simply shrugged. ‘You’re buying the venison, sir, you can make up the rules.’
     
    Later, once Saggers had left, Pyke showed the etching to the rest of the drinkers in the tap and parlour rooms. He didn’t come across a single black face and no one admitted to knowing Mary. At the counter, as he waited for Samuel to serve him, he placed the drawing on the counter. ‘Do you recognise her?’ he asked, studying Samuel’s craggy face.
     
    ‘A fine-looking woman. Therefore, not likely to frequent a place like this.’ Samuel’s skin was lighter than Pyke’s but his thick, wiry hair and flat nose indicated his mixed ancestry.
     
    ‘I was told this was a place where black men and women came to drink,’ Pyke said.
     
    ‘Who told you that?’
     
    ‘No one you’d know.’
     
    ‘Since a couple of black stevedores were beaten nearly to death just around the corner, for taking jobs that could have been filled by white dockers, they’ve been keeping a lower profile.’
     
    Pyke noted that Samuel had referred to ‘them’ rather than ‘us’. ‘She hasn’t been here, then, as far as you know.’
     
    ‘That’s right.’ Samuel smiled, shaking his head and revealing more gum than teeth. ‘And a woman like that, I’d know. Believe me, I’d know.’
     
    ‘How about a man just off the boat from Jamaica by the name of Arthur Sobers?’ Pyke described him as best he could.
     
    ‘Ain’t seen him either.’
     
    As he prepared to leave, Samuel called out, ‘You could try again one night after the sun’s gone down. It tends to look a bit different then. Different folk drinking here, a whole different atmosphere.’ He placed a glass of rum on the counter.
     
    Pyke went back, lifted the glass to his lips, tipped it back and opened his throat. It was as though he’d swallowed burning oil. Gagging, he bent forward, hands on his knees, forehead popping with sweat. For a moment, his vision blurred and a flash of white exploded behind his eyes. The taste the drink left in his mouth was bitter. Pyke put the glass down on the counter.
     
    Samuel was grinning at his reaction to the rum. ‘They call it kill-devil. Most white folks drink it with a little water.’
     
    ‘Who’s they?’
     
    ‘Former slaves in the Caribbean.’
     
    ‘What does it mean?’
     
    ‘Some folk reckon it has medicinal properties; reckon it can cure all kinds of disease and perhaps even ward off evil spirits.’
     
    ‘Have you ever heard about the practice of embalming a corpse with rum?’
     
    Samuel rubbed his chin while he considered Pyke’s question. ‘Can’t say I have, but then again, I might not be the best person to ask.’
     
    ‘And who might be?’
     
    ‘Come back at night, any night, and she’ll be right over there.’ Samuel offered a gummy smile and pointed to a table next to the counter. ‘Buy her a few kill-devils, and she’ll tell you anything you ask.’
     

FIVE
     
    It was late by the time the hackney cab dropped Pyke outside his uncle’s apartment in Camden Town. Felix would be fast asleep by now, and as he banged on the door, Pyke wondered whether he had planned it this way or not. It was true that he was slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t tried harder to win over his son, but it was also true that he didn’t exactly know how to do this; whether to give the lad a few days to get over the sight of him taking Maginn apart or to grasp this nettle as soon as possible. In the end, he’d dithered and done neither.
     
    It was Jo, rather than Godfrey, who opened the door, and as she led the way to the front room, she explained that Godfrey was dining out. She had been sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace and an open book rested on one of the arms. Hurriedly she closed it and tried to hide it under the chair but Pyke had already recognised its leather cover. He didn’t say anything, though, at least not straight away. Instead,