Bloody Winter: A Pyke Mystery by Andrew Pepper

with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Wylde did it to her in the street, in broad daylight, in view of a hundred witnesses. I suppose that was the point. To humiliate her publicly and show off his power.’
    Pyke waited for the woman to serve him his ale and left a few coins on the counter to pay for it. ‘I take it Wylde was never prosecuted,’ he said, turning back to Flint.
    The Chartist nodded vigorously. Before he could respond, Pyke added, ‘I also heard Wylde and some of his men were responsible for breaking the strike at Caedraw a few years ago.’
    Flint glanced nervously at the other drinkers. ‘I wasn’t there but I’m told there were forty of ’em, armed to the teeth with picks, coshes, machetes, brickbats, knives, whatever they could lay their hands on. Bobbies didn’t lift a finger.’
    ‘And now Wylde can do as he likes?’
    ‘As long as he does as he’s told.’ Flint lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Now, every time we have a meeting, and word gets back to the Hancocks, Wylde and his bullies show up and try to put a stop to it.’
    ‘It can’t make Jonah Hancock a popular man in these parts.’
    Flint shook his head. ‘Actually he
is
popular at the moment.Wages have never been higher and jobs are plentiful. Merthyr’s booming and there’s no appetite for a strike.’
    ‘But among certain people – let’s say those hurt by Wylde or one of his men – there must be some desire for retribution.’
    ‘
Retribution
?’ Flint shuffled a little closer to him. ‘Let me explain something to you. We might complain bitterly about men like Hancock and Josiah Webb, promise to bring them to their knees, but if they were to walk in here right now, you wouldn’t hear a single word of dissent. You have no idea of the power they wield over us.’
    Pyke thought about what he’d been told and decided to push Flint a little harder. ‘So what if I were to tell you that someone has committed a crime against the Hancock family?’
    Flint’s expression became suspicious and his body stiffened. ‘You’re not a journalist, are you?’
    ‘I’m a police detective from London,’ Pyke whispered. ‘I just want to know whether anyone
you
know has decided to take matters into their own hands.’
    Flint’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t think I should say anything else to you, at least not in here.’ His bloodshot eyes glittered in the gaslight.
    He followed Pyke outside. ‘So have the Hancocks actually accused us of something?’ Flint sounded both angry and curious.
    Pyke looked around and wondered whether Johns had seen them leave.
    ‘If he has,’ Flint said, ‘ask yourself one thing: how does it serve his own ends? That’s the only thing that matters to men like Hancock. Because whatever he claims we’ve done, he’ll use it as an excuse to come after us.’
    Pyke considered this. ‘I want to talk to someone who was there at the works during the strike. Someone who’s still there. Someone on your side.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I want to know what’s going on at the ironworks. What the mood of the workers is right now.’
    Flint considered the request. ‘John Evans. He was a furnace-man; now he’s training to be a puddler. If you put a straight question to him, he’ll give you a straight answer.’
    Pyke watched as Flint stumbled back into the taproom then went to join Johns, who had appeared from another door.
    ‘Well?’ Johns fell in next to him and they walked a few yards in silence.
    ‘Jonah Hancock isn’t the most popular figure in the Three Horse Shoes. Nor is John Wylde. But I’m pretty sure Flint didn’t know anything about the Hancock boy.’ Pyke let a drunken reveller barge past them. ‘Isn’t it about time you told me how you know about the kidnapping?’
    Johns looked directly at him and said, ‘Cathy Hancock is a friend of mine.’
    Pyke tried to cover his surprise but he didn’t do a good job of it. The fact that Johns would openly describe Cathy as his friend seemed – given their