Constant Lovers

by Chris Nickson

  ‘No,’ he said, then spread his hands. ‘But I stay out of that.’ He paused. ‘You should have a word with Bessie Hardcastle. She always knows what’s going on.’

  ‘Aye, that’s a good idea. Always one to collect gossip, is Bessie. Thank you, Joe. Just make sure you watch yourself.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Mr Sedgwick.’

  Back outside, the deputy looked at Lister. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. What does he do?’ Rob wondered.

  ‘Joe? He handles stolen goods, a lot of them. I know he looks like a molly, him and that servant, but don’t be fooled. He’s a tough man under it all.’

  ‘Who’s Bessie Hardcastle?’

  ‘An abbess,’ Sedgwick said, and grinned at Lister’s confusion. ‘A bawd, she runs a brothel. Been doing it since God was a lad. Half the time I think she hears about things before they happen. I should have thought of her before. It’ll still be early for her, mind. The lark’s her nightingale.’

  The house stood on Vicar Lane, just down from the corner of the Head Row. It was a nondescript place, with nothing to mark it out, fitting tidily between its neighbours. The deputy knocked lightly on the door and stood back, staring at the upper storeys where shutters were closed tightly behind the glass.

  Finally the maid answered, a girl who would have looked demure except for the saucy twinkle in her eyes. She showed them through to a parlour hung with the fug of old smoke and stale beer.

  ‘Are they all like this?’ Lister asked, gazing around.

  ‘All what?’

  ‘Brothels.’

  ‘You mean you’ve never been in one?’

  ‘No,’ Rob admitted with a deep blush.

  Sedgwick laughed. ‘Well, there’s all sorts. This one’s respectable, looks like any other house and there’s plenty of decorum.’ He indicated the good furniture and the painting hung over the mantle. ‘This is where the merchants and the men from the Corporation come. It seems like home. They feel comfortable here.’

  Before he could say more a woman bustled into the room, still adjusting a cap over her hair. She was in her forties, hard hawk-faced, her skin still puff y from sleep.

  ‘The girl said it was you, Mr Sedgwick. What can I do for you so early?’

  ‘Hello, Fanny,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Business good? I was hoping for a word with your mam.’

  ‘She’s still sleeping,’ the woman told him. ‘She’s been poorly lately, she doesn’t do as much as she used to.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. How old is she now?’

  ‘Seventy-eight, as close as we can reckon,’ Fanny Hardcastle said with pride. ‘Remembers everything, too, even Charles coming back after Cromwell.’

  ‘So are you looking after things at the moment?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And getting the same gossip as her?’

  The woman sniffed and stood straighter. ‘I’d better be or I’ll want to know why.’

  ‘What’s happening between Amos Worthy and Edward Hughes?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘I thought it was all over everywhere by now.’

  ‘If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, would I?’ the deputy asked patiently. ‘They’ve been at it a bit, but I mean in the last couple of days.’

  ‘Well,’ she began slowly, ‘yesterday evening someone told me that Hughes has threatened to kill old Amos.’

  ‘You think it’s true?’

  She nodded. ‘The man who told me has always been right before. Why are you asking?’

  ‘Just that Worthy’s hired someone new and he’s keeping his men very close.’

  ‘That’s not like him. Amos has never been the worrying sort.’

  ‘Aye, I know,’ Sedgwick agreed. ‘He must be taking it seriously.’

  ‘It’s going to come to a head soon, that’s what I heard.’ She looked at the deputy. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen,’ he told her and she raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  ‘You’re going to keep Amos Worthy from a fight?’

  ‘If it comes to that, yes.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ she said. ‘Now, gentlemen, if there’s nothing more . . .?’

  ‘Give my best to your mam. I hope she’s well soon.’

  Back out on Vicar Lane the deputy led them to the White Swan and they sat with mugs of ale.

  ‘Are we going to stop them?’ Lister asked.

  ‘I’m trying to work that out,’ Sedgwick said with a deep sigh. ‘The problem is Fanny’s right. If the pair of them are really set on a scrap we’ll be hard pressed to keep them apart.’

  ‘Worthy’s been a pimp for a long time?’

  ‘Yes.’ The deputy took a long drink.

  ‘But Hughes is new here? He could be the weak link,’ Rob said thoughtfully.

  Sedgwick looked at him. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He won’t be sure of his ground here yet.’

  ‘He’s cocky enough to challenge Worthy.’

  ‘Yes, but what if the city pushed back hard at him?’

  ‘It won’t work. The boss and I were already there. It didn’t seem to do much good.’

  ‘That was talk. What if it was more than just a word?’ Lister suggested. ‘Make sure he knows exactly where he stands.’

  Sedgwick gazed down into his mug, swirling the dregs.

  ‘I suppose it’s worth a try,’ he decided finally. He drained the ale and stood up. ‘Well, are you coming?’

  They strode down to the Calls, stepping between puddles of waste in the street as the deputy glanced among the broken, dilapidated houses.

  Finally he banged on a door that looked the same as all the others on the street. The girl who opened it looked barely fourteen, her face still young and unlined but eyes deep and full of sad experience.

  ‘Hello, love,’ the deputy said kindly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, sir,’ she replied, confused by the question, and tried to sketch a brief curtsey.

  ‘Is Mr Hughes around?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Tell him the deputy constable wants a word, will you? There’s a good lass.’ He gave her a warm smile.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  She closed the door again and they heard her footsteps. Sedgwick shook his head sadly. ‘Poor girl has probably never had a kind word spoken to her in her life.’

  ‘Was that why you did it?’

  The deputy laughed. ‘Always be nice to people until they give you a reason not to be. That’s what my father told me. He was right, too. She’s done nowt, there’s no need to treat her anything but politely.’

  Lister looked at him with curiosity and respect. ‘And her pimp?’

  Sedgwick grinned. ‘Wait and see.’

  When the door opened again, Hughes was standing there, drinking from a chipped mug, dressed in an old, darned shirt, his stock loose, breeches and stockings stained. The deputy watched him carefully, seeing the way he tried to mask the anger in his eyes.

  ‘It’s early,’ Hughes complained, running a hand over his shaved scalp. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just another word,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘Here or inside?’

  The man shrugged and led them into the house and through to the kitchen, as slatternly kept as the parlour. Dishes sat on the table caked in dried food, hosts of flies buzzing as they fed on them. Scraps littered the floor, rotting and slimy underfoot, and runnels of damp bloomed mould on the walls. God help the coroner if there was ever a dead body here, the deputy thought. The poor bugger would choke.

  ‘You like your luxury, don’t you?’ he asked, gazing around. Hughes looked blankly, missing the irony. ‘Planning a run in with Amos Worthy, are you, Edward?’

  The man spat on the floor. ‘You can call me Mr Hughes if you want to ask me any questions.’

  ‘Can I?’ Sedgwick said. ‘That’s very generous of you, Edward
.’

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

  ‘Aye, we’ve had some words,’ Hughes admitted finally.

  ‘People are saying you’ve threatened to kill him.’

  Hughes laughed, showing discoloured teeth. ‘That’s what they’re saying, is it?’

  ‘It is.’ The deputy’s voice was hard and dangerous. ‘And the people who told me don’t lie.’

  ‘So what if I did say that?’

  Sedgwick shook his head slowly. ‘Threatening murder. That’s a serious business.’

  Hughes snorted. ‘He’s been warned, that’s all.’ He began to raise the mug to his mouth. The deputy reached out calmly and in a single, flowing move snatched it from his hand and threw it against the wall.

  ‘So have you. You’ve been warned twice now. Edward.’

  Hughes crossed his arms over his chest. ‘So he’s paying you off as well as your master, is he?’

  In a swift moment Sedgwick had him pinned against the wall, a forearm tight across the man’s throat.

  ‘Don’t you ever suggest that,’ he said coldly. ‘Ever. You got that?’

  Slowly he applied more pressure, staring at Hughes as the man’s face reddened, increasing the force until the man nodded his understanding. Sedgwick moved back, leaving Hughes to rub his throat. ‘I don’t care what you were thinking, Edward,’ he told him. ‘It’s over. Do you finally get that?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered in a croak.

  ‘Run your whores like a good boy, no one’s going to quibble about that. We already told you, didn’t we?’

  Glaring, humiliated, Hughes croaked agreement.

  ‘If you want to go beyond that, find somewhere else to do it. Next time I come back here it won’t just be for a friendly word. You’ve had your second warning now and it’s your last.’

  The deputy turned on his heel, gesturing at Lister to follow him. He slammed the door loudly, pushed a hand through his thick, wiry hair and said, ‘I need another drink after that. Christ, that place smelled foul.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ Rob asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sedgwick sighed loudly as they walked up Call Lane, back towards Kirkgate. ‘Maybe for a day or two. He thinks he’s a tough one, does that lad. He reckons Worthy might be weak so he’s going after him. But he’ll get a shock it if really comes down to it.’

  ‘Worthy’s still strong, then?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Have you ever met him?’

  Lister shook his head.

  ‘He must be well over sixty by now, but he’s still big. I wouldn’t want to go up against him. Got a temper on him, too. Hughes wouldn’t stand a chance. The boss hates him, but he seems to like him, too. It’s strange; doesn’t make any sense to me.’ He pushed open the door of the White Swan once more and sat on an empty bench in the corner. ‘You can get them,’ he told Rob.

  Twenty

  The Constable nudged the horse into a canter, holding tight on the reins as he jounced up and down in the saddle. He wondered grimly what the deputy had found and hoped against hope that Hughes and Worthy wouldn’t collide. He needed to be out here, on his way to Horsforth, but he needed to be back in the city, too, taking care of his business there.

  He’d made good time, but felt his legs tremble as he dismounted, the animal snickering with the pleasure of the exertion as he turned it over to the stable boy. Well before he could reach the door, Samuel Godlove was coming out to him, dressed in his country clothes, once again a suit of sturdy brown cloth, woollen stockings rather than hose, his head bare, and worn, scuffed, working boots on his feet.

  ‘Mr Nottingham.’ He extended his hand and the Constable took it, seeing no sign of guile and deception in the man’s sad eyes. ‘Please tell me you have some news.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he apologized. ‘I’m sorry, I know you need answers, but I do have a few more questions.’

  Godlove’s face clouded momentarily but he said, ‘Yes, of course, of course. I need to check a few things, would you mind walking with me?’

  Nottingham agreed and the pair set off together.

  ‘You went to Bradford that last time your wife left to see her parents.’

  ‘Yes,’ Godlove answered, sounding a little surprised. ‘That’s hardly a secret. I have some friends over there. I go and see them often.’

  ‘Might I ask who?’

  ‘Charles Deane and his wife. He trades in wool there; I’ve known him since we were boys.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘Are you trying to suggest something?’

  ‘Not at all.’ The Constable smiled reassuringly. ‘I just need to know where you were.’

  ‘I stayed there overnight,’ Godlove offered. ‘I do that regularly, have done for years. We played cards and drank quite a bit. I had some business out towards Halifax the next day and then I came home.’

  ‘Quite late?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was,’ he answered slowly. ‘I never thought about it. I didn’t imagine I’d have anyone asking me questions on what I’d done.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Nottingham paused, changing the topic warily. ‘Tell me, did you know your wife went into Leeds every week?’

  ‘Leeds?’ he said in astonishment. ‘She went there sometimes, to see a dressmaker or buy things, and we’d go to the assemblies on occasion, but it certainly wasn’t every week.’

  ‘She and her maid went out one day each week.’

  ‘Yes. I told you that before.’

  ‘That’s when she went into the city.’

  Godlove was silent for a long time.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said eventually, his confusion evident. ‘She always told me she could only tolerate Leeds in small amounts.’

  ‘I can assure you, she went there every week,’ the Constable said again. ‘We have proof of it.’

  The man raised questioning eyes. ‘But why would she go there?’

  This would be the test, he thought, to see how Godlove reacted when he heard. So far he seemed perfectly honest, his sorrow completely believable. God knew he didn’t want to have to say it; if the man was innocent it would break his heart. But there was no other way.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘She had a lover there.’

  He watched carefully, studying the man’s face. For a moment Godlove was completely still, as if the world had stopped, and then his mouth started to move, but no words came out. If this was acting, Nottingham decided, he was the best player in England.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally, his voice stretched tight with hope. ‘She had everything she could want here.’

  Except the man she really loved, the Constable thought. And that was worth more to her than an estate.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I really am, but it’s true.’

  It had only taken a few seconds, but whatever life and fire had remained in Godlove had evaporated. For all his wealth and stature, all his lands and goods, he looked as empty and broken as a beggar on the road.

  ‘Who was he?’ he asked bleakly.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘He killed himself,’ was all the Constable would say.

  ‘Did he kill her?’ He heard faint hope in Godlove’s question.

  ‘No, I’m almost certain he didn’t.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  Nottingham shook his head.

  ‘What was his name?’ The question came out like a desperate plea. ‘Please, you’ve just told me that my wife had a lover and you won’t tell me who he was.’

  The Constable hesitated for a moment; perhaps the man had a right to know, and the knowledge could do no more harm.

  ‘He was called Will Jackson. He was part-owner of a cloth finisher.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘He was young.’

  Godlove nodded once, as if this was the answer he expected.

  ‘When did they meet?’ he asked.

  He didn’t really want to know, Nottingham
understood that. It would simply be salt placed on a gaping wound. But at the same time he had to, needed to. Not knowing, to wonder always, would be even worse. And he’d been cruelly deceived, he had a right to the truth, at least some of it. Some things were better kept in the dark of the grave.

  ‘It was before you knew her,’ he said gently. The man opened his mouth but the Constable held up his hand. ‘She stopped seeing him for a while. I don’t know how or when it all began again.’

  ‘They met every week? You’re sure?’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  ‘Did he love her?’

  In the man’s position he’d have asked the same question, needing the answer however much pain it caused.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, without any doubt. Jackson had killed himself because he couldn’t have her.

  Godlove sighed, running his hands through his hair over and over, as if he didn’t know what else to do. He seemed to grow smaller and smaller before the Constable, as if a breeze might eventually lift him and carry him away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nottingham said. He reached out to touch the other man on the arm but Godlove pulled back, turning his face so that he wouldn’t have to show the tears in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t kill her.’ His voice was quiet. ‘I couldn’t. I loved her.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Can you go now? Please.’

  The Constable left the man in the field and walked away. At the stable he collected the horse. When he reached the end of the drive he glanced back to see that Godlove hadn’t moved. At times he hated this job. He’d broken a good man whose only fault was to love a faithless girl.

  And even then, the blame wasn’t all hers, he thought. If her parents hadn’t been so greedy for money she could have had the man she loved. He wasn’t sure which of the pair had more of his sympathy. There was no beauty in any of the love he’d seen here, just pain, hopelessness and death.

  The bachelor who’d bought his bride was alone again, everything he’d believed about his wife shattered, the other two were dead. There were no happy endings, only dark ever afters.

  Nottingham was still brooding after he’d reached Leeds and stabled the animal. He pushed his way through the crowded streets, glancing quickly at Worthy’s door as he passed and made his way to the jail.