Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

  ‘The fire at New Station …’ the inspector began.

  Maguire raised an eyebrow. ‘Arson?’

  ‘No. We don’t think so. There were two bodies there.’

  ‘The fireman.’ He nodded grimly.

  ‘There was also a woman,’ Harper continued. ‘That one is police business.’

  ‘And what does it have to do with me, Inspector?’ Maguire asked calmly.

  ‘Her name was Catherine Carr. She was a suffragist. Someone killed her.’

  ‘I see,’ he replied slowly. ‘So you think I might know her?’

  ‘It’s worth a shot,’ Harper admitted.

  Maguire gave a quick smile. ‘Much as it may surprise you, I don’t know everyone with political sympathies in Leeds, Inspector. If she was a suffragist, you need to talk to Miss Ford. Murdered?’ He pursed his lips. ‘Terrible business. But have a word with Isabella. If anyone knows, she will. She lives in Adel.’ He gave a sly smile. ‘Or you could start closer to home.’

  ‘What did he mean?’ Reed asked testily as they walked back along the street. There was enough of a breeze to cut the heat, and off to the west, the hint of clouds on the horizon.

  ‘Annabelle. She’s become a suffragist.’

  ‘That’s right. Elizabeth said something about it. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘He has a point, though. And it’s closer than Adel.’ They started out along Regent Street. ‘Let’s see what she knows.’

  Annabelle was leaning against the bar, chattering away with two men from the chemical works up the road when they walked into the Victoria. She said something, then came around, taking Reed’s hands in hers.

  ‘I’ve not seen you in far too long, Billy,’ she told him, beaming. ‘We’ve missed you, luv.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He blushed a little.

  ‘The way your Elizabeth goes on about all the things you’ve been doing with the brigade, I’m surprised your head still fits through that door.’ She winked at him. ‘I mean it. It really is lovely to see you again. I hope this one’s treating you well.’

  ‘I’m going to work him to the bone while I have him,’ Harper told her with a smile. ‘We need to have a talk.’

  ‘With me?’ She looked at him, confused. ‘Dan’s just down in the cellar, I’ll give him a shout. Go on up, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘Is someone hurt?’

  The sergeant looked at Harper.

  ‘That fire at New Station.’

  ‘What about it?’ Annabelle said, her gaze moving from one man to the other. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There were two people who died, a man and a woman.’

  ‘I know about the fireman.’ Annabelle stared at Reed.

  ‘The other was a woman,’ Harper continued. ‘She’d been murdered. I think you might have known her.’

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘Murdered? Me? Why?’

  ‘She was a suffragist. A lady called Catherine Carr.’

  ‘Catherine?’ She frowned, searching her memory. Then her gaze cleared. ‘Katie? Katie Carr? Oh God. But …’ Her voice trailed away, and she scrabbled in the sleeve of her dress for a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes as he put his arms around her and drew her close.

  ‘It’s always different when you know someone,’ Harper told her gently.

  ‘It can’t be. I only saw her last week. She was murdered?’

  ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Not well,’ Annabelle answered after a few moments. ‘We chatted a few times, that’s all. But she was lovely, always ready to help. You know, do things.’

  ‘Did she ever talk about herself?’ he asked.

  ‘No. She worked in a shop on Briggate, I remember that.’ Harper looked at Reed and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. ‘Mostly it was this and that. Talking about who was going to speak. Things like that. She always seemed to be at the meetings.’

  ‘Did she say exactly where she worked?’

  ‘No.’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I remember her clothes looked very smart for a shopgirl, though. Why?’

  He told her what they knew: about Catherine Carr’s marriage, the way she’d changed. But nothing about the way her body looked when they found her, the skin with its metal shine.

  ‘What we really need is to find out about where she’s been in the last few months,’ the inspector finished. ‘Where she lived.’

  ‘She never told me any of that,’ Annabelle said flatly. ‘It’s strange, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, think about it, Tom. She was a servant, married the man she worked for.’

  ‘Yes.’ The similarities in the two lives, Annabelle’s and Catherine’s.

  ‘If I’d known …’

  ‘You didn’t, though,’ he said gently. ‘I’d better go and see Miss Ford.’ He turned to Reed. ‘Find Ash. Go through the shops on Briggate. I’m off to Adel. We’ll compare notes in the morning.’

  ‘There must be dozens of shops along there. Why don’t we wait until we have more information?’ The sergeant stared. ‘It’ll stop us wasting our time.’

  ‘Just make a start. We might get lucky.’ They locked eyes for a moment.

  ‘Billy,’ Annabelle called as the sergeant walked away, ‘I mean it. It really is lovely to see you again. You’d better not be a stranger here.’

  He seemed about to speak then gave a quick, embarrassed nod before leaving.

  ‘He doesn’t look happy to be back,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll rub along. He’s good at his job.’

  ‘Are you going to see Miss Ford now?

  ‘I’d like to come out there with you, Tom.’ When he hesitated, she continued, ‘It might help. She knows me a little. I go to the meetings, I’ve talked to her. And I liked Katie.’

  He’d considered it on the way to the Victoria. Did he want Annabelle involved? Miss Ford might be more willing to talk with a woman around, a sympathetic face she knew.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll need a hackney.’

  ‘Just give me five minutes to change. Charlie Waterhouse is down in the bar, he’ll be able to whistle one up for us.’

  Five minutes became ten before she emerged from the bedroom in a lemon-yellow gown, the silk rustling as she moved across the floor, a bonnet tied under her chin with primrose coloured cotton.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Annabelle was quiet and grim-faced in the cab, lost in her thoughts. They’d been out to Adel the year before, just after their wedding, a summer’s afternoon promenading and scrambling over the crags, finishing with a bite to eat at Verity’s Tea Rooms. He remembered the laughter and the joy: very different from today’s journey.

  The houses became scattered, giving way to fields and farms, although they were no more than a few miles outside Leeds. The sky was clear blue, the air smelt clean and clear. Fresh.

  ‘What about this husband of hers?’ Annabelle asked finally as the carriage wound along a lane. ‘Maybe he killed her.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Harper said. ‘But I need to know a lot more first.’

  She looked ready to say something, then gave a tight shake of her head and remained silent for the rest of the journey. The house was as grand as anything he’d ever seen, the sun shining brilliantly on the stained glass by the entry. He knocked on the door. When the maid answered, he announced himself.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper, Leeds Police. I’d like to talk to Miss Isabella Ford, if I may.’ When the woman’s eyes glanced at Annabelle, he added, ‘This is my wife. Miss Ford knows her.’

  She escorted them to a shaded parlour that overlooked a long back garden. A moment later Isabella Ford appeared. She radiated energy, her long hair gathered in a loose braid. Good clothes, but plain. An earnest woman, he thought. What he’d expect from someone who effectively ran the Leeds Women’s Suffrage Society.

  She beamed at Annabelle. ‘Mrs Harper. Well, this is a lovely surprise.’
As she caught their expressions, her smile turned to a frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I believe you know Catherine Carr?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Of course I do … Inspector, is that right?’ There was confusion in her eyes. ‘I’m sure your wife told you that.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he began, ‘but I have to tell you that she’s dead.’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘But …?’ Miss Ford took a breath and gathered herself. ‘How?’

  ‘The night of the fire at New Station. We found her under the platform, in the Arches.’ He hesitated. ‘She’d been murdered.’ He felt Annabelle’s hand reach out for his and hold it lightly.

  ‘I …’ Miss Ford began to pace around the room, hand fid-geting. ‘But … Katie …’ She gathered herself. ‘Do you know who did it?’

  ‘No,’ Harper replied. ‘That’s why I’m here. I need to find out more about her. I’m hoping you can help me.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course. If I can, I will.’ She tugged on a bell pull by the empty grate and waited until the servant arrived. ‘Hettie, do you think you could make us some tea, please? I think we all need some.’

  ‘Of course,’ the woman answered. ‘Are you all right, Miss Ford? You’ve gone all pale.’

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. Thank you.’

  By the time she was passing around the cups, Isabella Ford seemed in control of herself again.

  ‘Can you tell me how she died, Mr Harper?’ Her voice was even and she looked him in the eye as she spoke. When he didn’t reply, she said, ‘You’d tell a man, wouldn’t you? I’m an adult, my sensibilities aren’t any more delicate than a man’s. Katie was a friend. I’d like the truth, please.’

  ‘She was stabbed,’ the inspector replied.

  ‘I see.’ She stirred her tea, gazing into the liquid for a moment. ‘Since you know her name, I assume you’ve already found out a few things about her.’

  ‘Only a few. We know about her marriage, that she became a suffragist and left. That’s all I have. I need details.’

  She was silent for a moment, then, ‘Let me ask you something. Do you think her husband murdered her?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. As I told my wife, I need to know a lot more about Mrs Carr first.’

  ‘Do you know he humiliated and beat her?’ Miss Ford stared at him. He felt Annabelle’s grip tighten briefly on his hand.

  ‘Yes. Her maid told us.’

  ‘At first he was loving, then after they married he became more demanding. That’s what Katie told me.’ Her voice was so low that he had to strain to make out the words. ‘He’d call her all the names under the sun and beat her when he’d had a few drinks.’

  It confirmed what they’d been told. No woman was safe with the wrong man.

  ‘When she started coming to meetings, she was very shy. Very nervous,’ Isabella Ford continued. ‘I talked to her and tried to put her at ease.’

  ‘She became a believer?’

  ‘An ardent one, Mr Harper. Katie was a convert, and I was glad to have her. She told me she needed to leave her husband. She was scared things would grow worse. I promised that I’d help her find a job and somewhere to live.’ Miss Ford held up a finger. ‘I know, you need that information. I’ll give it to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Tell me, Mr Harper, do you have the vote?’ she asked. The question seemed to come from nowhere.

  ‘Of course not.’ But she’d know that already.

  ‘Do you believe women should be able to cast a ballot?’

  He could feel Annabelle watching him.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘You, me, all of us.’

  Miss Ford smiled. ‘Your wife said you were sympathetic. And I’ve heard your name from Tom Maguire.’

  ‘Then why ask?’ He felt as if he was being tested, and he didn’t understand why.

  ‘Because I wanted to be sure.’

  ‘He might be a copper,’ Annabelle said, ‘but don’t let that fool you.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t.’ She turned to him. ‘And believe me, Inspector, I’ll do all I can to assist you.’

  ‘I need to know everything you can tell me about Mrs Carr.’

  ‘Of course.’ Isabella Ford took a sip of the tea and began the tale. Katie Carr had attended meetings regularly, even when she was with her husband. It seemed as if the suffragist cause had helped her find the strength to leave. And when she’d finally done it, Miss Ford had done as she promised: she’d found the woman a position with Miss Worthy, a milliner with a shop on Briggate. There was also a room in a boarding house in Sheepscar, on Tramway Street, run by another Quaker, Mrs Timothy. On her own, Catherine Carr had seemed to divide her life between work and the movement, attending every meeting she could and volunteering for all manner of jobs.

  ‘Are there ever problems at the meetings?’ he asked. ‘Any violence?’

  ‘We’re women wanting change, Mr Harper,’ Miss Ford replied coolly. ‘What do you think? Mr Maguire always makes sure there are a couple of union men available to stop any trouble.’

  ‘Have any of you ever been assaulted?’ From the corner of his eye he caught Annabelle’s face, tight and guarded.

  Isabella Ford gave a thin smile. ‘I’ve been insulted to my face, I’ve had pieces of fruit thrown at me outside meetings. Men gather there and wait for us. We run the gauntlet. Stared at mostly, with hatred and fear. Pushed a bit as we walk along the pavement sometimes. Your wife knows. We’ve all experienced it.’

  He looked at Annabelle. Her face gave nothing away. Someone could have followed Catherine Carr and killed her. He thought for a moment.

  ‘What about the police? Where were they?’

  Isabella Ford raised an eyebrow. ‘Conspicuous by their absence, Inspector. Or if a constable does come by, he stands back and simply watches.’

  ‘I see.’ He felt ashamed. That wasn’t the police force he believed in. He could apologize, but that wouldn’t help. ‘Tell me, did Catherine have someone? A man?’

  ‘A lover, you mean?’ Miss Ford replied. ‘She never mentioned one to me.’

  ‘She didn’t have that glow,’ Annabelle added. ‘You know, when you’re happy like that.’

  He nodded. ‘What about friends? She must have had some.’

  ‘When she was married, the wives looked down on her because she’d been a servant, and the servants resented her because she was their mistress.’ Miss Ford shrugged. ‘I suspect Katie had felt isolated for a long time. She’d learned to keep herself to herself, Inspector. She didn’t trust easily.’

  They talked longer, but for now there was little more to learn. But he had places to begin. That was something.

  On the way out, Annabelle stopped to admire a painting in the hallway.

  ‘My sister,’ Isabella Ford said proudly. ‘She’s an artist, a very good one, too. She’s in London at the moment.’

  The casual way she said it, and all the trappings around them, elegant things, good furniture, reminded him that she was a wealthy woman with no need to work for a living. But she was the one who’d organized the mill girls when they went on strike. She believed in things. She was strong.

  Her carriage took them back to town. In the distance, he could see the pall of smoke hanging over Leeds. The place would be sticky, stinking, uninviting after the calm breeze and clean air here. But it was home.

  ‘You never told me about the problems at meetings,’ he said as the coach sped through Adel.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ She set her mouth firmly. ‘And I can look after myself. You know me, I’m not going to take any guff.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘No buts,’ Annabelle told him. ‘Honestly, I’ve thrown worse than them out of the pub. If they think they can scare me, they’ve another think coming. They’re the ones who are scared, Tom. They’re petrified of women.’

  ‘One of them could have killed Catherine Carr. Remember that.’

  They were silent until the coach
was jouncing down the Harrogate Road.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Annabelle began.

  ‘Go on.’

  She took a breath. ‘I know this is your case, but I could ask around at meetings and see who knew Katie. You know, what they have to say about her. Would that help? Only they’re used to me, Tom, they’d be more likely to talk.’

  It made perfect sense. He was the police. The force had done nothing to protect these women. Why should any of them trust him?

  ‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ he answered, and she smiled widely. ‘I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘That rooming house where she was living, it’s only a stone’s throw from us. I didn’t even know. She could have come over, had supper with us one night.’ Annabelle shook her head. ‘All she had to do was say.’

  He drew out his pocket watch as the carriage approached the Victoria. It had gone six, the evening stretching ahead. He was tempted to let the day go. But there was work waiting. Once Annabelle was inside the public house, he told the driver to go on to Millgarth.

  There were notes piled on his desk. He’d put out the word to all the divisions about the dead baby at the Post Office, for the beat bobbies to ask for any word about pregnant women who’d vanished, and to check with doctors about anyone who’d come looking for treatment after giving birth.

  He tossed most of them aside. A few needed investigation. There was one close by, just on Quarry Hill. It was no more than two minutes away.

  The house was in a ragged court hidden away from St Peter’s Square. The type of place where the sun never penetrated and hope never grew. A midden over by a crumbling brick wall, flies buzzing noisily around it. No gas lamps, no cobbles, just packed earth that would be mud as soon as it rained.

  Harper knocked on the door. No answer. He stood back, glancing around. But round here doors were closed against the police. He’d get little help.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’

  The voice startled him. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. His bloody hearing had let him down again.

  ‘Barbara Waite,’ he replied.