Harper left Millgarth and stopped at the café by the market for his dinner. As he ate, he searched through the Post until he found the article he wanted. Ships were still searching for a missing French ship, the Vincennes. It had been due to dock more than a week before in Brest, sailing from New York. Hope had almost faded, he read, as no one would be able to survive the January waters of the Atlantic.
Three days earlier, the morning the story broke, he’d received a letter at the station, simply addressed to Inspector Harper, Leeds Police, Millgarth, Leeds, England. He didn’t know the handwriting and the stamp was unfamiliar. He’d torn it open and pulled out a thin sheet of paper. The words had been scrawled quickly and it took him a little while to decipher them.
Dear Tom,
Today I go home! I feel as if I’ve been gone for months, and this New York is colder than Leeds. I didn’t expect any success here, I was prepared to fail, but I think I’ve worked out what happened to Msr Le Prince! Hard to believe, no? I’ll tell my superiors when I return and let them take care of the rest. Me, I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed, with my wife, and to go back to solving real crime again – did you find your murderer?
Now I must go and buy that dress for my wife. There are so many shops here – how is a man supposed to choose? The Vincennes sails this afternoon and for once I’ll be glad to put to sea.
Thank you again for your help and hospitality, my friend.
Bertrand Muyrère
He took it from his pocket and read it through again, although he felt as if he knew every word by heart. He’d told Annabelle and held her close as she cried. She’d liked the Frenchman. He had, too. A good copper who deserved a long life, not a grave in the ocean, with his wife and children bereft. It was a reminder that the thread of life was fragile; it could break so easily. And it sounded as though his discovery had vanished with him.
He finished the food and pulled the watch from his waistcoat. Almost noon. He crossed St Peter’s Square, passed the gasworks and on to Beckett Street. He had a rhythm in his stride and a smile on his face. His hearing had finally returned the day after he arrested Alfred; touch wood, it hadn’t gone again since.
It wasn’t far to walk. Out beyond the House of Recovery, before the workhouse and the cemetery, on the corner of St Agnes Grove. He stopped a few yards away to admire the place. The windows gleamed, the green paint stood out bold and fresh, the letters in gold: Harper, Bakers. A board outside advertised Grand Opening. Fresh Bread, Cakes and Fancies. At least there was some joy today. It was Annabelle’s new shop, and he was proud of her.
Inside, a pair of women were working busily, cutting bread and making sandwiches for the workers who wanted them for their dinner. Elizabeth was serving a customer, placing a large loaf next to the pikelets and a pair of small pastries for tea on the counter, while Annabelle wrote out the receipt and took the money, checking the coins before putting them in the drawer. The shelves were mostly empty, so much already sold during the morning. The bell tinkled as the woman left with her purchases and Annabelle turned to him with a grin. She was dressed exactly like the rest of the staff, a simple black dress with a long white apron and small cap. No one would have guessed she was the owner.
He’d suggested she wear her best gown, the silk whose reds and blues shimmered together like liquid. She looked at him and shook her head.
‘They don’t want to see someone who looks like Lady Muck queening over it all. I want to bring them in, Tom, not scare them off. I’ll dress just like the others and work.’
The new black and white tiles on the floor were dirty with footprints, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread.
‘Business good?’ he asked.
‘Better than I’d hoped,’ Annabelle told him with a nod. ‘And we’ve hardly started.’ She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her face. ‘Come here and give me a kiss.’
He leaned across the counter and put his lips against hers. ‘You’ve done a grand job. It looks wonderful.’
‘You’d better tell Elizabeth that, then. She’s the one who had most of the ideas.’ He turned and the woman lowered her head as she blushed. ‘If it carries on like this it’s going to be a little gold-mine. Do you know what she suggested this morning? Come three o’clock we start lowering the price on stock so we sell out before closing. That way there won’t be anything sitting overnight and we won’t waste anything.’ She turned to one of the women. ‘Abby, why don’t you put the kettle on, there’s a love. We could all do with a brew. You want one, Tom?’
‘I can’t stop. I just wanted to be sure it had started well.’
She smiled. ‘We’ve been run off our feet. Can’t ask for better than that.’
‘Has Billy been in?’ the inspector asked Elizabeth.
‘First thing. He should be at home.’
‘I’ll pop by and say hello while I’m up here.’ He kissed Annabelle again. ‘We can go out tonight and celebrate if you like.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘Where did you have in mind?’
‘Powlony’s.’
Her mouth made an O. ‘Pushing out the boat, aren’t you?’
‘It’s not every day you open a new business.’ He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. ‘Just make sure you wear the red garters.’
There was a tiny square of garden in front of the house where the grass grew in tufts, plenty of earth showing through. He knocked on the door and waited, hearing slow footsteps and the tap of a walking stick.
‘Tom.’ Billy Reed had started to regain some of the weight he’d lost in hospital, but there was still a way to go. All the bruises had vanished, but his face was thin and his hands looked too big for his arms. ‘Come on in.’
They sat in the kitchen. The inspector could hear the voices of Elizabeth’s two youngest upstairs and raised his eyebrows.
‘Edward and Victoria. She has him playing house,’ Reed explained. ‘Better leaving them to it. I only get in the way.’ A few more months and they’d start school; Billy had told him that on his last visit. Emily was already there, and Annabelle had found a job for John, the older lad, over at the terracotta works, learning how to make tiles. ‘It was bedlam in the bakery earlier. Couldn’t move for women wanting to buy.’
‘Been busy all morning, they said. It looks like it’ll be a success.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Annabelle was singing Elizabeth’s praises.’
The sergeant smiled proudly. ‘She’s a worker, no doubt about that.’
‘How about you? Getting better?’
Reed shrugged. ‘Slowly.’
A week had passed since Harper had last been here. Billy was still limping, leaning heavily on the stick. He’d stayed long enough for a cup of tea then, the talk brief, polite and distant. The way it had been since that morning in the hospital.
The inspector had been in court when Reed gave his evidence in Phillip May’s trial. The sergeant had limped to the stand and sworn on the Bible. May’s barrister wasn’t a fool, not at the price he charged. He knew better than to call a policeman a liar. And the evidence was damning. On the stand, Billy named May as one of the men who attacked him on Woodhouse Moor. There was a sharp intake of breath at the evidence. Reed kept his eyes on Harper as he spoke, holding his gaze, no expression on his face.
The lawyer did the only thing he could, the only way he could try and plant the smallest seed of doubt.
‘Are you absolutely positive, Sergeant Reed?’
Billy’s eyes lingered on the inspector’s face, then he glanced away. ‘Yes. I am.’
‘You suffered a head injury in the attack, I believe.’
‘I did,’ he agreed. ‘But I remember what happened.’
The very best Phillip May could hope for was a long sentence. At worst, he’d hang. The word was that Councillor May was using all his influence, calling in favours, everything he could to stop a capital sentence. He’d already resigned from the Watch Committee. There were rumours he’d stand
down from the council soon.
Outside the courtroom, the inspector saw Rabbi Feldman. He was sitting on a bench, both hands resting on his stick, his face looking as old as Methuselah.
‘Did you come for the trial?’ Harper asked, but the rabbi simply shook his head.
‘I didn’t need to,’ Feldman replied. ‘It was over long before all this. It ended that night.’
‘May was behind it all.’
Feldman pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps he was. But he’s lost all the power he ever had. His father, too.’
‘What about the Golem?’ Harper had heard no more about them since Anderson’s death. They hadn’t been out on the streets.
‘Gone, Inspector.’ The rabbi raised a gloved hand and waved it in the air. ‘Vanished. Crumbled. There’s no need for the Golem now, is there?’
‘And in the future?’
Feldman managed a weak smile. ‘Who can tell that?’ Slowly, grimacing with pain, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘If you’re Jewish, you learn never to say never. Good day, Inspector.’
‘Has the doctor said when you can come back on duty?’ Harper asked, setting the empty cup on the kitchen table.
‘It’ll be a while yet,’ Reed answered quietly. ‘Once the leg’s mended properly.’
‘I’ll be glad to have you. Ash is good, but he’s not you.’ He smiled.
‘As soon as I can, Tom.’ There didn’t seem to be any pleasure in his words.
The sergeant had let his beard grow back. It made his face familiar. But the light in his eyes had changed, Harper thought. There was contentment there, but something else, too, something he couldn’t quite name. The inspector stood.
‘I’d better get back. The super will be wondering where I’ve gone.’
On the step they exchanged a quick handshake. At the end of the street Harper glanced back. The door was already closed.
She pinned her hair up, showing off her long neck, and wore her best gown. He put on the suit she’d bought him for Christmas, with the new collar that folded over and a silk tie. He felt like a rich man, someone who deserved to be sitting across the table from her in Polowny’s.
The meal was perfect, the beef cooked just right, the wine a deep, mysterious red in the gaslight. Annabelle was happy, and she deserved to be. He looked at her, filled with more than he could ever say. Love, pride, joy, everything.
‘What?’ she asked with a laugh as he stared.
‘I love you, Mrs Harper.’ He beckoned her close and whispered, ‘Did you remember the red garters?’
There was a wicked glint in her smile. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you, Tom Harper?’
AFTERWORD
Jews from Eastern Europe really began to arrive in Leeds during the 1880s, settling in the area just north of the centre, known as the Leylands. And they kept coming and coming. Signs reading No Jews Wanted did appear in Leeds during 1890, and it’s true that none of the big mills would employ them. There was anti-Semitism, but no calculated murders, and no major violence until a big flare-up in 1917 that passed relatively quickly. As the Jewish population Leeds settled and became more prosperous, they started to move out to the northern suburbs, and eventually the houses in the Leylands were demolished.
The disappearance of Louis Le Prince remains a mystery to this day. The idea that Thomas Edison arranged his murder is just one of many theories that have been put forward, but it’s never been proven.
The fire in Wortley happened on New Year’s Day, 1891, at a bazaar in the schoolroom of the church of St John the Evangelist. It was a tragic, terrible accident. In the end, eleven children died in the disaster.
The author’s name might be on the cover, but getting this book into your hands is the work of so many people. I’m grateful to Kate Lyall Grant, Edwin Buckhalter, Charlotte Loftus, Michelle Duff, Rachel Simpson Hutchens and all the people at Severn House for their belief, and for all they do. To my editor, Lynne Patrick, who always pulls things out of me that I didn’t know were there. My agent, Tina Betts. Penny Lomas, Thom Atkinson, for love and friendship above and beyond the call of duty. And to good friends, too many to name in full here, but Candace Robb for writerly support, Leeds Libraries for having me back time after time, Leeds Big Bookend festival, Leeds Book Club and so many more.
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