Gods of Gold

by Chris Nickson

  The inspector turned to the bobby. ‘Does he eat and drink?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The nurse comes around and gives him a tray. All mush, though. Mr Reed knocked out most of his teeth so he can’t chew.’

  ‘How long before he’s discharged?’

  ‘Tomorrow, they said. Got my orders to take him to the cells under the Town Hall.’

  ‘You’re going down,’ Harper told the boxer. ‘Very likely you’ll hang. Still nothing to say?’ But there was nothing at all. ‘Good luck with him,’ he told the constable, and left.

  Outside, he breathed deeply. He tried to rub away the hospital smell, running a hand over the pomade before putting the hat on his head. The visit had been a waste of time, but he’d always known it would be. If a beating couldn’t make the man talk, time in a hospital bed wasn’t about to loosen his tongue. He needed Alderman Cromwell.

  Reed didn’t know Middleton. He’d seen signposts to the place, but nothing more. He doubted that most of the people in Leeds had ever been there. It was simply a name, a place that supplied coal for them to burn in their fireplaces.

  The railway station was off Town Street, along a road of neat little shops and cottages. In the distance he could see the pit works, several of them gathered close together, and farther away, rolling landscape and a big house. Newer back-to-backs stood separate, as if no one wanted them close. Now all he had to do was discover which of the pits Cromwell owned.

  It was easier than he’d expected. The woman behind the counter in the grocer’s seemed to know everything about the place. He selected an apple, paid for it and simply asked, ‘Do you know which is Cromwell’s pit?’

  ‘Ee, love, course I do.’ She was a little dumpling of a lass, with an eager smile and playful eyes. ‘Come on, I’ll point it out to you. Not local, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m from Leeds.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ She led him out on to the pavement and pointed. ‘You see that one over there, beyond those trees?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s the one you’re looking for, love.’ She barely came to his shoulder and stared up at his face. ‘Not sure what you’d want there, though. You don’t look like a miner.’

  ‘I’m a policeman,’ he told her. ‘A detective.’

  ‘First one of them I’ve seen,’ she answered, impressed. ‘What do they call you, then?’

  ‘Billy Reed.’

  ‘Well, you get yourself down there, Billy, and stop in on your way back. I’m Elizabeth. You’ll find me working.’

  As he strode away he smiled at her forwardness. He’d no doubt that the news of a detective’s visit would be all over the village in an hour; it was the way these places worked. The pit was little more than half a mile outside the town. By then the houses were all far behind him and he was out in the country; there were farmers’ fields, dry stone walls and plenty of dust along the dry, rutted paths.

  The office was little more than a ramshackle wooden shed, the paint long since worn away. Machinery was moving, doing things he couldn’t even pretend to understand, but there was no one around. He pushed the door open and entered, finding a clerk bent over his desk.

  He was a stooped man wearing an old, shiny black suit, the tie knotted exactly, the shirt collar clean. A battered bowler hat hung from a nail. The man’s fingers were stained a deep blue from a lifetime of ink. The writing on the page was a beautiful curling copperplate.

  ‘Tha must be lost,’ he said with a smile. There was warmth in his voice, bemusement and curiosity at the stranger.

  ‘Not if this is Cromwell’s mine.’

  ‘Aye, you’ve found the right place.’ He sat back, flexing his hand. ‘Gets cramp these days. Never used to.’ He looked to be in his fifties, most of his hair gone, the bald head shiny.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Reed from Leeds Police.’

  The clerk pursed his lips in surprise. ‘You here about the investigation, are you?’

  Reed said nothing but gave a brief smile. Let the man make of that what he would.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I told the fellow from the council,’ the man continued. ‘I just do what I’m told. I put in me hours and go home at the end of the day. I didn’t know the police were involved, though.’

  ‘We’re always involved in a crime.’ That was true enough, although the words meant nothing here.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s a matter for Mr Cromwell. We get the orders and fill them and that’s all we do here. If they say the coal’s poor quality, that’s none of my business. You’ve had a wasted trip. You need the company office.’

  ‘Isn’t this it?’ Reed asked in surprise.

  The clerk shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Nay, lad, you’ve had a wasted trip. It’s in Leeds. That’s where all the business is done. It’s down on Park Square.’

  No more than a few yards from Desmond’s office, where they’d been just two hours before. Reed sighed.

  ‘Does the mine make money?’ He didn’t know what to ask now; the question was just the first thing that came into his head.

  The clerk shrugged. ‘It must, I reckon. We’ve twenty-five underground, two foremen and me, all here. So I suppose it must do fair to middling. And contracts for all the coal we can dig out.’

  ‘From Leeds?’

  ‘Aye, mostly. A few others, but they take the bulk. You need the office for all that.’

  ‘And Mr Cromwell is a rich man?’

  ‘Happen he is. I’ve not seen where he lives. He dresses well enough when he comes out here, like he’s not short of a bob or two.’ He gave a small snort. ‘Not that he’s here often. Five times in the last two years and you’d think it was the dirtiest place he’d ever been. But it’s like they say, where there’s muck there’s brass. Any fool knows that.’

  ‘What do you think of the investigation?’ Reed asked.

  ‘No idea, lad. I keep me head down, do me job and take me pay. Best thing for a man like me. For all of us as work here.’

  ‘What do you think of Mr Cromwell?’

  The man shook his head firmly.

  ‘Not for me to say lad. I work for him, he pays me, that’s it. I’ll not say a word against the man who pays my wages. If I do he might not pay them any more.’

  That was it, he knew, all the man would say. But he’d learned a little. Cromwell was definitely under investigation for the quality of his coal, and Leeds did buy most of it. It was all ammunition. And he’d seen the mine. There was coal dust everywhere, he could feel it as he breathed in. But what would anyone expect?

  ‘Thank you,’ he said finally and made his way back outside. The clouds had gone, leaving the sky brilliant blue, the sun hot on his face as he walked back into Middleton. He’d half a mind to duck back into the grocer’s and talk to Elizabeth before catching his train but there was no need. She was out of the shop door before he had to make the decision.

  ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He gave a small bow. ‘Good directions.’

  ‘Free, too,’ she answered with a wink. Bold and saucy, he thought, but in spite of himself, he was smiling. ‘Are you a married man, Mr Reed?’

  ‘Never have been,’ he told her. She stood in the doorway of the shop, arms folded, leaning against the jamb. There was meat on her, but he liked that. A pretty face, framed with ash blonde hair, lines of care and worry around her mouth. Around thirty, he judged.

  ‘I’m a widow,’ she said as if she could read his mind. ‘Married ten year then he died down the pit.’

  ‘Cromwell’s?’

  ‘Nay, one of the others. Enough of them around here. There’s me and four little ’uns.’ She paused and added reflectively, ‘Not so little any more, mind.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m not the only one round here. Plenty of others lost their husbands underground. What’s it like being a policeman, then. You enjoy it?’

  ‘I do,’ he admitted. ‘Better than a soldier. That was what I did before,’ he ex
plained.

  ‘You’ve been around a bit,’ she said and he smiled. He was enjoying this, a little flirtation, a pleasurable natter on a summer’s day. It had been a long time since he’d felt at ease around a woman. ‘Live in Leeds, do you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You should come out here sometime.’ Elizabeth nodded at the distance. ‘Get past the pits and there’s some grand country out there if you like Shanks’s pony.’

  ‘I’ve walked all over Yorkshire.’

  She looked him up and down, assessing him, then nodded, as if he’d passed some test.

  ‘They give you time off in that important job of yours?’

  ‘Sundays if we’re lucky.’

  ‘Come out and I’ll show you around properly, then. Of course, I’ll have my brood with me.’ She began to colour, the flush rising from her neck up her face. ‘I’m sorry. That was cheeky. You’ve probably better things to do.’

  The sergeant grinned. Why not, he thought? A new place, fresh company.

  ‘I’d be glad to.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded astonished, putting her hands over her mouth. ‘You’re not just having me on?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he assured her.

  ‘Well …’ she began, then words seemed to fail her.

  ‘I’ll take the train that arrives closest to noon,’ he suggested.

  ‘Aye,’ she agreed readily, her confidence starting to return. ‘I’ll have my lot scrubbed and on their best behaviour. Mind you, once they know you’re a rozzer they won’t dare do a thing wrong.’ She hesitated. ‘You won’t change your mind, will you?’

  ‘A promise is a promise. I’ll see you on Sunday.’ He was halfway along the block when she shouted, ‘Better bring your stout boots,’ and he smiled again.

  FIFTEEN

  Harper mingled with the crowd outside the Town Hall. Their numbers had been growing throughout the morning until they were packed tight under the hot July sun. Men in their working clothes, some looking serious, waiting for news, a few already celebrating the victory that was certain. Rumours rippled through the crowd. It was over. It wasn’t over. There’d be an announcement in half an hour. There wouldn’t be any announcement until the afternoon. The words spread like fire, voices rising briefly before returning to a constant murmur.

  They could have sat at home and read their newspapers, the Mercury or the Post, but the inspector knew why many of them were here. With factories and business closed all over Leeds, this was something to do. And they’d know right away when it was all over, that they’d soon be able to go back to work and start earning again. He glanced at the faces, all of them lean, so many eyes hungry and distant, simply waiting. Some wanted to see the council defeated. Most just wanted money in their pockets once more.

  The air felt dusty but the sky was clear. The pall of smoke that usually covered the town had all gone. It would return soon enough, once the gas was back and the chimneys were belching out their smoke once more.

  Someone asked if he had a light and he struck a match, the sulphur sharp in his nostrils.

  ‘Did you hear what happened to Gilston?’ the man asked, blowing out smoke.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Almost attacked on the street yesterday.’ The man laughed, showing stained teeth. ‘The bobbies had to come and break it up. The bugger had to run into the Liberal Club or they’d have torn him apart. Shame they didn’t, if you ask me.’ He glanced at the entrance to the Town Hall. ‘Any time now,’ the man said eagerly. ‘You wait.’

  ‘Probably not until this afternoon,’ Harper told him, but the man wasn’t really listening. A small group passed a jug of beer around, one of them making enough space to dance a jig.

  The inspector slowly made his way across Victoria Square and round to Great George Street, leaning heavily on his stick. It might be a mob out there, but they were in good humour. There’d be no violence, just an hour or two of joy before they all dispersed and Leeds could start to breathe again.

  The constables on guard saluted as he entered. The building was cooler than the street and he was aware that he’d been sweating, the cotton of his shirt sticking to his skin.

  ‘What’s the news?’ he asked a passing clerk. He’d know; everyone in the building would.

  ‘All done except for the council,’ the man told him. ‘They’re meeting at four. I wouldn’t want to be a member of the gas committee for that.’

  ‘The strikers got everything?’

  ‘They might as well have. Two days’ less holiday and they’ll shovel more coal each shift.’ He shrugged.

  ‘What about the blacklegs?’

  ‘They’re still deciding on that one. That’s why they haven’t said anything yet.’

  Loud cheers came from outside and the man hurried away, joining other clerks and constables at the windows to watch the union delegation making its way through the crowd to the Headrow. Cockayne, the local secretary, was in front and Harper picked out Maguire at his shoulder, talking nineteen to the dozen. Others followed, a line of them heading off to the union offices on Kirkgate.

  ‘They’ve gone to explain the terms to their members,’ someone explained. ‘They’ll be sweeping up the drunks down there later.’

  He found Kendall at the top of the marble stairs, standing with his hands folded across his chest, smoking a briar pipe and staring out of the tall windows.

  ‘It’s done, then?’

  The superintendent turned. ‘Except for the council meeting to decide how much to pay the replacements.’ He nodded down at the square. ‘They’ll be back making gas tomorrow. By Monday everyone will be working again.’ He shook his head. ‘And they’ll forget this ever happened.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Harper said.

  ‘Give them time and they will.’ He sighed, the pipe wobbling up and down in his mouth. ‘They always do. And this is the worst I’ve seen in all my days here.’

  ‘Cromwell,’ the inspector said.

  ‘I told you. After the council’s met.’ His voice was firm. ‘He’s all yours then. And once the replacements have gone you can have every spare man to find the girl.’

  But there’d be few men to spare, Harper knew that. Most of them had been working since the beginning of the strike; the ones who hadn’t been wounded would all be due leave for a day or two.

  ‘The chief’s glad to have the killing on the steps solved so quickly,’ Kendall continued diplomatically. ‘It saves a great deal of embarrassment to Leeds. Has the boxer said anything yet?’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘I doubt he will, either. He’ll probably stay silent all through the trial.’

  ‘You were lucky. The pair of you.’ The words came out as a warning.

  ‘I know, sir.’

  Kendall took the pipe from his mouth and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. His shirt was beginning to look grubby, all the crispness and starch gone, and his face seemed worn.

  ‘Tonight I might even be able to sleep in my own bed.’ He seemed almost to sigh in anticipation. ‘And tomorrow we can return to normal.’

  No, Harper thought. Not normal, not with an eight-year-old girl taken and still out there somewhere. Even if she came from Fidelity Court and not somewhere genteel like Moortown or Headingley.

  ‘How long do you think the council meeting will last, sir?’

  ‘An hour, maybe two. They’ll be done by six. Just enough time to tear a few more strips off the gas committee. Be careful with Cromwell, though. He’s still a councillor, you’d better not forget that.’

  Harper took the watch from his waistcoat pocket. Half past two. There was plenty of time before he’d have his chance with the alderman. ‘I’ll go back to the station,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be in tomorrow morning. You can tell me then what you get from him.’

  Reed was at his desk, the bowler hanging from the hook behind him.

  ‘Anything out in Middleton?’

  ‘The company offices are in Park Square, all the busin
ess is done from there. I stopped by on my way back. Closed for dinner.’

  The inspector studied his face. ‘For a man who’s had a pointless trip you look very happy.’ Reed tried to shrug, but the blush gave him away. ‘Come on, Billy, spit it out. I could use some good news.’

  ‘I was talking to someone there and I’m seeing her on Sunday.’ He shrugged again, trying to make it into something unimportant.

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Harper grinned. ‘Good for you. Nice, is she?’ he asked and the colour deepened on Reed’s face. ‘You could use a woman in your life.’ He paused; the sergeant didn’t want to say more, that was obvious. He picked up the stick. ‘You can tell me about the pit as we go over to the office. They should be done eating by now.’

  Park Square seemed hushed in the afternoon sun. A gardener tended the bushes, the only sound the quiet clip of his shears. The rumble of wheels and the clop of hooves seemed muted and distant. In a city that was always noisy, this was like a haven.

  When they knocked on the door a man answered quickly. He was short, dapper, his collar so tight that the wings seemed to slice into his neck, hair so heavily pomaded that it glistened in the light, the parting perfectly straight and exact.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked, looking at them both.

  ‘I’m Inspector Harper, Leeds Police. We’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.’

  For a few moments the man simply stood there, flustered, before moving back to let them enter. It was a plain, simple office that belied the expensive frontage and address. The man moved behind the safety of a desk piled with papers.

  ‘Mr?’

  ‘Smith.’

  ‘You manage the office for Mr Cromwell?’

  Smith nodded. He looked to be in his forties, his expression wary, mouth tight under a bushy moustache that seemed out of place on such a precise head. ‘I do.’

  ‘I understand the company’s under investigation by the council.’

  ‘It is,’ the man allowed after a small hesitation.

  ‘For supplying coal that wasn’t the specified quality?’