‘Slept well, for once, but she cried all morning.’ She sighed and switched the baby to the other breast. He took her free hand, rubbing the palm lightly.
‘You look tired.’
She snorted. ‘You show me a mother who isn’t. We get by, like we always do.’ She stood as the baby finished and passed her to him. ‘You can look after her now. There’s the last of yesterday’s pie if you’re hungry.’
He held Isabell, her head over his shoulder, patting her back to wind her. He loved moments like these, revelling in the tiny girl with her warm, milky smell, the tenderness of her skin and the softness of her hair.
‘Aye, I could eat. Where’s James?’
‘He’s still out playing.’
A dark look crossed his face.
‘Leave it, John. Don’t worry, it’s still light.’
But he knew he’d fret anyway. The boy was five but he already had the wild spirit his father recognized all too well. For a while James had seemed happy; Sedgwick’s wife had gone off with a soldier and Lizzie had moved in, everything to James that his mother had never been. Then they’d moved to the house and Isabell had been born. Now so much of Lizzie’s time was taken with the baby, leaving James on his own, and he’d learned to leave quietly and stay away for hours.
The deputy had tried reasoning with him and punishing him, mildly and harshly, but none of it had helped. After Easter the boy would start at the charity school; until then Sedgwick was determined to keep him in line.
Lizzie put the pie and a mug of ale in front of him and took the baby.
‘Did you tell him not to go out?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Lizzie admitted, rocking Isabell gently in her arms.
‘If he’s not back by the time I’ve finished this I’ll go and find him.’
‘John. .’ she began, then stopped. He ate silently and purposefully, cutting and chewing, washing the food down. Then he pushed the chair back and stood, eyes like thunder.
‘I’ll be back soon enough. If he comes in-’
‘I know,’ she said.
The boy was exactly where he’d expected, playing in the old, tangled orchard that had once been part of the manor house. There were other lads there, all of them older, and Sedgwick stayed quiet, watching them from a distance. Five of them moved together; James and another outside the group ran behind.
He sighed. It reminded him all too much of himself, and he knew he couldn’t let his son make the same mistakes. Quickly he strode out and grabbed James by the wrist, the others shouting and scattering quickly.
‘Right, you’re coming home with me.’ He began to walk, the boy squirming and wriggling in his grip, on the edge of tears. The deputy dragged harder, then stopped after a few yards and knelt so that their faces were close. ‘I’m only going to say this once,’ he told James, his fingers tight on the boy’s thin arm. ‘You’re going with me. When we get home you’re going to say sorry to your mam for disobeying her, and then you’re going to bed.’
‘But I haven’t had my supper,’ James complained, starting to cry and snuffle.
‘And you’ll not be getting any, either.’ His voice was harsh and serious and he looked into the boy’s eyes. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You need to start doing as you’re told. Do you understand me?’
The boy kept his head down. Sedgwick put a hand under his chin, forcing it up, seeing the tear tracks like icicles on his cheeks and the misery in his eyes.
‘I said, do you understand me?’
James nodded slowly. The deputy breathed deeply, wondering just what he was going to do with his son. Then he stood up and held out a hand. The boy stared at it for a moment, no expression on his face, and reached out to take it.
Four
‘So there was a man in the house before the fire but we don’t know anything about him?’ the Constable asked.
‘Seems that way. The ones who saw him weren’t paying attention,’ Sedgwick explained. ‘Why would they?’
It was still early, the weather cooler with the promise of rain drifting on the wind. Lister had put more Middleton coal on the fire before the others arrived and the room was warm.
‘How about you, Rob, did you find anything?’
‘No, boss.’
Nottingham sat back.
‘We’ll get her buried today,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Nobody’s come forward to say someone’s missing. That means she probably doesn’t have any family around here.’ He looked at the others. ‘Any ideas?’
‘A whore?’ Lister wondered.
‘Whores have friends and families,’ the Constable reminded him gently. ‘Still, it’s worth asking round. See if any have gone missing, ones who were pregnant.’
‘What about servants?’ Sedgwick suggested.
‘That could be,’ Nottingham agreed slowly. ‘Maybe dismissed because of her state. Why don’t you talk to some of them? You know how they gossip with each other, someone might have heard something.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said doubtfully. With so many servants in the city they’d need God’s own luck to name the girl.
‘I know. But we’ll need to know who she was if we’re going to find who killed her. We can’t let anyone walk free after that.’ He paused, then added, ‘By the way, there’s a thief taker from London going about. He’s looking for a family called Cooper, husband, wife, two lads. That mean anything?’
They shook their heads.
‘I had a word with Davidson, too, John. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. Seemed meek as a lamb to me.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get any ideas, then, boss.’
The men left and Nottingham walked back into the cold cell. The girl was still covered by the sheet, the stink of her cooked flesh slowly turning rancid. He pulled down the cloth to show what remained of her face and stared at its emptiness, trying to picture how she must have looked.
He was still there, lost in thought, when the undertakers arrived, and watched as they bundled her carelessly away. They’d take her and the baby to the pauper’s cemetery on the other side of Sheepscar Beck. A curate would sketch a few words over the two of them, then a covering of quicklime and a few inches of earth would see them into eternity. There’d be no record of where they lay.
After a little more than a week he gave up. There was only faint talk and wispy rumour of whores or servants gone missing. The Constable had Lister investigate but everything came to nought. They knew no more than they had in the beginning, and there were other, pressing matters, petty things that took time and attention.
Still, it gnawed at him, the way every killing he hadn’t been able to solve stuck inside. Her murderer was still in Leeds. Maybe he thought he was free, maybe guilt woke him in the middle of every night and left him glancing over his shoulder everywhere he walked. He wanted the chance to find him and look for the secrets in his eyes.
The Constable had been on the other side of the river. Thieves had struck the grand house of a merchant on Meadow Lane, taking silver plate and coins, a pretty return for a few minutes’ work.
They’d come in the night, worked quickly and silently not to wake the household. In all likelihood someone inside had helped them; he’d send the deputy over later to talk to the servants. A word, a hesitation, a look: that would be all it took.
The day had a pleasant spring warmth, the early April sun comfortable rather than overpowering. As he passed a bush a small flock of sparrows wheeled away in a brief rustling of leaves and beating of wings. He dawdled across the bridge back into Leeds, leaning on the parapet for a while, gazing down at the light shimmering on water and letting his thoughts drift away. The voice roused him.
‘Mr Nottingham.’
He turned to look at the thief taker. He’d heard nothing of the man since he’d come and introduced himself, and was surprised to find him still here.
‘Mr Walton,’ he acknowledged. ‘Did you ever find the people you needed?’
‘No.’ Walton frowned. ‘If they were ev
er here at all they’d long gone by the time I arrived. I couldn’t find a sniff of them.’
‘I’d have expected you to be back in London, then.’
‘I’ve been thinking I might stay here a while.’
‘Oh?’ The Constable was astonished. ‘You like Leeds?’
The man shrugged. ‘I’ve lived in worse places. And there’s no thief taker here,’ he added.
‘Maybe we haven’t had need of one,’ Nottingham suggested wryly. ‘We catch the people who break the law and deal with them.’
‘Maybe,’ Walton agreed with a small dip of his head. ‘But there’s money to be had reuniting people with property taken from them.’
‘As long as it’s all legally done,’ the Constable said, leaving his meaning clear.
The thief taker gave a short, cold smile. ‘Ask after me in London. I’m an honest man. “A good name is better than precious ointment.” That’s what it says in the Bible, and that’s how I live, Constable.’
‘I don’t doubt your honesty,’ Nottingham told him. The man’s gaze was dark and intense. ‘Just don’t hinder us in our work.’
‘Of course.’
‘You think you can make a living?’
‘I do,’ Walton replied with conviction. ‘I’ve been listening to people talk. Seems there’s plenty of need for my services here. Things vanish, things are stolen, things that might not be reported that people will pay to have returned.’
‘That sounds very close to the edge of the law, Mr Walton,’ the Constable said slowly.
The thief taker shook his head and glanced down at the water. ‘Quite legal, Constable. It’s a good trade in London.’
‘We’re not London.’
‘You’re like any other provincial city,’ he said with contempt. ‘You look to London and wish.’
Nottingham turned and looked at him. ‘Do we?’
Walton smiled, showing the dark gaps in his teeth. ‘You do. And people here have their secrets, too.’
‘I’d be very careful if I were you, Mr Walton. You don’t know us here.’
‘Not yet, perhaps,’ he conceded. ‘But I’ve been watching and learning. I have an advertisement in next week’s newspaper. We’ll see if there’s a demand for what I do.’
‘And if there’s not?’
The thief taker gave a confident grin. ‘There will be. People are people, it doesn’t matter where you go.’
‘I’ll be watching you,’ the Constable told him.
‘Of course.’ Walton raised his hands. ‘What do I have to hide, Mr Nottingham? I’ve told you my plans.’
‘I’ll wait and see what happens.’
The man ducked his head. ‘I’ll bid you good day, Constable.’
He watched the man walk away with his sure stride, looking around as he went. Nottingham didn’t trust him. Beneath the words he could make out the stink of evil, strong and sulphurous. He’d paid Walton little mind before; now that would have to change. Rob’s father published the Mercury; they’d be able to see the advertisement before it appeared. Then he could keep an eye on the man.
He made his way back up Briggate, past the shit and piss that clogged the runnels in the street, hearing the Saturday market in full cry beyond the Moot Hall, the vendors yelling, ‘What do you need? What do you lack?’ and the sounds of voices shouting and haggling furiously.
He turned the corner on to Kirkgate and saw the woman waiting by the door of the jail. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she glanced patiently at all the faces that passed, her face expressionless.
‘Mistress?’ he asked. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m waiting for t’ Constable,’ she said.
‘I’m Richard Nottingham,’ he told her. ‘I’m the Constable.’
He waited until she was seated. Her features had the sharpness of someone who’d never eaten her fill, the skin drawn and wrinkled. She was no older than him, he judged, but time weighed her down. Work had gnarled the knuckles of her hands into awkward shapes, the skin raw and red. Her dress was dowdy and ill-fitting on her thin body, the material worn thin.
‘How can I help you?’
She held his gaze with her clear blue eyes.
‘I’m Alice Wendell. It’s about my lass,’ she said. ‘Mebbe it’s summat and nowt, but I don’t know where she is.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Lucy. Lucy Wendell. She turned sixteen last month.’
He said nothing. At sixteen the girl could have gone off anywhere, with anyone.
‘How long’s she been missing?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered and he looked up sharply. ‘She were working as a servant but she never came home on her day off. And when I went to ask about her all they’d say was that she’d been dismissed. Wouldn’t even tell me when she’d gone.’
‘What do you want me to do, Mrs Wendell?’ Nottingham wondered.
‘Go and ask,’ she said bluntly. ‘They’ll tell you when they let her go. You’re the Constable.’
‘I’ll do that if you want,’ he offered, ‘but it might not help you find her.’
‘Aye,’ she agreed. ‘I know that. It’s somewhere to start, though. She were never the brightest lass, you see. It was always better when there was someone to look after her.’ Her face softened as she talked about the girl. ‘Me, her brother, the people where she worked.’ When she lifted her face he could see her anguish. ‘I don’t know what she’d do on her own.’
‘Who was she working for?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Cates. You know him, the merchant? She was a maid up with him and his family.’
He knew them. They owned one of the new houses up at Town End, out where Leeds was pushing out into the countryside and the air was cleaner. Ben Cates had done very well from the wool trade over the years. He’d served on the Corporation, an alderman who’d used his connection to gather even more riches to himself.
These days, though, he left most of the work to his sons, Robert and William. But from the fragments of gossip the Constable had heard, he wasn’t ready to give them their heads completely yet; he still kept a wary eye on the business.
‘I’ll go and have a word with them and find out what I can for you,’ he said. ‘And how will I find you, Mrs Wendell?’
‘Down on the Calls. They know me there.’
‘Where they had the fire.’ He thought of the body they’d found. Could she have been the girl?
‘Aye,’ she agreed sadly, ‘it were a bad business, that. Only t’ other end of the street from me an’ all. Just as well those Grants had done a flit the week before, they had three little ones.’
‘I’ll go and talk to Mr Cates this afternoon,’ the Constable promised.
‘Thank you.’ She stood, back carefully straight, head high.
‘I have a daughter myself. I understand.’
She gave him a short nod and left. He sat back and sighed. He’d heard the pain behind her request and understood just how much it had cost her to come and ask this favour from him. She was like so many women he knew in Leeds, strong because she had to be, relying on no one to get through life, trying desperately to keep the edges of her family from fraying apart. But there were few happy endings for the poor in this world.
He’d go and ask his questions and find the answers. They wouldn’t give her any comfort, and she knew that as well as anyone, but she needed them anyway. Cates had seemed reasonable enough whenever they’d met. By all accounts he was a hard man but at least he wasn’t a bad one.
The merchant was at home, working at the polished desk in his library. An expensive, full-bottomed wig had been casually thrown aside on a table, a thin dusting of powder on the wood around it. The windows were open on the garden, drawing a light breeze into the room. Nottingham saw the books packed tight on shelves along one wall, and thought how much Emily would love something like this one day.
‘Constable.’ Cates rose and extended his hand. The man had grown portly in the last few
years, Nottingham thought, chins fleshy and sagging into his collar and over his stock. His coat was good wool, flatteringly cut, the breeches tight around a pair of heavy thighs, his long waistcoat gaudy yellow and blue silk. ‘Sit down. What brings you here? Nothing wrong, is there?’
‘No,’ the Constable answered, settling carefully on a delicate chair of fine wood, its legs thin as spindles. ‘Just a question about someone who used to be a servant here.’
Cates snorted. ‘Lucy Wendell?’
Nottingham nodded.
‘Her mother was round here yesterday, wanting to know about the girl,’ he said brusquely. ‘I told her I’d had to dismiss her.’
‘She was hoping for more. The girl seems to have vanished.’
‘No surprise,’ the merchant said dismissively. ‘I’ve had dogs with more brains than her. Someone had to watch her the whole time or she’d be off in a daydream.’
‘I see.’
‘That wasn’t the reason I got rid of her. I could have lived with idleness, you can whip it out of them. But she was pregnant. I hadn’t noticed, what with her apron, but my wife saw it. I had her in and asked her.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure she even understood what I meant. But I had to turn her out. Didn’t want the girl whelping here.’
‘What did she say?’
Cates waved his hand. ‘Cried, the way they do. But she was out that afternoon.’
‘How long ago was this?’ the Constable wondered.
‘A month?’ The man thought. ‘Aye, it was four weeks ago, I remember. We’d just made a big sale to Spain the day before.’
‘How long did you employ her?’
Cates calculated for a moment.
‘Six months, as near as dammit. Too long, really, for what little she could do.’
‘Thank you.’ Nottingham stood. He’d learned what he needed.
‘You’re wondering why I didn’t tell her mother, aren’t you?’ He sighed. ‘How do you tell someone her daughter’s not only stupid but a slattern as well?’
‘I understand,’ the Constable told him.
‘I didn’t think she’d come to you.’
Nottingham looked at him calmly. ‘I don’t think she had anywhere else to turn, Mr Cates.’
Come the Fear arnm-3 Page 4