‘It doesn’t matter. I just like being with you.’
They continued in companionable silence, relishing the small joy of togetherness as they walked up Marsh Lane and he put the key in the door. While Mary bustled in the kitchen, he stared out of the window, looking out to the fields. Maybe it was time to give Sedgwick more responsibility, he pondered. To think of spending less time at work and more of it here. Who knew how long he’d live?
Maybe he and Mary really would grow old and bent together, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t likely. He’d seen too many die, men and women his age and younger. It could happen at any time, in any way.
Twenty-One
He heard Emily moving around even before he pushed off the bedsheet. Quietly, he dressed and washed then tiptoed down to the kitchen. She was waiting, all prepared, her books gathered in a parcel, her face shiny and eager for the day to start.
‘Can I walk in with you, papa?’ she asked, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.
‘Of course you can, love. I’d be proud to be seen with the best teacher in Leeds.’
She came and hugged him, something she’d rarely done in a long time, just once after Rose had died and she’d needed the comfort.
‘Thank you,’ she told him.
‘For what?’
‘Making Mr Hartington write that letter. I was so scared when I came home that day.’
Nottingham stroked her cheek. ‘All I did is what any father would do. Me being Constable carries a little more weight, that’s all.’
He poured some small beer and pulled some bread from the loaf. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked her.
‘I can’t.’
He understood. She was nervous, pacing the floor, impatient for him to finish. She’d arrive far too early at the school, but that was what she needed today. Give it another fortnight and she’d be dashing down the road to reach the place in time.
After they left the house her feet moved quickly, and he laughed silently to himself as he kept up with her; any quicker and she’d be running to school. As they approached the jail he took her arm.
‘You need to be ladylike, you’re in town now.’
‘Yes, papa,’ she said, then giggled like a little girl when he grinned.
Lister was waiting outside the door, soberly dressed, a tricorn hat perched high on his head. He bowed to Emily, showing a bandage wrapped neatly around his skull as he doffed the hat. The Constable smiled as she blushed beetroot.
‘You’ll do fine,’ he told her, placing a small kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll see you tonight and you can tell me all about it.’
He watched as she walked away, and he sensed that she was trying not to run.
‘Your daughter, boss?’
‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘She starts teaching at the Dame School today. How’s your head?’
‘I feel like I’ve spent three days drinking, but without any of the fun,’ he replied wryly.
‘It’ll wear off.’ He looked in the cells and saw Hughes sleeping on a bench. Give him one more day, he thought. Tuesday would be soon enough for him. ‘You’re in luck, there’s not much to do, Rob,’ he advised. ‘Look after things here. I’m going up to Roundhay with Mr Sedgwick, if he ever arrives.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Your friend Edward Hughes is locked up. Give him a little food and ale when he wakes. Don’t tell him how long he’ll be here.’
‘What about the other man?’
‘I’ll be dealing with him later. If anything comes up, find one of the men. There shouldn’t be much.’
He was finishing his instructions when the deputy pushed the door open.
‘Morning, John,’ Nottingham said. ‘I see you got him. Did he give you any trouble?’
‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Good. Now you can come with me. We’re off to Roundhay.’
He took the knife that had killed Sarah Godlove from the drawer and handed it to Sedgwick. ‘See if there’s a match for this when we’re there.’
For the first mile as they rode out, Sedgwick complained. The Constable had expected it, a list of objections about the animal, the saddle and stirrups, even the feeling of being on a horse. He listened patiently, knowing it would trail away in time.
‘Why are we going to see the Gibtons again?’ the deputy asked finally.
‘Too many unanswered questions,’ Nottingham told him. ‘I’ve let this Sarah Godlove business drag on too long. There’s something very wrong with the Gibtons. I’m going to push them and see what happens. I want you with me since we’re dealing with people of quality.’ He uttered the words in a cutting, sardonic tone.
A full five minutes passed before Sedgwick spoke again.
‘Boss?’
‘What, John?’
‘Is there any chance of more money?’
‘More money for what?’ He suspected he knew the reason but he wanted to be certain.
‘For me,’ the deputy said hesitantly. ‘It’s just that with the baby coming we’d like to be able to afford somewhere bigger.’
Nottingham turned in the saddle. Sedgwick looked ill at ease.
‘I think I can manage that. It won’t be much, mind, but a little more each week. Would that help?’
Sedgwick grinned widely, and for a moment he looked just like a young boy who’d been given an unexpected treat.
‘Thank you, boss. Lizzie’ll be happy now.’
‘You’d better keep her sweet. You’re going to be with her for a long time.’
‘I bloody well hope I am,’ the deputy said.
‘She’s a good lass. She’s certainly got the measure of you, no mistake.’
They left their horses tied in the shade of a tree, panting and wanting water. Nottingham knocked on the large front door and waited until it was answered by a maid, different from the one he’d seen last time.
‘You’re new?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ She coloured and gave a full curtsey. ‘It’s my first day, sir.’
‘What happened to the other girl?’
‘The master let her go, sir.’ The blush on her face grew deeper.
He smiled at her, but wondered why the other girl had been dismissed and whether it had anything to do with him.
‘I’d like to speak to Lord Gibton. I’m the Constable of Leeds.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She scurried away, glancing nervously over her shoulder several times, a questioning look in her eyes.
Within a minute Gibton was striding down the hall. This time he was wearing clothes made for a country man, but certainly not for work; the material was fine, the riding boots lovingly polished to a high shine. His mouth was set, eyes hard.
‘What do you need now, Constable?’ he asked dismissively.
‘Some more questions, sir.’
Gibton stood and waited. ‘Well?’
Nottingham smiled and inclined his head. ‘Perhaps we should go in the drawing room, sir.’
The man snorted but agreed.
‘Can my man go and get some water for the horses while we talk?’
Gibton gave a curt nod. ‘Go round to the kitchen,’ he instructed.
The Constable raised his eyebrows at Sedgwick, then followed the baron.
‘Now, what is it? I don’t have time to keep talking to you.’ He was standing by the fireplace, the portrait of him and his wife over his head. The picture caught the man’s arrogance well, Nottingham thought, the haughty, upturned jaw, the innate, unquestioning sense of superiority. There was no trace of the grace, the goodness and looks they’d had when younger.
‘When your daughter had intended to visit that last time, I gather you sent the servants away.’
The baron gave a small grunt. ‘I knew that girl must have talked to you.’
‘Is that why you dismissed her?’
‘Not really,’ Gibton said casually. ‘She wasn’t good at her job. There’s no point in paying servants who won’t do the job properly.’
‘But she did tell me the truth?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted reluctantly.
‘You didn’t mention that before, my Lord,’ Nottingham said impatiently. ‘I’m looking into a murder. The murder of your own daughter. That means I need the truth, and all of it, please, however painful it might be.’
Gibton waited a moment before answering. ‘Would it have made any difference, Constable? It’s a very private, delicate matter. And I told you, Sarah never arrived here.’
Nottingham said nothing, but stared at Gibton. Outside, the rooks cawed loudly in the trees. Finally the man gave in and shook his head.
‘When my wife has an episode it can sometimes be easier with no one else around. She can become very difficult.’
The Constable sensed how much it had pained him to make that admission, especially to a social inferior.
‘And how bad was this attack?’
‘Very bad indeed,’ he answered gravely. ‘It was the worst she’s ever been, in fact, and that’s in many years. That’s why I needed to send the servants away for a few days. As soon as I could see what was happening and how severe it was likely to become I told them to go. I didn’t want them seeing her like that. They’d have lost all their respect for her.’ He said it as if that was the most important thing in the world.
‘What happens to her?’ Nottingham asked.
Gibton looked at him, and the Constable guessed he was assessing how much to reveal. Finally he shrugged.
‘My wife has never had the easiest of tempers,’ he began. ‘She doesn’t suffer fools well. But with one of these episodes it usually begins with a bad headache, so bad she has to take to her bed. Then she’ll become loud and sometimes she’ll be violent.’
‘Violent?’ Nottingham hadn’t expected that.
‘Yes. She lashes out. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t remember it afterwards. She’s hit me before and she’s very strong then, she’s out of control. So perhaps now you see why I told the servants to leave.’
‘How do you treat it?’
‘I’ve learned over the years. I’ve had doctors in.’ He sighed in resignation and for a moment looked like a lost, ordinary man. ‘Nothing they’ve given her has helped. About the only thing I can do is tie her to her bed when it happens.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the Constable told him.
The baron raised his head, and for a passing moment Nottingham could see all the years of pain in his eyes. Then Gibton gathered himself, straightening his back.
‘I’m trusting that none of this will go beyond these walls,’ he said.
‘You have my word,’ Nottingham promised. ‘How long does an episode last?’
‘Sometimes an hour or two, sometimes longer. This last time it was a full day. She didn’t recall a thing.’ He paused, considering. ‘Maybe that’s a blessing.’
‘How is she when it’s over?’
‘She sleeps for hours and when she wakes up it’s as if nothing had happened. It just takes her some time to come back to herself.’
The Constable walked over to the windows and looked outside. The day was still, the sun shining and peaceful, but inside the house the atmosphere was gloom and darkness, and always would be.
‘Where’s your wife now?’ he asked.
‘She’s in her room,’ Gibton said.
‘I’d like to see her, if I might.’
‘I don’t think-’ he began, but Nottingham was shaking his head.
‘You have to understand, my Lord, anyone can say anything. I’m not doubting your word, but I need your wife to confirm it.’
The man tightened his mouth then agreed.
‘I’ll have the girl call her,’ he said, and left the room.
Nottingham returned to the window and sighed. What he’d heard had been heartfelt and sad. But he knew it wasn’t the complete truth.
There was enough of it in there to try to keep him off the scent. But Gibton was hiding something, and it was more than just embarrassment and pain at his wife’s madness.
And madness was certainly what it sounded like. It bore out all the tales about the woman. He sighed, not relishing the idea of meeting her but knowing it was necessary. Through the glass he could see Sedgwick ambling lazily towards the stables. He tapped on the window. When the deputy looked his way, he tilted his head questioningly and received a nod in return. Nottingham smiled.
Gibton returned, his hand supporting his wife’s elbow. She was a small, thin woman with a pinched face and eyes like gravestones, looking at the Constable with a dark suspicion that verged on outright hatred. It was hard to believe that she’d once been a beautiful girl. All the grace and loveliness she’d supposedly possessed when she was young had been chiselled away by bitterness.
‘My Lady,’ he said with a small bow.
‘My husband says you need to talk to me,’ she addressed him in a voice as cold as last winter. ‘I assume you have a good reason for this disturbance.’
‘I do.’ Nottingham gave an easy smile. ‘Would you sit down, please? And you, too, my Lord.’
They glanced at each other but did as he asked, arranging their clothes carefully to avoid creases.
‘Now,’ she said through thin, tight lips, ‘what is this?’
‘First, I’d like to remind you that all these questions, all this inconvenience, have a purpose,’ the Constable began, a new fire in his voice. ‘I’m trying to discover who murdered your daughter.’ He paused, watching the couple, hoping for a reaction. But their eyes never left his face, hers burning, his quietly attentive. ‘I’ve been shocked by the way you’ve taken her death so calmly. If my daughter had been killed I’d have done everything in my power to find out who did it.’
‘You’re not us,’ Gibton told him, the haughtiness back in his voice. ‘Don’t presume to try and understand what we feel. Just because we choose not to show it doesn’t mean we don’t grieve. And unless I’m wrong, finding the person who did this to Sarah is your business. As the mayor has reminded us every time we’ve asked, you’re supposed to be good at your job.’
‘He doesn’t look as if he could be good at much,’ Lady Gibton commented, eyeing him up and down with distaste.
Nottingham took a deep breath.
‘Tell me, my Lady, did you know that your daughter was planning on leaving her husband and running away with her lover?’ He let the question hang a moment before plunging on. ‘That’s the same lover she had before she met Mr Godlove, the one you made her give up.’
Laby Gibton stood up and came near. She needed to look up to talk to him.
‘You’re a liar.’ The words hissed from her and he felt spittle warm against his face. She drew an arm back to slap him, but the Constable reached out and took a light hold of her wrist.
‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m not lying. I told her husband two days ago and the news almost broke him. There’s one thing I didn’t mention to him, though. Your daughter was pregnant with her lover’s child.’
She tried to move her arm, to bring it round to hit him, but he kept his grip tight on her. Her eyes flamed, and her husband stared at the floor. He had them. Nottingham released her wrist and stepped backwards. ‘But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Neither of them replied, but he could feel the guilt in their silence.
‘I’m sure you really were ill,’ he told her, ‘although I’ll never be able to prove it one way or the other. The timing was fortunate, though, wasn’t it, with the servants dismissed?’
‘You’ve been told before, she never came here,’ Lady Gibton said.
The Constable smiled. ‘I’ve been told many things in the last few weeks. A few of them have even been true. But that wasn’t one of them. Sarah arrived here that Thursday after the servants had gone. You hadn’t been expecting her but it turned out well. There were only the four of you in the house when she gave you her news — you two, your daughter and her maid. I haven’t forgotten about Annie.’
Gibton stood and began to walk out of the room.
‘Are you leaving, my Lord?’ Nottingham asked. ‘I’ve not even sketched an outline yet.’
The baron stopped, then turned. ‘I won’t stay to listen to this,’ he announced.
‘Your wife doesn’t seem to want to leave yet,’ the Constable said. ‘I think it would be better if no one went. After all, so far I’m not sure which of you killed your daughter.’
Twenty-Two
This time Lady Gibton’s open hand came up before he could move and cracked him hard across the cheek. He felt the hot, sharp sting on his flesh.
‘Get out,’ she screamed. Her face had turned wild and feral, and he had to reach out and pin both her arms to stop her hitting him again.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘You’re both going to hear this.’ He waited until the tension in the room dropped slightly.
‘You’d better have extremely good proof that we killed Sarah,’ Gibton said threateningly. ‘She was our daughter. We loved her.’
‘Of course you did. You loved her enough to keep her away from the man she wanted to be with, and sold her so you could have all this.’ He glanced around the room, taking in the portrait and the new furnishings. ‘I’ll tell you one thing I can prove — that the knife which killed Sarah came from here. One of the servants recognized it and said it went missing during those few days you sent them all away.’ He paused again, hoping they would fill the silence. ‘That should be damning enough for any jury, I’m sure you’ll agree. They’d have no choice but to hang you both — unless the mob dragged you out of jail and did it themselves. It’s happened before. In my experience, people hate those who kill their own children.’
He looked from one of them to the other.
‘Hanging can either be fast or slow,’ he continued, his voice low and hypnotic. ‘Did you know that some people going to the gallows pay the hangman to make it quick, so the neck breaks and it’s over?’ As they watched he brought his hands together and made a snapping motion. ‘Like that. The people who die that way are the lucky ones, so it’s said. If no one will do that for you, or the drop isn’t long enough, you choke. It takes up to twenty minutes; I’ve timed it. That’s all those long minutes when the pressure grows on your neck and you feel your life slowly leaving you, and the mob watching everything. I’ll wager you a penny to a guinea that no one would take your money to speed it up. They’d be gathered on Chapeltown Moor for you two. Minor aristocracy, killed your own daughter. It would even be in the London papers. You’d be famous.’
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