‘More than you could imagine. It’s all different down there.’
‘Even the crime?’
‘Even that, laddie, even that,’ the man agreed with a grin. ‘You have to be ruthless to succeed down there.’
The Constable gave up; Finer wanted to talk.
‘And were you a success?’ Nottingham asked.
‘I got by. I made money if that’s what you mean.’ He paused, considering his words. ‘But I’ll tell you something. Up here, when a competitor … left, shall we say, there’d be one or two more eager to take his place. Down in London it was forty or fifty, each one ready to prove he was harder than the last.’ He sighed. ‘I’m glad to be away from it, laddie, and that’s the truth. It wears a man down.’
‘Leeds has changed since you lived here.’
‘I can see that.’ He raised the stick and pointed to the new houses at Town End, on the far side of the Head Row. ‘There’s all those, for a start. But enough of it’s still the same for me to feel comfortable. And murder never changes much, eh, Constable?’
‘What would you know about murder, Mr Finer?’ Nottingham asked. ‘Or are you thinking of one in particular?’
The man looked him directly in the eye. ‘Just what I hear, laddie. Nothing more, if that’s what you’re thinking. I told you, I barely talked to the man.’ He paused. ‘I gather you pulled his sister from the river, too.’
‘You listen to the gossip.’
‘There’s enough of it around,’ the man pointed out. ‘There have never been that many secrets in Leeds if you know where to listen. You should know that by now. I even know what happened at your daughter’s school last night.’
‘What have you heard about that?’ Nottingham asked, suddenly serious.
‘Nothing that’s not common knowledge,’ Finer said with a small shake of his head. ‘If there’s any word I’ll gladly pass it on to you.’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t understand why I’ve come back, do you?’
‘No, Mr Finer, I don’t,’ the Constable answered truthfully. ‘And I don’t trust you, either. Do you blame me?’
‘I suppose not,’ the man acknowledged. ‘But time will tell. I know you’ve been asking some questions about me.’ He tapped a thin finger against his nose. ‘You can keep your eye on me all you like, you’ll see I wasn’t lying.’
‘I’ll do that, don’t worry. And I’ll be glad to be proved wrong.’
‘I’ll bid you good day.’ Finer shuffled off into the throng. If the old crook had become an honest man it would be one thing less to think about. But Nottingham doubted it. People never truly changed who they were. Sooner or later he’d be at his scheming again. He left, worries flooding back into his head. There were too many questions he needed to ask.
At noon he settled on a bench at the White Swan, ordering ale and a chop. He’d almost finished the meal when the deputy slid along the bench to sit across from him.
‘What have you managed to find out, John?’
‘There’s plenty down that way who heard the glass break, but by the time they looked out there was no one to be seen.’
‘What do you think?’
Sedgwick considered his answer. ‘If you want my guess, I’d say it was drunks. You know how they get on a Friday night. Ran off as soon as they’d done it.’
‘I’ll have Rob check regularly tonight. Just in case.’
The deputy chuckled. ‘Knowing him, the lad’ll go down there a few times, anyway.’
He wandered down to the Calls again, stopping across from the school. He felt the need to be here, to keep a watch on her. The glazier had done a good job; the panes all fitted, and the newer ones sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. He could hear Emily talking and the higher voices of the girls repeating her words. He listened a while longer then forced himself to turn away. A woman was staring at him.
‘That’s your lass doing that, in’t it?’ She was probably close to thirty but looked older, wearing an ancient, patched dress, her face worn, cheeks sunken, her hands rough and red.
‘It is.’
‘We’re right glad she’s here.’ She looked directly at him, her eyes hard as stone. ‘Makes a change for someone in this city to care about us.’ The woman nodded towards the building. ‘I’ve got two in there. Happen they’ll be able to do more than fetch and carry or keep pushing out bairns of their own when Miss Emily’s done with them.’ She paused. ‘I’ll tell you summat, love, we’re going to make sure last night dun’t happen again. My man’s going to be out here while dawn. He dun’t know it yet, but he will be, same as half the others round here.’
‘If they find someone, call one of my men,’ he told her.
‘We’ll do that once we’re finished.’ Her mouth was firmly set.
‘Just make sure you don’t kill him.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘We’re not fools, love. We’re not going to hang for nowt. But we’re not going to have someone buggering about without teaching them a lesson.’
He smiled at her. ‘I daresay Mr Lister might come by at times, too. Just to keep an eye on things.’
The woman nodded. ‘He’ll be welcome enough as long as he dun’t get in the way. We’ve needed a school like this here and we’re going to look after Miss Emily.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be glad of that,’ he told her, pride in his heart.
There was ample warmth remaining in the afternoon when Rob returned to the school. The girls had gone for the day but he knew Emily would still be there, tidying and preparing her lessons for Monday.
He knew how much she believed in this. They’d spent hours discussing it, and he’d helped her find the building and make it ready. When they were alone it was what she talked about, her plans and dreams for the place. It filled her days and her nights, but he didn’t resent that, even if she was always tired.
He opened the door and walked in. She was sitting at the desk and raised her head quickly, her eyes fearful.
‘You scared me for a moment,’ she said, sitting back and beginning to smile.
‘I thought I’d see if there was anything more I could do.’
‘You can walk me home.’ Her voice was weary. ‘I’ve finished.’ She stood and looked around the room, at the tables and benches. ‘Some of the girls were terrified when they saw the broken windows. Susanna was close to tears for a while.’ Emily closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m just worried that something else will happen.’
‘I talked to some of the women on the way here. They’re scared you’ll leave if there’s anything else.’ He sat on one of the tables, his legs dangling.
‘I’d never do that,’ she protested.
‘That’s what I told them,’ he said with a nod. ‘But they’re going to have their men out tonight to keep watch.’
‘Really?’ Emily’s eyes widened in surprise and gratitude.
He reached out and took her hand. ‘They want you to stay here. You’re giving the girls a chance.’
Her face reddened. ‘I’m just doing what I can.’ She gathered her books into a small pile and handed them to him. ‘If you want to help, you can carry these home for me.’
He waited as she closed and barred the shutters and locked the door, checking twice that it was secure. Then she put her arm through his and they headed down towards the Parish Church, nodding greetings to the folk they passed on the way.
‘Do you think it might happen again?’ she asked as they crossed Timble Bridge, Sheepscar beck burbling under their feet.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘It was probably just drunks causing mischief.’ He’d thought about it before sleep that morning and again as soon as he woke. There would be people who thought it was wrong to give some learning to poor girls, he knew that. For now, though, he’d choose the simple, likeliest explanation. He stopped to kiss her. ‘Everything will be fine,’ he assured her.
‘I hope so,’ she said as she held him close. ‘I really hope so.’
As soon as they were in the house on Marsh Lane
, Lucy bustled through from the kitchen, concern on her face.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘I heard what happened.’
‘I’m fine.’ Emily smiled gently and put her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Don’t worry.’
Rob left them to chatter and went to pour himself ale. Lucy had never said what she’d endured when she lived wild but he could guess at some of it. When he’d first met her she’d been wild and wary of trusting anyone. Living in the Constable’s house had changed that; she’d softened. She was a part of the family now, just like he was, willing to face the world to defend the boss and Emily.
A meal was bubbling in the pot, the rich smell filling the place, making his stomach rumble as he realized he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He picked up a spoon and was about to dip it into the stew when Lucy came through.
‘You can put that down right now,’ she told him sternly. ‘Wait until Mr Nottingham’s home and we all eat.’ She folded her arms and stared at him. ‘Don’t go giving me that smile, either. It might work on Miss Emily but it won’t on me.’
He left, feeling her watchful eye on him.
By the time the Constable returned, Rob had paged through the Mercury, the paper his father published. There was little to catch his attention; he had no interest in politics or stories culled from the London papers, full of names he didn’t know or care about. Emily sat at the table and worked diligently, underlining passages in a book, the scrape of her quill the only sound in the room.
They ate quickly, every one of them hungry, exchanging quick snatches of conversation between mouthfuls, all carefully avoiding what had happened that morning. Rob reached for more of the stew.
‘It’s good,’ he said, and Lucy beamed at the praise.
‘The books Mr Williamson paid for should arrive from Harrogate next week,’ Emily said, her eyes glistening with anticipation. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the girls when they have real books to read.’
‘You’ll do them proud, love,’ Nottingham said and pushed the plate away. ‘That was grand, Lucy. I couldn’t eat another mouthful. I’m off to my bed.’
It was his way to give the young couple some time together before Rob had to leave for work.
‘Anything special for tonight, boss?’
The Constable shook his head. ‘You know what do to, lad.’
On a warm Saturday night Rob was kept busy enough. Drunken arguments quickly dissolved into fights with cudgels and knives, and blood drawn; often he had to wade in with his men, cracking heads and hauling men off to the jail. He still found moments to wander down to the Calls and talk to the husbands keeping watch there. They’d seen no one suspicious; some of them grumbled at missing a night’s drinking, but he knew they’d never dare say that to their wives.
On Sunday morning he dressed in his good clothes, strolling next to Emily as they went to the Parish Church. Nottingham walked ahead of them, Lucy at his side. It was the same every week; the Constable would doze during the sermon, only coming awake for the final prayer.
Once the service was over, Nottingham went to stand by Rose and Mary’s graves. The others waited outside the church porch. Tom Williamson’s wife, Hannah, drew Emily away for a few moments and talked to her quickly before pressing something into her hand.
Rob watched her return, her eyes wide in astonishment, her fist clenched tight.
‘What did she want?’ he asked.
Without saying a word, Emily opened her hand and showed the two guinea coins that filled her palm. He heard Lucy draw in her breath loudly.
‘She’d heard about the windows so she went to some of the merchants’ wives and collected money for us.’ He voice was quiet with astonishment. ‘Two guineas.’ She shook her head in astonishment. ‘That’ll pay for so much.’
‘That’s a fortune,’ Lucy said reverently, watching as Emily slid the money into the pocket inside her dress.
‘Mr Williamson’s an alderman now,’ Rob told her with a wink. ‘You’re making some powerful friends.’
TEN
Five days had passed since they’d found Jem Carter’s body, four since they’d pulled his sister from the river. The Constable had watched the bodies start the journey back to Ilkley for their funerals, and he still knew nothing about their deaths. No idea as to a killer or why the girl had apparently committed suicide.
He leaned on the parapet of Leeds Bridge, watching faint clouds high in a pale blue sky. Seven o’clock on a Monday morning and it was already teasingly warm with the promise of aching heat later. He’d set off early on his rounds and ended up here, watching the sluggish water and thinking, with no answers at all.
Finally Nottingham pushed himself away and began to walk back up Briggate. The inns were alive with the sound of servants and early customers in need of their morning ale, and shops along the street had their shutters flung wide, displaying all the goods for sale. He spotted Sedgwick loping down the street towards him, half a head taller than many of the others.
‘I’m sorry I’m late, boss,’ he said breathlessly. ‘James’s teacher wanted to see me.’
‘Is something wrong?’ the Constable asked.
The deputy grinned with pride. ‘He says James is doing so well he wants to give him more work.’
‘That’s grand, John.’
‘Aye. Lizzie’ll be happy when I tell her, too. My lad, eh?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I did find something interesting yesterday. I was in Sam Hart’s dramshop back off Kirkgate and we started talking about King Davy. Seems he was in there Tuesday night.’ The Constable looked at him expectantly. ‘He was talking to someone who sounds a lot like Jem Carter, and they left together.’
‘Is Sam sure it was Tuesday?’
‘You know what he’s like – right even when he’s wrong. But I believe him this time; people don’t forget when Davy’s been in.’
‘What time was this?’
‘After dark is all he remembers, so it couldn’t be too early. What do you think, should we have the king in again?’
‘Yes.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Make it after dinner. Take Holden and one of the others with you. Ask around this morning, see if anyone else saw Davy with someone that night.’
At the jail he spent an hour working on reports and requests, scribbling until his fingers ached and the ink in the pot had almost run dry. It was the part of the job he’d never liked. Words on paper had never come easily to him. Years of doing it hadn’t helped.
Finally he was done, the last note, a letter to London asking about Tom Finer, folded and sealed. His fingers were blue from the ink, as cramped as any clerk’s. He wiped them on a piece of linen from his breeches pocket then took the finished work over to the Moot Hall.
‘Reports and letters, Mr Cobb,’ he told the mayor’s clerk. ‘See them on their way, please.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The young man looked around cautiously then beckoned the Constable close. ‘The Corporation’s thinking of re-opening the workhouse,’ he said very quietly.
‘Are they now?’
The workhouse had closed back in 1728 after being open for just three years, a place to hide the poor out of sight and make them work for their food and beds. It had been a failure then; why would anyone want the place open again?
‘Someone’s offered to put up the money to get the building in order and find contracts for work,’ Cobb confided.
‘Who?’
The clerk searched for the paper on his desk and read the name.
‘Someone called Mr Finer.’ He looked up at the Constable. ‘I don’t know the name, sir. Who is he?’
‘Someone who used to live in Leeds, lad. Who’s going to handle it for the Corporation?’
‘Mr Williamson. They thought it would be a good start for him.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cobb. That’s all good to know. You’ve done well.’
Outside, he stood in the sun for a minute, feeling it warm his face, then made his way out along Vicar Lane. The old workhouse build
ing was there, at the corner of Lady Lane, the stone worn and blackened, the windows all gone. It had been built before he was born, brooding, fearful and dark, the place folk went when there was nothing else left. Then it had become a charity school for twenty years before the Corporation made it a workhouse once again in 1725.
As Constable he’d had to attend the opening, parading next to the new master, Robert Milnor, and wheezing old Shubaal Speight, there with his two sons and his wife, so desperate to run the place. But three years later it had shut once more, and Speight and Milnor were dismissed in disgrace. For all he knew, Leeds was still paying the debts the workhouse had quickly run up. Speight had found few contracts and been so harsh in charge that the inmates had refused to work for him.
Now they were going to try again. More stupidity. He shook his head and turned away, walking back towards the river. The warehouses along the towpath had their windows and doors open wide. Outside one of them a group of workers, stripped to their shirts and breeches, passed around a jug of ale.
Tom Williamson sat in his office, coat neatly draped over the back of his chair. He looked up as Nottingham entered, smiling and throwing down his quill.
‘Richard. For God’s sake come in and save me from these letters. Do you want some ale?’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and took the cup and drank.
‘No more trouble at the school?’ the merchant asked worriedly.
‘Nothing else, thankfully.’
‘Your daughter must be relieved.’
‘Even more so when she received the money from your wife. She’s very grateful.’
Williamson smiled. ‘Between you and me, it made Hannah very happy. She has her charity now and she can persuade the other wives to part with the money their husbands have earned.’ He drained the mug and started to pour another.
‘The workhouse,’ Nottingham said.
‘You’ve already heard about that?’ he asked in surprise.
‘You know what it’s like in Leeds. Just lean into the wind and you can hear what’s going on.’ He paused. ‘What does Tom Finer have to do with it?’
‘He’s offered to pay for repairs to the building and find contracts once it’s open. Do you know him, Richard? Most of the older aldermen seem on good terms with him.’
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