There was no sign of the man. He stopped, listening for the sound of feet but hearing only his own breathing. A path led through to a ginnel which joined a network of tiny alleys that fed out into the orchard above Holy Trinity church. The man could have gone there. Or he could be in any of the buildings in the yard, waiting, hiding.
He looked around, hoping for some sign, any indication at all. A door not closed fully, a shadow in a window. But there was nothing. On his own he didn’t have a chance. As soon as he went in one direction the man would be away in another. It was hopeless.
‘It was him. I’m sure of it, boss.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ the Constable agreed. ‘Did you see his hands?’
‘No.’ All the way back to the jail Rob had been cursing himself, thinking of the things he should have done. ‘If I’d just followed him instead of running …’
‘You did what came to you. I’d probably have done exactly the same thing.’
If the words had been intended to console him, they didn’t work. ‘I’d know him if I saw him again.’
‘We’re getting closer. That’s something,’ Nottingham mused. He frowned. ‘The problem is, now he knows we’re after him, he’ll stay out of sight.’
‘I’m sorry, boss.’
‘It’s not your fault, lad. You did the right thing. A little luck and you’d have caught him. Luck just hasn’t run our way in any of this.’
‘What do we do now?’
The Constable thought for a long time before speaking. ‘Apart from the Rose and Crown he’s been seen on Briggate and out by the tenter grounds. I want you to start asking in all those courts off Briggate and out along Swinegate. Maybe he lives along that area. Take two of the men with you. Ask about a big man, maybe with a sister.’
‘Yes, boss.’
We’re going to find you, Nottingham thought after Rob had gone. We’re growing closer, and you’ll pay with your neck. He could begin to believe that it was just a matter of time now. And once they had the murderer, he’d give all his attention to the other matter. The school.
THIRTY-ONE
By evening Rob and his men had gone through three of the courts, knocking on doors, asking their questions so often they’d lost count. But no big, dark-haired man with large hands. No one knew him, no one cared; they had enough to do simply living their lives.
He bought the men a jug of ale and drank a mug with them, the liquid sweet on his throat, washing away all the dryness and the words. With the long shadows the worst of the heat had gone. He hung his coat over his shoulder as he walked back down Kirkgate and home to Marsh Lane.
The Constable looked at him hopefully as he entered but all he could do was shake his head. Emily was working, searching for something in a book, frowning until he kissed the top of her head.
In the kitchen, Lucy had cleared everything away except for one plate sitting on the table.
‘I dished it up when I heard the door. It’s still warm.’
‘Thank you.’ He began to eat, barely noticing the taste.
‘You look like you haven’t had a bite all day.’
‘I don’t know that I have,’ he said with a grin.
‘You’re still a growing lad, you need your food. And you look like misery.’
She’d become a mother to them all, he thought.
‘I went to see my father today.’
‘Not a happy visit, from the look of it.’
‘No,’ was all he said.
Lucy stared at him, her arms folded. ‘You can’t choose your family, you know. And just because they’re related doesn’t mean you have to love them.’
‘I thought I had to tell him.’
‘With some folk, saving your breath can be the best thing. You’ve got a family here, any road.’
It was true. And soon enough he’d be a husband, then a father, more at home in this place than ever. He finished the meal and she took the plate from his hands.
‘You go and spend time with Miss Emily,’ she told him. ‘I need to start tomorrow’s bread. The way you lot go through it you’d think it came out of thin air.’
‘I want you back covering the yards today,’ Nottingham told Rob. He’d finished the daily report, ready to deliver to the Moot Hall. The morning air seemed fresh, enough of a breeze to stir things and cut through the closeness.
‘Yes, boss.’
‘He’s back in there somewhere.’ He clenched his fist. ‘I can feel it. Someone knows him.’
Rob nodded. ‘What did you think of Emily’s news?’
‘Grand. Useful, too. She can hold on to her money. You’ll need it with a baby on the way.’
‘You know, Mrs Williamson surprised me,’ Rob said. ‘She always seemed like a prig to me.’
‘Folk have hidden depths, lad. They can do things you’d never believe. Off you go. I’ll take care of the morning rounds.’
The Constable had almost completed his circuit, finishing with the stretch along the Head Row to Burley Bar. He passed Garraway’s, the smell of coffee strong in the air, just as Finer emerged from his lodgings, gazing around at the view.
‘All well in Leeds, Mr Nottingham?’
‘There’s nothing new, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Be grateful for it, laddie.’ The man grinned.
‘I always am.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the jail.’
‘I’ll walk down Briggate with you.’ Finer fell in beside him, Nottingham slowing his pace so the man could keep up. ‘I hear that boy of yours was after someone yesterday. People were talking about it last night.’
‘They’ll talk about anything.’
‘I know that. I’ve heard what they say about me. You’d think the devil himself had come back to Leeds.’ He grinned again. ‘But you still have murderers to catch.’
‘We’ll catch them. And what about you, Mr Finer? What’s keeping you busy?’
‘This and that, laddie, this and that.’
‘All of it legal, I trust.’
‘Would it be anything else?’
The Constable snorted. ‘We both know better than that.’
‘In the past, laddie.’ He waved away the thought. ‘You don’t want to believe me.’
‘I saw what happened with the workhouse.’
‘Business, not crime. Two different things.’
‘Not so far apart at times,’ Nottingham told him.
‘Except one won’t end up in court.’ They’d reached the corner of Kirkgate. Finer lifted his hat. ‘I’ll wish you well. I’m off to enjoy a grand day.’
The next Constable would need to keep his eye on Finer, Nottingham thought as the old man shambled down the street. He’d had one iron in the fire with the workhouse; he’d have others, too. But at least it wouldn’t be his worry.
He unlocked the jail and picked up a letter that had been pushed under the door. The paper was grubby, as if it had passed through many pairs of hands before it was delivered. He pulled back the seal and unfolded it.
The writing was cramped and awkward, many of the letters so badly formed that he had to read it three times before he could gather the sense of it.
Mr Sedgwick,
In reply to your letter, we did indeed have an incident in Whitby earlier this year that we’ve never been able to resolve. Mr Marlowe, one of our good merchants who lived on Baxtergate, was discovered dead when his servant returned after two days away. All his money had been taken and other valuables, too.
Our apothecary examined him and declared he’d been poisoned. He’d been keeping company with a young woman, Anne Briggs, who’d lately moved here with her family, and they were just as you describe them, a mother who claimed to be a widow, another daughter and a son. But they vanished the night of the killing, leaving their lodgings and we haven’t been able to trace them.
From all you tell me, I’d like you to take Anne Briggs, or Anne Wade as she appears to be now, into custody and send her he
re to be questioned for murder. I have no evidence against the others but you should watch them carefully.
Your servant,
Charles Meecham
Constable of Whitby
Nottingham laughed. So John had taken it on himself to write to Whitby about the Wades. It was probably the first letter the man had ever composed, and the last. And he’d found a murderer; those suspicions he’d had, that feeling had been right. Even though he was dead, the man was still helping.
Poison, he thought. That would explain the girl they’d found buried. No marks on her, just the faintest smell of something in her mouth. It all fitted.
The Constable shook his head. He should have seen it himself. He should have asked more questions. He should have listened to the deputy instead of dismissing what he’d said. More and more, it seemed, retirement was the right decision. One thing was certain, he’d take no chance with this. Not now, not when he was so close.
‘I want you to gather four of the men,’ he told Rob as they sat in the White Swan eating their dinner. ‘Have them at the jail in half an hour.’
‘Yes, boss. Where are we going?’
‘To bring in someone suspected of murder in Whitby.’
‘Whitby?’ Lister’s head jerked up. ‘You mean one of the Wades?’
‘One of the daughters,’ Nottingham explained. ‘They think she poisoned someone and they want her for questioning.’
‘It won’t take six of us for that.’
‘Better to be safe,’ he said. ‘And she might be responsible for one of our murders.’
‘The girl?’
The Constable nodded. ‘Yes – I smelt something when I opened the mouth, and the killing in Whitby was poison. We have Mr Sedgwick to thank. He wrote to the Constable there.’
Rob raised his eyebrows and lifted his mug in a silent toast.
‘I’ll want you in with me, armed. Two men at the front door and the others at the back. There’s a yard that leads to a ginnel, put them at the back gate.’
‘Yes, boss. Are we bringing all of them in?’
‘We are, but there’s nothing against the others so far. I want the house searched, too. Look for poison.’
‘What about the whores there?’
‘Question them. I’ll take the family.’
The Constable waited until everyone was in position. The sword hung from his waist, the pistol primed and loaded in his coat pocket. Rob stood at his side, and the men gathered loosely around. Nottingham raised his hand and brought it down hard on the wood, continuing until one of the daughters answered the door, her eyes blazing until she recognized him.
‘Mr Nottingham,’ she said, swallowing her anger. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘I’d like to come in if I may, Miss Wade.’
‘Of course.’ She’d dressed hurriedly, with no powders and potions on her face and her hair loose. ‘I’ll fetch Mama.’
‘I need to see all of you.’
She hesitated then nodded, guiding them through to the parlour.
The long clock ticked, seconds passing slowly. The Constable looked around the room carefully, eyes taking in everything. Here and there he picked up an item to examine. Rob opened his mouth to speak but Nottingham shook his head; anyone could be listening.
Fifteen minutes passed before Mrs Wade swept into the room. She’d used the time to dress and prepare, wearing an expensive gown, hair neatly pinned under a cap and her face made up.
‘Constable.’ She stood inside the door, hands on her hips. ‘I hope it’s something important that brings you here. We keep late hours, I’ve told you before.’
He gave a small bow. ‘It is important. As I told your daughter, I’d like your whole family here.’
‘You’ll have me until I know what you want.’
Nottingham smiled, keeping his tone gentle. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that I’m the Constable here in Leeds, Mrs Wade.’
Grudgingly, she nodded, disappearing again to return five minutes later with her daughters.
‘Might I ask where you lived before you came to Leeds?’ Nottingham began.
‘Why does it matter?’ Mrs Wade countered.
‘Indulge me, please.’
‘York,’ she answered.
‘Not Whitby?’
‘Whitby?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Two of your children were heard talking about it.’
She shot a glance at her girls, then said, ‘I wouldn’t know about that. But we’ve never even been there.’
‘Do you know a family called Briggs?’
‘Briggs?’ She frowned and he kept his eyes on her, watching for any glimpse of fear. ‘No, I don’t. Why?’
‘There was a family in Whitby by that name. A widow with two daughters and a son. You have a girl named Anne.’
‘I do.’
‘That’s curious. Mrs Briggs had a daughter named Anne, too.’
She shrugged. ‘Coincidences happen, Constable.’
‘They do,’ he acknowledged. ‘I don’t see your son.’
‘He’ll be down shortly. Now what’s all this about? You didn’t come here to compare names.’
Nottingham turned to the fair-haired daughter, the one who had let them into the house.
‘You’re Anne?’
She looked towards her mother then nodded.
‘I need to take you into custody to be sent to Whitby, Miss Wade.’
‘What for?’ her mother interrupted.
‘Suspicion of murder.’
‘No!’ Mrs Wade shouted. ‘My Anne would never do anything like that.’
‘Then perhaps you did, or maybe her sister. I’ll need to take you all to the jail; Anne will be sent on to Whitby.’
The room erupted in a babble of female voices. Then the door opened and a young man entered. He was tall, shoulders very broad, hands down at his sides. The son, Nottingham thought. Mark Wade.
‘What’s all this about?’ he asked, his voice raised. His dark hair was combed and he’d taken the time to dress well in a fashionable black coat.
‘I’m sending your sister to Whitby to be questioned about a murder.’
‘Be damned you are.’
‘I am,’ the Constable told him firmly.
‘Boss,’ Rob said quietly, directing his gaze. Nottingham stared at the man’s hands. They were large, far larger than normal. He looked at the man’s hard eyes. ‘And I’m arresting you for the murder of Jem Carter.’
‘Who?’
‘Enough!’ Mrs Wade cried. ‘First you want my daughter, now you want my son. I have friends among the aldermen, Constable, I warn you.’
‘I’m sure they’ll visit you in the jail and listen to your complaints. Rob, tie Miss Wade’s hands and then Mr Wade’s.’
Lister took rope from his pocket, wrapping it around the girl’s wrists as she looked beseechingly at her mother. He moved towards Mark Wade. In a quick movement the man pushed a big hand into Rob’s chest, sending him sprawling backwards into the Constable.
Wade ran. Nottingham heard shouts from outside as he picked himself up, followed by silence. Mark Wade hadn’t managed to go too far, it seemed.
Anne stood against the wall, weeping softly. The other women had vanished.
‘I’ll take this one,’ he told Lister. ‘You make sure the men caught everyone.’
‘Yes, boss.’
The Constable leaned close to Anne’s ear and whispered, ‘We both know you did it. It’ll be better for you if you tell me everything.’
The girl just shook her head. He took hold of her arm and guided her out into the sunlight. Mark was there, heavily bound, cuts on his face, held still by the men as he tried to force his way free.
‘Where are the others?’
‘It took both the men to subdue him. They must have slipped out,’ Rob said with embarrassment.
Nottingham said nothing for a moment, surveying the scene.
‘Take him to t
he jail. I’ll bring her.’ He turned to Lister. ‘Get the men searching all the roads out of Leeds. I want them taken. After that I want you to talk to the whores upstairs. They’ll know more.’
THIRTY-TWO
The Constable saw them into the cells, Mark Wade ranting and cursing, his sister quiet and subdued. He left the ropes on their wrists, leaving them to feel the oppression of their surroundings.
Christ, how could Mrs Wade and Sarah have escaped? He’d been stupid, he hadn’t anticipated that the women would try to run. Now he needed to find them quickly.
What would he do in their place? Where would they go? Out of Leeds, he thought, as far and as fast as possible. Even with nothing, being alive was better than what would face them. They were all guilty. If he hadn’t been certain of that before, he was now.
Nottingham could feel every muscle in his body aching with the strain. Soon he’d begin asking questions of both prisoners, seeing what answers he could find. Anne would be the one to talk. She was scared, feeling alone and abandoned.
He poured a mug of ale, forcing himself to sip at it slowly, hoping for some report from the men. But by the time he’d finished no one had come. The Constable brought Anne from the cell and seated her on the chair across from him. All the colour had drained from her face and tears had left tracks on her cheeks. She didn’t look up to face him, but kept her head bowed.
‘You were in Whitby, weren’t you?’ he asked, and saw her nod slightly. ‘And you knew a merchant named Marlowe.’ She dipped her head once more. ‘You killed him and robbed him.’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ she said, her voice so small it almost wasn’t there.
‘Then who did?’ he pressed.
‘Mama.’
‘Your mother?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Yes.’
For a moment he didn’t believe her. But her gaze was straight and honest. He wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘How did she kill him?’
‘She put poison in his drink.’
Poison, he thought, a woman’s weapon. Then he thought of the girl they’d found buried and the faintest whiff of something when he’d opened her mouth.
‘Has she killed in Leeds?’
‘Two of the whores.’
‘Two?’ he asked, his voice sharp.
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