Come the Fear

by Chris Nickson

  ‘This thief taker’s involved?’

  ‘If he’s not yet, he will be soon enough,’ Nottingham said with certainty. ‘And once that starts, we’ll have him.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ He paused. ‘What about the Cates men? What are we going to do about them?’

  ‘I know what that servant girl told you, but they can deny it easily enough,’ the Constable said in frustration. ‘Who do you think most people will believe?’

  ‘I’d believe the girl,’ the deputy told him without hesitation.

  ‘So would I, for all it matters. One of the men could have left Lucy with a baby and killed her.’ He sighed. ‘Trying to prove it will be close to impossible, though.’

  ‘We still need to talk to them,’ Sedgwick countered. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Nottingham wasn’t certain how wise that was. The deputy could be subtle with his questions, but he was at his best with the ordinary folk.

  ‘Positive,’ he answered with relish. ‘I’ll enjoy every moment of it.’

  Finally the Constable nodded his agreement. It might not be a bad thing to shake them up a little.

  ‘Start with Robert,’ he advised. ‘If he has religion the way everyone says he should be quick enough to admit his sins.’

  ‘What about the father?’ Sedgwick asked.

  ‘Leave him for last. You’ll need to be very careful with him. The same with Will. He’s a smart lad, by all accounts. But if he’s expecting anyone, it’ll be Rob, not someone he doesn’t know. You’ll be able to press him harder.’

  ‘When should I go?’

  Nottingham considered.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, I think. Start down at the warehouse. At least one of them should be there. If they’re not, go up to the house. I doubt you’ll get a confession but there might be something. And it could scare them enough to keep their hands off the girls for a while,’ he added.

  ‘Why not today?’ Sedgwick asked.

  ‘Do it when you’re fresh.’ He put on his coat and the tricorn hat. ‘I’m going over to talk to Joe Buck and find out what he’s heard about our thief taker. I think he’ll have a few things to say.’

  ‘If it’s taking business from his purse I’m sure he will,’ the deputy laughed. ‘Tight as a squeaky farthing, is Joe.’

  ‘And he’ll probably hear about some of the burglaries that won’t reach our ears. It could be a good way to catch our man.’

  ‘So you’d be willing to work with him?’

  Nottingham smiled.

  ‘I’ll use a very long spoon to sup with that devil, but yes, if needs must, I will. It’s in his interest, too.’

  ‘You know Joe, he’s not going to do anything that doesn’t help him.’

  The bell at the parish church tolled midday, the sound dying softly.

  ‘Come on, boss,’ Sedgwick said, ‘let’s go to the White Swan first. I don’t know about you, but my stomach thinks someone’s slit my throat.’

  Joe Buck lived on the south side of the Aire, among the tangle of small, ugly streets that were tucked out of sight behind of grand merchant palaces of Meadow Lane. Most of the houses were poor and faded, run down, a few even gutted, everything useful taken. There was rubbish against the walls, left where it had been thrown, and the stink of piss and shit. Packs of stray dogs roamed and growled and bony feral cats slunk quietly into the dark ginnels. But Buck’s house was spotless on the outside, the windows clean and shining, blue paint fresh and sparkling on the door. Nottingham knocked and waited.

  The servant arrived quickly, a large man with a small, powdered periwig on top of his head and sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms. His skin was so dark it seemed to glow, his wide smile showing white teeth. Few would have believed he was Buck’s molly boy.

  ‘Constable,’ he said, giving a brief bow. Only when he opened his mouth did the sense of the exotic drop away; his accent was broad Yorkshire. ‘’Ant seen thee in a while. Tha’s here to see the master?’

  ‘Yes, Henry, I am.’

  ‘He’s in t’ back, same as he always is. Tha’ knows where to go.’ The servant stepped aside, his bulk almost filling the cramped hallway.

  The parlour was immaculate, everything lovingly dusted, the way it always was when Nottingham visited. Buck was sitting at a rosewood desk and stood as soon as he saw the Constable. He was dressed in a suit that showed the tailor’s art, the cut of the coat and waistcoat hiding his thickening belly, the breeches tight enough to display a strong pair of thighs. The hose, shirt and stock were all dazzling white, the shoes well-buffed, and a full-bottomed auburn wig was combed out to lie flatteringly on his shoulders. The business of selling stolen property paid well, Nottingham thought. Never mind that the Constable knew what Buck did, in ten years he’d never been able to connect the man with anything, not to the point of arrest.

  ‘Mr Nottingham,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Sit down, sit down. Do you want something to drink? A glass of wine? Small beer?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ The Constable settled in the chair and looked at the other man.

  ‘So what can I do for you?’ Buck asked. ‘Although I’ve a feeling I know,’ he added with a small smile.

  ‘The thief taker.’

  ‘I thought so,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Our friend Mr Walton.’

  ‘No friend of yours, I’d imagine,’ Nottingham said.

  ‘You’re right there,’ Buck admitted wryly. ‘If I were in business – which I’m not,’ he added cautiously, ‘he’d be taking trade away from me with his little scheme, and I wouldn’t care for that at all. You know about the robbery up by the Red House?’

  The Constable nodded.

  ‘There are rumours there was another last night.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard that,’ the Constable admitted.

  ‘People talk,’ Buck said idly. ‘So nothing’s been reported to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Which means they’re relying on Mr Walton to retrieve their goods.’ He frowned.

  ‘That would touch an honest business in the pocket,’ the Constable said, and Buck glanced up sharply.

  ‘And it could turn people away from the law.’

  Nottingham knew that. If he didn’t hear that a crime had been committed he couldn’t find the people who’d done it. They could conduct things any way they wanted in London and elsewhere, but he wouldn’t stand for it in Leeds.

  ‘What are we going to do about it?’ he asked.

  ‘Our friend could just disappear,’ Buck suggested thoughtfully. ‘It could be arranged easily enough.’

  ‘No,’ the Constable told him firmly. ‘I can’t condone murder, Joe. If he’s going, he needs to be discredited. Caught with stolen goods or arranging a robbery. We’ll do it the right way. It’ll discourage anyone else from trying the same thing.’

  Buck smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Whatever you wish, Mr Nottingham.’

  ‘You know the thieves in Leeds.’

  Buck raised his eyebrows. ‘Me?’

  ‘I’m not going to play words with you, Joe,’ the Constable told him, shaking his head slowly. ‘I need your help. What I’m saying is we need to work together on this. When you hear what’s going on, that someone’s been in a house and taken things, you tell me, and I’ll go after Walton.’

  Buck sat quietly, hands steepled under his chin as he weighed the idea. The house was so quiet he could hear the longclock ticking softly in the hall.

  ‘And you’ll not come after me?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘I won’t. You have my word on it.’ He paused. ‘Not until all this is over, anyway.’

  Buck gave a slow smile. ‘Anything more would have been too much to ask, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Far too much, Joe,’ Nottingham agreed with a grin. ‘Now you’d better tell me about last night’s break in.’

  ‘All I know is one happened. I can find out for you.’

  ‘Do that,’ the Constable said, ‘and send word to me.’


  ‘I don’t want you saying anything about this arrangement, Mr Nottingham,’ Buck warned him. ‘It wouldn’t look good for me if people heard.’

  ‘Nor for me,’ the Constable said as he rose. ‘Remember that, Joe. I need it quiet, too. The fewer people who know, the better.’

  ‘There’ll only be me and Henry.’

  ‘And I’ll tell Mr Sedgwick. You know you can trust him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do we have an agreement?’

  Buck stood and shook his hand. ‘We do, Mr Nottingham. For now, at least.’

  He returned to the jail with a feeling of satisfaction only to find a note summoning him to the mayor’s office. It had happened before, and he knew it would occur often enough again, but this was the first demand since John Douglas had taken office. He brushed the worst of the dust off his coat, straightened his old, stained stock, took a swig of ale and strode up Briggate.

  The Moot Hall seemed hushed after the roar of the street, clerks moving quickly and quietly, the only sounds voices from behind thick wooden doors and the scratch of a quill on paper. He knocked on the mayor’s door at the end of the corridor and entered.

  Douglas stood at the window, his back to the room, staring at the people below. When he turned his face was drawn.

  ‘It’s a big responsibility looking after all of them,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t think I realized it before I agreed to all this.’

  ‘I can believe it,’ Nottingham said.

  ‘You know those quilts the women sew from scraps of fabric?’ he asked and the Constable nodded. ‘Running a city’s like that. You make one law, then another and another and you try to fit them all into a pattern. Be glad you just have the crime, Richard.’ He settled into his chair, the seat padded with a thick cushion. ‘I’m expected to look after everything. For the poor as well as the rich.’

  The Constable waited. By now he was used to the way Douglas liked to air his thoughts. He liked the man, he was a good, honest mayor, one of the few he’d known whose concerns went beyond the merchants and business.

  ‘A couple of the aldermen have talked to me about this thief taker.’ He searched the desk and brought out a copy of the Mercury, the advertisement circled in ink.

  ‘I already know all about Mr Walton. One of your aldermen is already using his services.’

  ‘Oh?’ Douglas jerked his head up. ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Ridgely had several things stolen from his house. I went and looked, but before I could do much he told me he’d been contacted and his items were being returned. Without a complaint there’s nothing more I can do.’

  ‘And you think the thief taker’s returning the property.’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ Nottingham told him. ‘For a fee, of course. The only problem is that it’s legal.’ He glanced at Douglas. ‘If the aldermen are complaining, you should advise them to tell their friends not to use his services.’

  Douglas nodded. ‘They hadn’t told me that.’

  ‘I’ve heard there’s been another burglary, too. That one hasn’t even been reported.’

  They mayor stroked his chin. ‘So what are you doing about it, Richard? Legal or not, it has to stop.’

  ‘It’s in hand,’ the Constable assured him. ‘It might take a little time, but I’ll have Walton.’

  ‘We don’t want others following him here.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘Good. I won’t ask what you plan to do.’

  ‘That might be best, your Worship,’ Nottingham said with a dark smile.

  ‘Just get the bugger out of here as quick as you can.’ He sighed and rubbed his cheeks. ‘I love this city, I don’t want people coming in and trying to ruin it.’

  ‘I won’t let them.’

  ‘I know you have no love for the men in power, Richard. Sometimes I can’t blame you. But this is where I grew up, too. We all want Leeds to grow rich.’

  ‘With the riches for some.’

  ‘The wealthier the city becomes, the more it helps everyone,’ the mayor countered.

  The Constable cocked his head. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I’m not really made for all the connivances of politics,’ Douglas admitted. ‘At least in trade there’s an honesty to all the venality. You get in this and half the time they’re so sly that you don’t even think they’re carrying daggers until they’re buried deep in your back.’

  ‘Your year as mayor will finish soon. September’s only five months away.’

  ‘It can’t be soon enough for me. Believe me, I’ll walk out of this office and never look back, and good luck to William Fenton when he takes over.’

  ‘He’ll be the next mayor?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘He will, and may he have great joy from it.’

  The Constable knew Fenton. As young boys, before Nottingham’s father had thrown his wife and son from the house, the pair of them had gone to school and played together. They’d been firm friends then. Afterwards the tale had become twisted.

  Fenton had eased smoothly into his life, taking money and position in Leeds as his due, serving his apprenticeship as a merchant before going to work for his father, then taking over his business.

  Nottingham’s path had been rockier. When they’d met again, after he’d become deputy Constable, Fenton had treated him with disdain, reminding him of his fall from grace and fortune at every chance. Working with him for a year was going to be difficult.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll relish it,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, he’s that kind of man,’ Douglas admitted with a long sigh. ‘Do what you must about this thief taker, as long as it’s above the law. Let’s see the back of him as soon as possible.’

  Nine

  Rain was falling as John Sedgwick walked down to the river, the clouds hanging so low he believed he could reach up and touch the sky. A little dampness was nothing, he’d dry out later, once evening arrived and he was home where the fire was warm in the hearth.

  Before the bridge he turned, taking the new path that led past the buildings downstream. Cates and Sons had joined many of the other merchants in building a warehouse on the bank, the better to load their goods on to the barges. He felt certain he’d find at least one of the family there.

  The brick was new, its red glow still warm, the paintwork glossy and the glass of the windows clean and clear. Inside, three clerks bent over their desks, heads rising together as he entered.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ one asked.

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Cates,’ the deputy said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk said pleasantly. ‘Which one were you looking for?’

  ‘Which one’s here?’

  ‘Mr Robert, sir.’

  ‘Good,’ Sedgwick said with a grin. ‘Just who I want.’

  The clerk slid from his stool and scuttled off into an office, his back slightly bent from too many years at his work. Within a minute he’d returned with Robert Cates, a tall, solemn young man with a long, quizzical face. His hair was receding, leaving him with a large, ugly dome of a forehead. His legs were scrawny; however good the tailor’s skill, no breeches would ever flatter him, and stockings hung baggy on his calves.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, his tone distracted and condescending.

  ‘I’m John Sedgwick, the deputy Constable.’

  ‘Yes?’ He seemed astonished by the statement.

  ‘Can we talk in private, Mr Cates?’ He inclined his head towards the office.

  ‘I suppose so,’ the merchant agreed grudgingly.

  The room was spare, the desk covered in papers, bills of lading, letters of credit and correspondence. Cates sat, leaving the deputy to take an old, worn stool. Pearl light fell through a tall, open window but the man still had a candle lit. A pair of spectacles sat next to a quill pen.

  ‘Now,’ he said briskly, ‘what do you want?’

  ‘You had a servant named Lucy in your house.’

  ‘We did,’ he acknowledged with a short nod, his mouth frowning with di
staste. ‘My father dismissed her.’

  ‘She was pregnant,’ Sedgwick said.

  ‘So I was told.’

  ‘We found her body. Someone had killed her.’ He’d talked with the Constable earlier that morning and they’d decided to use the knowledge and see what it brought. He could see the shock jump into Cates’s eyes and the colour leave his face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘The girl might have been a slut but no one deserves that. Do you have whoever did it?’

  ‘Not yet. We think whoever was the father of her child might be responsible.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Cates said quietly. ‘It’s terrible that Lucy’s dead, but I don’t see why you need to talk to me. Whatever happened to her was after she left us.’

  ‘It was,’ the deputy agreed mildly. ‘But I’ve been thinking about time.’

  ‘Time?’ Cates asked.

  ‘Consider it,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘She became pregnant while she was in service with you.’ He waited, letting the merchant understand all the implications.

  ‘What are you saying? You think it could be one of us?’ he blustered. ‘Is that an accusation?’

  ‘It’s just a thought, sir. From what I hear, you, your brother and your father all take advantage of the servants.’

  ‘And who told you that?’ Cates asked, anger simmering in his voice and the veins bulging in his thin neck. ‘It’s a lie.’

  ‘Is it?’ Sedgwick said, watching him carefully. ‘The servant girls are there and available. They’re too scared to refuse any of you. Your brother’s already said he uses them.’

  ‘Has he?’ Cates said with a dry laugh. ‘I suppose he would, given half the chance. But I won’t have you slander my father that way.’

  ‘And what about you? How many of the servants have you tupped?’

  Cates eyed him with venom. ‘I’d be very careful what you say. You’re nobody, we’re a family with influence in this city. You’d do well to remember that.’

  ‘I know that,’ the deputy told him with a bland look. ‘So it would seem bad if word spread that all the men in this family of influence were using the serving girls, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t matter how common it is, it wouldn’t seem good as general knowledge. Especially when one of them claims such Christian ways.’ He paused to allow the truth of his words to sink home. ‘Now, shall we start again, Mr Cates? How many of the servants have you tupped?’