Constant Lovers

by Chris Nickson

  ‘What do you want?’

  The man was young and shirtless, showing off a stocky physique with well-muscled arms. His face was sallow, with a recent cut above his right eye and a deep bruise flowering around his left. His head was shaved smooth, glistening in the sunlight.

  Nottingham glanced at the man’s knuckles, cut and swollen, and knew without doubt he’d been part of the battle.

  ‘Well?’ the man asked, rubbing at his eyes, his voice still thick with sleep.

  ‘You’re Mr Hughes?’ the Constable asked.

  The man put his hands on his hips and smiled comfortably. ‘I am. Who wants to know?’

  ‘I’m the Constable of Leeds. I want a word with you.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Hughes raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Inside,’ Nottingham told him firmly. He locked eyes with the man, holding his gaze until Hughes moved aside.

  The parlour was a jumble, with clothes and rubbish idly scattered across the floor. The sound of voices came from upstairs, men and women both, and footsteps clattered on the boards over their heads.

  ‘What do you want, Constable?’ Hughes asked. He picked up a dirty mug from the floor and took a swig from it.

  ‘In a fight, were you?’ Sedgwick asked.

  ‘Mebbe.’ He looked from one of them to the other.

  ‘Where are you from, Mr Hughes?’ the Constable wondered.

  ‘Why? Does it matter?’ His tone had become sullen.

  Nottingham smiled graciously. ‘Just taking an interest. From the sound of you it’s not anywhere around Leeds.’

  ‘Doncaster,’ Hughes conceded.

  ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Eight. Four girls and the rest of us.’

  ‘One of your lasses was hurt recently,’ the deputy said.

  ‘Someone cut her, aye.’

  ‘That’s a crime. Why didn’t you report it?’

  Hughes shrugged.

  ‘So you’re running four whores, Mr Hughes?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘You are.’ The Constable’s voice turned hard. ‘Your girl wouldn’t have been out and there wouldn’t have been a fight last night if you weren’t.’

  ‘Old man Worthy paying you, is he?’ Hughes sneered.

  ‘Only the city pays me, Mr Hughes. You’d do very well to remember that.’

  Hughes looked doubtful, uncertain whether to believe what he was hearing.

  ‘And if I have some girls?’

  ‘It’s against the law,’ Nottingham began, ‘but men are always going to pay for girls. As long as there’s no trouble we pay it no mind.’

  ‘I didn’t start any trouble.’

  ‘But you kept it going last night,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘We don’t play fear or favour here.’

  ‘It stops, Mr Hughes,’ the Constable ordered. ‘And I’ll be telling Amos Worthy the same.’

  ‘The old bugger’s past it, anyway,’ Hughes said, ‘letting himself be taken in by a servant girl.’

  Nottingham said nothing, allowing the silence in the room to build.

  ‘You know the rules now.’

  ‘And if I don’t obey them?’

  ‘Then you’ll pay the consequences,’ the Constable said simply, ‘and by Christ, you’ll wish you’d listened. Good day, Mr Hughes.’ He turned on his heel and left, followed by the deputy.

  Outside, the pair walked in silence for a while.

  ‘You think he’ll listen?’ Sedgwick asked finally.

  Nottingham shook his head. ‘No. He thinks with his pizzle and his fists, that one. He’s not going to listen to reason. Have some of the men keep an eye on him. He’s going to be trouble.’

  ‘What about Worthy?’

  ‘I’ll talk to him again. Keep looking for Nan.’

  ‘If we find her first Worthy’s going to look weak.’

  ‘That’s for him to deal with. He got one of them, and I’ll be damned if he gets the pair.’

  They walked into the empty jail and Sedgwick looked around.

  ‘Did Rob come back this morning?’

  ‘He did. I sent him back to Jackson’s rooms to see if there’s anything more he can find. He’s probably still there. He did turn up some interesting stuff about Lady Gibton. Seems she really does have a touch of insanity. That backs up what her husband said to me.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know who killed Sarah Godlove, but every bit of this seems to stink of money and power,’ he said with distaste.

  ‘You’ll find that anywhere,’ the deputy commented.

  ‘Very likely,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘But it’s dirty stuff, wherever it happens. And it’s not in Leeds. I’d never heard of any of these people before this happened.’

  ‘Godlove didn’t seem too bad.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ he answered. ‘But I’m going to have to look at him again. The more this goes on, the more things seem to point towards him. If he knew about his wife and Will Jackson he certainly had a reason to kill her, in his own mind at least.’

  ‘I thought you’d decided he was innocent.’

  The Constable sighed in frustration. ‘I know, that’s what I thought. It’s what I still feel. But the more I look at it, I just don’t know where else to turn.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘We shouldn’t have to take all this on. It’s not as if Leeds doesn’t have crime without looking outside the city.’

  ‘I wish we could arrest that bugger Worthy.’

  ‘So do I,’ Nottingham agreed, his eyes flickering towards the morgue. ‘If we did he’d be out in an hour, though. There’s no evidence. And even if we had something, his friends among the aldermen would have him gone soon enough.’

  ‘Nothing we can do?’

  ‘No,’ the Constable said vehemently. ‘Sod all.’

  ‘I had a thought about Jackson.’ He reached into his pocket and found the paper, squinting to make out his sleepy scrawl. ‘What if his business partner knew he was going to sell out his share of the business?’

  Nottingham stopped moving the papers on his desk and looked at the deputy with curiosity.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Tunstall wouldn’t be happy if he found out, would he? He’d be getting a new partner, no say in the matter.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It could be reason enough to commit murder.’

  ‘The only problem is that Jackson killed himself.’

  ‘But what if he didn’t?’

  The Constable thought, then answered slowly.

  ‘I just don’t see it, John. Either way Tunstall would end up with a new partner. And the note indicates Jackson was a suicide. It was in his own writing. Do you think Tunstall’s that clever?’

  ‘Aye, maybe you’re right,’ Sedgwick conceded sadly. ‘It came to me while I was sleeping.’

  ‘Never ignore your hunches,’ Nottingham advised. ‘They’ll be right often enough.’

  ‘Just not in this case.’

  ‘No, John. Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘So what are we going to do about Nan? If Worthy really was telling me the truth then she’s still out there.’

  ‘After what happened to her brother, or whatever he was, she’ll have run as far from here as she can.’

  ‘I hope so. But if she hasn’t, we still need to find her. If we don’t, Worthy’s men will and we’ll be looking at another corpse.’

  ‘All the inns and alehouses must be sick of us asking about her by now.’

  ‘At least they’ll notice her if she walks in,’ Nottingham said. ‘Get the men out on a sweep of them again. And the places where she might sell what she’s stolen. She still needs to eat and drink.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ He stood and prepared to leave.

  ‘How’s Lizzie?’

  ‘Strong as an ox.’

  The Constable smiled. ‘Then let’s pray she remains free of any trouble.’

  ‘Aye, true enough.’ Sedgwick held up a pair of crossed fingers. He was smiling but inside he was wishing fervently that all would go well. To lose her would break
him and devastate James. The boy had only just become used to a loving mother. He could learn to share her with someone else, but not to be without her entirely.

  He’d never had to do so much riding when looking into a crime before. It wasn’t something he relished. Still, it could have been worse. The weather was set fair, the sun pleasant and not too hot, a faint breeze like whispers beyond hearing. If he really had to ride to out Godlove’s estate, this was a day for doing it.

  The horse took the hill at a slow, easy pace that suited the Constable. He didn’t know what he could ask Godlove that he hadn’t already asked, or if there was anything that might trip him up. But at least by talking to the man he was doing something, trying to press matters forward.

  As he rode along the long drive he could see workers out in the field, but no activity in the yard. At the stable a boy took his mount but told him that the master had left early for an appointment in Bradford.

  So much for this journey, Nottingham thought wryly, and went to the kitchen in search of something to drink while the horse was watered and brushed. With the oven going the room was sweltering, the door wide open to try and release some of the heat, the cook red-faced and sweaty.

  ‘Mr Godlove’s gone, they said.’

  ‘Aye, away at the crack of dawn to Bradford. Didn’t even take time to eat owt first.’ She wiped her brow with a forearm and eyed him carefully. ‘I’ve seen you here before. Summat to do with the mistress,’ she said suspiciously.

  ‘I’m the Constable of Leeds,’ he told her, keeping close to the fresh air by the door.

  ‘Wasted your time coming out here today, then. I suppose you want some ale.’

  ‘I’d love some,’ he said with a grateful smile.

  She gestured at the table. ‘It’s on there, help yourself. Have you found out who killed her, then?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, pouring a tall mug and taking a long, welcome drink. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘The master’s been all inside himself and upside down since it happened. He doted on that lass, you know.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  The cook crossed her arms, the pink flesh on her upper arms jiggling.

  ‘Not going to say ill of the dead,’ was all she offered.

  ‘Do you remember the day she left?’

  ‘Easier to remember the times she was here,’ the woman snorted. ‘Off out every week, then to see those parents of hers, sometimes out with the master. Couldn’t keep track of her. Didn’t think much of it when she left. Until she didn’t come back, of course,’ she added hastily.

  He took another sip. They brewed well here, with a rich, deep taste. Better than he’d had in many inns.

  ‘Was Mr Godlove here that day?’

  She shook her head. ‘After the mistress left he decided to go off to Bradford. Don’t blame him, really. Saddled up his horse about an hour after she went, saw him through the window there. Stayed away overnight, and all. Dinner I made would have gone to nought if I hadn’t ended up giving it to the men. Not that they minded, of course.’

  ‘When did he come back on Friday?’ Nottingham tried to make the question one of friendly interest, a simple way of making conversation. She stopped for a moment, casting her mind back.

  ‘Late,’ she answered finally. ‘Gone dark, I remember that, because the stable lad had to get up to look after his horse.’

  He drained the mug and decided not to press the cook further. She’d probably been here for years, with a strong sense of loyalty to Godlove. Better to let it rest. But it was interesting news and worth storing for later.

  ‘Do you know when he’ll be back today?’

  She laughed. ‘He doesn’t tell me, love. He’ll be here when he’s here. But he didn’t say not to cook, so he’ll probably come back this afternoon.’

  ‘Could you tell him I was here looking for him and I’ll come back tomorrow?’

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that. You’re the Constable, you said?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She nodded sagely. ‘Important job, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose so. The title’s worth more than the pay.’

  She looked him up and down. ‘Aye, love, I can tell.’

  He was still smiling as he rode back down the hill. She’d put him in his place right enough. He glanced at his old coat, shiny at the elbows and collar, his white stock discoloured to ivory, the brilliant yellow of his long waistcoat faded with age. It was a tatterdemalion appearance, he understood that. It might be all well and good in the city, where people recognized his face and knew his position, but out here it just marked him as a poor man.

  Still, the things she’d told him had been revealing. Sarah Godlove hadn’t managed to win the affection of the servants, it seemed, and she apparently hadn’t cared too much for being stuck on Godlove’s estate.

  But it was the man’s absence when his wife vanished that was the most disturbing point. It meant that he could have killed her; he had the time and the chance. And if he knew about Jackson, he had a reason. Things seemed to be starting to point to Godlove and that worried him. He’d been so convinced of the man’s innocence, that he was a sincere, grieving widower. Was he losing his instinct? Or was the man really that good an actor? If so, he was even fooling his servants. Whichever it was, it gave the Constable pause. He prided himself on being able to pick out a falsehood quite easily. If he couldn’t he was worthless at his job.

  He’d be back out to talk to Mr Godlove, and this time he’d be very much on his guard. He’d bring John along, too, and see what he thought. The problem was that they couldn’t arrest someone of that rank without very good cause, and finding evidence to convict might be nigh on impossible.

  As he made his way slowly along the road back into Leeds, turning by Kirkstall Forge, the ruined tower of the abbey looming out to the west, Nottingham was forced to admit that it was quite possible he’d never know for certain who’d killed Sarah Godlove, or even the real reason why.

  He hated failure. He hated to see a life taken and not being able to find the person responsible. It didn’t happen often. As he’d told Rob, most murders were simple to solve. But a few had eluded him and he remembered every single one of them, the faces, the dates, the way he’d been unable to bring them justice. He didn’t want to add this one to the list.

  At the ostler’s he dismounted, thighs aching, knowing he’d have to do it again the next day. Still, at least he now had real questions to ask Godlove, and he’d need solid, believable answers.

  The others were at the jail, the deputy wearing his frustration on his face and Lister sitting back thoughtfully, cradling a mug of ale in his hands, breadcrumbs scattered loosely across his waistcoat.

  ‘Doesn’t look like either of you has had a good morning,’ Nottingham said, perching on the corner of the desk. ‘John, I want you to come out to Horsforth with me tomorrow.’

  ‘Riding?’

  ‘Best way, unless you really prefer Shanks’s mare. Godlove wasn’t home. But the cook said he left the same day as Sarah. Went to Bradford and didn’t come back until late the following day.’

  ‘Still think he’s not guilty, boss?’

  The Constable shrugged. ‘That’s why I want you there when I talk to him. You can tell me what you think.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘What about you, Rob? You’re lost in thought.’

  ‘I’ve been going over Will’s papers again, boss. I can’t find anything else in his rooms.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said with a long sigh. ‘There’s just nothing there that can help.’

  ‘So we’re stuck,’ Nottingham said. ‘Still, it was worth a try.’ He was about to say more when the door was pushed open hard. A young boy, maybe eight years old, wearing just a shirt and torn breeches, his feet bare, looked up at them with wide, terrified eyes.

  ‘Please sir, you’ve got to come now,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Some men are attacking a lady.’

  No
ttingham looked at the other two and reached into a desk drawer, taking out three heavy cudgels.

  ‘Ever used one?’ he asked Lister.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ll get some practice,’ the deputy told him.

  Moving at a run past the surprised people on the street, they followed the boy into the thicket of courts that ran off Lands Lane. The lad disappeared into the entrance of one, a space hardly wide enough to pass through in single file, to a yard where the broken-down houses stood around a small, bare patch of ground that hardly ever saw the sun.

  ‘In there. I heard them.’ The lad pointed at a building with its front door missing. Nottingham could hear grunts and shouts coming from inside. He turned and gestured at the others, took a deep breath and charged through the door with a shout, the other two close behind.

  The two men trying to kick down the door turned together. They were both large, with battered, worn faces and thick hands, but they were unarmed, knowing their size and power could intimidate most people.

  The Constable didn’t even need to think. He brought the cudgel down on one man’s forearm, hearing the hard wood break bone and the loud, agonized cry that followed. Sedgwick was already attacking the other man, then Lister started, flailing at the skull of the first. Nottingham moved aside to give them room.

  It had only been the work of seconds, barely a skirmish, but he still found himself panting hard from it, energy and excitement jangling through his body. Sedgwick’s man was laid out on the dirty floorboards, while the other held his arm carefully, blood flowing freely from the wounds on his head.

  ‘Wake that one up,’ the Constable ordered, ‘and take them to the jail. See what you can get out of them.’

  The deputy used his boot to rouse the unconscious man. He stirred slowly, moving gradually to his knees then vomiting loudly.

  ‘Get him out of here before he does that again,’ the Constable ordered. ‘The smell here’s bad enough as it is.’

  There was no resistance in them. As hard men they had nothing to offer beyond their size. They were brutal enough against someone weak, but crumpled if anyone showed them some fight.

  Once they’d gone and silence had returned to the stairwell, he knocked on the door. Two of the panels had been smashed, but the lock had held. Another good push or two and it would have given, though.