Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

‘I haven’t seen her in a few days.’

  The speaker was a gaunt man, wearing a cheap dark suit, with fair hair and heavy mutton chop whiskers. His voice was friendly, but he seemed tense, holding himself with unnatural stiffness

  ‘Do you know where she might be? I’m Detective Inspector Harper with Leeds Police.’

  ‘Flitted, probably. She’s a sinful girl.’

  Harper cocked his head. ‘Sinful?’ It was a curious turn of phrase.

  ‘Unmarried and carrying a child. And she refuses the word of God.’

  He was one of those. A Holy Joe.

  ‘And can I ask who you are?’

  ‘Patrick Martin.’ He extended a hand. ‘With Leeds Town Mission. I’m the superintendent for this area.’

  Harper had come across them. Full of religion and brimstone, passing out their tracts and Bibles, trying to bring the poor to God. A few of them were good people, helping where they could. Most seemed happy to condemn anyone who didn’t think like them.

  ‘You know Mrs Waite?’

  ‘Miss,’ Martin corrected him with a sniff.

  ‘Why do you think she’s gone?’

  ‘It’s the way, Inspector. Surely you know that. I’ve seen too many like her around here.’

  ‘Like her?’ Harper asked, feeling his hackles rise a little.

  ‘A girl who liked to drink and made a living on her back. Someone who turned away from the true word.’

  ‘Had she given birth?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  It didn’t matter; he could find out.

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Twenty, perhaps. Probably less.’ Martin shrugged. ‘But her sins are as old as the devil.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He’d had enough. He didn’t care for church at the best of times, and he didn’t need anyone setting up his pulpit on the street.

  ‘Harper,’ the man said thoughtfully as the inspector turned away. ‘Is your wife’s name Annabelle by any chance?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘I heard that she’d married again, someone said it was to a policeman.’ The stern mask seemed to fall away from Martin’s face, showing a younger man for a moment. ‘I knew her when we were children. She and my little sister were friends.’

  ‘I’ll give her your best wishes.’

  The man blushed. ‘I’m sure she won’t remember me.’

  ‘She might, Mr Martin. Annabelle has a good memory. If you hear anything about Miss Waite, I’d like to know. I’m just over at Millgarth.’

  The man nodded, gave a small wave and vanished around the corner. Well, well, Harper thought, so the Holy Joe had once been sweet on Annabelle.

  ‘Pat Martin?’ she asked with a small laugh. ‘My God, I haven’t thought about him in years.’

  ‘He must have thought about you. He knew we were married.’

  ‘He always was an odd one.’ She chuckled at the memories. ‘His sister Cara, me, and Mary Loughlin – we were close as that when we were young. Started work at the mill together. Don’t even know what happened to them now. He works with the Town Mission?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That sounds about right from what I remember.’

  ‘I think he was in love with you.’

  ‘Me?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Don’t be daft. I was just his little sister’s friend.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ she said, and vanished.

  ‘Oh,’ she shouted from the scullery a few moments later, ‘I saw Bob Hodges today. From the council.’

  Harper steered clear of councillors whenever he could; he’d made too many enemies there.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘We were talking about the new tram.’

  The electric tram. For the last three months the work had been making travel up and down Roundhay Road a misery as they erected the poles and strung the wires. It was going to start in Sheepscar, right by the Victoria, and run out to Roundhay Park. He knew she wanted to be on the first run later that month. But there chances were slim; everyone wanted to be there.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘I told him I’d put on a slap-up feast for them all if they’d squeeze us in.’

  ‘That’s very generous,’ Harper said.

  ‘You know what they’re like. Hate to put their hands in their pockets.’

  ‘It’ll be like a flock of gannets descending on the place.’

  Annabelle laughed. ‘Worth it if it happens, though.’ She poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘Pat Martin turning up again, eh? Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘Did you talk to him?’ Elizabeth asked. They’d eaten, and the two youngest were already in bed. Emily was practising her writing with a chalk and slate, and John was out somewhere with his friends.

  ‘I did.’ Reed balanced the cup of tea on his lap, sitting on the hard chair. He’d spent the last few minutes lost in thought, turning the case over in his mind.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘go on. You can’t leave it at that. What did he say?’

  ‘He apologized.’

  ‘What else?’ She waited patiently, darning one of his socks, fingers moving deftly.

  ‘He admitted he was wrong.’

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Honestly, Billy Reed, getting anything from you is like drawing blood from a stone. Go on. Have the pair of you made up?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. It could never be the way it had once been, he knew that. The comradeship he’d shared with Tom Harper had evaporated. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to be on this Carr case. Damn Dick Hill. He’d thought he’d left all that behind. ‘How do you do it?’ he asked.

  ‘Do what, luv?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘You and Mrs Harper. How can you be so friendly when your men are on the outs?’

  She shook her head. ‘Because we’re women, you daft ha’porth. We know better. I bet Annabelle was glad to know you’re working together.’

  ‘I saw her today. We went by the Victoria. She said was happy to see me.’

  ‘Billy Reed, I love you,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Even if you’re like every other man and still no more than a little lad inside.’ She bit off the end of the thread, picked the next sock off the pile and pushed the darning egg inside.

  ‘I’m happy. Here, with you and the children. I just want a quiet life.’

  ‘Good.’ She stared at him. ‘I’ll tell you though, sometimes I think men don’t grow up. You just go backwards instead.’

  Harper was in the office, writing his reports on the previous day, when Reed and Ash arrived.

  ‘If I talked to one shop owner yesterday, I talked to fifty of them,’ Billy said with a sigh.

  ‘I can make it easier for you today, then. I found out where she worked. Miss Worthy, the milliner.’

  ‘That’s up near the Headrow,’ Ash said dolefully. ‘We started at the bottom of Briggate. We hadn’t got that far.’

  ‘Find out everything you can,’ Harper told them. ‘She had a room in Sheepscar; I’ll talk to the landlady.’

  Superintendent Kendall was still in his office, reading through a sheaf of documents, when Harper tapped on the door.

  ‘I swear there’s someone whose only job is to come up with more regulations.’ Kendall picked up his pipe and struck a match, filling the air with smoke. ‘What have you managed to find so far?’

  The inspector gave him a summary.

  ‘We need to know where she went on the night she died,’ Kendall said. ‘Right now we have too many possibilities and no certainties. There’s the husband, but I want to know more about those men outside the meetings. Our constables weren’t doing anything? Is that right?’

  ‘That’s what I’m told,’ the inspector replied.

  ‘I’ll soon put a stop to that. Anything more on that dead baby?’

  ‘One girl so far, but she seems to have disappeared. There are some others to check.’

  ‘Keep at it. How’s Reed?’

  ‘We haven’t h
ad a ding-dong yet,’ the inspector said.

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way. I don’t know why there was bad blood between you two. And I’m not going to ask,’ he said pointedly. ‘How are the hands?’

  He lifted them to show the bandages.

  ‘Getting better.’

  FIVE

  Harper stopped in the small shop at the end of Tramway Street and asked where Mrs Timothy lived.

  ‘Four houses down,’ the girl told him. ‘But you’re wasting your time. She don’t take no men, no matter how respectable you are.’

  The woman had looked after her house. All the dirt was scrubbed from the step, windows clean, brick washed as high as she could reach; not too far, from the look of it.

  And Mrs Timothy was certainly a small woman, barely reaching to his shoulder, with a head full of tight grey curls peeking from a mob cap, her face lined by age. Plain and straightforward.

  ‘No gentlemen here,’ she said as soon as she saw him. ‘It’s a lodging house for women only.’

  ‘I know that, Mrs Timothy,’ he answered with a smile. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper with Leeds Police. I’m here about one of your tenants.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Why? Has one of them done something wrong? I’ll have her out before tonight.’

  ‘No,’ he assured her quietly, ‘it’s nothing like that. Could I come inside to talk about it?’ She wouldn’t want her private business shouted all over the street.

  ‘Go on,’ she agreed grudgingly and stepped aside. ‘Through the first door there.’

  When they were both seated, she stared at him.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘Mrs Carr.’

  The woman stared at him for a long time before she spoke.

  ‘I thought maybe she’d gone back to that husband of hers. But it has to be bad if the police are here, doesn’t it?’

  ‘She’s dead,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mrs Timothy closed her eyes.

  ‘My God, poor Catherine,’ she said after a few seconds, then took a bunch of keys from the pocket of her plain cotton dress. ‘You’ll want a look at her room, then.’

  ‘Yes, I do. And I need to talk to you about her.’

  ‘Miss Ford recommended her, and that was good enough for me. We talked a few times when she first moved here.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Six months?’ she asked herself. ‘Close enough. She’d left her husband and she had employment.’

  The inspector rubbed his chin. ‘What else did she tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know that she said much at all. I’d see her in the hall sometimes and we’d pass the time of day. Always pleasant, but that was it. A very private lady. Very quiet. She was hardly ever here, what with work and her meetings.’

  ‘The suffragist meetings?’

  ‘That’s right. She was always busy.’

  ‘What about a man? Was she sweet on anyone?’

  ‘Her? No. No one ever called for her. The only man she talked about was her husband, and that was only once or twice, back at the beginning.’

  ‘What did she say about him?’ He sat forward on the chair, listening, head tilted to be sure he caught everything in his good ear.

  ‘That he wasn’t good to her. He beat her, that’s what she told me.’

  Nothing he didn’t already know. Maybe there’d be more in her belongings.

  ‘Can I see her room now?’

  It was cold and bare. A neatly made bed, four dresses hanging on hooks behind the door. More clothes than a shopgirl would have, he noticed, and better quality. A cheap, flimsy desk and chair stood under the single window, a pen and a diary sitting open. A pile of books with long titles – suffragism, socialism. Two more volumes by the bed. Thick, political works. A bundle of pamphlets, tied with string, sat next to them. Everything sparse and ordered.

  Harper closed the diary and slid it into the pocket of his suit coat.

  ‘I’ll need to take this,’ he told the landlady. ‘Did Mrs Carr have any friends among the other lodgers?’

  ‘No. She didn’t even take her supper here.’

  Maybe she’d put more of her life on the page. God knew she seemed to hide herself everywhere else.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What about her belongings?’ Mrs Timothy asked.

  ‘Box them up for now,’ the inspector said. ‘And if you find anything when you clean, please let me know.’

  ‘Rum business, this,’ Ash remarked as they walked up Briggate. The pavements bustled with people moving to and fro with quick purpose, men in suits, still wearing summer straw boaters, women in dresses and uniforms, each with an intent face. The smoke from the chimneys was starting to push down, a haze keeping the sun away and the heat pressed to the ground.

  ‘Aren’t they all?’

  ‘Maybe so,’ the constable agreed easily. ‘How do you like the fire brigade, sir?’

  ‘It’s hard work,’ Reed admitted. ‘But at least you know what you’re fighting.’

  ‘I don’t know. It always looked dangerous to me.’

  ‘It is,’ the sergeant agreed with a shrug. ‘Plenty of injuries. But that’s the risk. We’re all well trained. What about you? Enjoying being a detective?’

  Ash grinned under his bushy moustache. ‘I am. I never thought it would be for me, but it suits me very well.’

  ‘Get along with Mr Harper?’

  ‘I’ve learned a lot from him.’

  ‘How’s his hearing these days?’

  ‘Getting worse,’ Ash said with a grin. ‘You know what he’s like – tries to keep it hidden, but I doubt there’s anyone at Millgarth who doesn’t know. We make allowances for him.’

  The shop stood at the top of the street, close to the Headrow. Nothing too big or fancy. A bell tinkled lightly as they entered. Hats stood displayed on tables and shelves. Small ones shaped liked delicate flowers, and larger, sweeping bonnets in pastel colours, decorated with feathers and waxed fruit.

  They waited, feeling awkward and clumsy among the smells of perfume and powder, until a girl appeared from the back. She was young and fresh-faced, hair gathered in a tight bun, wearing a grey blouse buttoned to the neck and a long, bustled skirt.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ She smiled widely. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Miss Worthy. I’m Sergeant Reed with Leeds Police.’

  The girl stared at them, her eyes starting to moisten. ‘You must be here about Catherine.’

  ‘We are, luv,’ Ash told her gently. She nodded, lips pulled tightly together. ‘Is Miss Worthy here?’

  ‘In the back.’ She disappeared in a rush, returning in a few seconds, an older woman with a thin face behind her.

  ‘I’m Miss Worthy.’ It was an announcement; she raised her chin as she spoke. ‘Come through, please.’

  Girls worked, stitching hats from designs, their backs bent. The sergeant followed Miss Worthy, giving Ash a nod to stay and talk to the women. Beyond a door, Miss Worthy settled behind a cramped desk, papers in neat piles around her.

  ‘Miss Ford sent me a note,’ she explained, taking a deep breath. ‘Poor, poor Catherine.’

  ‘My condolences,’ Reed said. ‘How long had she worked for you?’

  ‘Six months, Sergeant. She was a sweet woman, and a very diligent employee.’

  ‘You liked her?’

  ‘I took her on as a favour to Isabella,’ she answered carefully. ‘But yes, I came to respect her.’

  ‘Reliable?’

  ‘Utterly.’

  Reed stood on Briggate, smoking a cigarette, letting the smoke cover the scent that seemed to cling to him.

  He’d learned that Catherine Carr was a model worker, never late, never missing a day, always one of the last to leave when the shop closed for the evening.

  Miss Worthy supported suffragism. She went to some of the meetings and gave the group money. It made sense, she insisted: she was a householder, she ran a successful s
hop, she believed she had just as much right to vote as any man.

  But she kept that separate from work. The women who worked for her were free to believe what they chose; her only rule was that politics and religion should never be discussed at work.

  And she kept a distance from her employees. It never paid to be too friendly, she insisted; people only took advantage. Whatever else Miss Worthy might be, she was made of steel when it came to business.

  All he could hope was that Katie hadn’t obeyed all the rules, that someone had managed to make a friend of her. But when Ash appeared, shaking his head, he knew it was just wishful thinking.

  ‘Kept herself to herself. Polite and friendly enough, and they’re all upset. But none of them were close to her.’

  ‘So we’re back where we started.’ He grimaced.

  ‘Piece by piece, that’s how it goes, doesn’t it, sir?’

  The sergeant strolled along the Headrow and down by the Town Hall. It was the first time in months he’d had the chance simply to walk around, to look at places and faces. His world had become smaller: home, the fire station on Park Row, the dash to a fire and the tired journey back.

  The fire brigade was like the army; you trusted the men around you because your life depended on them. The bond was familiar, reassuring. And there was the same roar of danger in the blood on the way to a fire. That sense of never quite knowing what lay ahead.

  But he had to admit he’d missed this, the thinking and working it all out in his head. Picking up on a word someone let slip and following it to the end.

  He let his feet carry him around town for half an hour before heading back to Millgarth.

  SIX

  The inspector sat with a cup of tea, Katie Carr’s diary on the desk in front of him. He’d spent the last five minutes staring at it like a man in a trance. Finally he opened the book and leafed through. The bandages on his hands made it awkward, but at least they were healing. A few more days and he’d be right as rain.

  Katie Carr’s writing was rounded and girlish, the spelling slapdash, half-educated. She’d begun the volume at the start of the year – the first item was dated January 1st. He read slowly, feeling like an intruder into her thoughts. But this was his job, to take all the shards and try to put them back together.