She stood, turning briefly to thank Rob’s mother for the meal, turned on her heel and left the room. As he stood, Rob saw his mother’s expression still blank, and his father’s eye hard with anger. Then he strode out behind Emily.
They were halfway down Kirkgate, Timble Bridge in sight, before she spoke.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘I know you’d hoped for a reconciliation. But he just goaded me so much.’ She shook her head. ‘And he managed it in so few words.’
‘I was proud of you,’ he insisted. ‘That was the first time I’ve ever seen anyone better him. You left him speechless.’ She gave a sad smile and he pulled her close, her cheek against his. ‘And we never have to go back there again.’
‘When will she start talking?’ James asked. He was kneeling on the floor playing with Isabell. She laughed with clear joy, grabbing for his hands, trying to grab them before he moved them out of reach.
‘Soon enough,’ his father told him. He leaned forward and added in a loud whisper. ‘If she’s like most girls, once she starts she’ll never shut up again.’
‘I heard that, John Sedgwick,’ Lizzie warned him. She’d pulled the old pot off the hearth and was dishing the pottage into bowls. ‘You’d better watch what you tell that lad if you want to eat here again.’
The deputy winked at his son. It felt good to be home, to sit in the firelight with his family. Most of Isabell’s spots had faded, just as the apothecary predicted, and the fear had vanished.
‘Of course, your mam’s not like that,’ he told the boy. ‘There’s not another one like her.’
She placed the food on the table. ‘You’d do well to remember that, too,’ she said with a smile. She scooped up the little girl and sat, holding her carefully on her lap.
It had been a long day. A couple had been robbed as they made their way home from service at St John’s. Young, dark and poor was all the description the pair could offer. It could have been half the young men in Leeds. He’d set two of his men to go through the beer shops and look for someone spending freely; they’d taken him before the clock struck four. Roaring drunk and joyful, he still had one shilling left of the five that he’d stolen. For that he’d spend the next seven years in the Indies. If he was lucky he’d survive long enough to come home.
He’d followed hint and whisper from person to person trying to learn more about Solomon Howard. At the house of someone who’d once clerked for Darden he’d sat in front of an empty grate and heard the man tell how the factor counted every penny and every pound each day.
‘Him and the master, they’d shut the door behind them and plot and scheme for hours.’ The clerk pulled his coat tighter around his chest to try and keep out the chill. ‘God alone knows what they talked about.’
‘What was he like?’ the deputy asked.
‘A cold bugger.’ The man shook his head. ‘Loves his money. I’ll give him this, though, he’s clever. He knows what’ll sell where and how to get the best price for it.’
‘What about whores?’
‘I only saw him working, and it was nothing but business there.’ He thought for a moment. ‘There was a woman he had as a servant for a while, though. She might know something.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘Meg something-or-other.’ He shrugged and shook his head.
‘Meg Robinson?’ The deputy searched through his memory for women named Meg.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever knew her surname.’
It was enough to start Sedgwick down another road, and two hours later he found the woman named Meg Brennan. She was perhaps twenty, bulky and plain, a baby suckling at her breast, three more children filling the room with noise.
‘My man’s out,’ she said. ‘Drinking up his pay, most like. Same as bloody ever.’
‘You worked for Solomon Howard?’
‘Him,’ she snorted. ‘Aye, for four year before I met my man and this lot began popping out.’ She caught him looking at her. ‘I were pretty back then, everyone said, and trim, too. Why’d you want to know about him?’
‘We’re just asking questions.’ He smiled. ‘Was he a good employer?’
‘You mean was he all over me, don’t you, love?’
‘Was he?’
‘He was, and I let him because my mam needed the money and I didn’t know no better. Rough bastard as well.’
‘How old were you when it started?’
‘Twelve. I’d been there a fortnight.’
‘Didn’t you say anything?’
Meg Brennan moved the baby to the other breast and stared at him. ‘Who to, eh? I thought they were all like that. My mam kept telling me I was lucky to have a position with a man like him. She’d not have listened. I was the oldest, I had to work.’
‘Did he bring other girls there?’
‘Not as I ever saw, but he wouldn’t need to when he had me, would he?’
‘What did he do when you said you were leaving?’
‘He wa’nt as interested in me then. I’d filled out, hadn’t I? I worked out my notice and left. He wa’nt even around the day I went. No goodbye, nowt.’
‘Was he having other lasses by then?’
‘Aye, I expect so,’ she answered with a deep sigh. ‘But if he were, it wa’nt at home. Once he lost interest in me, he had me working all the hours God sent. Beat me if he didn’t like what I’d done, too.’
‘Hard?’
Meg stayed silent for a long time. ‘Aye.’
He rose to leave, feeling pained for stirring the dust of memories in her.
‘I don’t know why you’re after him,’ she said quietly, ‘but whatever it is, I hope you make the bastard pay for it.’
‘Penny for them,’ Lizzie said. James was in his bed, Isabell asleep on her mother’s lap, and they sat in front of the fire, enjoying a few quiet moments.
‘They’re not worth that,’ he told her. ‘It’s just work.’
‘When isn’t it?’ She reached over and pressed his hand. ‘Is it better now that Mr Nottingham’s back?’
‘He’s . . .’ He struggled for the words. ‘He looks older now. Tired.’
‘You would be too if that had happened to you.’
‘Mebbe. He’s still sharp.’
‘It’ll be your chance to be Constable in time.’
‘If they offer it. This bloody mayor won’t, I’ll tell you that.’
‘There’ll be another mayor next year. Happen he’ll be better.’
‘I’m not sure I want it. When the boss was off . . .’
‘When Mr Nottingham was ill you were a man short then and I hardly ever saw you. The Corporation wouldn’t pay to take on someone else. But think about it, John, there’d be more money, a bigger house for the children.’
‘We get by, don’t we?’
‘We do. Barely.’
‘Anyway, the boss won’t be going anywhere soon. Not until we’ve found Gabriel, anyway. So it doesn’t even matter yet.’
‘Yet,’ Lizzie said. ‘You could be Constable for a long time.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘I want you to have your due,’ she told him firmly. ‘When he does go you’ve earned that position.’
‘Mebbe,’ he said doubtfully.
The Constable walked up Kirkgate well before dawn. He’d woken early, but Lucy had been up before him, the fire in the kitchen already lit and water boiling to wash the linens. She’d greeted him with a smile, bread and cheese already cut for him to break his fast.
‘I heard you moving upstairs,’ she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and pouring a mug of ale. ‘You’ll need that to wash it down.’
The girl wasn’t afraid of work, he thought as his boot heels clicked against the stone. She was learning well, too, and taking the hardest of the work from Mary’s shoulders. He’d heard his wife with the girl the previous evening, teaching her to make bread, guiding her through the proportions and the kne
ading until she was satisfied. Show her once and the girl remembered, his wife said happily. Lucy seemed happy enough with her position, too, settling into a routine. He’d swear she was already putting on a little weight, her cheeks fuller and rosier.
Rob was at the desk, scribbling away quickly with the quill.
‘Busy night?’
‘Not really. They don’t seem to like it when it turns cold.’ And winter certainly seemed to have arrived. Sleet had fallen during the evening, and the wind from the west brought the threat of worse. ‘There was one thing, boss. Harris the draper was walking home with his boy. He was wearing a grey suit, his son’s only eight . . .’
‘Oh Christ,’ the Constable exclaimed.
‘Three of them set on him, calling him Gabriel. Two of ours were close enough to crack some heads before it got out of hand.’ He nodded at the cells. ‘The ones who did it are in there.’
‘No damage to Harris or his lad?’
‘They’re fine.’
Nottingham nodded and walked across the room, stopping to stare out of the window. After a while he said, ‘Emily told me what happened yesterday. I’m sorry, lad.’
Lister smiled. ‘Did she say she bested him?’
‘No,’ Nottingham answered in surprise. ‘She didn’t mention that.’
‘It was wonderful, boss. Emily left my father speechless, then she stood up, thanked my mother and we left. There’s people who’d have paid good money to see that.’
‘I might myself,’ the Constable laughed. ‘But it still wasn’t good for you.’
Rob shrugged and stayed silent.
‘You go on home. Stay for your supper tonight if you like. Young Lucy’s trying her hand at cooking.’
The deputy arrived a few minutes later, full of the morning, the broad grin making him look like a gleeful child.
‘Looks like you learned something interesting about Mr Howard.’
‘I did that, boss.’
The Constable listened carefully, letting Sedgwick tell his tale in full.
‘Not a pleasant man, by all accounts.’
‘But rich enough. And there’s always Darden to protect him.’
‘We don’t know he does that,’ Nottingham pointed out.
‘Like as not, though. They’ve worked together for years, he must know.’
Maybe, he thought. Certainly he’d heard nothing to persuade him that Howard wasn’t Gabriel.
‘Keep Holden close on him.’
‘We still need proof, boss.’
‘I know.’ And finding something they could use would be the trick. For now he’d do all he could to make the factor feel uncomfortable. ‘See if you can discover anything more about him today.’
He completed the daily report and carried it over to the Moot Hall. Out on the horizon the clouds looked heavy and menacing. If they blew in there could be an early snow. He dropped the paper on Martin Cobb’s desk, half-expecting a demand from the mayor to see him. But in no more than a moment he was back on Briggate.
His body was healing slowly. He felt better than when he’d returned to work, stronger, able to complete a day without weariness. He was still using the silver-topped stick, and by late afternoon, when his muscles ached, it helped, but soon he’d be able to manage without.
Back at the jail he poured a mug of ale and stoked the fire, wondering what else he could do about Solomon Howard. Whatever lingering doubts he’d had about the man being Gabriel had vanished now.
He was still pondering when the door opened and lawyer Benson entered, with the factor right behind him.
EIGHTEEN
‘Mr Benson. Mr Howard.’ He greeted them with a short nod. ‘Sit down, please.’
‘We won’t be staying long, Constable.’ Benson had a bluff voice to match his appearance, the broad, jowly face of a man who knew how to indulge his income. His belly pushed hard against the thick wool of his greatcoat and he pulled off a pair of expensive leather gloves.
‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’
‘Mr Howard tells me you have a man following him. Is that true?’
‘It is,’ Nottingham said.
For a moment Benson seemed surprised at the admission before recovering. ‘You understand that’s completely unacceptable. Why are you hounding my client this way?’
Nottingham glanced at Howard. The man’s eyes were focused and full of hate. ‘Because I have reason to believe that Mr Howard might be Gabriel.’
‘What?’ The lawyer bellowed the word. ‘Are you accusing my client?’
‘No,’ the Constable replied calmly. ‘If I accuse him, he’ll know. I’m investigating. That’s my job.’
‘What you’re doing isn’t investigation. It’s harassment, and it’s damaging Mr Howard’s reputation.’
‘Is it?’ Nottingham asked blandly. ‘Then my apologies.’
‘Call him off, Constable,’ Benson told him. ‘Or you’ll face a lawsuit.’ He gave a smile that showed a set of white teeth. ‘I’m sure you don’t want that. I’ll bid you good day.’
He turned, the factor following him. At the door Howard glared before leaving.
Half a minute passed before Holden slipped in. ‘Never good news when there’s a lawyer involved, boss.’
Nottingham chuckled. ‘You’ve got that right enough. It seems we’ve upset Mr Howard.’
‘Do you want me to leave him be?’
‘For now,’ the Constable told him after some consideration. He’d rattled the man, that was something. And the factor hadn’t gone to his employer or the mayor. Quite what that meant, he didn’t know yet. ‘Go and find Mr Sedgwick. He’ll have a job for you.’
‘Yes, boss.’
Alone again, Nottingham drained the dregs of the ale and wondered what to do next. Howard was worried if he was appearing with his lawyer. How could he increase the pressure on the man?
‘Any ideas?’ he asked next morning, glancing towards Sedgwick and Lister. A thin covering of snow had fallen during the night, just enough to brighten the land for a few hours. Already it felt a little warmer; by noon it would all be gone.
‘Can we search his house?’ Rob asked.
‘He’d never let us, and we don’t have enough to justify it.’
‘What about that girl’s identification? Isn’t that enough?’
The Constable shook his head. ‘Not this time. Howard’s already threatening a lawsuit for being followed.’
‘What if we search without him knowing?’ the deputy wondered thoughtfully.
Nottingham pushed the fringe off his forehead and looked at him. ‘What did you have in mind, John?’ he said softly.
‘We can’t, boss,’ Rob protested, but the Constable held up a hand to quiet him.
‘See if there’s anything in his house that connects him to the children and take it. If that doesn’t rattle him, nothing will.’
‘How are we going to do that? None of us has the skills.’
Sedgwick smiled. ‘I daresay Hugh Smithson could be persuaded to let me in if I kept silent about his past.’
Nottingham was silent for a long time. Then: ‘You’d better make sure you’re not caught.’
‘I will.’
‘It’s not right, boss,’ Rob said after the deputy had left. ‘Doing it that way.’
‘It’s not right to torture and kill children, either.’ His voice was firm and his eyes hard. ‘I’ll do what I have to in order to find out who murdered them.’
‘You’re certain it’s Howard?’
‘I’m positive. Lucy identified him. Do you still see the faces at night?’
Lister nodded.
The Constable softened his tone. ‘That’s why I’m doing this. He’s one of the people who thinks he can build walls of money to protect himself. But I’ll dig under them.’
He knocked softly on the door. One, a pause, and then two more. Smithson opened it and the deputy slipped in quickly.
‘Be quick, please, Mr Sedgwick. The cook will only be an hour at the
market.’
‘I’ll be as fast as I can, Hugh.’
He felt the thud of his heart in his ribs. It had taken a few days to set this up. There was a meeting with Smithson, with hints and threats of letting the man’s past slip to his master and a warning of what would happen after. Even when he’d reluctantly agreed, they still needed a time when both Howard and the cook would be gone.
Now it was Saturday morning. The factor had been at the cloth market and he’d spend the rest of the day at the warehouse. The deputy had watched the cook leave for market, a basket over her arm, before climbing over the wall into the back garden of the house.
He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs. Howard would keep anything incriminating well hidden, in a locked desk or chest. The bedroom was well-furnished, the mattress of down, the sheets fine linen. Six suits hung from pegs, more than he’d even seen together before, and all of them costly but none of them grey. Ten long waistcoats, silk embroidered with gold thread in beautiful patterns of peacocks, birds and flowers, the colours dazzlingly bright. He checked the pockets, then the two chests full of shirts and hose. There was nothing.
Moving softly, he checked the rest of the rooms before going back down. The desk in the parlour was open, with a letter half-written. He searched carefully through the drawers, then moved on. In the dining room a dark oak dresser filled one wall, displaying a collection of silver plate, cutlery stored carefully in a chest.
Finally he tried another door. It was locked. He took a small set of picks from the pocket of his breeches and tried one, then another. At the fourth attempt one fitted, and he was in the room. Light came from a barred window that looked out on the garden.
The strongbox was crafted to keep money safe, with three heavy locks; it would take too long to open them all. Ledgers were stacked on the desk, next to a quill and an inkwell. There was little of interest in the drawers, bills from tailors and shoemakers.
Time was running short and so far he’d come up empty-handed. The hearth was empty but he could feel the sweat running down his back. Another chest stood in the corner. He fumbled with the picks, his hands slick, then it was open.
The grey suit was carefully folded, breeches on top of the coat, dark stains on them both. He lifted them out. Underneath was a knife, the blade wiped roughly clean, and a riding crop. A silk pouch lay on the bottom; in it were neatly-tied locks of hair of all colours, more than ten of them, all soft to the touch.
At the Dying of the Year Page 14
