Fair and Tender Ladies

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I’d better never hear you saying something like that.’

  ‘No, Da.’

  ‘What homework do you have tonight?’

  ‘Sums again.’

  ‘Right. You’ve finished your supper so go upstairs and do it.’

  He waited until the lad had scrambled up the stairs.

  ‘I think sending her to school is a grand idea.’

  Lizzie put the girl on the floor, watching as she pushed herself on to her feet and started to totter about the room.

  ‘Away from there,’ she warned, then, ‘I want her to have the same chance as James.’ The boy was learning so quickly at the charity school, dutiful in his work and starting to develop a good, clear hand for his writing.

  ‘So do I.’ He extended his arm, waving his fingers until Isabell saw them, and began to walk unsteadily towards him. ‘If she has her letters and her numbers she’ll never go hungry.’ Only two years had passed since he’d learned to read himself. Back then he’d had dreams of becoming Constable after the boss retired. Now he knew better. He didn’t have a face that fitted with what the Corporation wanted. He’d done the job for six months when Nottingham recovered from a wound and he’d been barely tolerated by those who held the power and the purse strings.

  The boss might have spent much of his childhood as a waif while his mother had to whore for pennies, but he’d started life as a merchant’s son. Underneath it all the ones who ran things believed he was one of them, something Sedgwick could never be.

  Rob stood a better chance of being the next Constable than he did. His father was publisher of the Leeds Mercury; he knew the right people, could speak the right way.

  ‘John!’ Lizzie’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She pointed and he scooped up Isabell before she could fall, tickling her to make her giggle wildly and kick against him with her short, stubby legs.

  ‘You’re going to be a smart one, you are,’ he told her. ‘There’ll be better than this for you and your brother.’

  Rob paced anxiously around the office in the jail. He’d completed the night report and looked in on the three drunks asleep in the cells. Outside there was the slow rumble of wheels as a cart made its early way down Kirkgate towards the Parish Church.

  He chewed on his lower lip, starting at every noise and hoping it was the Constable arriving. In the distance he heard the bell at the Parish Church ring once for the quarter hour. Finally the door handle turned and he stood straighter.

  ‘Morning, lad,’ Nottingham said. ‘Going to be another lovely day.’

  ‘Boss, there’s something you need to see.’ He picked up a piece of slate from the desk and passed it over. ‘This.’

  TWELVE

  It was a crude drawing, no more than a few lines scrawled with a stone. A stick figure in a dress with a noose around her neck, hanging from a gibbet. Nottingham examined it.

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘At the school.’

  The Constable looked at him sharply. ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘I was down by there a little after three,’ Rob explained. ‘The gate at the end of the back yard was open and someone had forced the door. It was on Emily’s desk.’

  Nottingham held up the slate, studying the picture again. There was no mistake about its meaning. ‘Anything else you could see? Any other damage?’

  ‘Just this.’ Lister hesitated. ‘What do I do? Should I tell her?’

  Nottingham stood by the desk, trying to untangle his thoughts. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. He gripped the slate to try to hide the shaking in his hands. He was going to punish whoever had done this.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said eventually. ‘She needs to know. And make sure you walk her to school and back every day. I mean every day.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  The Constable’s mind raced as he imagined everything that could happen. ‘I want you to check inside the place each morning before she goes in. I’ll tell John to have his men keep an eye on it during the day.’

  ‘I’ll have one of the night men stay on watch, too. The husbands have stopped staying out.’

  The Constable nodded his approval. ‘I’ll have a word with the locksmith and see those doors are fixed and that gate’s made secure,’ he said. ‘There’s a wall at the back of the property, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, about as tall as me.’

  ‘And the gate goes all the way up?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Nottingham thought for a moment. ‘Did you put the incident in your report?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Write me a new one and leave it out,’ he said. ‘I don’t want everyone knowing about this. Do that, then take yourself off.’

  The Constable was studying the slate once more when the deputy came in. No one was going to hurt his daughter. No one.

  ‘Take a look at this, John.’ His voice was calmer than he felt.

  ‘A drawing?’ Sedgwick asked in confusion. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Rob did. Someone broke into the school during the night and left it on Emily’s desk.’

  ‘Christ.’ The deputy exhaled slowly.

  ‘It wasn’t drunks the other night. Someone doesn’t want her there.’

  ‘I’ll keep Holden on the back of the place.’

  ‘Good. But I want all this to stay quiet for now.’

  ‘Why, boss?’ Sedgwick asked. ‘If the women down there know they’ll have their men out on guard again.’

  ‘And if they do that, they’ll scare off whoever’s behind this. I want to catch the bastard, John.’

  ‘We will, boss.’

  ‘I’m not going to have anyone do this to her.’ He tossed the slate on to the desk, his gaze fixed on the picture. ‘Did Molly tell you much yesterday?’

  ‘She saw Jenny, but the girl didn’t tell her anything useful. What about the Wades?’

  ‘Mrs Wade doesn’t remember Jem Carter, and Jenny never went there. A waste of good time.’

  ‘You don’t need to walk me to school,’ Emily insisted. ‘I’ll be fine by myself. You look like you need to sleep.’

  ‘I want to,’ Rob said. ‘Besides …’

  ‘What?’ she asked with a flash of irritation. He took hold of her hand. ‘What is it? I’m going to be late.’

  ‘Someone broke into the school last night, through the back door.’

  ‘Broke in?’ She stopped abruptly, looking at him in disbelief. ‘But you said it was just drunks,’ she began. ‘Did they damage anything?’ She started to move away, ready to rush to the school, but he kept hold of her.

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘What?’ She looked at him. ‘What, Rob?’ she said, fear in her eyes, then shouted, ‘What?’

  ‘There was a drawing on a slate,’ he told her, keeping his voice low. ‘A girl, hanging.’

  Emily stayed silent for a few moments, scarcely breathing.

  ‘Where is it?’ Her face began to flush with anger. ‘I want to see it.’

  ‘I took it to the jail.’

  ‘And what did Papa say?’

  ‘He’s the one who told me to escort you to and from school and check the room every day. He wants to keep you safe.’

  ‘I’m not going to let them scare me.’ She tried to keep her voice firm, the words more for herself than for him. ‘I’m not,’ she repeated, staring at Rob.

  ‘I know,’ he said gently. He could feel her fingers gripping his tightly, squeezing against him. ‘Come on,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  For once they arrived at the school before the pupils. He waited as she unlocked the door with the heavy key, her hands fumbling with the lock.

  ‘Let me go in first,’ Rob said.

  ‘No,’ she said, and the vehemence of her reply surprised him. ‘This is my school.’ He opened his mouth, but she continued, ‘I don’t care what Papa told you. I have to do it this way. I have to.’

  Rob nodded and followed her inside.
He pulled back the shutters and let light into the room. It was exactly as he’d seen it when he’d come during the night, everything still in place, the lock hanging from the back door where it had been forced open.

  Emily put her books on the table that served as her desk.

  ‘Why?’ she asked him. ‘Why do they want to do this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We’re helping people. We’re not hurting anyone.’ She looked around the room, her eyes bleak. ‘You know, I’d actually started to believe the other night was nothing.’

  ‘People round here want you,’ he reminded her. ‘You saw the way the women had their husbands out before.’

  ‘Someone doesn’t.’

  ‘We’ll find him,’ Rob promised. ‘We’re going to have someone watching the place all the time.’

  ‘A school that someone has to guard …’ She let the words tail away.

  ‘And we’ll have someone fit a new lock here and on the back gate.’

  Emily walked around the room, her fingertips sliding across the wood of the tables and benches.

  ‘The girls will be here soon. I’m not going to let anything happen to them.’

  ‘They’ll be safe,’ he assured her gently, and added, ‘So will you.’

  ‘How do I tell them? How do I tell them that someone hates them so much he wants to destroy all this?’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, seeing the astonishment on her face. ‘Please. Your father doesn’t want anyone else to know.’

  ‘But—’ she began.

  ‘There’s no need to scare them.’

  She pushed her lips together. Her eyes glistened but he knew Emily wouldn’t let the tears fall.

  ‘We want to catch whoever’s doing this,’ Rob continued. ‘Think about it. If the women here send their men out again we won’t be able to do that. Please.’

  He waited as she weighed her answer.

  ‘I won’t say a word,’ she agreed reluctantly.

  ‘Thank you.’ He kissed her. ‘I’ll come back this afternoon to walk you home.’

  He walked across Timble Bridge in the sunlight, feeling bitter at his impotence, unable to do anything to ease her fears. He smelt the honeysuckle and the heady scent of the roses climbing in the hedgerows but for once they didn’t bring a smile.

  As he entered the house on Marsh Lane he could feel exhaustion creeping through his body. Lucy came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and stared hard at him.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ she said. ‘And don’t say it’s nothing, I can see it on your face.’

  He explained it to her, seeing her cheeks flush with anger.

  ‘I’ll go and spend nights there meself,’ she offered when he’d finished.

  ‘There’s no need. We’re going to have someone watching the place all the time.’

  She snorted. ‘Aye, and I know how good that is.’

  ‘Do you really think Mr Nottingham would let anything happen to her?’ Rob asked. ‘Do you think I would?’

  ‘It already has, though, hasn’t it?’ She shook her head. ‘Words don’t mean owt.’

  ‘We’ll find whoever’s done it.’

  ‘Mebbe,’ Her voice was filled with doubt. ‘That lass is going to be scared.’ She pulled the knife from the pocket in her dress. He knew she kept the blade sharp and ready; those years of living wild had left her cautious. Even the months in this house, safe and secure, with a home, hadn’t managed to remove that.

  ‘We’ll look after her.’

  ‘All of us,’ she said, staring at him.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘All of us. I’m off to my bed now, but I’ll go back to the school this afternoon.’

  The Constable sat staring at the slate for a long time. He’d sent a note to the locksmith, asking him to secure the gate at the school and go back later to repair the back door and fit a solid bar to it.

  Who? Who would want to do this? Who would hate the idea of girls being educated so much?

  He heard the bell ring for the cloth market but he didn’t move; for once they could look after themselves. The minutes passed as he stared at nothing; finally he roused himself, scribbled out his daily report, and left it at the Moot Hall before making his way to the Tuesday market at the top of Briggate.

  Crowds packed the street, cries of ‘What do you need? What do you lack?’ coming from the stalls, the patter of the sellers entertaining the women, making them laugh and shriek in delight.

  He smiled and nodded at the faces he knew, stopping to talk to a few, asking a single question: who did they know who didn’t want girls educated? He moved again, seeing someone he knew and working through the press of people for a few more words.

  Finally Nottingham pushed his way out, able to breathe more easily away from the rank smell of unwashed bodies. He walked down to the Calls, standing out of sight, close enough to the school to hear Emily’s voice through the open windows. After a few minutes he cut round to Call Brows, counting off the houses until he found the right one, checking that the workman had done a good job on the gate. The wall was a head taller than him but nothing a young man couldn’t scale. Later he’d have someone put a layer of mortar at the top and push broken glass into it, hating himself for making the place into a fortress yet knowing he’d do anything to keep his daughter and everything she loved safe.

  By the time he reached the White Swan for his dinner the deputy was already there. The Constable raised his eyebrows questioningly and saw Sedgwick give a brief shake of his head. He sat wearily on the bench.

  ‘I’ve been asking round a little,’ Nottingham told him. ‘No one seems to know who’d want to do ruin to the school.’

  ‘So what do we do now, boss?’

  The Constable took a long drink of his ale. ‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I saw Simon Johnson up at the market last Saturday.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The brother of that man killed by the mob. The one who cursed us all.’

  ‘He’s still here? What do you think? He’s behind this?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ the Constable admitted. ‘But if he hates Leeds so much I wonder why he’s still here.’

  ‘Do you want me to look for him?’

  ‘No, leave it with me. I know what he looks like.’

  ‘I checked earlier. The only people who’ve been at the back of the school today are the locksmith and you.’

  ‘Whoever it is, he’ll be back,’ Nottingham warned grimly. ‘Folk like that can’t keep away once they’ve started.’

  ‘We’ll have him when he returns,’ the deputy said. ‘How’s Emily?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’ The Constable stroked his chin. ‘I left that to Rob. She knows she can always talk to me.’

  ‘I know what I’d like to do when we find him.’

  ‘It’s not just you,’ the Constable said darkly. ‘But we’ll make sure he faces justice. Like everyone else, John,’

  ‘Not if the people who live round there catch him first.’ If that happened, there’d be another man murdered by the mob.

  ‘Something else you should know about,’ Nottingham told him. He explained about Tom Finer, his history and his plan for the workhouse.

  ‘He could make good money there,’ Sedgwick surmised.

  ‘I know. And as long as they’re not having to pay, the Corporation won’t care how he does it.’

  ‘Do you think he could have changed, boss?’

  The Constable shook his head. ‘No. Maybe he really did come back here for his old age. I can believe that. But I know what he’s like – if he sees a chance, he’s going to take it. That’s his way. He’s sly, John, he always was. He’s the only one I’ve ever seen who could get the better of Amos Worthy. And he still knows secrets about some important people here.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’ve warned Tom Williamson.’ He sighed. ‘I really don’t know what else I can do. I’ve written to London to try and
find out what he did down there. But it’s the folk in the Moot Hall who’ll be making the decision.’

  ‘And the poor who’ll pay the price.’

  ‘Isn’t it always?’ Nottingham asked drily.

  ‘We should tell Bessie so she can warn all those down by the river.’

  ‘I’m going down there. I want to ask her about Simon Johnson, anyway.’

  ‘What do you want me doing this afternoon, boss?’

  ‘See if you can find anything about the school,’ he replied without even thinking. ‘And Carter and his sister,’ he added.

  THIRTEEN

  A cart had lost a wheel just up from the bridge and tipped its load out across the road. The driver was holding the horse, calming it with gentle words and watching as two apprentices from the blacksmith sweated to work the rim back on to the axle and secure it.

  The road was blocked, the traffic at a standstill. A small crowd had gathered, and one or two of the men loudly offered advice; small boys darted in and out among the people. One of the barrels had cracked, spilling salt, and women scooped it quickly into their bags.

  Nottingham saw one of his men standing on the other side of the road. He nodded and walked on; another ten minutes and everything would be moving again. He clattered down the old stone steps besides Leeds Bridge and strolled out along the bank.

  The river moved lazily, its sound barely more than a whisper in the still air. A pair of willows hung out over the water as if they were leaning in to drink. The grass was flattened and he saw rings of stones and charred patches where the fires burned at night. There was a small shelter up in the treeline, and he crossed the open space.

  As he approached Bessie came out, standing with a knife in her hand until she recognized him and grinned.

  ‘Mr Nottingham,’ she said warmly. ‘I can’t remember the last time you were down here. It’s usually Mr Lister.’

  She seemed to have grown even stouter in the months since he’d seen her last, more flesh on her arms, her waist thicker. But the smile was the same, and she carried herself with the same regal neatness, her clothes old, but always neat and clean.

  He pushed the fringe off his forehead and asked, ‘Are they behaving for you, Bessie?’