Fair and Tender Ladies

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Good and bad, same as ever,’ she replied with a small shrug. ‘At least with this weather there aren’t as many of them. Some have gone off to the farms looking for work. How are you?’ She looked pointedly at him and he understood her meaning.

  ‘I miss her,’ he said simply. There was no need for more. ‘I’m looking for a man called Simon Johnson.’

  ‘I know who you mean, he’s been here. Eyes as sad as the world, the one whose brother …?’

  ‘That’s him,’ the Constable nodded. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him in a little while. He spent a few days down here. Always kept himself to himself, didn’t want to talk much. Has he done something?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s been some trouble at my daughter’s school. I just wanted to ask him about it.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘Come on, sit down and tell your Aunt Bessie about it.’

  She listened attentively, pouring them ale from a jug in her shelter and asking questions when he was done.

  ‘You think Simon might be doing it?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, Bessie,’ he said with a frustrated sigh. ‘I was just surprised to see him still in Leeds. I wondered if he had a reason.’

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Mr Nottingham. I’ll send word if he comes back and I’ll keep my ears open. We need that school. And you need to keep her safe.’

  ‘I do.’ He tried to smile but it was a weak, wan effort. ‘You ought to know, there’s talk about re-opening the workhouse.’

  ‘I’d not heard anything about that.’ Her voice rose sharply.

  ‘They’re keeping it quiet for now.’

  She frowned, knowing full well what it meant. There’d be no more camp; men, woman and children would all be pushed away into the large old building. ‘I can see it in your eyes, though. You think it’ll happen.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Do you know when?’

  ‘Not yet. As soon as I find something out, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ Bessie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s anything you can do. The wheels are already in motion.’

  She reached out, taking his hand between both of hers. He felt the calluses on her palms and the warmth of her skin.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell everyone.’

  Rob waited with Emily in the school room while the locksmith finished the door. He lowered the bar into place and handed her the key.

  ‘There’ll not be anyone coming in through there now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nay, lass,’ the workman told her with a smile. ‘No charge. I owe Mr Nottingham a basket full of favours.’ He gathered up his tools and left.

  ‘That’s saved you money, anyway,’ Rob said.

  ‘I’d sooner have paid him myself,’ she answered, a bristly edge to her voice.

  ‘But you asked Mr Williamson for money for books, and you took the money his wife offered,’ he pointed out, confused.

  ‘They’re not family,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want to be Papa’s girl.’ She looked around. ‘This is mine. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. To him, help was help, but it was better to say nothing; he knew her pride.

  She took the books from her desk and handed them to him.

  ‘I’m worried someone will destroy it all,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll make sure they don’t.’

  Emily closed the shutters and locked the door, pushing against the wood to test it, then slid her arm through his as they walked towards the Parish Church.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said, turning to kiss her; but she pulled away.

  ‘I’m not,’ she answered him softly. ‘I don’t want to feel this way.’

  ‘Well, John?’

  The afternoon had passed, heat still clinging to the ground. The Constable had propped the door to the jail open, trying to draw in some cool air. He’d spent a fruitless time asking questions and chasing Simon Johnson. If the man was still in Leeds, no one seemed to know where; he’d turned into a wraith.

  ‘Bugger all, boss.’ He slumped into the chair and poured a mug of ale, draining it in a single swallow. ‘About the only thing I learned today is that the Wades come from Whitby.’

  ‘Whitby?’ Nottingham echoed. ‘How did you hear that?’

  ‘Will Landry. I saw him in the Talbot. He did a lot of the work on that house of theirs. He overheard one of the daughters and the son talking.’

  ‘I wonder why Mrs Wade didn’t want anyone to know.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got too much to worry about without her. I want whoever’s behind this at the school. Somebody knows.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘I want the names of everyone who’s against girls or the poor being educated.’

  ‘Christ, boss,’ the deputy protested. ‘There could be hundreds of them.’

  ‘I don’t care if we have to talk to every single person in Leeds. I want whoever did this.’

  Sedgwick found Holden in a small hollow on Call Brows. He was squatting on his haunches, a jug in front of him, looking for all the world like a drunkard awaiting his dreams as the sun began to dip. But the deputy knew his man was keeping a keen eye on the back gate of the school. He sat down on the grass.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Folk passing by, but no one’s stopped, no one looking suspicious.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Holden considered his words before answering, staring down at the ground for a long moment. ‘If you ask me, it’d be a fool who tried anything in the daytime.’

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed. He understood why the Constable wanted someone keeping watch; he’d have done the same. But there was no sense having one of the men here in the daylight when nothing would happen.

  The deputy lifted the jug and took a drink. The ale was warm but it still slid easily down his throat.

  ‘If there’s nothing by the time you leave, tomorrow just go back to what you were doing before.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Sedgwick.’ Holden took the jug back with a grin. ‘Leaves you dry, all this keeping still.’

  ‘That’s what they say. Not that I have the chance to find out.’

  The Constable lay on his bed. The window was open and the faintest of breezes stirred. Somewhere off in the distance an owl hooted, and an answering call came a moment later. Not every crime was solved, he thought, not even every murder. There were three he could recall where he’d never found the killer. Every one of them was still clear in his head. Sometimes, when the nights were long and sleep wouldn’t come, he’d go over them, poring over each detail, still worried that he’d missed something, made some mistake that let a man go free.

  He wondered if Jem Carter could become number four. They’d looked, they’d scoured the city and still found absolutely nothing, no reason at all for him to die. Then there was Jenny … he pictured her face, the blonde hair wet from the river and clinging to her skin, the ring on her finger. There was nothing to suggest she hadn’t taken her own life. Perhaps the deputy had been right, and she’d heard about her brother’s death then filled with guilt or grief she’d jumped into the water.

  But those words weren’t true. He knew that. They were excuses. The truth was that only one thing filled his heart – finding whoever was doing the damage at the school. Nothing else mattered, not even murder. Even if he found this murderer, there’d be another, and another. He was going to protect Emily and make sure no one tore her dreams apart.

  But who could he talk to? Who was there to listen to his worries and his fears? He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, reaching out across the sheet, holding on for the moments he could almost believe Mary was with him.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘I’ve taken Holden off Call Brows, boss,’ the deputy said.

  ‘Why?’ Nottingham asked sharply.

 
‘He’s just wasting his time. There won’t be any trouble during the day. If there’s a problem it’ll come after dark, and Rob has men out then.’

  The Constable nodded. Sedgwick was right. He’d allowed his fierce desire to protect Emily to push ahead of good sense. There were other jobs Holden could be doing.

  ‘I’ll still go by and check a few times,’ Nottingham said.

  ‘No harm in that, boss.’ The deputy grinned. ‘I might drop by a time or two myself.’

  ‘Today we’ll find out who doesn’t want girls to have an education.’

  The deputy poured a measure of ale and took a sip, his face troubled.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, boss,’ he began slowly. ‘Jenny Carter.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She went to those brothels.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But Mrs Wade said she’d never asked for work there.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It just seems odd to me. It makes sense she’d go there, too.’

  ‘Why would the woman lie about it?’ Nottingham asked. ‘If Jenny had gone there she could have just said so.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the deputy admitted. ‘And didn’t you say Tom Finer told Jem to go down there?’

  ‘I asked Mrs Wade if she’d seen him. They were so busy that first night she doesn’t recall.’

  ‘Happen she’s telling the truth. But whether she is or not, someone killed Jem Carter, boss, that’s a fact.’ He hesitated, then rushed on. ‘I want to find whoever did that to the school, but we can’t ignore everything else.’

  ‘What do you suggest, then, John?’ Nottingham asked in exasperation. ‘We’ve all been out asking questions and we’ve found nothing. What else can we do?’

  ‘I want to keep trying. Someone knows.’

  ‘Of course.’ He should be out there himself, too. He wasn’t doing his job. ‘Thank you,’ he added.

  ‘We’ll get the bastard, boss.’

  ‘He’s going to wish he’d never started.’

  At the end of a long day he’d stopped at the Rose and Crown to wet his throat, and now he had a little time to follow an idea. It might come to nothing, but even if the boss seemed to have time for little but the school, he wasn’t going to forget a murder. He’d follow every piece of information that came his way. He crossed the bridge and disappeared into the small streets that spread behind the large merchant mansions on Meadow Lane until he found the house he was seeking and knocked on the door.

  The woman who answered had a harried look and strands of grey hair coming out from her cap. Behind her he heard the squall of children. Before he could say a word she turned and bellowed, ‘Shut up! If I have to come back there you’re going to regret it.’

  Silence followed and she faced him with a long sigh.

  ‘Can’t keep the little buggers quiet for more than five minutes. What can I do for you, Mr Sedgwick?’

  ‘Is Ezekiel at home?’

  ‘He’s off in York. He’ll have stopped in Sherburn. He’s got a lass there he thinks I don’t know about, the daft bugger.’ She shook her head. ‘Any road, he should be back tomorrow. Is it important?’

  ‘Just wondering about something, that’s all.’

  Ezekiel Fadden had a carting business, travelling to York and beyond. He’d heard the man talk about his visits to the coast.

  ‘Do you want me to have him look for you once he’s home?’ the woman asked. Voices rose back in the house. ‘I told you, be quiet,’ she shouted to them. ‘Sorry, Mr Sedgwick.’

  ‘Aye, that would be good. Do you know if he goes to Whitby?’

  ‘Five or six times a year. He likes it up there. Why?’

  ‘I have a few questions about the place, that’s all.’

  ‘Thinking of moving, are you?’ she laughed.

  ‘No, love. Take me out of Leeds and I wouldn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Knowing him he’ll be back in good time to go drinking in the evening.’ A child started to scream and she rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll tell him.’

  Rob stood in a patch of sunlight on the Calls, watching the girls leave the school. They seemed to explode out of the door, full of laughter, shouting and running. For a brief moment there was nothing but noise, then they disappeared into the distance and the street was almost silent.

  He entered the room, seeing Emily move around, straightening the tables and benches and picking up small pieces of rubbish the children had dropped. He kissed her lightly on the back of the neck then took the broom from the corner and began to sweep the floor.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. He could see the strain and exhaustion on her face.

  ‘Sit down for a minute. You’ve earned a rest.’

  She slumped on the chair, gathering the books off the table. ‘Is all this worth it?’ she asked wearily.

  ‘Worth it?’ He didn’t understand what she meant.

  ‘This.’ She raised her head and looked around the room. ‘The school. What I’m doing here.’

  He put up the besom and looked at her. ‘Of course it is. You know it is,’ he said softly. ‘You’re giving all these girls a future. The women round here all admire you.’

  ‘But someone doesn’t.’ She sighed.

  ‘We’ll catch him.’

  ‘You keep saying that, Rob. But will you? What if he …?’ She looked down at the table.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if he does something to one of the girls?’ she said, her voice empty. ‘That’s what I keep thinking. That’s what scares me, what he’ll do next.’

  He put his hand on hers, gripping it tightly.

  ‘We won’t let him.’

  Her eyes glistened as she raised her head and she wiped at them angrily.

  ‘You can’t stop him, can you? Not really. Not you, not Papa.’

  He couldn’t reply; she was right. If someone was determined, clever and ruthless enough, he’d succeed. They couldn’t look after every child, or have men at the front and back of the school all hours of the day and night.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  He closed the shutters, dropping the bars behind them. When he turned she was still sitting at the desk and hadn’t moved. He took her arm, helping her to rise. Her mouth was set in grim defiance.

  ‘I’m not going to lose this,’ she said with determination. ‘I’m not. I’m not going to let him win.’

  ‘He won’t. I promise.’

  She stayed silent, her arm through his, but he knew her thoughts were elsewhere as she walked beside him. He let her be, simply staying quiet and enjoying her presence. At Timble Bridge she stopped, and rested her elbows on the parapet to stare down at the water as it eddied over the rocks and pebbles with a soft, sweet sound.

  ‘Don’t you ever wonder where all the water goes?’ she asked after a long time.

  ‘The sea,’ he answered. ‘That’s what they told me at school, anyway.’

  ‘I know. But if all this water goes there, what happens to all the water already in the sea?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ None of that had ever interested him. He’d gone to school and learned what he needed to know. Most of it had simply bored him. Thrashings from the master had done nothing to change his mind.

  ‘Have you ever seen it?’ Emily wondered. ‘The sea?’

  ‘No.’ He’d thought about it at times and tried to imagine it.

  ‘I haven’t, either.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe we should go there some day.’

  He smiled. ‘When we have the time and the money.’

  ‘Dreams don’t cost anything. That’s what one of the girls said today.’ She sloughed off the dark mood like a coat and took hold of his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’

  The sun was low when the Constable finished work at the jail. It had been another fruitless day. How many people had he talked to? Thirty? Forty? He’d lost count. And out of them all there hadn’t been a single one he believed responsible for the damage at the school. The only
useful thing he’d done was to catch a cutpurse as he came up behind a man with his knife out, trying to steal his money. Disarming him had been simple enough, and the man had come to the jail without a fight. Now he was sitting in the cell, cringing in terror, knowing full well what waited for him.

  In the morning the Constable would escort him to the prison in the cellar of the Moot Hall, and the man would wait for the Quarter Session. There was no doubt about his guilt. If the judge was lenient it would be transportation to America for seven years. If he wasn’t it would be the hangman’s dance up on Chapeltown Moor.

  Finally the Constable locked up and walked out into the late warmth. The evening shadows were beginning to gather, the warmth like velvet against his skin. He stretched slowly, his muscles aching from a long day, and just the faintest ache from last year’s knife wound. He wasn’t ready to return to Marsh Lane yet. He needed time to himself. He’d seen the looks Emily and Lucy gave him; they could be too attentive, rather than letting him alone with his thoughts and memories.

  The White Swan was busy with men slaking their thirst after hours of work, voices loud and merry. He ordered a mug of ale and glanced around to find Tom Finer staring at him. Everywhere he turned these days he seemed to see the man. Finer raised his cup in greeting and waved him over.

  ‘Finished for the day, Mr Nottingham?’

  The Constable sat on the bench. ‘Unless something happens.’

  Finer smiled. ‘I doubt that’s too often.’

  Nottingham shrugged. ‘Once is more than enough.’

  ‘Has it been quieter since Amos died?’

  The Constable smiled at the question. ‘Not so as you’d notice. Why, Mr Finer, do you intend on keeping me busier with your workhouse plans?’

  The older man smiled, but it was strained. ‘Everything I do is legal these days, Constable. I told you that.’

  Nottingham raised his mug in a toast. ‘I’ll hope that’s true.’

  Finer took a drink of his ale and made a face. ‘Not the best in Leeds here, is it?’

  ‘Better than the Talbot.’

  The man nodded slowly. ‘True enough, Mr Nottingham. But the gossip’s more interesting there.’

  ‘If it’s so good, what brings you down here?’

  Finer stroked a chin covered in thin white bristles. ‘Old haunts. I remember getting roaring drunk in here one night with Arkwright, back when he was the Constable. He challenged me to a bare knuckle fight out on Kirkgate.’