Fair and Tender Ladies

by Chris Nickson

  ‘It’s an honest enough occupation. Why do you need to be so secretive about it?’

  ‘I’m negotiating contracts,’ the man told him, ‘and my job is to find the best prices. If everyone knows what I’m doing … well, you see?’

  ‘I’ll need to check your papers.’

  ‘Of course.’ The man gave a quick bow.

  ‘Work like that doesn’t mean you’re not a murderer, of course. And it still doesn’t explain why you were running.’

  ‘I was late, I told you.’

  ‘Not for business, I’m sure of that. A lady, perhaps?’ Jackson stayed silent and the Constable sighed. ‘If you won’t say, you have to stay here. I don’t trust you.’

  ‘As you wish,’ the man said. ‘I warn you, though, once people learn I’m in jail they’ll be coming to see you.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ Nottingham raised his mug in a mock toast and left.

  He doubted that Ralph Jackson had killed anyone. He didn’t have the air of a murderer. And his hands didn’t fit with what they knew about Carter’s killer. But he was still the best they had, and he refused to account for himself properly. John would probably have already turned him out with a warning, he thought. He wasn’t ready to do that quite yet. Instead he arranged food and drink for the man and set off for home, weary to his core. They needed to keep looking.

  He was distracted as they sat around the table to eat, wondering how to pry the truth from Jackson. He’d check the man’s pack, but he was already sure of what he’d discover. What he needed was the rest of the tale.

  ‘Papa,’ Emily said, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see them all staring expectantly at him, his daughter, Rob and Lucy.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘We have something to tell you.’

  He glanced from one face to the others, all of them bright with a secret. ‘What is it?’

  Rob took hold of Emily’s hand. ‘We’re going to get married,’ he said.

  For a moment he thought he’d misheard. She’d always said she’d never marry. He’d come to accept it, although he’d always hoped she’d change.

  ‘I’m going to have a baby,’ Emily told him. ‘You’re going to be a grandpapa.’

  Nottingham began to grin, a smile that filled his face before turning to laughter.

  ‘That’s wonderful news,’ he told them, feeling the joy well up inside. Lucy was smirking, and he said, ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  ‘Miss Emily asked me not to say anything.’

  His little girl, married. He’d seen her sister wed before she’d taken ill and died. Now he had to hope that Emily would survive the birth and that the child would be healthy. More than anything, he wanted her to be happy, but as he looked into her eyes he wasn’t so certain that she was.

  In bed he stretched his arm out across the sheet, imagining for a moment that Mary was there, thinking of all the things she’d say at the news, her excitement and joy. She’d have already been making plans, a new gown for the bride, talking about this and that until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  But the only words she spoke were in his head, and he stayed wakeful long after the rest of the house was silent, caught between the pain and pleasure of too many memories.

  The Constable completed his Monday rounds. The Sabbath had been quiet. After church he’d stopped at the graveyard, giving Mary and Rose the news, letting the silence of the place fill him.

  Jackson had offered him nothing more. He’d been to the King’s Arms and examined the pack; everything was as he’d claimed. But before he set the man free he needed to know why he had been running.

  He walked to the bridge, turned and began the climb up Briggate. Clouds still covered the city, making the air close and thick. As he reached Boar Lane a boy darted out from a court, his eyes hopeful, a letter clutched in his dirty fist.

  ‘I was told to give this to you, sir.’

  ‘To me?’ He looked around. ‘Who told you to do that?’

  He shook his head. Nottingham brought a coin from the pocket of his old breeches and gave it to the lad.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said and scurried off quickly.

  The Constable broke the plain seal on the note.

  You have a gentleman in your jail. He was on his way to see me. If you come and meet me now I can vouch for him. I shall be at Timble Bridge.

  It was a woman’s hand, flowing, educated. More mystery. He put the paper in his coat pocket and began to walk towards Sheepscar Beck.

  She had her back to him, but from ten yards away he knew who it was. He’d seen her often enough at church. His boots rasped on the wood and she turned quickly at the noise.

  ‘Mrs Williamson,’ he said, and gave a small bow.

  She glanced around nervously. ‘I hoped the boy would find you.’

  ‘He did. You’ve something to tell me?’

  ‘I’m going to have to trust you, Mr Nottingham. Please don’t say anything to my husband.’ She was trying to keep her voice steady but he saw her hands shaking. ‘I know he’s your friend.’

  ‘We all have our secrets, Mrs Williamson. Not all of them need to be told.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Mr Jackson was on his way to meet me. You … I’m sure you don’t need me to give you details.’

  ‘No.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I hope what I’ve said is enough for you. Now I have to pray you’re as good as your word.’ Hannah Williamson stared at him.

  ‘I’ll say nothing,’ he promised.

  ‘Thank you.’ Relief flooded into her face. ‘I ought to get back, I told the governess I’d only be a few minutes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He watched her walk away, knowing the courage it had taken to speak up. And for Jackson to have remained silent. Once she was out of sight he returned to the jail and unlocked the cell.

  ‘You’re free to leave, Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Decided to believe me?’

  ‘You could say that. Just in time for you to start your journey home, too. York, wasn’t it?’

  The man smiled. ‘That was what I said. I’ll bid you good day, Constable, but I hope you won’t mind if I don’t thank you for the hospitality.’

  As the man reached the door Nottingham said quietly, ‘Your discretion does you credit.’

  For the briefest moment Jackson hesitated, then walked on.

  They were back to nothing, no one in custody, not even a suspect. And no one in mind for the damage to the school. Ten years before this wouldn’t have happened. He’d have had them all under lock and key instead of feeling like a man fumbling his way through the darkness with no path to guide him.

  THIRTY

  Rob wanted to tell people. He’d visited the church and talked to the curate; the banns would be cried for the first time on Sunday. He felt that the news was written on his face; if anyone looked close enough they’d see his expression, overjoyed but full of trepidation and make their own guess.

  Emily had asked him to say nothing about the baby yet. Too many things could go wrong; for now, silence was the best course. But once the school day was over she’d go and talk to the Williamsons and tell them everything. Then she just had to hope they’d be willing to keep supporting the school.

  He walked out along the riverbank. The camp had been cleared for the day, only the charred circles of the fires remaining. Bessie was under her shelter in the trees, needles clacking as she knitted.

  ‘I hear you’re the deputy now, Mr Lister,’ she said as he approached.

  ‘I am, Bessie, although I’d rather it wasn’t that way.’

  ‘We’ll all miss him. Not as much as his lass and their little ’uns, though.’

  He nodded. He still hadn’t been to see Lizzie again. He didn’t know what to say to her. Every sentence he formed in his head never seemed enough.

  ‘Your folk must be breathing easier with the workhouse gone,’ he said.

  ‘They are,’ she agreed. ‘We’ve ha
d a few drifting back now that word’s gone round. But like I told the Constable, I don’t think any of them set that fire. I’d better not hear that they had or I’ll be bringing them to the jail. I won’t tolerate that, Mr Lister.’

  Rob smiled. ‘Do you know anything about a big man with dark hair and very large hands?’

  ‘That’s a strange question,’ Bessie said, looking at him curiously.

  ‘Hands so large you’d notice them,’ he prompted her.

  ‘I’ve seen someone like that.’

  ‘Down at the camp?’

  ‘No, not here.’ She looked into the distance across the river, trying to recall, then shook her head. ‘I don’t remember exactly where. I’m sorry. But I remember his hands.’

  ‘When was it, do you know?’ He was desperate for any information that would bring them closer to the man. All Bessie could do was shake her head once more.

  ‘The days all get mixed up, Mr Lister. I wish I could tell you.’

  ‘Thank you, anyway.’

  She looked at him again. ‘You look like you’ve had good news.’

  ‘Me?’ he asked, reddening.

  She grinned. ‘Aye, you. You can’t hide a thing. It must be to do with that lass of the Constable’s.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Bessie smiled and winked. ‘Whatever it is, I wish the pair of you well.’

  Nottingham marched down Briggate, greeting all the faces he knew. Crossing the bridge he dodged between carts and the piles of stinking horse dung on the road, before threading his way into the small streets. He’d been reluctant to return here, to ask for help once more. Now he felt as if it didn’t matter. All he wanted was for this business to be done so he could leave this job.

  A grinning Henry, his dark skin shiny with sweat, opened the door.

  ‘Get thisen inside, Mr Nottingham,’ he said. ‘I’m in the kitchen cooking, but Mr Buck has a cool room. Go through, tha knows the way.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m reet sorry about Mr Sedgwick. He was a good lad.’

  ‘He was indeed, Henry.’

  Joe Buck was in the parlour, reading; the shutters were partway closed and the window open to catch the hint of breeze that came along the river. He was in his shirt, stock unwound.

  ‘Constable.’ The fence rose easily, a ready smile on his lips. ‘Sit down, it’s too hot to be standing. Some ale? You must be dry.’

  ‘Thank you, Joe.’ He shrugged off his coat and lowered himself gently on to the settle before taking a long drink.

  The man stared at him. ‘You’re welcome to stop here a spell, Mr Nottingham. But you don’t look like you’ve just come for the company. And much as we both miss him, I don’t think you’re here to reminisce about Mr Sedgwick, either. So what can I do for you?’

  ‘Have you had any word on the school?’

  Buck shook his head. ‘I’d have told you if I had. No one’s said anything and they know better than to lie to me.’

  ‘Doesn’t it seem odd to you that there’s not a whisper on it?’ the Constable asked quietly.

  Buck frowned. ‘It depends. If there’s a lunatic out there, I could see him not telling anyone.’

  ‘That’s what worries me, Joe – a lunatic. You can never guess what they’re going to do next.’

  ‘I hear you have a man inside the place all night now.’

  Nottingham nodded and smiled. Little escaped Buck’s sharp eyes.

  ‘I want this man. I might be willing to forgive and forget quite a few things if anyone can help find him.’

  ‘That’s a generous offer.’

  ‘I’m serious about this. I want him soon.’

  ‘I’ll pass the word, Mr Nottingham. I’m sure there are folk who’ll be interested.’

  ‘Good information only, Joe.’

  ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ Buck said with a grin. ‘You’ve not taken anyone for that murder yet, either.’

  ‘I know,’ the Constable replied. ‘What do you know about a man with dark hair, big, well-dressed, very large hands?’

  ‘Doesn’t fit anyone I know. Is that your killer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think he killed the girl, too?’ He raised his hand before Nottingham could say anything. ‘We both know there aren’t many secrets in Leeds. Let’s not pretend there are.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Nottingham acknowledged.

  ‘Someone will know. Happen you’d be grateful for that, too?’ He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘Maybe I would.’

  Buck nodded. ‘I’ll tell folk.’

  Lister waited patiently, close to the Williamsons’ house on Briggate. He’d found a patch of shade on the far side of the street but the air was still too hot. If it remained like this all the crops would be withering in the field long before harvest came.

  Emily had been there for close to half an hour. He’d walked over with her and pressed her hand as she knocked. He’d even offered to escort her inside, but she’d refused; this was something she had to face on her own. The school was hers and she needed to make her case.

  Finally the maid showed her out and she stood blinking in the sunlight. He hurried across, sliding between the carts that moved quickly up the street.

  ‘What did they say?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re going to stay with the school,’ she answered slowly, almost in shock. Her eyes widened and her hands clutched the sleeves of his coat, jumping up and down like a child. ‘They’re really going to do it! I was sure they’d say no.’ Emily bit her lip. ‘I can’t believe it. Mr Williamson looked embarrassed when I told him, but Mrs Williamson just took over. She said she thought I was being very brave. She surprised me.’ She grinned at the memory. ‘She didn’t even give him a chance to speak. She said they’d be happy to keep on paying the bills of the school and that if there was anything she could do, she would. She even wants me to call her Hannah.’ She smiled again.

  ‘You’ve an important backer there.’

  She began to laugh. ‘I was so scared. I thought it would all go back to the way it was, just me, on my own. They’re wonderful people, Rob. I hope Papa isn’t late home, I can’t wait to tell him.’ Her eyes were sparkling and the broad smile on her face made her look younger. ‘I’m so happy, I feel like I can breathe again.’

  Rob watched her as they walked, imagining how her belly would swell in the months ahead. It scared him to his heart, but he wanted it. He wanted Emily as his wife, the mother of his children.

  He left her at the door of the house on Marsh Lane and walked back into Leeds. Nothing was the same, it never would be again. He breathed deep as he clattered up Kirkgate. Everything was changing. As he passed the church he tried to picture the wedding, wondering whether he should invite his parents.

  He’d left their home because his father couldn’t accept Emily. Her grandmother had been thrown out by her merchant husband and she’d had no choice but to whore to support herself and her son. Never mind that the boy had grown up to become Constable; that history would never make her acceptable to Rob’s father. At a Sunday dinner he’d tried to humiliate Emily. He’d failed; she’d turned the tables on him. But Rob hadn’t spoken to his parents since.

  How would they take the news? They’d hear soon enough, the word would spread. Rob sighed. Whatever had happened, he owed it to his father to tell him before that. He returned to Briggate and paused at the door where the sign announced Leeds Mercury, looking through the glass at James Lister bent over the desk, scribbling away furiously. He pushed down on the handle and entered.

  The smells were immediately familiar, ink, metal and polish.

  ‘Hello, Father.’

  James Lister looked up, squinting behind his spectacles. ‘Robert,’ he said, sitting back, a self-satisfied grin on his face. ‘This is a surprise. Sit down.’

  Rob settled himself on the hard wooden chair. ‘Everything looks the same.’

  ‘There’s no need for it to change,’ Lister told him. ‘It suits me, you know that.’

&nb
sp; His father looked much the same, Rob thought. Rounder, perhaps, his face more florid, a little less hair on his head.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about Mr Sedgwick. By all accounts he was a good man.’

  ‘A very good man,’ Rob replied firmly.

  ‘And you’re the deputy now, I gather. You’ve risen well, Robert. My congratulations.’ He looked bemused. ‘Is this visit official or personal?’

  ‘Personal. I wanted to tell you that I’m marrying Emily Nottingham.’

  ‘I see,’ Lister answered slowly, then looked at his son. ‘Tell me, is there a baby involved in all this?’

  ‘There is.’

  ‘I’m sure your mother will be happy to know she’s to become a grandmama.’ It was as much as he’d allow.

  Rob stood. He hadn’t known what to expect when he came in, but he’d hoped for something more than this. ‘I thought you should know, that’s all.’

  ‘I thank you,’ his father said. ‘I wish you the joy of a son to carry on the family name.’ He lowered his head to read over the words he’d written.

  Back out in the heat, the happiness he’d felt earlier deserted him. His father could do that so easily, leech the joy out of the world to leave it dry and empty. He was a man who held his grudges close, and to be defied by his own son was the gravest insult of all. It had been pointless to go. Still, he’d done his duty, he could always say that.

  He began to amble up the street, thoughts dashing off in all manner of directions, then something caught his eye. A man, ten or more yards in front of him, fully half a head taller than those around him, with dark hair and dark clothes. Rob started to walk faster, pushing through people, hearing the protests as he pushed them aside but paying no attention. His eyes were fixed on the man, trying to catch a glimpse of his hands.

  Something must have alerted him. The man glanced over his shoulder then began to run, forcing folk aside; a pair of women toppled over. Rob followed, dodging and sliding between the bodies. The man turned into one of the yards that ran back off Briggate. Rob had to stop, edging around a handcart outside the leather merchant, a few precious moments lost before he could duck through the entrance and into the cramped space of the court.