Come the Fear (11 page)

‘So you beat her when she didn't earn anything.'

‘I bloody well did not.' The man crashed the mug down hard on the table, eyes blazing. ‘I'll not have it said I hit lasses.'

‘No?' Nottingham asked, his eyes cold, watching the pimp's face carefully. ‘Who did, then?'

‘Someone who had her and didn't pay.'

‘And why should I believe you?'

‘Ask me sisters if you like. They'll tell you.'

‘Where are they?'

‘Out earning, I expect. They were both gone when I woke up.'

He'd find them later and ask his questions.

‘Why did Lucy come to you?'

The man wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I don't know, and that's the truth, Constable,' he answered with a shrug. ‘Happen I was the first she saw. We'd not been here too long ourselves when she came around.'

‘What did she say?'

‘Said she needed work, and would I look after her. I couldn't understand too much of what she told me, mind, it was hard to make it out. She wasn't a pretty lass to start, and then there was that lip. When you saw that . . .' He shook his head.

‘What else? There must have been more than that.'

‘She said she'd been dismissed and she couldn't go home. One look at her with the belly starting to bulge and you could see why.'

‘Was that all she said?'

Davidson scratched his head again, a fingernail digging into the scalp for lice.

‘Aye, there was summat odd, I suppose. She said he'd find her if she went home.'

‘Who?'

‘I didn't ask. It didn't seem to matter.' He took another drink then poured himself more of the ale.

‘If you didn't think anyone would want her, why did you take her on?'

‘I told you, we'd just come to Leeds ourselves. I thought she might bring in a little. Besides, our Sarah felt sorry for her.'

‘And are you always so kindhearted, Mr Davidson?' the Constable asked.

The pimp stared at him. ‘Mebbe I was a bit when I came here. Not now. It's a cruel place, is Leeds.'

‘What happened when she was hurt?'

‘The lasses brought her back here and cleaned her up. Whoever he was, he'd done a right job on her face, it were all bloody and swollen up. Sarah looked after her, sat up with her all night.'

‘What about the next day? Was she willing to go out again?'

Davidson shook his head. ‘She didn't want to. She was scared. Offered to stop here and clean for us instead. Look at me, Mr Nottingham.' He opened his arms appealingly and glanced around the room. ‘Do you think I'd know what to do with a servant girl? So she went back out with our Sarah and Fanny.'

‘But she didn't come back.'

‘No. When they were done they went looking for her, but she'd gone. Not seen her since.'

‘You didn't search for her?' Nottingham wondered.

Davidson shrugged. ‘What for? I thought she'd decided I were right and she wasn't made to be a whore. Best to let it be.'

The Constable stared at the man. His leg might stop him moving fast but he had a large pair of fists that could damage a girl. His tale seemed plausible enough but he still wanted to talk to the girls.

‘You'd better be telling me the truth,' he said finally.

‘I am, Constable. I told you, ask me sisters.'

He found them down by the bridge, standing close to the old chantry chapel. He could hear the yells of the men from the barges out on the river, loading cloth from the warehouses that would end up in more countries than he could name.

The girls were easy to spot, with the same pinched, hungry faces as Davidson, looking as if youth had been drained from them too early. They were standing together and talking, warily eyeing the men who passed. A few weeks before they'd probably had an air of innocence but it had already been rubbed off them, leaving their mouths and eyes hard. He walked up to them and the taller one turned, appraising him quickly.

‘We're only looking for gentlemen today, love,' she told him.

‘I think you'll talk to me,' he said with a friendly smile.

‘Oh aye?' she asked cockily. ‘Why's that, then?'

‘Because I'm the Constable of the City.'

The girls looked at each other with the kind of quick, silent conversation only sisters could manage. He'd seen it in his own daughters when Rose was alive.

‘We heard you said this was all right unless we caused trouble,' the girl said.

‘It is,' he agreed, keeping his voice light. ‘But I need to ask you some questions. You're Sarah?'

The taller one hesitated then gave a brief nod.

‘I need to know about a girl called Lucy.'

Sarah sighed. ‘What about her? She were hardly with us long enough to draw breath.'

He asked what he needed to. Everything they answered echoed Davidson's words. Lucy had been a timid little thing, hadn't talked much. With her face and the signs of a baby on the way they knew not many would want her, but she might have made enough to keep body and soul together. They'd looked after the girl when she was hurt, bathed her face and tried to ease her tears.

‘She said she didn't want to go home?'

‘Aye, that's right,' Fanny said. ‘She said he'd find her there.'

‘Who would?' Nottingham asked.

The girls shrugged together.

‘Her business,' Sarah said. ‘If she'd wanted to tell us, she would have.'

‘Who beat her? Was it your brother?'

The girls glanced one to the other and started to laugh.

‘Mister,' Sarah told him, ‘it weren't our Joshua. He wouldn't dare raise his hand to a lass. I'd kill him mesen if he tried. I know what he seems like, but he's soft as summer butter.'

‘It was someone she was with,' Fanny interrupted. ‘Hit her all round the face. Thought it should have been free wi' her. Poor thing cried half the night.' She paused. ‘She weren't made for this. I'm not sure she were made for anything.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, she had the lip.' She stared at him to be certain he understood her. ‘And mister, she were simple. Didn't know what you meant half the time, you had to show her. And then there were the babby. No lass should have all that,' she said seriously. ‘It were like God hated her.' She blushed and looked down.

‘What about when she left?' he asked gently.

‘She came out with us the second day,' Sarah said. ‘She didn't want to, not after what had happened, but it's like Joshua told her, you have to make money to eat. We left her here and that was it. She never came back.'

‘You didn't look for her?'

Her eyes widened, surprised by the question. ‘Why? She weren't one of ours.'

Davidson's tale hadn't fully convinced him. It had slid too glibly off his tongue. This was different, though. He'd no doubt the sisters could lie with the best of them when it suited them, but what they'd told him had the stark, spare ring of honesty. And it left him little further along.

Rob had watched the dark blue of evening turn to thick black on the western horizon. He'd already made his first rounds with the men, seeing everything quiet in the inns and alehouses. It was still early in the week and people didn't have enough money left to cause trouble. That would come after they were paid on Friday or Saturday.

He knew the smells of Leeds at night now. They weren't as strong as in daylight, the shit of carters' horses worked hard into the street and dried, the harsh steel tang of blood around the Shambles fading with nightfall, the rank stink of unwashed bodies now locked behind closed doors.

He made his way down to the river, hearing the water flowing and seeing a pair of fires glowing on the bank, looking for all the world like an entrance to hell. The sight made him think of tales of the gabble ratchets his governess had scared him with when he was young. Looking around, he half expected to see the eyes of the dogs made by the devil from the souls of children who'd died before they could be baptized. Instead he saw faces: people who had arrived a month or so before with the first warmth of spring. He'd met them on their first night, just men and women who had nothing, keeping each other safe in the darkness and looking for fitful work in the city or the country that surrounded it.

There were more of them now, maybe forty in all, a mix of the wounded and the weary, the hopeless and the defeated. The trust had vanished from their eyes, and the love from their hearts. They left with the dawn, only coming back when dusk fell.

They kept the fires burning all through the night, sleeping close to the flames for warmth and protection. The men kept cudgels close to hand to fight off the drunks who came for sport or rape.

One man stood as Rob approached. He was slight, his hair lank, but he stood out from the others, wearing clothes that had he kept carefully clean, his boots shiny from spit and effort. His right arm was withered, wasted and useless, life's dark joke that would always be with him.

‘Mr Lister,' he said.

‘Evening, Simon.'

Rob joined the others in the circle around the blaze. He saw some eye him suspiciously, wary of any authority. But Simon Gordonson was the one who seemed to speak for them all, a smiling man who persisted through a life that had done him no favours.

He'd made his way as a clerk for a shoemaker until the sleeping sickness had taken his wife and children at the tail of the previous summer, just as the nights grew chill. In his grief he'd given up his home, the things that no longer had meaning to him, and taken to wandering. He'd come back to Leeds a few weeks before, bringing the others who'd joined him, a strange, dispossessed band.

The men passed a jug of ale around and Rob took a short swig before handing it on. A pan of something bubbled over the fire. The women sat further away, almost in the shadows, babes and small children asleep on their laps, their bodies warmed with coats or threadbare blankets. Dogs rested nearby, raising their heads occasionally to sniff something on the breeze.

‘Crime keeping you busy, Mr Lister?' Gordonson asked. He was an affable soul with a ready smile. Only rarely did it slip, but Rob could see the bottomless sorrow beneath the mask.

‘There's no danger of ever being out of work,' he answered.

Gordonson laughed softly. ‘God's kingdom's never so peaceful as he'd like it to be. I thought I saw you out with a lass the other day. Courting, are you?'

‘I suppose I am,' he answered with a small laugh.

‘Pretty girl,' Gordonson said quietly.

‘She is,' Lister agreed. ‘But my father's warned me I'd better not marry her.'

‘Not marry?' he asked in surprise. ‘Why wouldn't he want that? A man needs a wife and bairns to complete him.'

‘You tell him that.' Rob couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. ‘He doesn't want me to marry her because her father's the Constable.' He saw the other man's confusion. ‘She's not good enough for me, evidently.'

‘Good enough is what rich folks can afford.' Gordonson stared at the ground then looked up. ‘Are you rich, Mr Lister?'

‘No,' Rob replied slowly, then said, ‘Middling, maybe.'

Gordonson leaned forward. ‘In that case I'll tell you something for free. Nothing's better than love.'

‘It won't fill your belly, though, will it?' Lister asked.

‘Maybe not, but food won't fill your heart, either.'

Rob looked at Gordonson carefully. ‘And what about if the love goes? What then?'

Simon tapped his head. ‘Memories, Mr Lister. Memories. They can keep a man warm for many a long night.'

Rob sat and considered the words. A wind soughed lightly through the reeds and the tall grass by the water. Finally he stood.

‘I should get back to my work,' he said. ‘Tell me, did you have a girl down here with a harelip? It would be a few weeks ago now.'

‘You mean that Lucy?' Gordonson asked.

‘Yes, that's her name.'

‘She stayed with us for a few days. You'd need to talk to Susan, she was the one who looked after her.'

Rob scanned the faces almost lost in the darkness. ‘Where is she?'

Gordonson shook his head. ‘Not tonight, Mr Lister. She's off working. You come back tomorrow and I'll see she's here for you.'

Rob nodded. ‘Do you remember when Lucy was here?' he wondered.

‘Not really,' Gordonson told him with a gentle smile. ‘Time's the one thing we have plenty of here. Maybe that's why we don't pay it much heed. Ask Susan tomorrow, she might know.'

‘So we know she whored for one night after Cates dismissed her,' the Constable said. He sat behind the desk, hands playing with the quill pen as he talked. ‘And she was down with these folk by the river.'

Rob nodded. He stood close to the door, breeches and hose still dripping from wading into the water to pull out a body below Leeds Bridge. The corpse sat in the cold cell they used as a mortuary.

‘That's the start of a picture,' Nottingham continued, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘We need more. You find out what this woman knows, Rob. John, I want you to talk to the servants up at the Cates house. Lucy was there a few months, she must have become friendly with one of them.'

‘Yes, boss.' The deputy sat on the other chair, longs legs stretched out in front of him.

‘Either of you have any idea where else she could have gone?'

Neither of them spoke. This was a story they'd need to piece together, a puzzle they'd need good fortune to complete. But the Constable was determined that they'd continue until the picture was finished.

‘According to Davidson and his girls, Lucy said she couldn't go home because he'd find her there. See if you can discover who the
he
is.'

They nodded.

‘And there's one other thing,' he announced. ‘Yesterday evening I had a note from our Alderman whose house was robbed. It seems that his property has been returned.'