Come the Fear (15 page)

‘Thank you.' Sedgwick put his hand on the doorknob, then turned back. ‘You've had other serving girls.'

‘What of it?' Cates said with a snort.

‘Unless they agree, that's called rape. Sir.' He left the room, closing the door quietly, and made his way out into the fresh air. Away from the house, back across the Head Row, he made for the Rose and Crown. What he needed more than anything was a long drink of ale to wash the taste of the last few hours from his mouth.

Would Cates say anything to his cronies, he wondered? Probably not; even quiet words would make him seem ridiculous in front of his friends. He took a deep sip from the mug, feeling the liquid flood through him with a sense of relief. In the end it was just as well that Cates had backed down. Parading him past the Moot Hall to the jail would have been one step too far. As it was he'd made another enemy for the Constable and himself.

But he felt certain that none of the Cates men had been responsible for the baby. He disliked all of them, each in his own way, yet their revulsion when he mentioned Lucy seemed too real to be a lie.

It had felt like a long day, one of endless frustrations. Richard Nottingham was glad to feel the softness of evening gather around him as he walked home over Timble Bridge, listening to the birdsong in the trees and the sound of cattle being driven home from the fields for milking.

The house was warm from cooking, and he hung his coat on the nail inside the door. In the kitchen he could hear Mary and Emily talking quietly.

‘It's just me,' he shouted and settled in his chair with a loud, weary sigh. Soon enough, he knew, someone would come bustling through on an errand and supper would be ready, the chatter of the family together before sleep.

Until then, though, he had time to think. They were no closer to finding Lucy Wendell's killer than they had been when he'd discovered the body. With some luck Rob might learn something when he talked to the woman by the river, but that would only take them one step closer. He wanted the murderer. Someone who could be so callous and cold with life needed to hang, and for his crimes to be known. Alice Wendell deserved justice for her daughter.

Then there was the business with Walton. The alliance with Joe Buck should pay dividends, although it would require a little time. But he was determined to do things properly, legally, so word would spread and no one else would come to try the same tricks. Enforcing the law was difficult enough without having to deal with people like the thief taker.

He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, but before he could sleep footsteps ran through the room and clattered up the stairs, followed by the slam of a door. Emily, he thought, and went into the kitchen.

‘Is she in a mood?' he asked. Mary was standing by the table, head bowed, her palms pressing down on the wood. When she lifted her eyes, he could see the start of tears there, and he took her in his arms. ‘What is it?'

‘I don't know,' she answered in a small voice. ‘She won't tell me.' He stroked her back gently, her fingers clutching tight at his shirt.

‘What do you think?' he asked. ‘School? Love?'

Mary pulled back and looked at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

‘All I know is that she was upset when she came home. She was crying. It's nothing to do with school, I'm sure of that. She'd talk about that.'

‘So it must be love,' he said calmly. ‘An argument, maybe? Did Rob meet her from school?'

‘He always does, you know that,' she told him with a small smile. ‘But he didn't come in,' she added with a frown. ‘That's not like him.'

‘I could talk to her,' he offered.

She shook her head. ‘Don't, Richard. It'll probably end up being something and nothing. You know what she's like, she flares up. Better to let her be for now.'

‘I could have a word with Rob.'

‘Do you think he'd talk to you about it?' Mary wondered. She'd regained her composure. ‘He might not want to.'

‘I'll leave that up to him,' the Constable promised. But he needed to know what was behind all this. Emily had been so happy since she'd begun teaching at the Dame school and taken up with Rob. He'd been able to see a settled life mapped out for her, with marriage and children, and he knew Mary had her dreams of the same thing. For a moment he considered walking back into Leeds to see Lister, but thought better of it. The morning would be soon enough, a quiet word before the lad went off to sleep after his night shift.

‘Maybe they'll make up quickly,' Mary said hopefully, reaching out and stroking the back of his hand.

‘It'll be his loss if he lets her go,' he told her. ‘She'll have no shortage of suitors. I've seen men looking at her when we're out walking.'

‘She loves Rob,' Mary countered. ‘And he loves her, it's obvious when they're together.'

‘I know,' he agreed sadly. He was the girl's father, he wanted her courting to run smooth. But he'd seen enough of life to know that rarely happened. There would be many ditches and hills on the way, too many places to fall. All he could hope was that the pair of them would find their way past this, that it would be nothing important. ‘Let's go for a walk,' he suggested. ‘You might feel better if you're away from here for a while.'

Mary smiled, the brightness in her eyes as well as her mouth.

‘Maybe she'll want to talk when we're back,' she said.

‘Don't worry too much if she doesn't,' he warned, and held her close. ‘Things will work out one way or another.'

‘I know. But since Rose, I worry about her so much. She's all we've got.'

‘She'll be fine,' he assured her. ‘That girl's got enough spirit for five people.'

They walked out past Burmantofts, out by the road to York where riders and carts were still travelling in the fading light. They let the peace of the countryside envelop them, moving without words, just the touch of hands between them, allowing contentment to slowly seep in. The rain had passed and the air was still; no gust of wind, sounds faint in the distance, a hawk hanging magnificently above the horizon and swooping down.

Full dark had arrived by the time they returned, the moonlight peeking through scudding clouds. There was no light in Emily's window; the girl must already be sleeping. They stayed quiet in the house, eating hot pottage in the kitchen before climbing silently up the stairs to bed.

‘I'll talk to Rob in the morning,' he promised.

Lister made his first circuit of the city as darkness came, walking with two of the men. His thoughts roiled and tumbled, troubled by everything his father had said and the way Emily had acted when he'd told her. He was damned if he'd lose her just to please some notion of society that his father possessed; he'd tried to explain that but she'd been too upset and angry to listen. He kept his hand firm on the cudgel, eager to use it at the least provocation. But everything was quiet, all the inns and alehouses subdued as men eked out their money until payday, stretching out their ale or gin over an hour or more, their faces as sullen as their spirits.

When they were done he wandered away, heading down to the river. The fires were burning on the bank and as he approached he could make out the shapes and empty faces of the folk gathered around them, cooking some food or simply taking in the heat. Eyes glanced up at him with suspicion and wariness before turning swiftly away again, bodies moving back slightly.

He stood silent until Gordonson came over, his withered arm gathered at his side, a smile on his face.

‘Mr Lister,' he said, as if he had no cares in the world, ‘I was hoping you'd come back. Susan's been waiting for you. Come on, come on, I'll show you to her.'

The girl was sitting outside the light from the blaze, her back resting against a tree, her hair pulled neatly under a cap and her skirt gathered primly around her ankles. He could hardly make out her face but she seemed young, her body barely developed.

‘Susan,' Gordon said gently, ‘this is Mr Lister. He wants to talk to you about Lucy. You can trust him.'

Rob sat down by her, giving a smile to try to put her at her ease. He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate.

‘You knew Lucy?'

‘Yes,' she replied, and he waited in vain for more.

‘You know she's dead?'

Susan turned to face him. ‘Dead?' she asked, as if it was a new word she'd never heard before.

‘Someone killed her,' he told her softly. ‘We're trying to find who did it. You might be able to help me. Will you do that?'

‘Yes,' she nodded. In a flicker of light from the fire he could make out the start of silent tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘Dead,' she said again.

‘How long was she here?' He watched as her fingers nervously plucked at the grass. Her answer didn't come quickly.

‘Nigh on seven days, I think.'

‘Did you become friends?'

‘Aye,' Susan said after a moment. ‘I liked her. People thought she was strange, because of . . .' She raised a hand to her lip and he nodded. ‘But she were nice. We used to hold each other to stay warm when we slept.'

He took a piece of mutton pie he'd saved from his dinner and passed it to her. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she reached out and snatched it.

‘Did she say why she came here?'

‘She'd told me she tried whoring but there were no one who wanted her. When she didn't bring in any money, the man who'd been looking after her hit her and made her go out again the next day, even though she didn't want to. So she didn't go back. She just walked around Leeds until it got dark. Then she saw the fires and came down here.'

‘What did she do during the day when she was here?'

‘We'd walk and try to find things people had thrown away. Old food, all sorts. Lucy even found an old dress once, but it wa'nt much and it was too big for her.'

‘Did she talk much?'

‘Nay, mister, not a lot,' Susan said, wiping awkwardly at her eyes. ‘It were her mouth, you see. It made the words funny so she didn't really like to say a lot.'

‘When she did, what did she talk about?'

‘I don't know,' she answered with a small shrug of her shoulders.

‘Her family? A boy she liked?'

‘She said she used to be a maid in one of them big houses.'

‘She was,' he told her.

‘But they said she had to go because she were going to have a baby.'

‘They did. But did she tell you why she didn't go home? Her mother loved her, she'd have taken her in.'

Susan shook her head. ‘All she said was that she couldn't go back there because he'd find her there.'

‘Did she say who'd find her?'

‘No, mister. She never did.'

‘Why did she leave here?' Lister wondered. ‘Did she tell you she was going, or where?'

‘We went out like we always did when she was here,' the girl began, ‘and she said she had summat she needed to do. Wandered off merry as you please and never came back. If I'd known . . .' Even in the dull light her could see the tears forming again and she lowered her head.

‘You don't know where she might have gone?'

‘No.' She shook her head adamantly. ‘She never said owt. I kept looking for her after but she never came back. People leave all the time here.'

He looked around. It was company, it was safety, but it was a hard, hard life out in the open.

‘How did you end up here?' he asked and he looked at him, surprise in her eyes at his interest.

‘Me parents died, so me brother was looking after me. We'd been sleeping out past Town End until some men come and . . .' She let her words tail away for a moment. ‘Then we come down here when he heard about it. A few days later he said he was going to 'list for a sailor. Said at least he'd eat and he might make his fortune. Promised he'd come back then and look after me. He will, won't he, mister?'

‘I'm sure he will,' he assured her, although he knew the chances were slim. In this life you had to look out for yourself first. He stood, took some coins from the pocket of his breeches and handed them to her.

‘Thank you, mister.'

‘Thank you, Susan. How old are you?'

‘Fourteen,' she said.

The night had ended but day hadn't yet arrived; the sky was the flat colour of old pewter as he walked up Briggate. A thin layer of mist lay over the river like magic. Behind the high walls of the grand houses he could hear the first servants at work, drawing water and lighting fires.

At the jail, Lister was sitting at the desk, quill scratching on paper to write up his brief nightly report as the Constable arrived.

He looked tired, Nottingham thought, not just in his face and eyes but in his soul.

‘Did you see the girl last night?' he asked.

‘Yes, boss.'

‘Anything worthwhile?' Nottingham sat and Lister pushed a hand through his thick hair.

‘Not really. Lucy told her she couldn't go home because he'd find her there, but still no mention of who
he
is. She was with the riverbank people for a week, then she just left. She was out with the girl I talked to, said she had something to do and never came back. Didn't talk much, evidently.' He paused. ‘One more thing, boss.'

‘What's that?'

‘That pimp Lucy had claimed she'd been beaten by someone who didn't pay, didn't he?'

‘Yes. His sisters said the same. Why?'

‘The girl said Lucy told her the pimp had beaten her when she didn't make any money. She'd have no reason to lie.'

‘True,' Nottingham agreed.

‘And it would explain why she ran off.'

Nottingham sat and thought.

‘I think I'll go and see Joshua Davidson again today.' He gave a dark smile. ‘Let's see if he remembers the truth this time.'