Fair and Tender Ladies (2 page)

With Mary's death everything had fallen into a time of change. Emily had quietly given up her teaching position at the dame school. Two years earlier she'd been left money, and she'd used some of it to start her own establishment, renting a building down on the Calls to teach the young daughters of the poor their letters and numbers, fighting to give the lasses a chance of something better than the poverty and the daily grind of desperation as they grew. Within weeks the class had been full, and many more were eager to come, ready to eat up knowledge. Her success made him proud. She'd taken well to the responsibility, prepared to work hard, long hours. But one thing about her hadn't changed; all too often she had to hare her way through the early morning, dashing up to the door of the school while the mothers waited outside with their girls.

‘You're miles away there, boss.'

Lost deep in his thoughts, Nottingham hadn't even noticed the deputy arrive. He smiled. ‘Just thinking, John, that's all.'

Sedgwick sat down, poured himself a mug of ale and downed it in a long, single swallow before smacking his lips together. ‘Grand, that is. Going to be a good day again today.' He brought a heel of bread from the large pocket of his long waistcoat, the elegant design long since faded to small smudges of irregular colour. He ate, washing the food down with more drink and gave a contented sigh.

‘Doesn't your Lizzie feed you any more?'

Sedgwick laughed. ‘I'm still a growing lad, boss. Didn't you know that? I need my food.'

It was true, with his tousled hair, long legs and eager lope he often looked like an overgrown boy, always hungry for something to fill his lanky frame. He was fiercely proud of his family, his son James, doing well at the boys' charity school, his daughter Isabell, over a year old now, toddling and curious about everything in the world.

‘Tom Hardwell drowned in the night.'

The deputy snorted. ‘That was bound to happen sooner or later.'

‘You'd better go and see his widow, ask what she wants to do about the funeral.'

‘Yes, boss.' He stood, and crammed the last of the bread into his mouth before leaving.

Nottingham wrote up the daily report and walked over to the Moot Hall to leave it on the clerk's desk outside the mayor's office. At least the wound he received in his belly the year before had finally stopped troubling him. There was no more need to walk with a stick, and the twinges of pain rarely bothered him. Only the hurt in his heart still nagged.

As he turned the corner back on to Kirkgate, he saw a man standing outside the jail with a fretful expression, moving from foot to foot nervously. He was thin as wire, raggedly dressed, with a face caught on the cusp of age.

‘Can I help you? I'm Richard Nottingham, the Constable of Leeds.'

‘My brother,' the man said, raising dark, hopeless eyes. ‘I'm looking for my brother.'

There was so much pain in the words that it made the Constable stop and look at him again.

‘You'd best come in, Mr …?'

‘Johnson.' The man gave a small bow, a strangely formal gesture for a man dressed like a scare-the-crow in a tattered coat and holed breeches, the soles of his shoes held to the upper by twine. He carried a small sack over his shoulder. ‘Simon Johnson, sir.'

Inside, the Constable gave the man ale and sat back in his chair.

‘Your brother's a grown man, Mr Johnson?'

‘He is.' The man hesitated. ‘That is, he's …' he began, then completed the sentence in a rush: ‘Andrew isn't right in his head. I look after him.'

‘Look after him?' Nottingham wondered. ‘How?'

‘He can't speak,' Johnson explained. ‘And he doesn't think properly. Not like you and me. So we travel together. I protect him.' He gave a wan smile. ‘We never stay anywhere long. People don't like him. He gets angry.'

‘What happened to your brother?'

‘At night I tie his ankle to mine, so he can't wander away while I sleep. When I woke up on Friday he'd gone. I've been looking for him since then.'

‘There are plenty of people in Leeds, Mr Johnson.'

‘He's easy to spot, Constable.' The man leaned forward and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘He had dark red skin here. Would you look for him, please? I don't want him to be hurt.'

There was no gentle way to tell him, nothing to say that could lessen the pain.

‘Mr Johnson,' he said quietly, ‘I'm afraid your brother's dead.'

‘But—' the man began, then, ‘It's Andrew? Are you sure?'

‘He had a mark on his neck like your brother. He killed someone and then he tried to attack my deputy. I'm sorry.' At least he could spare him the worst of the truth.

For a long moment Johnson remained silent, all the sorrow, the anger and the loss playing across his face.

‘Can I see him?' he asked finally.

‘We buried him on Saturday. We didn't know who he was and no one came to claim him …' His words trailed away. He couldn't give Johnson any consolation.

The man stood slowly, shoulders stooped, looking older than when he'd entered.

‘Constable,' he said, his voice achingly dignified, ‘I'm sure you had no choice in what you did. You didn't know my brother. But I hope you'll understand if I say I hate Leeds and the men who did this to Andrew.'

T
he young man entered the jail warily, glancing around as if he wasn't certain he should be there. The Constable looked up from the papers in front of him as the candle guttered and threw dark shadows around the room.

It was still before dawn. When he'd walked up Kirkgate there'd been only the faintest glimmer of blue on the horizon. He'd found little to report from the night, and sent Rob off early to spend time with Emily before school.

‘Can I help you?' he asked. How often had he said those words over the years? The man moved forward into the light. He looked no more than nineteen or twenty, with honest eyes, a tangle of thick, pale hair and soft down on his cheeks, his face creased by worry and fear. Dust covered his old, heavy boots, and he wore a coat that was threadbare at the elbows and cuffs, his tan breeches thin at the knee. The best clothes of a country lad, Nottingham decided. Someone lost, perhaps.

‘I'm looking for my sister,' the man answered nervously. ‘She's run off and I think she's in Leeds.'

Not lost, he thought. Searching.

‘What's your name?' Nottingham asked. ‘I'm the Constable.'

‘Jem Carter, sir.'

‘You'd better sit down and tell me about her, Mr Carter.'

He offered the man ale, and waited as he drank and wiped his mouth.

‘What's your sister called?' he asked kindly.

‘Jenny, sir.'

‘And how old is she, Mr Carter?'

‘Sixteen. Just last month.'

The Constable sat back and stroked his chin.

‘Where do you live?'

‘Ilkley, sir.'

He'd heard of the place, no more than that, a village some dozen or so miles away to the northwest. The man had either walked all night or slept in a wood somewhere. Carter was staring at him, eyes full of hope.

‘What makes you think Jenny might be here?' he asked, although he'd heard every possible answer so many times he could have recited them all himself. The country girls arrived in their dozens each year, heads turned by tales of rich, handsome men seeking a pretty young bride, or the fortunes to be made in the city. But they were nothing more than stories. There was no gold on the streets of Leeds, only the empty tinkle of coins they earned on their backs. At the end of a week they'd be lucky to have two thin pennies left. How many ever made their way home again?

‘She allus wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere big.' Carter blushed. ‘Our Jenny's one of them girls who's been full of dreams since she was a bairn. Me da said he'd find her a husband but she told him no, she wa'nt ready yet.'

‘What does your family do?'

‘We're farmers, sir,' he said with pride, sitting a little straighter on the chair. Nottingham nodded and pushed the fringe off his forehead.

‘When did Jenny leave?'

‘Saturday morning.' Carter sat forward, elbows on his knees. ‘She said she were going to take some food to one o' t' old women down the other end of t' village. She does that,' he explained. ‘She's a good lass at heart. When she hadn't come back by dark we went looking. She'd never even been there.'

And now it was Tuesday. Walking, the girl would likely have arrived on Saturday afternoon. More than two days ago, but with a little luck she might not have disappeared completely yet.

‘What does she look like?'

‘She's nobbut a little 'un, a tiddler.' Carter smiled for a moment at the thought of his sister. ‘Look at her and you'd reckon she were younger, mebbe thirteen. I used to tease her about it.'

‘Does she have fair hair like you?'

‘Aye, that's reet. But it's long, down her back, the way lasses have it.'

‘What was she wearing, Mr Carter? Did she take anything with her?'

‘Just an old blue dress, an apron and a cap. She had some food in a basket.'

‘And money? Did she have any with her?'

He shrugged, not really knowing. ‘A few pennies, mebbe. I'm sure she din't have more than that.'

Nottingham paused, thinking. ‘Are you the oldest in the family?'

‘Aye, sir, I am. I've two younger brothers and another sister besides Jenny. And there's me da. Me mam died where I were little.' He held up the middle finger of his left hand. ‘Jenny wears a ring there that used to belong to our mam. It has a shape like a rose on it.'

‘We'll look for her,' he said. The man's face brightened, but the Constable knew he had to add more. He didn't want Carter to believe he'd see his sister again in an hour or two. ‘You have to understand, I can't make you any promises. We may not find her. We don't find everyone who comes here. She may not even be in Leeds, have you thought of that, Mr Carter? She could have decided to try her luck in London.'

‘She'll be here,' the young man said firmly, as if he was trying to convince himself. It was what he needed to believe, Nottingham realized. ‘Find her, mister, please.'

‘We'll do everything we can,' he promised. ‘What about you? Are you staying to search for her?'

‘I am. Me da give me some money and told me to keep looking until I bring her home.' He hesitated. ‘Do you know any good lodgings, sir?'

‘Try Mrs Lumley on Call Lane,' the Constable advised. ‘Ask anyone down there, they'll show you. She keeps a clean house and her prices are fair. Tell her I sent you and she'll treat you well. If I find your sister I can send word to you there.'

‘Thank you.' Carter rose, standing as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He glanced at the man as he left, knowing that eventually he'd likely walk home alone and empty-hearted and no one would ever hear of Jenny again. Nottingham worked for a few more minutes, hearing the bustle of Leeds coming alive outside the window, the cries of the early hawkers, the trundle of carts along Kirkgate and the shouts of their drivers. As the clock of the Parish Church struck half past six he wearily put down the quill and set off down Briggate, seeing men set up trestles for the cloth market, dodging between the folks who thronged the pavements and a drover leading cattle up to the Shambles.

He looked for Four-Finger Jane at her usual spot by the opening to a court just up from the Rose and Crown. She wasn't there so, he walked on, crossing the street as he spied Little Sal standing close to the entrance of the Old King's Head.

‘Hello, Sal.'

‘Mr Nottingham.' Her eyes twinkled. ‘Come to spend some of that money the city pays you?' She stood no more than four feet in her shoes, always ready with a smile. She'd been a fixture on Briggate for at least five years, suddenly appearing one morning with her grin and ready patter. The novelty of her size made her popular with the men and he'd heard tales about some of the things she was willing to do.

He smiled at her. ‘If I was looking for that you know you'd be the first I'd come to see.'

‘Aye, I know, love,' she answered with a wink, the lines of age showing through the white lead and powder around her eyes. ‘That's what they all say. So what is it?' she asked wearily. ‘I know you're not here to pass the time of day with me.'

‘A girl, came to town on Saturday. Called Jenny.'

She shook her head in exasperation. ‘Jenny? They're all called Jenny these days. Or Sophie or Sarah or whatever sounds young or elegant.'

‘This one really is a Jenny, Sal. She's blonde, small, sixteen but looks younger. Her brother's looking for her.'

‘You know how many like that I've seen, Mr Nottingham?' she asked with a sigh. ‘Dozens. Hundreds, mebbe. All of them hopeful for a week until they've no more money or food in their bellies.'

‘I know,' he replied. What she said was the simple truth. ‘Just ask around anyway, will you? I'll pay if you find something.'

‘I will,' Sal agreed and stared at him, her eyes serious ‘But I daresay you'll be keeping your money. You know the odds as well as I do. If she dun't want to be found, she won't be. And I'll tell you this, if she's a good reason for leaving home I'll not give her up.'

He nodded. ‘Just do your best. Please.'

The Constable left her to her work, seeing her pull down her bodice a little to display more of her small breasts. He set off on his rounds of Leeds, walking the streets he knew so well, eyes alert, feeling the simple pleasure of the sun on his face.

By seven he was in the White Swan, a mug of ale and half a pie in front of him. He'd barely begun to eat when the deputy slid on to the bench opposite.

‘Hardwell's widow is going to talk to the undertaker. They'll collect the body later today.'