Fair and Tender Ladies (21 page)

Williamson turned to his wife.‘This is Mr Lister,' he said. ‘He's James Lister's son. From the
Mercury
.'

Rob offered a small bow and Hannah Williamson smiled.

‘Emily told us you two have been courting,' she said. ‘You work for Mr Nottingham, don't you?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘He keeps us all safe,' Williamson said.

‘Forgive me,' Emily interrupted. ‘I hadn't expected any one.'

‘We were talking on the way back from the … service.' Williamson placed his hand over his wife's. ‘We've enjoyed your company the last few days. We agreed that we'd like to pay to replace the books that were destroyed.'

‘All of them?' Emily's voice rose in disbelief.

‘It would be our honour.'

‘Thank you.' She looked from one of them to the other, her eyes wide, close to speechless. ‘Thank you.'

‘Your dedication has impressed me,' Mrs Williamson told her, and looked at her husband expectantly.

‘We'd also like to cover the expenses of the school,' he said.

‘But—' Emily started, then closed her mouth.

‘You run it exactly as you want, just the way you have been,' the merchant continued. ‘We don't want a say in any of that. It's your school. The only thing you need to do is send the bills to us.'

Rob stared at Emily. Joyful tears ran down her face; she reached into the pocket of her dress for a handkerchief and wiped hurriedly at her face.

‘I don't know what to say,' she told them.

‘All you have to do is say yes,' Hannah Williamson prompted kindly.

‘And you truly don't want anything at all in return?'

‘Nothing,' Williamson assured her, his wife nodding in agreement.

‘Then I … Yes.' She looked from one of them to the other then blurted, ‘Yes, of course. Yes. Thank you.'

Rob sat quietly and watched, the first time he'd known her lost for words, the expression on her face caught somewhere between laughter and tears.

‘We met your mother a few times at church,' the merchant said. ‘I think she'd have been so happy to see what you're doing here.' He stood, helping his wife to rise from the low bench. ‘If there's anything you need here, just ask us. Anything at all. We'll do whatever we can.' He bowed, first to Emily, then to Lister, and led his wife out.

They listened to the footsteps fading and the sound of the street. Then she turned and ran to him, holding him tight as if she couldn't believe the last few minutes had really happened.

‘They want to pay for it all!'

‘You deserve it,' Rob said, kissing her lightly on the lips. ‘You've earned it. Everything they said was true.'

She pulled back for a moment, her eyes suddenly doubtful.

‘Do you think Papa had something to do with this?' she asked suddenly.

‘No,' he said with certainty. They'd been too busy finding John's killer to think of anything else.

‘I can't believe it,' she said, clutching him again, her smile wider than the river, and for a moment he saw the little girl she must have been. Her joy filled the room and the words flooded out of her.

‘Come on, I want to go home and tell Lucy. And Papa, when he comes. Tomorrow I'll tell the girls and we can all write a letter of thanks.'

It was evening when Lucy returned to the house on Marsh Lane, subdued for once, not wanting to talk, quickly settling in the kitchen to begin baking bread for the morning. The Constable understood.

He listened with pride as Emily poured out her news, eyes glowing with pleasure. He embraced her and congratulated her, but today her words couldn't touch his heart.

How would he go on without John? He'd trusted him completely. He'd never even needed to think about it. He'd known the deputy would be there, doing whatever he demanded. People had liked him. People talked to him, he knew how to draw them out, he was one of them. And Lizzie had loved him.

Now they'd all have to manage without him. Rob was good; he'd learned so much and come so far in the last two years. He was dogged and eager to learn. But he'd never possess John's easy manner or be able to coax words and secrets from people with a smile or a drink.

The night slowly settled around him. Emily and Rob went to their bed and Lucy made up her pallet in the kitchen. The Constable kept the window open, catching the smallest hint of a breeze in the leaves and the distant song of the night birds. He sat in his chair by the empty hearth.

Maybe his time had passed. Maybe he should finally see the sense in all those things Mary told him before she died. He'd done what he could in Leeds – he had the scars on his body to show that. But the ones in his mind and across his heart ran deeper.

For every killing he solved there'd be another, from now until the end of time. For every runaway he found there'd be two more he'd never see. Each day he grew more weary. He'd always done his job with everything in his power. He'd cared, he'd hoped. But since Mary died nothing had been the same. And now … he felt as if a door had closed.

He'd find Jem Carter's murderer and whoever had been damaging the school. But when those were done he'd write his letter of resignation and try to discover what peace remained in his heart.

The thoughts and memories swirled as he lay down to sleep. Tomorrow they'd to begin finding answers to all their questions.

The pounding on the door woke him immediately. He pulled on his breeches and took the cudgel from the table before answering. It was Drinkwell, one of the night men, breathless from running, soot smeared across his face.

‘Fire, boss.'

‘Where?'

‘The workhouse. Spotted it a few minutes ago. They've got a bucket chain going.'

‘Go on back. I'll be there as soon as I can.'

He turned and saw Rob near the top of the stair.

‘Get yourself dressed, lad, we've got a blaze to deal with.'

By the time they arrived the fire had taken full hold, cinders and sparks rising high in the air. It had broken through the roof, and flames were licking at the sky and lighting up the whole area. The men were working hard with their buckets but the Constable could see they'd never win. If the wind rose a little everything could leap to Queen Charlotte's Court; it was little more than ten yards away.

‘Stop it spreading over there,' he ordered.

More folk began to arrive, curious, drawn by the light and the flames. Nottingham and Rob worked with them, sweating, aching, keeping the houses damp enough so no fire could take hold. Finally, just as the sky started to lighten, a low creak like a moan came from the workhouse. Everyone stopped and turned to watch as the building began to topple in on itself, charred timbers falling so heavily that the ground shook.

It was over. The fire was still burning but there was little more damage it could do.

‘See Emily to school then do the morning rounds,' he told Rob. ‘I'll keep my eye on this.'

With the excitement done, folk began to drift away to work or their beds. The sun appeared, making the heat of the blaze shimmer as it rose into the air. The workhouse was gone. It would need to be completely rebuilt and he knew the Corporation wouldn't spend the money for that.

The Constable saw the foreman, standing off to the side as the labourers clamoured around him, wondering if they'd be paid for the day. He waited until the argument had ended.

‘No more work for you here,' Nottingham said.

‘Just to haul away whatever's left when it's cooled down,' the man replied sadly. He nodded over at the others. ‘No wages for them, neither. Would have been a few weeks' work, too.' He wandered off, shaking his head.

‘What do you think started it, Mr Nottingham?' He turned at the sound of Finer's voice. The man was staring intently at the ruins, the burned wood and broken stones, as if he could will them back into shape.

‘There were piles of rubbish all around yesterday. If someone set a fire in them …' He didn't need to say more.

‘And do you think you'll find out who did it?'

The Constable sighed. ‘I don't know. I'll try.'

‘But not too hard, I suspect.' Finer gave a fragile smile. ‘And not so easy with your deputy dead.'

‘I didn't see you at the funeral.'

‘I'd never met the man. I'm sorry for your loss but I had no business there.' He paused. ‘You being here, this is where you should be. This is your business.'

‘I always do my job,' Nottingham chided him, then pointed out, ‘It's odd, though – I understood that the Corporation wasn't even going to debate your proposal until today.'

‘This afternoon, at their weekly session,' the man agreed.

‘But the work had already started.'

‘And I thought you understood the way of the world, Mr Nottingham.' Finer's tone hardened. ‘Come on, you know better than that, laddie. Or if you don't, you're not the man I thought.'

‘You might be surprised at some of the things I know.'

The man gave a roar of a laugh. ‘That's better. Perhaps I misjudged you, Constable. Perhaps Amos really did teach you more than I'd imagined.' He gave a small bow and walked away, his head still held high but his steps slow, feet shuffling against the ground.

Nottingham stayed a little longer, walking around the wreck of the place, not smiling, not frowning. At least no one had been hurt or killed and there was no damage to the court. And it meant no one would suggest another workhouse for several years. Unless someone peached there'd be little likelihood of ever finding the person responsible. And he didn't really care.

He broke his fast with wild strawberries from a seller yelling her wares as she walked up and down Briggate. They were small, gathered from the woods, the juices sweet in his mouth, and he licked the red stains from his hands, savouring the last taste of them on his skin.

A breeze came, catching his hair and lifting the fringe off his forehead; without thinking he pushed it back down. He passed the Moot Hall, the tang of blood from the butcher's shops so strong he could taste it in his throat. Servants were lined up outside the baker's to take home loaves. A storyteller caressed a few onlookers with his words, then stopped, looked pointedly at his hat on the ground and only started up again when someone threw in a coin.

Another day. He'd send Rob to question Matthew Wilson, the man that Granger, the night watch at the water engine, had named. And he'd go hunting for Simon Johnson, to see if he had anything to say about the damage to the school.

W
here could he begin to look for Johnson, though? There was nothing to distinguish him, he was someone who faded easily out of sight and mind; no doubt he'd grown used to it, depended on it as he wandered the roads with his brother through the years.

He asked here and there, but all he received were shakes of the head and blank looks. There were so many places a man could disappear in Leeds. He knew that from his younger days, a time when disappearing could mean staying alive.

Nottingham walked through the courts and the yards that ran off Briggate, finding those he knew and asking them. But no one had even heard of the man. By dinner he was beginning to believe he'd imagined it, that Johnson had never been at the market at all. He wandered down by the school, hearing Emily's voice through the open window, confident and caring as she corrected one of the girls.

He cut through the ginnel and came out on Call Brows, his eyes alert for anyone hiding and waiting, but the street was empty. Finally he gave up, and settled in the Old King's Head for a pie and cold ale. Part of his mind expected Sedgwick to slide on to the bench across from him, ready to eat and pass on some snippet he'd learned during the morning. But never again. They'd never know why John had died, what had made King attack him. Another useless death.

Most of the people he cared about in the world were dead, and too soon, all of them too soon.

The Constable ate quickly, not really tasting the food. It was just something to fill his belly and keep him until evening. Outside, he felt the sun on his face and sighed.

Rob only knew Matthew Wilson from the nights, a man who shunned company and kept out of the light. He remembered the flush of surprise that had covered Wilson's face when he'd addressed him; he was a man used to being invisible.

Rumour was that he lived off the Bradford road, well beyond Burley Bar, with only animals for company. Lister set off, not sure quite where he was going, removing his stock and wiping the sweat from his face with it.

He was the deputy now. He knew he wasn't ready for it, he still had so much to learn. And he'd never be as good as John. The man had taught him everything about the job. In his life he'd been luckier than most; he'd never lost anyone close before. The killing of Emily's mother had torn at him, but nothing like this. All the questions he still wanted to ask, all the laughter he wanted to hear.

He looked around. Beyond the town the houses were farther apart, and there were sheep in the fields, and the sound of clacking looms from the open windows. He knocked at a door, smiling as he looked down at a small girl.

‘Is your ma home?' he asked, and she moved aside, replaced by a woman with a suspicious look in her eyes.

‘If you're selling owt we've not got the money to buy.'

‘I'm looking for Matthew Wilson. Do you know where he lives?'

‘Him.' She snorted. ‘What do you want with him?'

‘Just some business,' Rob replied mildly.

‘Aye, well, if you have business with him you should know where he lives.' She nodded along the road. ‘Third house down on the other side. But don't be surprised if the old bugger dun't answer.'

‘Thank you,' he told her, and moved on. The place she'd indicated was set back down a rutted track. As he drew close he could hear barking. The house looked neglected, roof slates hanging askew, some missing, one window empty of its glass. At the door he took a breath and brought his fist down.