Fair and Tender Ladies (26 page)

After a minute he began to ease down the slope. He circled the man carefully, ready for any sudden movement, but he remained still, eyes closed. Finally Lister knelt, shaking the man's shoulder. Nothing. He placed his fingers against the neck, feeling the beat of blood strong in the veins. Reaching in the deep pocket of his old coat he found a piece of rope and tied the man's hands behind his back. Then he sat, waiting for him to come round.

Two farmhands had joined him by the time the man finally moaned and tried to stand, collapsing back when he couldn't move his arms. He jerked his head around until he spotted Rob.

‘I'm going to kill you,' he said, spittle on his lips. ‘Let me go.'

‘Give me a hand to get him upright,' Rob asked the men.

‘He's a reet big bugger,' one said.

‘They's none of 'em so large when they're on t' ground,' the other laughed. But together, hands under his arms, they pulled him up.

‘What's your name?' Lister asked.

‘Why?'

‘I'm the deputy constable and I want to know. That good enough for you?' It felt strange to use the title, as if it didn't fit yet.

The man glared. ‘Jackson,' he replied grudgingly. ‘Ralph Jackson.'

‘Why were you running, Mr Jackson?'

‘I was late,' he smirked.

‘Then I'll make sure your appointment can find you at the jail.'

‘And if I don't want to go?'

Rob nodded at the labourers. They took hold of the man's arms and started to march him towards Leeds.

In the cell he made the man stand with his back towards him before he'd untie the rope and Jackson massaged his wrists slowly. He was a good two yards high, with a wide chest, but his hands weren't especially large.

‘The Constable will talk to you when he's back.'

‘And what am I supposed to do until then?' the man asked.

Rob smiled. ‘I'd suggest you sit and gather your wits, Mr Jackson. You might need them.'

Let the man stew a while, he thought. The weather was close and the cells were hot. It might put him in a more talkative mood later. He poured himself some ale and drank deep.

An hour passed before Nottingham returned. He hung his coat on the nail and sat behind the desk.

‘You must have caught him, you look pleased with yourself.'

‘In the cells.'

‘Why was he running?'

‘Late for an appointment.' Rob said, raising his eyebrows. ‘That's all he's said.'

‘Does he have a name?'

‘Ralph Jackson.'

‘What do you think?' the Constable wondered.

‘He's hiding something, I'm sure of that. But his hands aren't that big.'

‘I believe I'll have a talk with Mr Jackson, anyway. Have you given him something to drink?'

‘Not yet.'

Nottingham nodded, poured two mugs of ale and carried them through to the cells.

‘Mr Jackson, I'm Richard Nottingham, the Constable in Leeds. Some ale for you, perhaps?' The man took it gratefully and drained the cup in a single swallow as Nottingham stood by the door. ‘You were running at a fair pace earlier.'

‘I told your lad, I was late.'

‘Who were you meeting?'

The man looked directly at him. ‘I can't tell you,' he answered.

‘So it's a mystery,' the Constable mused. ‘Turn out your pockets, if you will.'

There wasn't much, a purse with a guinea and some smaller coins, a square of linen and a comb.

‘That lad took my knife when he tied me up.'

‘I should hope he did,' Nottingham said with amusement. ‘You have some money, your clothes are cut well. They'll have cost you a penny or two. But I don't know you, Mr Jackson. I don't believe you're a Leeds man.'

‘I'm from York,' he answered after a hesitation.

‘And do people in York always run to their appointments? I've never noticed it when I've been there. Or perhaps you were running from something.'

‘Did you see anyone coming after me?'

‘That doesn't mean much. What's your business in Leeds?'

‘I'm here to see someone.'

The Constable sighed. ‘That seems to bring us in a circle. Who were you here to see?'

Jackson pushed his tongue around his cheek and stared straight ahead. ‘I can't tell you.'

‘Admirable discretion, Mr Jackson, but not helpful. We've been searching for someone who looks like you. We think he committed a murder.'

The man began to rise, then sat on the bench again. ‘I haven't killed anyone,' he said quietly.

‘That's an easy claim to make, Mr Jackson. But I'll need some more proof. How long have you been in Leeds?'

‘A fortnight.'

‘A long visit,' Nottingham mused. ‘Where have you been staying?'

‘The King's Arms.' The Constable knew it well, on the corner of Briggate and Currie Entry. Close to Megson's Court, where Carter's body had been dumped, and the man had been in town the night of the murder. ‘Ask the landlord, he'll vouch for me.'

‘I plan on it, Mr Jackson. In the meantime I'll leave you here to think about what else you want to tell me.'

The building had once been the home of John Harrison, the rich wool merchant who'd built St John's and the grammar school and given Leeds its market cross; that was what Thoresby had told him years ago, anyway. If it was true it must have been a grand place when Harrison was alive, bigger than any of the new mansions at Town End, a rival to the brick Red House on the Upper Head Row. But Harrison was long dead and the place had been the King's Arms as long as the Constable had been alive.

He found Benjamin Barton, the landlord, inside, watching as a serving girl waited on a pair of drovers still dusty from the road. He was a small man with a harried, hunted face, as if the world was too much for him. From all reports it was his wife who held the power in the place and her money that had purchased it, as she reminded him often.

‘Mr Nottingham.' Barton gave a nervous, greasy smile and wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘Not often we have you in here. Is there a problem?'

‘Just one or two questions, Ben.'

‘Ask away. Ask away.'

‘Do you have a man named Ralph Jackson staying here?'

‘We do, we do. Two weeks now, close enough.' So he hadn't been lying about that, the Constable thought.

‘How has he paid for his lodging?'

‘It was cash when he arrived.' No landlord would forget that.

‘For how long?'

‘Until Monday.'

‘And has he caused any trouble? Been out late or anything like that?'

‘Not that I know of.' He looked suddenly worried. ‘What's he done?'

‘He's not accused of anything,' Nottingham answered carefully. ‘Has he met anyone that you've noticed, or mentioned anyone?'

Barton scratched his head. ‘I've seen him with a fair few folk in the bar,' he said. ‘And he's been going off here and there.'

‘Do you know where, or what he does?'

‘No,' Ben answered with a chuckle. ‘Can't be asking them that, can I?'

‘No ideas?'

‘None, Mr Nottingham. He's always polite, dresses well. He must have paid a fair price for that horse he has back in the stables. Not short of a guinea or two, I'd say.'

‘Thank you.'

The Constable went back into the heat with more questions but no answers. Jackson had enough in his purse to keep himself until the next day. Why wouldn't he say who he was meeting? And what had he been doing in Leeds? Business?

He seemed an unlikely murderer but the Constable had known stranger ones before, men as innocent as buttermilk who turned out to have violent, vicious natures.

‘You look vexed, laddie.' Tom Finer stood there, well wrapped in a heavy coat regardless of the warm weather, looking oddly heartened for someone who'd just lost his workhouse. ‘Troubles?'

‘They're my job, Mr Finer. As I'm sure you know.'

‘And what have you found out about my troubles, I wonder? Discovered who burned the place down yet?'

‘Not yet.'

‘I daresay you've had other things to think about. At least you killed the one who got your deputy. Didn't give him a chance from what I've heard.' He nodded his approval.

‘I did what had to be done.'

‘You got something for the widow and children, too. You've learned well, Constable.'

‘What about you, Mr Finer? Are you keeping clear of business for a while?'

‘You never know when an opportunity will come.' He tapped a finger against his nose. ‘You have to stay alert, laddie, and ready for the possibilities.'

A
ll day his mind had been elsewhere. Even as he chased Ralph Jackson, Rob had been thinking about Emily and the baby inside her. Their baby. The idea seemed so big he believed his head would burst. Between that and what had happened to John, his world had turned into a strange, unknown place, so different from what it had been just a few days before.

He was waiting near the school for the girls to rush out like a river then trickle away into the distance. Once they'd passed him, laughter and shouts rising into the air, he strode into the room. Emily was cleaning, bending to pick up pieces of this and that. Without thinking, he joined her.

‘They seemed happy when they left.'

She laughed. ‘Weren't you when school finished for the day?'

‘I was just glad to leave.' He smiled. ‘But they looked as if they enjoyed it more than I ever did.'

‘Maybe they have a better teacher.' Emily grinned and he put his arms around her.

‘A lovelier one, anyway,' he allowed. ‘I'd never do this with Mr Brown.'

‘I should hope not!' Playfully, she pushed him away, her eyes twinkling. ‘Come on, it's too stuffy to stay here.'

She put her arm through his as they walked. Women stopped to talk to her about their daughters and men raised their hats in greeting. They needed her here, they valued her, and he knew what he had to do.

At Timble Bridge he stopped, leaning over the parapet to look down at the clear water flowing gently over the rocks.

‘What are we going to do?' he asked.

‘I don't know.' She stooped, picked up a pebble and tossed it into the stream.

‘Could Lucy look after the baby while you teach?'

Emily turned slowly and cocked her head. ‘Why?'

‘Because what you do is important.'

‘You know what some people would think.'

He nodded and took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Folk are going to think what they want, anyway. They're always going to talk. This way, at least they'll have something good to talk about.'

She looked into his eyes. ‘That's not what you said before.'

‘I know,' he admitted. ‘But I've seen the way they treat you. You're right. You can't stop now.'

‘Thank you.' Emily reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘But the Williamsons might not like it. They might decide not to support the school.'

‘They're the ones who have to decide that.' He hesitated. ‘We will have to get married, though.'

‘Yes.' It was a small word that said so much, a reluctant acceptance of the situation and his proposal.

‘I'll make you happy.'

‘I know. I just wish …' She threw another pebble, watching it land and the ripples spreading before shaking her head. ‘But wishes aren't horses.'

‘We'd better tell your father.'

‘Yes.' She agreed joylessly. ‘I wish Mama was still here. She'd have loved to help me prepare for my wedding.'

‘I'll talk to the vicar and have him read the banns.'

‘I didn't want it to be like this, Rob.'

‘I know.' He held her hand as they walked up Marsh Lane. ‘But we'll just make the best of the way things are.'

The Constable returned to the jail at the close of the afternoon. The heat seemed to press down on his flesh and he felt as if he was basted in his own sweat.

‘Well, Mr Jackson, you didn't lie about staying at the King's Arms.'

‘Why would I?' the man bristled. ‘Do you have more ale? I'm dry as dust.'

Nottingham poured him a mug. ‘But I still don't know why you were in Leeds. Two weeks is a long visit. There must have been a purpose for it.'

‘I'm not your murderer.'

‘Perhaps you're not,' the Constable agreed breezily. ‘But unless you start giving me some truth, how can I be sure?'

Jackson seemed to think for a long time. ‘I'm a buyer for the government,' he said finally.

‘Are you now?'

‘I've letters in my pack to prove it. They're at the inn.'

‘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.