Fair and Tender Ladies (3 page)

‘How did she take the news?' Nottingham asked.

‘She knows what a feckless bugger he was. I heard something interesting while I was out, though. There's a new brothel opening tonight on Swinegate.'

‘Tonight?' he asked in astonishment, wondering why they'd heard nothing of it before. ‘When did this get out?'

‘I don't know, boss. This morning was the first I'd heard.'

‘Who's running it?' Nottingham asked. It worried him that there'd been no rumours about this, that no one had said anything to him. He should have known long ago.

‘A widow called Mrs Wade, apparently.'

‘I don't know the name.'

‘Aye,' the deputy agreed, ‘it's a new one on me, too.'

‘Better see what you can find out about her, John.'

Sedgwick grinned. ‘Already did, boss. Seems she came here about three months back with her son and a pair of daughters.'

‘Three months?' he said in surprise. ‘She's taken her time, then. Kept it quiet, too.' It seemed strange, wrong; most would have been eager to talk the place up and open as quickly as possible. ‘Where's she from?'

‘No one seems to know. From all I hear she's been busy pouring money into the house. That's why it's taken so long.'

The Constable raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘It ought to be a bloody palace after all that time.'

Sedgwick laughed. ‘Couldn't happen, boss; she took Amos Worthy's old house.'

Amos Worthy. Nottingham shook his head. The man was dead but he'd never be rid of him. ‘I'm surprised she's opening in less than a year, then.' He smiled. ‘Half that place should have been torn down long ago. And I doubt an army could ever get the rest properly clean.'

‘They say she's been making friends with some of the aldermen, too,' Sedgwick told him.

‘Has she now?' He sat back, thinking. Whoever she was, the woman seemed to have taken care to set everything up well. ‘Maybe I'd better go and see her, before she starts believing she's above the law. What about the rest of her family?'

‘Tom Farraday said the daughters are a pretty pair.'

‘There's a son, you said?'

‘A big lad, according to Tom.'

‘Could be useful in a place like that,' Nottingham mused. ‘While I think on it, someone was in this morning. His sister's run off and he thinks she's in Leeds. Probably got here Saturday night. Small, blonde, looks younger than sixteen.'

The deputy rolled his eyes. ‘Sounds like half of them who end up here. And the other half have dark hair.'

‘I know.' The Constable smiled sadly. ‘I asked Little Sal to keep her eyes open.'

Sedgwick nodded his acknowledgement as the serving girl brought his stew and ale. Nottingham drained the last of his drink.

‘Enjoy your food, John. I'll pay this Mrs Wade a visit after the cloth market.'

All along Briggate, from Boar Lane down to the bridge over the Aire, the weavers were ready. Every Tuesday and Saturday morning they travelled in from villages all around Leeds to display their cloth. As soon as the market bell rang, the merchants would move between the trestles that lined both sides of the street, examining the fabric and making their bargains in whispers. It had been going on for more years than anyone knew, back through the generations. Thousands of pounds would change hands in an hour, with barely a loud word spoken. The wool business was the soul of Leeds. It put money in the city's coffers and made those who traded in it rich.

The Constable walked around slowly, nodding greetings here and there, his eyes watching carefully for cutpurses. Trouble was rare, but he always came himself or sent the deputy. Even after a lifetime of seeing it the quiet magic of the cloth market still gripped him.

When it was all done and the merchants began to drift away before the closing bell, he walked down to Swinegate. It was a cramped street, tradesmen working busily in their shops, the tapping of hammers from the cobbler, goods artfully displayed outside the chandler to tempt people into buying. Puddles of stinking piss dotted the road, thrown out from windows at first light. He moved around mistresses and their servants and dodged between small groups of men making their bargains until he stood in front of the small wooden door.

It had been repainted, now a deep, shining black, coat after coat to give a heavy lustre. He raised his hand and knocked loudly, remembering how often he used to walk in unannounced, along the passage and through to the kitchen where Amos spent much of his day.

Until the cancer took him Worthy had been a pimp, and one of the most dangerous men in Leeds, with the aldermen deep in his pocket. His girls serviced them, he lent them money, and the men of the Corporation protected him. But there'd been a curious bond between the criminal and Nottingham, deepened when he discovered that Worthy had been his mother's lover years before. The Constable might have wanted to see the man swing, but he valued his company, too. And it was Worthy who'd spited Nottingham by leaving Emily money in his will, promising it would give her freedom. In the end he'd been right about that, too.

‘Can I help you, sir?'

The girl looking up at him wasn't a servant, he decided immediately. She was dressed too well, in a rustling gown made to fit and flatter, her dark hair carefully curled where it peeked from her cap. Her looks stopped shy of beauty but there was an allure about her that men would remember and desire.

‘I'd like to see Mrs Wade,' he told her. ‘I'm Richard Nottingham, the Constable here.'

She dipped her head. ‘Of course. Come in, sir, and I'll fetch Mama.'

The girl showed him through to the parlour and closed the door quietly behind him. He remembered the room as it had been in the Worthy's time, dirty, dingy, filled with cobwebs that were never cleared from one year to the next. Now it had come alive, the walls bright with flocked paper in the new style, a colourful Turkey rug over the gleaming boards on the floor. The windows, once so grimed that they kept out most of the light, sparkled. A long clock stood against the wall keeping quiet time. In spite of himself, he was impressed.

He'd barely been there two minutes, just enough to take in the strangeness of the place, when the woman bustled in. She was short and heavyset but carried herself regally, the silk of her dress swishing gently as she crossed the floor, her eyes bright and calculating, an aloof smile on her face.

‘Mrs Wade.' He bowed his head slightly.

‘Constable.' She smiled at his greeting. ‘I've heard your name, of course. But I'm surprised to see you here. Is something wrong?'

‘I've been told you're planning to open a brothel here.'

‘I'm opening an establishment,' she agreed with a cautious smile. ‘Tonight. But I prefer to think of it as somewhere gentlemen of standing can enjoy a glass of wine and some company,' she corrected him carefully.

‘That's just a brothel by another name.' He smiled at her.

Mrs Wade inclined her head. ‘If that's what you care to call it. I prefer a different title.' She kept her gaze full and direct. ‘But it's hardly the only place of its kind in Leeds, is it?'

‘True enough,' he acknowledged. ‘I hear you've been living here for a few months now.'

‘We have. I thought it made sense to get to know Leeds a little first, to meet the right people and make sure this was the proper place for us.' She waved a hand at the room. ‘And it's taken a while to decorate the house, of course.'

‘More than decoration, I think,' he said admiringly. The woman had taste as well as money. ‘It certainly looks different.'

‘Thank you. Of course, I understand you were a regular visitor when Mr Worthy was alive.'

He glanced at her sharply to see if her words held a deeper meaning but her face was impassive.

‘Often enough,' he agreed mildly. ‘If you've heard about Amos then you'll know why.'

‘People have told me stories about him.'

‘I daresay they have,' he replied wryly. ‘Most of them are probably true.'

‘Yet he was never convicted of anything?'

‘No. Amos had powerful friends.' He paused. ‘You've been making a few of your own, I hear.'

‘I find that gentlemen of influence usually have money to spend.' She offered a bland smile.

‘And you brought your family with you?'

‘I did. My son and my daughters. That was Sarah who showed you in. My other daughter is Anne, and my son is Mark.'

‘Might I ask where you lived before, Mrs Wade?'

‘Here and there. We've been in so many places over the years.' She smiled again and he noted the way she skipped around his question. ‘But I hope we'll be here for a long time.' She glanced at the wallpaper and frowned. ‘After all, I've invested enough in it.'

‘Then I wish you well,' Nottingham said. ‘As long as you keep an orderly house we won't have any problems.'

‘I trust you'll come to the opening tonight, Constable,' she offered.

‘No, but thank you,' he replied. ‘I doubt many of the other guests would welcome me here. I hope it's a success for you, though.' He started to open the door, then turned as a thought struck him. ‘Tell me, do you have a girl named Jenny here?'

‘Jenny?' She pursed her lips then shook her head. ‘No.'

‘She'd have arrived in the last few days. Blonde, looks very young.'

‘No, there's no one like that.'

‘If she comes looking for work, would you let me know? Her brother's searching for her.'

‘Of course, I'll be glad to do that,' she agreed quickly. ‘I'm pleased to have had the honour to meet you, sir.'

Come evening, on the way home, Nottingham stopped at the churchyard, as he did so often, standing by the graves of his older daughter Rose and his wife Mary. There was space for him, too, when his time came. And there'd been many occasions in the last six months when he'd wished it would come soon, nights when the longing lapped at his neck and the loneliness sighed in his ears. His mind knew full well that Mary was no more than bones and rotting flesh under the earth but here, in his heart, he could believe she was still with him, listening, laughing, smiling, loving him. Since the murder he'd fallen out of love with the world, as if it had moved away and left him standing still.

He stayed for a few quiet minutes, then crossed Timble Bridge, home to the house on Marsh Lane. Inside, Rob and Emily sat at the table in eager discussion. She looked up, smiled, then came to greet him with a small kiss to his cheek.

‘Busy day?' he asked, although he already knew the answer. For her, every day was filled with work from the moment she arrived at the school on the Calls, and she often sat late into the evening, planning and writing, tired but happier than he'd ever seen her. She'd even considered taking on an older girl to help her in the classroom.

‘What I really need are books for them all,' she told him. ‘Do you know most of them have never even opened one in their lives? But I just don't see how we can afford them.' The families of the girls paid what they could, but that was hardly anything; most could barely scratch together enough for their rooms, and food for their tables was often scarce. Emily stood most of the costs of the school from the money she'd been left, fretting over every penny to be spent. ‘Do you think any of the merchants might donate?' she asked hopefully.

‘Try Tom Williamson,' he suggested. ‘He claims he's making money now and he has a good heart. Two girls of his own, as well.'

She beamed. ‘Thank you, Papa.' He knew she'd do it, too, present herself at Williamson's warehouse and persuade him with her passion.

He went through to the kitchen for ale. Lucy, the serving girl he'd taken on shortly before Mary's death, was starting to ladle out the stew.

‘I hope you're hungry,' she said. ‘I made plenty.'

The lass always prepared ample and it had always vanished by the end of the meal. Rob and Emily both had the appetites of the young, as hungry as the devil himself by evening, and he was certain Lucy often finished a second plate when no one was watching. He didn't begrudge them the food; he was happy to be able to provide it.

‘I can eat,' he told her.

She'd been a child from the streets, used to starvation and fending for herself. In the time when grief numbed him to the world she'd kept the house going, forcing him into routine, putting a full plate before him every night and coaxing him into swallowing one bite, then another and another, like a mother with her infant. It was impossible to imagine the place without Lucy now. She'd helped to ease the guilt off him with quiet words and silence when he needed it. But it still weighed him down; if he hadn't been so determined to catch a pair of killers Mary would still be alive.

They all talked over the meal, the servant sitting with them, as loud as anyone, and Nottingham wondered if he was the only one who missed another voice in the hubbub around the table. When they were done, Lucy vanished into the kitchen again and Emily followed her. She was teaching the girl to read, write and do her sums, determined to give her the same chance as every lass at the school. And Lucy responded with swift intelligence, gobbling down the knowledge then craving more.

‘Anything I should know for tonight, boss?' Rob asked.

Beyond the missing girl and keeping an eye on the new brothel there was little. By now Lister knew what to do. The son of the city's newspaper owner had seemed like an unlikely Constable's man at first, a lad who'd left every job he'd taken, but he'd stayed with this one. Now he was almost as valuable as the deputy.

After Rob left to take charge of the night men Emily sat at the table to prepare her lessons for the next day. Nottingham heard grunts beyond the door as Lucy kneaded the bread dough, pushing down hard on it with her small fists before leaving it to rise overnight.