Fair and Tender Ladies (5 page)

Sometimes he wondered if he was made to be a Constable's man, whether life mightn't be better if he did something else. He was still only nineteen, there were years ahead of him. But he loved the work more than anything he'd ever done, the way it was always different, especially all the long nights that might spark into flame in moments, when the blood surged through his body.

The Constable found Little Sal easily enough, in the same spot as the previous morning. Now she looked exhausted, barely raising a smile as she approached him.

‘Tuesdays, Mr Nottingham,' she complained. ‘As soon as the market's over and they have money in their pockets, all they want to do is spend it. They fair wore me out yesterday.'

‘There's a few more coins if you have any word for me,' he offered.

She shook her head. ‘You save it, love. I asked some of the others. There are a couple of new lasses, right enough, but none of them sound like the one you're after.' She hesitated, then said, ‘Mind you, now I think about it, I've not seen so many fresh faces this last week or two.' She smiled ruefully. ‘Maybe they're learning, eh?'

‘They never learn, Sal. Not lads and not lasses.' He dug into the pocket of his breeches, feeling for a coin and passed it over. ‘That's for trying.'

‘You're a grand man, Mr Nottingham.' She stared at him pointedly. ‘And if you ever feel the urge again …'

‘I'll know who to see.' He gave her a small bow then left.

It was too easy to disappear in a place like Leeds, especially for someone without money. The poor simply vanished; they became unseen, ghosts at the fringe of life. If she'd really come to Leeds, the likelihood was that Jenny was already a whore somewhere, trying to keep body and soul together. But if she wasn't … He'd have Rob go to the camp by the river and talk to Bessie. The girl could be there, down among those who'd come to the ends of dreams and gathered together at night for safety and company, with no home except the grass by the river.

By late afternoon the Constable was back at the jail, completing another report when the deputy arrived.

‘Did you find anything?'

‘Not too much.' He recounted what he'd discovered. ‘The rest of them were all blind and deaf, slept through the whole thing. You know what they're like, a bunch of crows. The only surprise is that they weren't all out stripping the corpse.'

‘Have you seen Dick Chapman yet?'

‘He wasn't home. I went back later but there was still no answer.'

‘Make sure you find him,' the Constable ordered. ‘I want Dick to feel the fear of God.'

‘Yes, boss,' Sedgwick answered with a grin. ‘I'll enjoy that.'

‘After that, go on home. I'll finish things here.'

In truth there was little more to do. He completed the reports and walked up Briggate to the Moot Hall. Around the building, the butchers in the Shambles were closing their shutters for the day; packs of dogs roamed from one door to another, ready to fight for the last of the scraps thrown out on the cobbles.

The Moot Hall stood in the middle of Briggate, the street parting around it, and he climbed the polished stairs then walked along the thick Turkey carpet in the long hallway. A desk stood at the end, the young clerk scribbling quickly, his head down, concentrating on his work. Nottingham placed the papers in front of him and the man looked up in surprise.

‘Constable,' he said. ‘I'm sorry, I …' He raised an ink-stained hand in apology.

‘No matter, Mr Cobb. Just pass these to the mayor. I'm sure he has no wish to see me.'

Cobb frowned. The Constable had clashed with Mayor Fenton the year before and come close to losing his post. In the end he'd won, humiliating the mayor, and bad blood had flowed between them ever since. Fenton's term would run until September and Nottingham doubted he'd see the man again before then.

The clerk took the papers and added them to a pile on the corner of his desk before picking up the quill pen once more. But Nottingham didn't leave immediately.

‘By the way, Mr Cobb,' he said softly, ‘I think his Worship would dismiss you if he knew you were selling information to criminals.'

‘What?' The man's head jerked up and the blood left his face.

‘We've known it for months. Did you really think we wouldn't?' Cobb's eyes darted everywhere, as if he was seeking an escape route. It had been luck that they'd even discovered it, a stray word from a crook with knowledge that could only have come from Cobb. Nottingham had let it lie for a long time; now seemed a good time to press the advantage.

‘I …' the man began, then couldn't find more words.

‘Don't worry, I've not said anything.' The Constable paused. ‘And I won't.' He waited, seeing relief pass across the clerk's lips. ‘But it stops now.'

‘Yes, sir, of course,' Cobb said, eager to comply.

‘And you start giving me the information instead.'

The man nodded, knowing he was in no position to bargain.

‘Then I wish you good day.'

T
he air had cooled slightly and the first sketchings of dusk were in the sky when the deputy banged on the door again. This time he heard footsteps shuffling across the floor, and the handle turned.

Dick Chapman was short, with a sly cast to his eyes and the sharp face of a weasel. Before he could say a word, Sedgwick reached out and pushed him back into the room, following and closing the door.

‘You've been robbing the dead.' The deputy towered over the man, standing close enough to smell the ale on his breath.

‘Not me, sir. Never.' He shook his head for emphasis.

‘How much did you get from him?'

‘Nowt, Mr Sedgwick. I didn't do owt.'

The deputy grabbed him by the stained, discoloured stock and lifted him.

‘Maybe you'd like a night in the cells, Dick. Happen that would help your memory. What do you think?' He dragged Chapman higher until his feet left the floor, then let him drop.

‘It were just a few coins.' He snuffled the answer, careful not to meet the deputy's gaze. ‘He didn't have much. It were only enough for a pie and a drink.'

‘And what else was in there?'

‘Nothing,' Chapman answered eventually. As the deputy took a step closer, he added, ‘A piece of paper. I threw it away, it wun't owt.'

Sedgwick turned in disgust. At the door he said, ‘I'd better not hear your name for a long, long time or I'll put you in the jail and forget where I put the key.'

Finally he was home, in the small house on Lands Lane. Isabell tottered across the floor to him, arms out for a cuddle, a broad smile on her face, He swung her up, nuzzling his nose against her and leaned across the table to kiss Lizzie. This was what made it worthwhile, to come back to his family, leaving death and desperation on the other side of the door.

‘You look worn out,' Lizzie told him.

‘Long day,' he said, lowering Isabell gently then tickling her until she giggled. ‘And a dead man to start it.'

‘I heard. Anyone you know?'

‘Not a local.' He poured himself a mug of ale from the jug. ‘He'd come looking for his sister. She'd run off from home on Saturday to look for her fortune.'

Lizzie said nothing, but folded her arms and gazed down.

‘Is James upstairs?' he asked.

‘He's done his homework and settled down in his bed.'

Sedgwick slipped up the stairs to kiss the sleeping child on the cheek. When he returned Lizzie had cheese and ale set out on the table for him.

‘That lass, the one who came here, have you found her?'

He shook his head. ‘Mebbe she'll find her way home again. Some do.'

‘Do they?' She raised sad eyes. ‘Not many I ever saw.'

‘Or we'll find her.'

‘How many do you find, John?' Lizzie asked. ‘Honestly, how many?'

‘Only a few,' he admitted.

She was silent for a long time. ‘I've never told you how I started as a whore, have I?'

She hadn't and he'd never asked, never wanted to press her. He'd been willing to wait; if the story ever came he wanted it to be in her own good time. He poured more ale and looked at her.

‘I was thirteen when I started to grow.' She put her hands over her breasts to show what she meant. ‘Men started looking at me. My da ran a beershop in Harrogate and he was always busy with that. My mam had died so I looked after everything in the house.' She went quiet for a few moments, the pain of memory on her face. ‘I had an older brother. He thought I were there for his pleasure. When I told my da he wouldn't believe me. Just clouted me across the room for a liar. So I left and came down here.'

He reached across the table and tenderly stroked the tears from her cheeks.

‘The carter who gave me a ride to Leeds wanted paying. I didn't have any money, so … I thought, I have summat men want, I might as well make some money from it.' She straightened her shoulders and gave a wan smile. ‘Now you know.'

‘I'm sorry, love,' he told her.

She brightened a little, but the sadness remained behind her eyes. ‘It's all in the past, John Sedgwick. I've got you, I've got Isabell and James. I'm happy now.'

Rob started by asking in all the inns and alehouses if Jem Carter had been there before he died. He began close to the Rose and Crown, next to Megson's Court, knowing full well it was likely to be a fool's errand; the chances of anyone remembering the man were small. By ten his tongue had grown thick from repeating the man's description.

Each landlord he asked shook his head slowly, unable to recall anyone tall and blond whose clothes marked him out as a country boy. At the Old King's Head he settled back with a mug of ale, and Landlord Taylor leaned on the trestle, stroking his chin.

‘I'd have remembered if he'd been in. I don't forget a new face. Can't in this business, you never know when they'll be back or cause trouble.'

Rob drank, the liquid like balm on his throat.

‘Better to be prepared?' he asked.

The man nodded wisely. ‘When you've seen as much as I have you'll know how true that is, lad.'

‘I'll take your word.' He drained the mug and stood. ‘More work to do. I needed that, thank you.'

There was a faint chill in the night air, but also the sense of summer drawing close with its promise of long days and shaded evenings. He made his way slowly up Briggate, asking his questions and receiving the same answers. Finally he came to the Talbot and took a deep breath before opening the door.

He knew many of the faces, men he'd hauled off to the jail for fighting and drunkenness. It was a place for those who lingered on the wrong side of the law. And he knew Bell, the landlord who stood staring at him. One of the doors behind the man led upstairs to the rooms the whores used. The other went through to the pit where he held cockfights every week.

‘What's tha want?'

‘Just a few questions for you, Mr Bell.' He tried to sound pleasant but it was nigh on impossible with this man.

‘Nowt to say.' He turned his back and began talking to a customer.

Empty mugs stood on the trestle. Rob drew out his cudgel and casually swept it along the wood, sending the cups spinning and shattering on the floor. Bell turned sharply, his face dark as winter.

‘What do you think you're doing, boy?'

‘Getting your attention, Mr Bell. I said I wanted to ask you something.'

The landlord rubbed his large fists slowly but Rob stood his ground.

‘I'll be sending your master the bill for them.'

‘You do that.' Lister paused. ‘Now, did you have any strangers in here last night?'

‘Mebbe. Mebbe not.'

‘Which is it?' He tapped out a soft, slow rhythm on the trestle with the cudgel.

‘Aye, there was one,' Bell admitted after a while.

‘What did he look like?'

‘Fair hair, sounded like he were just up from the country. Talked to Tom Finer a while and left.'

Rob smiled. ‘That wasn't too hard, was it, Mr Bell?'

The landlord took a step forward. ‘Better not get too cocky, lad,' he warned. ‘I might not be feeling so helpful next time.'

Tom Finer, he thought as he walked back down Briggate. Bell had spoken the name as if it should be familiar but he'd never heard it before. Still, John or the boss would know the man; between them they seemed to know everyone in Leeds, high or low.

He made his way down to the bridge, then took the old stone stairs to the riverbank. A few hundred yards upstream small fires burned in the night and he followed the path towards them. As he approached a figure came out of the darkness.

‘Hello, Bessie,' he said.

‘Mr Lister.' In the glow he could see her broad smile, hair neatly caught under a cap, a shawl gathered around her shoulders, fleshy arms showing. She stood in front of him, protective of those gathered round the blazes, the ones with nothing, no roof, no food, no hope, coming each night to the only place they could call home. Bessie looked after her poor like family, tending and caring. ‘What brings you here?'

‘Work,' he admitted. He did what he could, gave them food sometimes. It was little enough, he knew that.

‘How's that girl of yours?'

‘The school's keeping her busy.'

She nodded over towards the flames. ‘Sophia's little one goes there and she comes back so happy.' She pursed her lips. ‘Now, what can I do for you?'

‘I'm looking for someone who might have found her way here. Her name's Jenny. She arrived in Leeds on Saturday. A blonde girl, small. She's sixteen but she looks younger.'

‘I've no one like that,' Bessie answered. ‘I'm sorry. If she wanders in I'll send word.'

‘Thank you.' He began to turn away.

‘You know what they're like, Mr Lister. Plenty that think there's money to be made here. They learn the truth soon enough.'