Constant Lovers (6 page)

Sedgwick was standing by the desk, his face locked in thought, a small, secret smile on his lips.

‘What did you make of Mr Godlove?'

The deputy turned as the Constable spoke. ‘Morning, boss. I thought you said he was a farmer?'

Nottingham settled in his chair and took off his stock. ‘That's what he told me.'

‘He's a bit more than that. Owns most of Horsforth, most like. Big, grand house, more servants than you can count. I don't think he's one of those out in the fields at first light breaking his back.' He paused, considering what he'd just said, then added, ‘Still, give him his due. He doesn't have any side to him.'

‘Did he have much to say?'

The deputy rubbed a hand down his face. ‘Not a lot that was useful. He wanted us to open the coffin so he could have a last look at her. Took me a while to persuade him that it wasn't a good idea. She's going to be buried properly tomorrow. The local curate came while I was there and couldn't do enough to help him.'

‘What about his marriage?'

Sedgwick blew out a long breath. ‘I really think he loved her.' He paused to frame his answer. ‘He was genuinely devastated, boss. Couldn't sit still, kept pacing around the room while I talked to him.'

‘Did you talk to any of the servants?'

‘Aye, while he was with the curate. According to them, his wife had been shy at first. About the only person she'd really talk to was the maid she'd brought with her. They thought she felt she was too good for them since she had a title. Most of them had come around a little but they still weren't too sure of her. She didn't talk a lot, evidently. A couple of odd things, though.'

‘Oh?'

‘She and her maid would go off for the day once a week. Not always the same day, mind. The maid would never tell the other servants what they did. They'd leave after breakfast and come back late afternoon.'

‘That's strange,' Nottingham said. ‘No one has any idea at all?'

‘Rumours and thoughts, you know what it's like. Nothing with any substance. The other thing is, though, the washerwoman there reckoned that Mrs Godlove might be carrying a baby.'

The Constable sat straight. ‘Go on,' he said.

‘No breech clouts last month, she told me.'

‘And Godlove didn't say anything about it?'

‘Not a word. I don't think his wife had told him.'

Now that was interesting, the Constable thought. He was glad he'd sent Sedgwick; the man had a knack for charming out information.

‘So we have more questions, but we're not any further along.'

‘Nothing to help us. What about the gentry?'

Nottingham recounted the visit to Lord Gibton, then added, ‘There's something not right about it all.'

‘What do you mean, boss?'

‘When I arrived he knew it must be bad news, but he never pressed me for any details. What would you do if someone came and told you James was dead?'

‘I'd want to know everything,' Sedgwick replied.

‘Exactly. All he did was turn quiet. Said he knew she must have been murdered or I wouldn't have ridden out there, and that was it. About the only time he spoke much was explaining how the family had lost their money and why his daughter had needed a maid. It was as if he had to justif y everything about his life, never mind that his daughter was in the ground. It was just  . . . cold. It's not human.'

‘How much did you tell him?'

‘Not much at all. He never bothered to ask where she'd been found or how she'd died. I'll tell you, John, I don't know what to make of it. I've never seen anything like it. And something else – on my way I stopped in the village there, and the woman at the alehouse thought Godlove had paid them so he could marry Sarah.'

‘What?' The deputy looked at him incredulously.

‘I know it sounds ridiculous, it should be the other way round – the girl brings a dowry. But after meeting Gibton I can almost believe it, especially since the baron took such pains to tell me he'd inherited the money.'

‘So what do you mean? They sold her to the highest bidder?'

‘I don't know.' He shook his head. ‘I'm sure the rich and titled have their own term for it. Godlove must have been what, thirty years older than her?'

‘Something like that, aye.'

‘She was a pretty girl. Why would she look twice at him, let alone marry him? There was nothing Sarah could bring to a marriage, the Gibtons didn't have money.'

‘Except a title,' Sedgwick offered.

‘Exactly. For some people having a wife with ‘The Honourable' in front of her name could be worth paying for. And who knows what their children would be?' He paused to consider that, then pursed his lips. ‘Something that bothers me is what's happened to the maid? Gibton insisted she was devoted to Sarah.'

‘That's what the servants said at Godlove's, too. No one had a bad word to say about her, but no one seemed to really know her. She hadn't gone out of her way to make friends.'

‘She's from Roundhay, and the alewife didn't say anyone had seen her, so she must still be missing. We've had no more reports of bodies.'

‘Do you think she's involved?'

The Constable shook his head. ‘I doubt it.'

‘So what do we do now?'

‘For a start, we need to find the maid,' Nottingham said. ‘Do we even know her surname?'

‘Taylor.'

‘We have to try and find her. She's the one who was closest to Sarah Godlove. She might well be the key to all this.' He marked the item on one finger. ‘We also need to know where Sarah went every week. That's a mystery and it might well be important.' He pushed a second finger back, then a third. ‘And we should try and find out the truth about this marriage.'

‘How?' Sedgwick asked.

‘We ask questions. It's the only thing we can do. You go out to Roundhay and talk to the maid's family. Who knows, they might have had word from her—'

‘If she's still alive.'

The Constable acknowledged the words. He knew full well she could easily be as dead as her mistress, the body hidden away somewhere.

‘—or she might have told them things.' He sighed. ‘Any information is better than we have right now. Anything you can find at all. Ask round the village. Sarah grew up there, people will have known her. You know what to do. Take the knife with you, too. See if anyone recognizes it.'

‘Yes, boss.' He stood up and stretched, grabbing the weapon from the drawer.

‘Do you want to ride up there?'

Sedgwick made a face. ‘After being in that cart yesterday, I'll walk.'

The problem, Nottingham decided, was that he was dealing with so many unknowns. The people were just names, he didn't understand their lives. Neither Godlove nor the Gibtons had any association with Leeds, and Leeds was what was familiar to him, what he understood in his heart and his soul. Outside the city he was just another stranger. What he needed was someone who might know something about these folk, someone to guide him a little.

He retied his stock and set off down Briggate. Carters filled the road, cursing their horses and each other, while a farmer tried to drive a few cattle between the wagons, heading to sell them to the butchers in the Shambles.

A short way up from the bridge he stopped by a house, its shutters spread wide and the sashes raised. Glancing through the window he could see the printing press, its brass gleaming, and beyond it a man at a desk. His head was lowered, the quill in his hand scratching rapidly at a piece of paper. The Constable opened the door and walked in.

‘Mr Nottingham.' The man stood, extending a hand whose skin was discoloured by dark stains. James Lister was small and round, all beaming eyes and bulging belly, with an open, jovial face. He'd only taken over the Leeds Mercury in January after the terrible winter had claimed the life of his employer, John Hirst. But in his life he'd forgotten more about Leeds and the area around it than most people had ever known. Where the merchants dealt in cloth, fact and rumour were his stock-in-trade. ‘What can I do for you?'

The room smelt of ink, a deep, exotic scent that seemed to permeate the walls and the floor. Bundles of paper were stacked in a corner, ready for the next edition, and stained wooden boxes of type lined the wall. The Constable had been here before, and the mechanics of making a newspaper always amazed him.

‘I'm hoping you might have some information.'

Lister raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled slyly. ‘And here I thought you were the one who knew everything, Constable. Sit down.' He gestured at the extra seat beside the desk.

‘You heard about the body found at Kirkstall Abbey on Saturday?' Nottingham began.

‘Of course.'

‘And you know who she was?'

‘Not yet. Do you know?' Lister asked eagerly, reaching for his quill.

‘Her name was Sarah Godlove. Her maiden name was Gibton.'

Lister sat back and let out a long breath. ‘I remember when they married last year. I wrote something about it, I'm sure. I couldn't have ignored that.'

‘What do you know about Godlove and Baron Gibton?'

The man rubbed his chin. ‘Where do you want me to start? Godlove's a rich man. His family owned a little land for generations. They did quite well as farmers, but it was his father who really made the difference.'

‘What do you mean?' the Constable asked him.

Lister smiled widely. ‘He started buying up small farms that weren't doing well. Judicious purchases, too. He must have been a clever man. By the time anyone realized what he was doing, he must have owned most of the area between Horsforth and Bradford.'

‘What about the present Mr Godlove?'

‘He's not the man his father was; at least, that's what everyone says,' Lister reported gleefully. ‘He runs everything smoothly enough, but there's no fire about him. His ambition, or so I was told,' he confided, ‘is to be part of the gentry. He wanted to be rich and respectable.'

‘And the marriage brought him that?'

‘In name, at least.' He held up a warning finger, relishing the chance to gossip. ‘The Gibtons aren't exactly the front rank of nobility.'

‘He's a baron.'

‘Ah, but a baron is very low on the scale, Mr Nottingham,' Lister said dismissively. ‘Even a viscount is higher, and they're almost three a penny. But the Gibtons committed a cardinal sin in the eyes of the gentry – they lost most of their money.'

‘The great-grandfather lost it. At least, that's what Gibton told me.'

Lister raised his eyebrows. ‘Very candid of him. It's true enough, though. From what I've heard, the man should never have been let out anywhere at all. He'd wager on anything and everything and usually lose. Of course, he was drunk most of the time, which probably accounts for it. I suppose the family's cursed him ever since. There they were, couldn't even afford to live with the best society and all because of him. There was a little money, of course, they were hardly on the parish, but it wasn't the luxury they'd once enjoyed.'

‘And now they seem to have money again.'

‘I was getting to that. Patience, Constable, please,' he teased. He held out his hands, palms up, and raised the right one. ‘So here we have a man with plenty of money who truly wants to be part of the aristocracy. He's not going to manage that himself, so he needs to marry into it. The only trouble is that, apart from his wealth, there's not much about him. You've met him?'

‘Yes,' Nottingham said.

‘He's not a man who leaves a lasting impression, is he? Let's be kind and leave it at that.' Lister winked playfully and raised the other palm. ‘On the other hand there's a family with a title that's desperate – and I do mean desperate – for money. They have one real asset, which is a pretty daughter of marriageable age, and they've been preparing her since she was a baby. If they'd had more girls they'd probably have been rubbing their hands in glee. The only thing missing is a dowry. That means no one with a title is ever going to come near her, and they know it.'

Slowly he brought his hands together. ‘A perfect match, at least for Godlove and the baron.'

‘So he paid for her?'

‘Yes, he did. A bride price, if you like, although no one's going to call it that, of course. It's far too crude a term, but it's what it amounts to. Young Sarah was sold off like good stock – good breeding stock. Godlove is suddenly part of the nobility, even if it's just by association, and the Gibtons have real money for the first time in God knows how long.'

‘What about Sarah?'

‘She certainly wouldn't want for anything with Godlove, of course. An easy life, although a dull one, I'm sure, stuck out in Horsforth with the sheep for your best friends. Not that anyone would have consulted her, of course.' He shrugged. ‘You know how these things work. She's just an asset, a piece of property to be traded.'

‘Her parents have done well out of it.'

‘My understanding is that it was all Lady Gibton's work. She drove a bargain that would impress a horse trader. Did you meet her?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Count yourself lucky.' He shivered theatrically. ‘Awful doesn't even begin to describe her. Just make sure you're never around when she loses her temper. I saw it happen once at an assembly. Everyone was getting as far away from her as possible. The serving girls were in tears. It was very ugly.' He paused. ‘Is any of this useful?'

‘Everything's useful at the moment,' the Constable answered with a small smile. ‘It's all far outside my circle. And outside the city. I'm impressed you know so much.'

Lister bowed his head. ‘You never know when something will come in useful,' he explained. ‘It must be the same for you.'

‘More or less,' Nottingham agreed. ‘Still, if you ever want a change of employment, I can use someone who gathers this much information.'