Constant Lovers (7 page)

The man patted his paunch contentedly. ‘Not for me. I like the quiet life. All I have to worry about is people threatening legal actions against me.' He cocked his head. ‘Are you really looking for someone?'

‘I am.' This murder had shown him how tightly they were stretched.

‘I should send my oldest boy down to see you, then.'

‘You don't want him here?'

‘I'd love to have him here,' Lister complained. ‘He could take it all over in time. But it doesn't interest him.'

‘What does?'

‘I don't know,' he admitted sadly. ‘I'm not sure he does, come to that.'

‘Working for me means long hours. The pay is poor, too.'

Lister chuckled. ‘The money's poor for everything in Leeds, unless you're in cloth.' His face turned serious. ‘He's a good lad, Mr Nottingham. Reads and writes well, a good thinker, does what he's told – unless it's me telling him, of course,' he added ruefully.

‘How old is he?'

‘Almost eighteen. He was an apprentice last year, but only lasted three months.' He frowned. ‘That was good money poured away for nothing. Then I tried him here and he didn't care for it. His mother doesn't know what to do with him and neither do I.'

‘Send him to see me if he's interested,' the Constable said. He couldn't be any worse than some of the people who'd come hoping for the job.

‘And just imagine,' Lister added, eyes twinkling, ‘he'd have access to all his father's gossip.'

Nottingham laughed and stood up. ‘Tell him to come to the jail.'

‘I'll be printing something about Sarah Godlove's killing. Murder most cruel.'

The Constable turned and stared. ‘Murder's never anything else, Mr Lister.'

Seven

Sedgwick never felt comfortable away from the city. Born and raised in Leeds, the quiet of the countryside was eerie to him. It took an hour of steady striding out to reach Roundhay village, a collection of ten cottages where the road made a turn. At least the Taylors wouldn't be hard to find.

A woman was working in the garden of the first house, down on her hands and knees, sleeves rolled up high as she pulled scrubby weeds away from carrot tops. To the side he could see mounds for the potatoes, and peas strung against the wall. She hadn't heard him approach, and jerked her head up sharply as he coughed.

‘Morning,' he said with an easy smile.

‘Morning,' she replied warily, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked to be in her late forties, hair tucked tidily beneath a cap. The heat had put a shine on her skin and he waited as she wiped her forearm across her forehead.

‘You'll have a good crop this year,' Sedgwick said affably.

‘Hope so. The more we grow, the less we buy.' The woman stared at him, then asked, ‘Can I do owt for you?'

‘I'm looking for the Taylors.'

She stood, pushing herself up with strong arms then smoothing down the dress. Her knuckles were red from work, and he saw that two of the fingers on her right hand were swollen and misshapen.

‘I'm Catherine Taylor,' she told him, walking to the drystone wall that separated them. ‘What do you need?' There was deep suspicion in her voice.

‘I'm John Sedgwick. I'm the deputy Constable of Leeds.'

‘Oh aye, and what brings you out here to see me, then? My husband's out in the fields over yon.' She tilted her head to the west. ‘Her from the alehouse said a Constable had been out round here, too.'

‘It's about your daughter. Anne.'

‘Our Annie?' Taylor looked confused, then smiled. ‘Nay, love, but you've got that wrong. She's been with Sarah Godlove – Gibton as was – for nigh on ten year now.'

‘I know,' he said, watching as the edges of fear began to show in her face. ‘Can we talk away from the road?'

After a moment's hesitation, she agreed. ‘Aye, come on in. I've a fresh stoup of ale if you're thirsty.'

‘I could do with that,' Sedgwick admitted. ‘It's a long walk out here when it's warm.'

He followed her into the house. There was a stool and two wooden chairs on the flagstones, an old, discoloured rug made from scraps of fabric between them, in front of the empty hearth. A table sat up against a wall, its wooden top scrubbed, a bowl of berries sitting on top under the window.

She brought him a wooden mug and he took a drink, feeling the liquid lubricate his dry throat.

‘It's good, is that,' he said, taking another gulp.

Catherine Taylor sat down and gestured to the other seat. ‘Now, what's all this about our Annie, then?'

‘It's also about Mrs Godlove,' he began, emptying the cup and placing it on the floor.

‘She married that rich man from Horsforth way. Wanted to keep Annie with her. And her parents got all that money not long before, too.'

He could tell she was talking just to delay the news. She urgently wanted to hear it and yet it terrified her.

‘Sarah Godlove's dead,' he told her. ‘Someone murdered her last Saturday.'

‘What?' Her hand came up to her mouth.

‘She was coming over to Roundhay, but she never arrived. She had Anne with her, but no one's seen your daughter since.'

‘Annie?' She didn't understand. ‘Annie?'

‘Has she been here lately, Mrs Taylor? Have you seen her?'

The woman shook her head dumbly, in shock.

‘I'm sorry,' Sedgwick said. ‘We don't know where she is and we need to find her. She must know what happened to her mistress.'

‘She's been with that Sarah since she was fourteen. She loves her. You're not saying she killed her?'

‘No.' Sedgwick smiled kindly. ‘Nothing like that.'

‘Do you think she's dead?' Catherine asked bluntly.

‘We don't know,' was the best he could offer her. And it was true, he thought. They really did have no idea at all. ‘I was hoping she'd come here.'

‘No.' There was emptiness in her eyes.

‘When did you see her last?'

‘A month ago, mebbe? Aye, four week ago last Saturday. She stayed over and we went to church together.'

‘The servants at Godlove's told me that Sarah and your daughter would go off one day each week. Do you know where they went?'

‘No,' she said. ‘No. She doesn't say much about what they do, or her duties or owt like that.' She stopped herself suddenly, as if suddenly realizing all those days could now be past, a sorrowful, vanished history. ‘Please, tell me, do you think Annie's dead?'

‘I really don't know,' he answered her honestly. ‘But if she comes here, we need to talk to her.'

‘She's never been in any trouble, never done owt wrong.' Catherine Taylor was rubbing her hands together as if they were cold. ‘She's a good lass, mister.'

‘I'm sure she is. Look, there could be plenty of good reasons no one's seen her,' Sedgwick tried to reassure her. ‘Don't go thinking the worst yet.'

She looked at him, snatching at the hope, brittle as life, in his words.

‘Does she have any friends in the village? Anyone apart from you and your husband she sees when she comes home?'

The matter-of-fact question seemed to give her strength.

‘Aye, there's Maggie Blenkinsop. Well, Maggie Archer as was. She's the same age as our Annie and they were allus together when they were lasses.'

‘Where does she live?'

‘Right across the road. She'll be there because I know her babby's been ill. Can't do much when that happens.'

Sedgwick stood up, thanking her for the ale.

‘Try not to worry,' he said, although he knew the words were pointless. He'd planted the thought and it would grow like a weed. ‘One last thing.' He produced the knife that had murdered Sarah. ‘Have you ever seen this?'

‘No,' she answered after staring hard at it. ‘Is that  . . .?'

‘Yes.'

He was at the door when she spoke again.

‘Tell me summat, mister.'

He halted and turned back, stooping so his head didn't catch the lintel.

‘When you told them about Sarah, did his Lordship and his wife ask about our Annie?'

‘I wasn't the one who told them. But from what I heard they didn't even ask that much about their daughter.'

Outside, the sunlight seemed too bright and he blinked his eyes to adjust. All he'd managed to learn was that Anne hadn't come back here, and the price of that knowledge was her parents in torment.

He crossed the road and knocked on the door of the small cottage. It looked uncared-for, unloved. There were vegetables in the garden but the weeds had taken proper hold, a few slates were missing from the roof, and the old limewash was heavily stained. From inside he could hear a baby howling and another young voice shouting loudly.

The woman looked harassed, old before her time. She had a baby in her arms and a girl of about three pulling at her ragged dress. There were dark half-moons like bruises under her eyes and her hand swatted half-heartedly at the girl.

‘You're Maggie Blenkinsop?' he asked.

‘Aye. Who're you, then? And how do you know my name?'

‘I'm John Sedgwick,' he introduced himself. ‘I'm the deputy Constable of Leeds. Mrs Taylor over the way told me who you were.'

‘Oh aye?' She cocked her head slightly. ‘And what do you want with me?' She shifted the child on her arm. ‘Stop it,' she said to the girl who was pulling at the material once more. ‘I'll not tell you again.'

‘It's about Anne Taylor. Her mother says you're friends.'

Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘Aye. She went for a maid and I stayed here and got meself wed. Sometimes I'm not sure which of us made the better bargain.' She turned serious again. ‘So why's the Constable of Leeds out here about her? What's wrong?'

‘She's missing,' he explained, watching the surprise spread on her face.

‘Missing?' She spoke the word as if it was new to her. ‘Annie?'

‘No one's seen her since Thursday. She and her mistress left home then to come over here.'

‘But  . . .' she began and then stopped, her face empty, not knowing what to say.

‘Her mistress was murdered.'

‘Sarah?' Involuntarily, Maggie grasped the baby tighter and it began to cry. Tenderly, without even thinking, she rubbed the back of its head until the child settled.

‘We're looking for Anne. We don't know what's happened to her.'

‘She hasn't been here.'

‘I know.' Sedgwick smiled kindly. ‘Do you know anywhere she might go if she was afraid?'

The woman thought and then shook her head. The little girl had wandered away inside the house. She hoisted the baby, stroking it softly and whispering at it.

‘If Annie was in trouble she'd come here,' she said finally. ‘This is where her kin is, and her friends. We'd look after her.'

‘If she does come back, we need to talk to her. It's important.'

‘Who killed Sarah? Do you know?' she asked in wonder. ‘Why would anyone do that to her?'

‘We don't know,' he said. ‘That's why we need Anne. We're hoping she can help us.'

‘What did her mam say?'

‘I think she's scared,' Sedgwick confided. ‘She's terrified Anne's dead.'

‘I'll get these two settled and go over.' She paused. ‘What do you think?' she asked, gazing directly at him and daring him to lie. ‘Honest now, is she dead?'

‘I really don't know,' he told her, ‘and that's the truth. Did she ever tell you that Sarah used to go off one day a week?'

‘No. She doesn't talk much about what she does. Never has. But I don't think she likes it over there. When it was just her and Sarah, that was good. But all those other servants, she feels out of place, like they resent her.'

‘Has she told you that?'

‘Not in so many words. But little things, you know.'

‘What about her mistress? Was she happy there?'

‘I don't think so, not really. I remember back at the start of spring, she came over for a few days up at that grand house they have now. I'd been out to find some wood for the fire. I could hear them having a real shouting match, her and her parents. They were telling her she had to go back and she was crying and screaming that she wouldn't.'

‘But she went back in the end?'

‘Aye.' She sighed and started to rock the baby gently, without thinking, letting the motion send it off into sleep. ‘I asked Anne about it the next time I saw her. She just said it was nowt.' Maggie raised her head defiantly and stared at the deputy. ‘You've come here and brought trouble. Annie's all they have left. There were three lads but they all died when they were little.'

‘I'm just trying to find some answers, love, that's all.'

‘I know.' She sighed. ‘It's not your fault. I'd better go over to Catherine. She'll be needing someone.'

He started to walk away.

‘If you find Annie, come and tell me, please. Whether it's good or bad.'

‘I will. I promise.'

Eight

‘Right, let's take stock of what we really know and the things we just think.'

The Constable had been next door to the White Swan and bought a fresh jug of ale. For once, Michael the landlord was happy. In this weather people were drinking more and his profits were up. In a rare, grand gesture he'd waved away payment. Now Nottingham and the deputy were seated in the jail in the shank of the afternoon, slaking their thirst and assessing the facts.

Sedgwick poured a mug.

‘We don't know much at all.'

‘We know Sarah Godlove was murdered and that Anne Taylor has disappeared,' Nottingham began. ‘We know they left Horsforth on Thursday and that Sarah's body was found on Saturday.' He paused to take a drink. ‘We know Sarah and Anne used to vanish one day a week, but not where. We know she'd been married to Godlove for about a year.'