Fair and Tender Ladies (10 page)

‘Who?'

The clerk searched for the paper on his desk and read the name.

‘Someone called Mr Finer.' He looked up at the Constable. ‘I don't know the name, sir. Who is he?'

‘Someone who used to live in Leeds, lad. Who's going to handle it for the Corporation?'

‘Mr Williamson. They thought it would be a good start for him.'

‘Thank you, Mr Cobb. That's all good to know. You've done well.'

Outside, he stood in the sun for a minute, feeling it warm his face, then made his way out along Vicar Lane. The old workhouse building was there, at the corner of Lady Lane, the stone worn and blackened, the windows all gone. It had been built before he was born, brooding, fearful and dark, the place folk went when there was nothing else left. Then it had become a charity school for twenty years before the Corporation made it a workhouse once again in 1725.

As Constable he'd had to attend the opening, parading next to the new master, Robert Milnor, and wheezing old Shubaal Speight, there with his two sons and his wife, so desperate to run the place. But three years later it had shut once more, and Speight and Milnor were dismissed in disgrace. For all he knew, Leeds was still paying the debts the workhouse had quickly run up. Speight had found few contracts and been so harsh in charge that the inmates had refused to work for him.

Now they were going to try again. More stupidity. He shook his head and turned away, walking back towards the river. The warehouses along the towpath had their windows and doors open wide. Outside one of them a group of workers, stripped to their shirts and breeches, passed around a jug of ale.

Tom Williamson sat in his office, coat neatly draped over the back of his chair. He looked up as Nottingham entered, smiling and throwing down his quill.

‘Richard. For God's sake come in and save me from these letters. Do you want some ale?'

‘Thank you,' he said, and took the cup and drank.

‘No more trouble at the school?' the merchant asked worriedly.

‘Nothing else, thankfully.'

‘Your daughter must be relieved.'

‘Even more so when she received the money from your wife. She's very grateful.'

Williamson smiled. ‘Between you and me, it made Hannah very happy. She has her charity now and she can persuade the other wives to part with the money their husbands have earned.' He drained the mug and started to pour another.

‘The workhouse,' Nottingham said.

‘You've already heard about that?' he asked in surprise.

‘You know what it's like in Leeds. Just lean into the wind and you can hear what's going on.' He paused. ‘What does Tom Finer have to do with it?'

‘He's offered to pay for repairs to the building and find contracts once it's open. Do you know him, Richard? Most of the older aldermen seem on good terms with him.'

‘He's been gone for nigh on twenty years.' The Constable recounted the facts quickly. ‘He left because Amos Worthy was going to kill him. He was a whoremaster, a crook and very likely a murderer, everything you can imagine. I don't suppose the aldermen mentioned that.'

‘No,' Williamson answered slowly and seriously.

‘You need to be very careful with Tom Finer,' Nottingham warned.

‘I will,' the merchant mused. ‘When I met him he seemed friendly enough. He said he wanted to give something back to the city.'

‘Tom Finer wouldn't put money into something unless he had a way to make a good profit out of it.'

‘He said he did business with my father back when I was a boy.'

‘He may well have done,' Nottingham said carefully. ‘He knew everyone who mattered in the city back them. And he took care of the people in power so he could carry on with all his schemes.'

‘I didn't know any of this, Richard.'

The Constable leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice earnest. ‘There's something else to think about – if anything goes wrong with this, you're the one they'll blame.' He watched Williamson sit back and frown. ‘You're the new man on the Corporation. They'll find it easy enough to dismiss you in disgrace.'

The merchant sipped slowly at his ale. ‘He could have changed.'

Nottingham shook his head. ‘Men like him don't change.' He saw Williamson look at him doubtfully. ‘Believe me. He'll want you to think he's come back here for his final years.'

‘He did say that.'

‘I doubt Tom Finer ever did anything unless money was involved. I've sent a letter to London to ask about him.'

‘Can you let me know when you receive a reply?'

‘I will. But if I were you I wouldn't commit the city to anything yet. And make sure a good lawyer looks at any documents Finer gives you.'

‘Thank you,' Williamson told him. ‘Though after the way the mayor treated you last year, I'm surprised you said anything.'

‘For all I care, Finer can dupe the city,' the Constable answered with a smile. ‘I just don't want them making a fool of you.' He stood.

‘I appreciate that, Richard.'

‘Just carry a very long spoon if you're supping with Tom Finer. That's my advice.'

Strolling up Briggate in the full, hot sun, he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He knew Finer's plans now and he'd been able to do something to delay them, at least. Nottingham had no doubt that the reply he eventually received from London would contain a litany of allegations, none of them proved. Finer was smart enough to profit from his crimes and too clever to pay for them himself. A quiet word about someone's dark indiscretions, a little money changing hands or someone sacrificed to the law was all it took to keep him free and living well.

At the White Swan he ordered bread and cheese, and downed half a mug of ale in a single swallow. The deputy arrived, placing a full tankard on the table.

‘Thirsty weather,' he said. ‘I've been walking and talking all morning.'

‘You do that every day,' Nottingham reminded him with a grin. ‘Did you find anything more on Davy?'

A harried serving girl placed his bowl of stew on the table and the deputy began to eat hungrily. ‘Nothing on him, but a little more about Jenny. You know Catherine Robinson, runs the rooming house on the other side of the river?'

The Constable nodded. She had a small place tucked away in one of the small streets behind the grand merchant palaces of Meadow Lane. ‘What about her?'

‘She had a girl come on Saturday night who sounds just like Jenny Carter. A little thing, looking lost and hoping for a bed.'

‘Did she stay there?'

He shook his head. ‘Didn't have the money.'

‘And she went to Fanny's brothel on Sunday?' Nottingham rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘That's right, boss. Catherine told her to go to Mrs Lee's.'

A farthing a night at Mrs Lee's. Two beds, one for men, one for women, everyone packed in together with the fleas and the lice. It was better than sleeping in the open air, but only barely.

‘Have you been to see her?'

‘Right before I came here,' Sedgwick answered. ‘The girl was there right enough, spent her last coin to do it. She had a little food with her. Catherine said she was talking with Molly the Mudlark.'

They all knew Molly, a cheerful lass who scraped her living wading in the Aire and pulling out whatever she could find. Mostly the items were worthless and useless but sometimes she'd find something to sell for a few pennies.

‘Go and see Molly once we've talked to Davy,' Nottingham ordered. He watched the deputy finish the stew, rubbing a heel of bread around the bowl to sop up the last of the juices. ‘Enjoy that, did you?'

‘It'll see me through.' He finished his ale and stood. ‘Right, I'll go and drag our friend back to the jail.'

‘Just be sure to take two of the others with you.'

King looked less comfortable this time. He tried to stretch out his legs but the Constable had deliberately placed the chair too close to the desk, forcing him to sit upright. Sedgwick stood by the door, a brooding presence behind the man's shoulder, and Nottingham waited, sorting through papers for a few minutes. Let the man wait, he thought, and let him feel wary and hunted.

Eventually he pushed the pile aside and stared at Davy. There was no smirk on the man's face this time, no air of brash confidence.

‘Thank you for coming, Mr King,' he said.

King tried to shrug, but it came across as a nervous gesture. ‘What do you want, any road?' he said. ‘I'm losing pay being hauled off here, and he wouldn't say nowt.' He gestured over his shoulder at the deputy.

‘Just a few more questions, that's all.' He brushed the hair out of his eyes. ‘Tell me, where were you Tuesday night?'

‘Tuesday?' The question was unexpected, Nottingham could see that, and it took King aback. ‘I don't remember.'

‘In the dramshops, maybe?'

‘Mebbe,' he agreed cautiously. ‘Why?'

The Constable smiled. ‘We know you were, Mr King.'

‘Then what's tha' asking me for? And what if I were?'

‘You talked to someone while you were drinking.'

‘'Appen. I talk to plenty of folk.' He shifted on the chair, trying to make himself more comfortable.

‘Someone called Jem Carter, maybe?'

‘Who?' Davy blinked at the name.

‘Jem Carter,' Nottingham repeated. ‘Big, fair hair, from the country.'

King shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.' His expression brightened. ‘I saw Peter Cross. He's blond.'

The Constable glanced at Sedgwick. The deputy nodded and slipped out.

‘What did you and Mr Cross do?'

‘I saw him out on Kirkgate and we went to Sam Hart's. Had a drop of gin, then we went on to a few other places.'

‘Who else did you meet?' Nottingham knew he was simply filling time now, asking questions until the deputy returned. But he felt sure that King was telling him the truth. The man hadn't had time to prepare a lie, and he wouldn't have given a name they could check otherwise.

‘A few, here and there.'

‘Who, Mr King?' he pressed.

Davy concentrated, trying to remember. ‘There were Tom Harper and Will Thompson.' He opened his eyes wide and started to grin. ‘And we saw that lad who works for you, too. What's his name?'

‘Mr Lister?'

‘Aye, that's the one. We were having a bit of a song and he told us not to be so loud. That do you, Constable?'

‘Very good, Mr King.' It was over, he knew that. The man realized he was on safe ground. ‘You may go, and I thank you for your help.'

King stood, smirking now. ‘Any time you want. All you have to do is ask.'

The afternoon felt more like August than the beginning of June. The sky was a soft, pale blue, not a breath of wind stirring, the sun so warm that the deputy took off his coat and unbuttoned the long waistcoat as he walked out along the riverbank.

He'd found Peter Cross easily enough, working up at the Shambles, hefting sides of beef, the stink of old blood making Sedgwick stand well away. Cross had unwashed pale hair and an accent that wasn't local; it would be easy to mistake him for a country lad if you didn't know him. But he remembered being out with King Davy, each place they'd gone and who they'd seen. The King was innocent. No matter; sooner or later he'd find a way to make the man pay for his remark about Lizzie.

His mood brightened as the afternoon passed. He knew he'd find Molly in her usual place, downstream from the warehouses and above the dye works where liquid flowed out and turned the river red and black and green. There'd be one or two others with her, working from first light until dusk, pulling all she found on to the bank and hoping for something she could sell.

He could see the girl in the distance, her ragged old dress pulled high and clouted between spindly legs as she waded in the shallow water, bending and scooping up handfuls of mud, sifting through for treasure. A boy and a girl lay on the riverbank in the sun.

The deputy walked heavily as he came close, giving them all a chance to hear him. The two on the grass scuttled away as soon as they saw his face and he stifled a smile. Molly waved and moved towards the bank, extending a hand so he could haul her out of the water.

‘I've not seen you in a long time, Mr Sedgwick,' she said cheerily, keeping her legs bare to dry in the heat.

‘You've been a good lass, Molly, no need to go chasing you down. Anything interesting today?' he asked, nodding at a small collection by her feet.

‘Nowt special. Just a few bits of metal.' She smiled happily, showing a mouth with both front teeth missing, giving her face a strangely childish look. Thick red hair cascaded down her back and the freckles on her bare flesh appeared dark against her pale skin. She claimed to be fifteen but could easily have passed for eleven, and she'd been a mudlark as long as he'd been a Constable's man. ‘I found a ring yesterday, I were that excited. It were only brass, but still …' She shrugged. ‘One day happen I'll find a gold one.'

‘You never know, you might,' he told her. ‘I hear you were at Mrs Lee's on Saturday.'

‘Aye. I found a farthing last thing in the day and I thought I'd treat meself. Right comfy it were, too.'

‘You met a lass called Jenny there.'

‘Jenny?' She grinned. ‘Oh, I liked her, Mr Sedgwick. She'd only just come to Leeds. And she give me some of the food she had in her basket. She were nice, she were. I told her she could come down here with me if she liked.'

‘She didn't want to?'

‘She thought she could make money in Leeds.' She cocked her head. ‘Why are you asking about her, any road?'

‘She's dead, love.'

For a moment Molly's face fell, her mouth collapsing at the corners. She said softly, ‘Aye, well.'

How many had she known who'd died, he wondered. ‘Did she say where she was going on Sunday?'