Fair and Tender Ladies (16 page)

‘There was damage at my daughter's school last night.'

The factor looked at him uncomprehendingly then began to laugh loud enough for the workers to stop and stare. ‘You think I was responsible?'

‘Were you?' The Constable asked evenly.

‘For God's sake, don't be a bloody fool.' He dismissed the idea in a moment. ‘Why would I want to do something like that?'

‘I hear you don't feel the poor should be educated.'

‘Of course I don't. Waste of time.' His face cleared as he understood. ‘Tom Williamson been peaching on me, has he? I knew you two were close.' He leaned forward, spreading his large hands on the desk. ‘Let me tell you something, Mr Nottingham, and I'm not going to repeat it. You're right, I don't think there's any sense in giving education to the poor. They won't use it. But that's as far as I go. Is that clear enough for you?'

‘Perfectly, Mr Mitchell.'

‘Then some of us have work to do. You don't need to come back here.' He strode away, yelling an order to one of the men who scurried to obey.

Outside, the Constable drew in a breath, the warm air welcome. He believed the factor; there was nothing false about his outrage. He walked down Briggate, ignoring all the clamour of the market, crossed the bridge and slipped through the streets to a neat house that stood out from its neighbours, the windows shining, the paint on the door bright and glossy.

The big man who answered his knock had skin so black it almost seemed blue in the sunlight. He smiled, displaying a full set of white teeth.

‘Mr Nottingham. Good to see thee,' he said, his Leeds accent as broad as any the Constable had ever heard. ‘Come on in. He's in the parlour.'

‘Thank you, Henry. You look well.'

‘Aye, grand weather always brings out the best in me.'

Joe Buck was seated at his desk working through his accounts, dressed as elegantly as ever in a coat and breeches of the best silk with silver buckles on his shoes. Fine enough for royalty if they should ever drop by, the Constable thought, and a reminder of the good money the man made fencing stolen goods.

‘You look like a man with a hundred cares and nowhere to put them,' Buck told him.

‘Maybe I am, Joe. I feel that way,' Nottingham admitted wearily. ‘You know my daughter runs a school.'

‘Of course I do. I've heard nothing but good things about it.'

‘In the last few days the windows have been broken, she's been threatened and last night someone destroyed all the books there.' He counted the incidents out on his fingers and looked at Buck. ‘What do you make of that?'

‘I'd say someone doesn't like the place,' the fence said slowly.

‘I need your help.'

‘I haven't heard a whisper. But I'll put the word out for you.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Your lass, how is she?'

‘She's angry,' he replied. ‘So am I, Joe. I want whoever's doing this.'

‘I'll see what I can find out,' Buck promised. ‘I'm glad you came, though, I was going to send you a note.'

‘Oh?'

‘I hear Tom Finer's back in Leeds.'

‘You heard right.'

‘He used to be a nasty piece of work, by all accounts.'

‘More than you'd want to know. He and Amos, they made a real pair.'

‘I hope you're keeping an eye on him, Mr Nottingham.'

‘I'm doing that, Joe. Why, are you worried he might want to go back into the stolen goods business?'

‘From what folk have been telling me, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.'

‘I wouldn't either. But you know me, Joe. I don't trust anyone. Whatever you hear about the school, I want to know. I'd be grateful.'

‘You will, Mr Nottingham. I promise.'

R
ob wandered through the inns and alehouses along Briggate. The weavers were enjoying a final drink before putting goods on their packhorses and starting back to their villages. Some were happy, with a better price than they'd expected weighing down their pockets. Others sat sullen, jingling fewer coins than they'd hoped, or left with a length of unsold cloth.

Most of the faces he knew in Leeds were the ones who came out at night, and there weren't many of those around at this hour. Finally he spotted Matthew, tucked in a corner at the Turk's Head, an empty cup on the table in front of him. He worked moving cloth to warehouses after the market, a few coins to keep him going until something else came along.

Rob bought a mug of ale and carried it over.

‘You look like a man with a thirst,' he said, seeing the hunger for drink in the man's eye as he glanced up.

‘Aye, thank you, Mr Lister, I could reet do with that.' His hand snaked out for the mug and he took a long sip. He was perhaps thirty, his beard and hair stringy, most of his teeth gone, dressed in clothes that were more holes and hope than material.

‘You know about the school on the Calls?'

‘Aye,' Matthew replied, his eyes unfocused, fist tight around the ale.

‘Do you know anyone who wants it gone?'

The man turned his head slowly. ‘Gone? What's tha' mean?'

‘Someone's been damaging the place at night.'

Matthew pursed thin lips and shook his head. ‘Nowt I know.'

As Lister made to stand up, the man added quietly, ‘Get thisen to Leviticus Holt. Seen him creeping round all hours of dark.'

Rob knew Holt, a small, vicious man who took strange ideas into his head. It was possible, he thought.

‘Where's he staying now?'

‘Don't know,' Matthew answered. ‘I keep out of his road.'

It was the sensible way; there was no knowing when Holt would turn on someone. Most kept their distance, wary of his odd, unpredictable ways.

He tried other places along the street, but heard nothing of use in the answers or the gossip. Finally he gave up, leaning wearily against a wall, the sun hot on his face.

‘You'll get no work done like that.'

He opened his eyes and saw the deputy loping towards him.

‘If I stay here much longer I'll be asleep.'

‘Go on home, then. Found anything?'

‘Someone suggested Leviticus Holt.'

‘Aye,' Sedgwick nodded his agreement. ‘I wouldn't put it past him if he has it in his mind. I'll find him.'

‘Good luck.'

‘Catch him early enough and he'll be sober. He's harmless then.'

Lister pushed himself upright. ‘I'll leave him to you.' He waved an arm lazily and walked away.

Leviticus Holt, the deputy mused. It made more sense than any other name else he'd heard. There was a streak of madness in the man. He hoarded his grievances the way a miser held his coins. The last he knew, Holt had a room at the bottom of the Head Row in one of the old houses the city kept threatening to tear down.

He brought the cudgel from his coat as he entered the place, looping the thong around his wrist. The stairs felt fragile under his boots as he went down to the cellar, one hand against the wall to steady himself.

The door was unlocked and he pushed it open, letting in a few glimmers of light. Holt was asleep on an old pallet. The room stank of stale sweat and the old piss that overflowed from a bucket in the corner. There was nothing else, no table or chair, no clothes hanging from nails on the wall.

Sedgwick tightened his grip on the stick and pushed his boot against Holt's leg.

‘Wake up, you bugger,' he said loudly.

For a moment there was nothing more than the thick rasp of breathing, then Holt sprang up quickly, one hand going for the knife in his belt, a snarl on his lips. The deputy brought the wood down hard on the man's thick wrist, making him cry out.

‘You didn't ought to have done that,' Holt said, doubling over and cradling his arm.

‘Try that again, I'll break the bloody bone,' Sedgwick warned him. ‘And then I'll haul you off to the jail. Is that what you want, Leviticus?'

The man glared, rubbing his bruised arm. ‘I think you already broke it.'

‘Don't be so daft, that was nothing more than a love tap. You'd know if I meant it.'

‘What you want?' the man demanded.

‘Where were you last night?'

Holt chuckled. ‘Drinking, where else?'

‘Where?'

‘Talbot, Old King's Head.' He shrugged. ‘I don't remember.'

‘And after?'

‘Came back here. I was sleeping until some bastard woke me,' he complained.

‘What about the damage you did to the school on the Calls?'

‘What school?' Holt asked in confusion.

‘The one Emily Nottingham runs.'

The man shook his head. ‘Don't know it.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘Honest.' Holt's eyes were wide, his breath full of ale. ‘I don't know no school.'

The deputy stared at him then stepped back slowly. The man was telling the truth. He'd probably never even heard of the place, let alone done anything to it.

‘Go back to sleep,' he said.

Nothing. He blew out a long breath when he was back in the sunlight, tucked the cudgel away and inhaled deeply to clear away the heady stench of the cellar. Whoever had done all this was staying very quiet.

By the time he reached the Calls he'd stripped off the coat, carrying it over his shoulder. Even then he could feel the sweat under his arms and damp on the back of his shirt.

A knot of women had gathered across from the school. As he tried to pass one of them recognized him.

‘You're the Constable's deputy,' she said, the words coming out as an accusation.

‘Aye, that's me, love,' he said with a smile and a wink.

‘What are you doing about that?' she asked, glancing to where the locksmith was finishing work on the door.

‘Everything we can.'

‘Not enough, though, is it?' another woman pointed out accusingly. ‘You let that happen last night.'

‘If you know who did it, tell me,' Sedgwick told her.

‘If we knew that we'd string the bastard up ourselves,' the woman answered, staring directly at him. ‘You should be out looking, not coming by here. You'd think the Constable would want to look after his own daughter.'

‘We can't watch everywhere night and day,' he pointed out.

‘Aye, well, you won't have to,' she said. ‘We're going to have our men out here again and God help anyone they find.'

‘If they catch anyone, make sure they hand him over to us,' the deputy warned her.

‘We'll see. If you can't do your job, we'll do it for you,' she said.

‘No, love, you won't,' he answered firmly. ‘I don't want to have to drag your man off for murder. You find anyone, bring them to the jail and let us take care of it.'

‘Why should we?' another voice objected. ‘You've done bugger all so far.'

He looked at her, a young woman barely turned twenty, hands defiantly on her hips, long, dark hair to her shoulders.

‘I mean it. You want to see your man swinging up on Chapeltown Moor?'

‘No,' she answered finally.

‘Have your men out if you want,' he told them. ‘Mr Lister will come around. But no drinking and no trouble, you understand?' He waited until they'd agreed, then added, ‘If you hear any whispers as to who it might be, anything at all, you come and see us.'

It was dark by the time the deputy returned to the house on Lands Lane. As he walked in, Lizzie put a finger to her lips and pointed to the cradle where Isabell lay sleeping.

‘She's just gone down, I don't want her awake again.'

He trod lightly across the floor and sat at the table, waiting as she put pottage in a bowl for him.

‘Is James finishing his homework?'

‘He's asleep, too,' she said. ‘Went to his bed as soon as he'd eaten.'

‘Is anything wrong?' he asked.

‘He's just growing, John. They have times like that.'

‘What about this one?'

She smiled. ‘She's been full of this and that all day. Slept a little earlier on, then she wore herself out again.'

‘Aye, I know that feeling,' he laughed. ‘Except for the sleep. I could use some of that myself.'

It had been dinnertime before he'd been able to give any attention to finding Jem Carter's killer. Throughout the afternoon the deputy had gone from thief to thief, from men to women, the bold and the furtive. By the end of it he was no wiser. None of them had seen the man on his final night.

He'd finished with a welcome drink in the White Swan, wondering if the boss would come by. The place was full of workmen enjoying the end of their week, ready to cool themselves with a mug or two of ale before going home.

Talking led to a second cup, then a third, and a conversation with a diffident man seated in a corner away from the door. Sedgwick knew him by sight, a night watchman at the water engine down by Leeds Bridge, about to leave for his work.

He might have seen something on the Tuesday, he allowed.

‘Big man, you said, fair hair?' he asked.

‘That's the one.'

‘The one I saw were big enough, fair hair on him, but he must have been drunk. The one he were with was bigger. He were holding him up.'

‘How late was this?' the deputy asked, keeping his voice under control, trying not to sound too eager.

‘After two. I were out having a piss and a walk.' He packed the clay pipe away in the pocket of his coat and stood. ‘I'll be late if I don't get a move on. You want more I'll be done at eight in the morning.'

After that Sedgwick had drunk up and gone back to the house on Lands Lane.

‘The day's over, John,' Lizzie said now, rubbing the back of his hand. He'd eaten the food she'd made, his belly was full and he had his family around him. ‘You can stop thinking about it for a while.'