Constant Lovers (19 page)

He crossed the Head Row and passed St John's church, strolling out into Town End. This was where many of the merchants had chosen to build their large new houses, the brash statements of wealth that showed they could afford the cleaner air outside the city. The grammar school stood apart from everything in a field, and the whole area was a curious mix of country and town.

Virginia Mapperly's cottage was definitely part of the country. Old and run down, it must have stood there for generations, he decided, tucked away beyond the grandeur of the new mansions. He knocked politely on the door and waited, pulling down on his coat and waistcoat and checking that his stock was well tied. A good impression could count for a great deal.

The woman who eventually answered stood straight-backed, dressed in a silk gown that was long out of fashion but beautifully kept. Her right hand, mottled with the brown spots of age, rested on a polished stick and she regarded him with a long, inquisitive gaze.

‘I don't know you,' she said in a firm voice.

‘No, ma'am,' he agreed. ‘I'm Robert, James Lister's son. He suggested I come to you.'

‘I see,' she replied slowly, and he felt she was assessing him. Her hair was carefully brushed, powder on her face; she was elegant, looking as if she might be about to leave for an important engagement. Finally she gave a sharp nod and said, ‘Don't dawdle on the doorstep then, young man, you'd better come in.'

She still sat the way her governess must have taught her, rigid and upright on the polished wooden chair, her back rod straight. Across from her, taking the low stool she offered, he felt like a child.

‘I knew your grandmother well,' she told him. ‘She died before your time, I think?'

‘Yes.'

‘A wonderful woman, and hard pressed to keep that hellion who's your father in check,' she told him with a secretive smile. ‘Did you know he was always in trouble? The masters at school would beat him, then his father would beat him because the masters had been forced to.'

Lister laughed. It was hard to imagine his father that way, rebellious and rabble-rousing.

‘He said you knew Lady Gibton when she was young.'

‘So that's why you're here.' She looked at him again, more curiously this time. ‘And why do you want to know about her, I wonder?'

‘I work for the Constable,' he explained, watching her eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘We do need to know about her, and I'll keep all your confidences, but I must also ask that you don't say anything to anyone else.'

‘And how did you come to work for Mr Nottingham, young man?' she asked.

‘He was looking for someone, and I needed a job.' He began to shrug then stopped, remaining on his best behaviour.

‘His father was a merchant here, you know.'

‘Really?' He didn't know that. This was a day for revelations, he thought.

‘It's old business now,' she said dismissively. ‘If he wants to tell you, I'm sure he will. Or you can always ask your father.'

‘I'll do that.'

She looked at him, studying him closely, then seemed to come to a decision.

‘So, Catherine Hall. That was her maiden name,' she explained. ‘What do you want to know about her?'

‘Anything you can tell me.'

‘Well, Master Lister, pour me a glass from that decanter and I'll tell you what I know. It's not a great deal, I warn you.'

He took her some of the deep-red wine, watched as she sipped and set the crystal down delicately on a table. Her furniture, like everything in the room, was carefully chosen, and none of it cheap. She was a woman who'd had some money, he guessed, and who chose to keep the standards she'd always known even if her income was much lower now.

‘She was the prettiest child I ever saw,' Mrs Mapperly began, smiling briefly at the memory. ‘And very well behaved when she was little. Her father was a butcher, you know. He had a shop on the Shambles and did well for himself.'

‘Is the family still there?'

She put a finger to her lips and continued.

‘Everything was fine until Catherine was seven. Was it seven or eight? I forget after all this time. Anyway, she was outside her family's shop on Briggate and a cart toppled as it went by. She was trapped underneath. They managed to get her out and she seemed well enough, just bad bruises and scrapes, that kind of thing.' She paused to take another sip of the wine and stared into the liquid for a long time before picking up the tale. ‘My guess is that she hit her head and something happened to her mind, though. After that this lovely girl developed an evil temper. She'd been so placid before, a kind, sweet thing to match her looks, but when she drew into her mood she started screaming and howling if anyone tried to stop her doing things. God knows her father tried to beat some sense into her, but that didn't work.' She took another small drink, swirling the glass lightly and watching the light refract off the wine. ‘Her temper improved as she grew older, but she'd still fly into rages and break things. I think people forgave her because she'd turned into such a beautiful girl. People will tolerate a lot in beauty, it seems,' she said reflectively. ‘All the young men wanted to marry her, but they weren't good enough for her mother. After all, the family had made a little money in trade, and with Catherine's face she thought she could aim high. Have you met Lord Gibton?'

‘No, ma'am,' Rob replied.

‘He was a charming young man back then. I suppose he had to be since the family had lost most of its wealth. Anyway, he believed he was getting a prize in Catherine, and her mother did everything but throw the girl at him so she'd have a title. I suspect the pair of them have spent all the years since then regretting it.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He was so smitten with her looks that he never saw what was beneath them, and she discovered he wasn't being modest and that the Gibton family fortunes really were as badly off as he claimed. I suppose she must have inherited something when her parents died, but most of it went to her older brother.'

‘Does he still live in Leeds?'

‘No. He moved on as soon as he could. I can't blame him, really. He worked hard, never gave any trouble, and saw his sister receive all the attention. He was always going to be in her shadow here. He finished his apprentice as a butcher then went to set up shop in Sheffield.'

‘How did you know the Halls, Mrs Mapperly?' Lister asked.

She finished the glass of wine and set it down.

‘We were neighbours. My husband was a butcher, too. So I saw Catherine grow up. There were plenty of nights she'd keep us awake as she shouted and screamed. Poor girl,' she said with real sympathy.

‘When did you last see her?'

‘Oh, not for many years now.' She let out a long, slow breath. ‘I suppose it would be not long after her daughter was born. She brought the baby to visit her parents, not that she came too often, mind you, once she was living out in Roundhay. I remember thinking that I felt sorry for the little girl, having to grow up with a mother like that.'

‘You know her daughter died?' Rob asked.

She nodded and he could see the start of tears in the corners of her eyes.

‘I read it in your father's newspaper.'

He sensed that he was losing her to the memories of years ago, when she had a husband and a life in the city. She hardly seemed to notice when he rose to his feet.

‘Thank you,' he said as he rose, bowing briefly as he left.

Seventeen

The man's body had been heavily battered. Nottingham stared grimly at it on the slab in the cell they used as a morgue. He'd been young, the shape of his body and the thickness of his hair showed that, but his face had been so heavily pummelled, the bones all broken and the flesh swollen, that it was impossible to make out any features. He turned away. They'd found the corpse after a boy in threadbare breeches and a torn shirt had dashed into the jail, his features white with shock, eyes full of fear and excitement, and led them down to see his discovery in the woods by Sheepscar Beck.

Whoever he was, the man had put up an almighty struggle, his knuckles ripe and bloody, but he'd been overwhelmed. And then very carefully and coldly beaten to death. The Constable had examined him closely but hadn't found any deep cuts and there were no signs of stab wounds.

‘What do you think?' he asked Sedgwick.

‘It could be.' As soon as they'd seen the body they'd both wondered if this was Tom, the brother of the false servant Nan. It was exactly the kind of punishment Worthy would dole out for what the girl had done. ‘He'd be about the right age, anyway. And killing him this way would fit. It would send a lesson.'

Gently, Nottingham pulled the sheet over the man. There was nothing more to see and no clues in the pockets, just a few small coins and a well-used handkerchief. The clothes gave nothing away, cheap and anonymous, once good perhaps, but he'd likely bought them from a stall at third or fourth hand. He could have been anyone from anywhere.

‘But if this is Tom it still leaves the girl,' the deputy said.

‘I know,' the Constable agreed slowly. ‘And if Amos has her she'll get much worse than this.'

‘What can we do about it?'

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Inside, he was sure this was the lad called Tom, and that the pimp's men had killed him. Worthy would have taken part; he wasn't a man to leave the satisfaction of revenge to someone else.

‘I don't even know how we can prove who this is,' he said angrily, ‘let alone who's responsible.'

‘That's what he wants, isn't it?' Sedgwick said. ‘Everyone knows, but there's no one can say or tie it to him. He's shown no one can cross him but we can't touch him. It's clever, you have to give him that.'

‘And it's his reminder that he can flout the law.' Nottingham's eyes were dark with fury. ‘I don't care what that boy had done, he didn't deserve to die like that.' He took a deep breath and reached for his coat. ‘I'm going to see Amos.'

‘Boss—' Sedgwick began, but the Constable had already left.

He pushed his way through the door and back into the kitchen. Worthy was standing there, leaning against the table and catching the sun through the dirty window. For once the fire wasn't lit, but the summer heat trapped in the room left it unpleasantly warm.

There were no guards lounging by the back door or against the wall. Worthy was eating in silence, bread and cheese on his plate, a full cup of ale before him. He turned slowly and smiled as the Constable entered.

‘I wondered how long it would be before you showed your face,' he said. ‘Do you want something to drink? Stop that thirst?'

‘You know why I'm here.'

‘Of course I do, laddie. You think I had something to do with the body you have in the jail.'

‘I know you did, Amos.'

Worthy's eyes shone. ‘If you're so certain, you'd better prove it, Mr Nottingham.' He held up his hands, turning them to show both sides, the skin unbroken. ‘Does that look like I've been fighting?'

‘So for once you had someone else do the work for you.'

‘You want be careful, laddie.' His voice turned colder and more serious. ‘Words like that could seem like slander.'

‘How did you know someone had died if you weren't involved?'

‘Little birds are always telling me things.' He broke off some of the bread and began to chew, letting crumbs spill carelessly down over his long waistcoat.

‘They told you fast.'

‘No point in knowing if you're not the first. It's old news by the time some other bugger has it.'

‘What about the girl?' the Constable asked. ‘What have you done with her?'

Worthy put down the bread and stared straight at him.

‘I'll spell this out to you so you don't go making any mistakes. I don't have the girl. But I'll bloody well find her. And if you think I have summat to do with whoever you have on that slab, go ahead and prove it. I'll lay odds you can't do it, though. You want a wager on it?'

Nottingham didn't react, holding the older man's gaze for a long time.

‘Get out,' the procurer said finally. ‘I want to eat.'

The sky was just taking on its evening colours when Sedgwick arrived home. He closed the door with a long, exhausted sigh.

‘Papa!' James ran to him, clutching at his legs and gazing up with large blue eyes, silently demanding to be picked up. The deputy grabbed him round the waist, tossing him lightly into the air and catching him as the boy squealed with joy. He nuzzled his nose against James's face, smelling the warm innocence of his hair then turning a circle with his son in his outstretched arms.

‘You be careful,' Lizzie laughed. ‘He had summat to eat a little while back. If he's sick you're going to be the one cleaning it up.'

‘He'll be fine, won't you?' He pulled the lad close and kissed him then let him slide back down his body to the floor. Lizzie came over, holding him and feeling the weariness in his bones.

‘Bad day?' she asked.

‘Aye,' he answered, thinking again of the bloody, misshapen face on the slab and wanting to leave it all behind. ‘But I'm home now.'

‘Come on, get your coat off,' she told him, pulling lightly at the sleeves. ‘You're settling in for the evening. There's some food on the table. You want some ale?'

He nodded and she filled his mug. The first long sip tasted good, the second even better. He sat down, moving his head around to try and ease the tension of work out of his neck.

‘One of those days when you wonder why you do it?' Lizzie asked.

‘Aye,' he said, taking her hand, and pulling her down so she sat on his lap with a happy squeal.

‘I'm getting heavier, you know,' she told him and patted her belly. ‘And I'll be bigger fast enough.'