Fair and Tender Ladies (23 page)

‘Has the coroner been yet?' he asked.

‘And gone,' one of the men answered, the cloth muffling his voice. ‘Wouldn't even come close.'

Breathing through his mouth, the Constable knelt at the edge of the grave. There was still just enough light to make out her features. She was young, no more than sixteen or seventeen, long brown hair framing her face. He brushed the maggots away from her nostrils, lips and eyes. There were no marks on her face or neck that he could see and when he lifted her hands, no cuts of any kind. The skin of her palms and fingertips was hard. Whoever she'd been, she'd spent a few years working hard. The weather hadn't been kind to her corpse, heat quickly ripening her flesh and eating away at anything inside. The gown that covered her body was cheap, fourth- or fifth-hand most like, worn through at the elbow and fraying at the neck. Another dead body in the endless procession.

‘Take her to the jail,' he ordered. There he'd be able to examine her properly, to find what had killed her. She'd been in the ground long enough to be missed but no one had reported her.

He walked back to the jail, Rob at his side.

‘I've been thinking about the school, boss,' Rob said tentatively.

‘Go on.'

‘The men won't be able to keep their husbands on watch much longer, and we don't have enough men to cover the front and back.'

‘I know.' He'd realized that himself.

‘Why don't we have someone inside the school at night? I'm sure Emily would agree.'

Nottingham nodded. It was a striking idea. And they'd have surprise on their side if someone tried to break in. Someone like Simon Johnson.

‘Who did you have in mind?'

‘Thaddeus Todd,' Lister replied immediately. ‘He's big and he thinks well.'

‘Can you trust him?'

‘I've never found him drunk or sleeping.'

‘Use him, then. And start asking around about missing girls. You saw her, you know what to do.'

It made no sense. The Constable had examined every inch of her body but found no wounds, no cuts that could have killed her. Her neck was free of bruises; she hadn't been strangled. How had she died? And why had someone buried her out there?

He looked again, slowly checking every inch of flesh, worried he'd missed some small, vital thing, but there was nothing to see. Finally he opened her mouth and for the briefest moment the scent of something rose above the stench of death. He brought his face closer but it was gone.

He stood back, the candlelight in the cell flickering across the empty face. Who are you? he wondered. What happened to you? He dressed her again, giving her the decency of clothing, at least, now there was nothing left to learn from her body. In the morning the undertaker would collect her; if no one claimed her she'd vanish into a pauper's grave, all the dreams she might have had come to nothing.

Dead two days, he thought. Three at the most; it was difficult to be exact in the summer heat. But no longer than that, there'd be more of her gone otherwise.

At the desk he sipped ale to take the taste of death out of his mouth. Something had killed her. The only thing he could imagine was poison. He'd seen no sign of it on her lips or face, but that faint smell when he'd opened her mouth … it was nothing he recognized, but that meant little.

He needed information, a name to bury her with. Yet she'd been gone a few days and no one had reported it. There was little chance he'd ever know who she was.

The sun was shining, the sky a brilliant blue as he walked outside. Next door at the White Swan he had bread and cheese to fill the emptiness in his belly. He didn't taste the food; his mind worked as he ate and washed it down with a fresh mug.

Jem Carter, the damage to Emily's school, now the girl … At least he didn't have to worry about Tom Finer. The fire at the workhouse had ended his plans. For a little while, anyway. The man would doubtless plague him again.

He drained the cup, stood, and walked up Briggate, stopping at the Moot Hall to leave the daily report with Cobb the clerk, then on to the Rose and Crown. The inn was already bustling with travellers waiting, a wagon being unloaded in the yard.

In the stables, Hercules was brushing down one of the horses that had just arrived, long strokes on its mane, whispering soft words into its ear as it ate from a bag of oats. He was an old man, stooped now, with more love for animals than for people. He'd seemed ancient when Nottingham had first met him, years before. Since then he didn't seem to have aged a day. He tended the animals, made his home in one of the stalls, and in the evenings collected the pots and cups off the tables in the inn.

But Hercules saw and he listened. Few even realized he was there, a silent figure beneath the attention of most people.

‘Sad about Mr Sedgwick,' he said, not even needing to turn and see who was there.

‘I miss him.'

‘Comes a time when a man's heart is filled with the dead.'

‘Maybe,' he agreed, knowing how true the words were. ‘I'm looking for someone.' He described the man as Hercules continued brushing the horse.

‘Seen someone like that.'

‘When?'

‘Three day back,' the man answered without hesitation.

‘Tell me about him.' The Constable leaned against the door of the stable, listening carefully.

‘His hands were big, all right. Like a leg of beef.' He made a fist and shook his head. ‘Dark hair down to his neck, good coat, clean linen.'

‘How old?'

‘Twenty-five, mebbe,' the man said after some consideration. ‘Big all over, you'd notice him if you saw him. The kind of face lasses might like until they saw his eyes.'

‘What about his eyes?'

Hercules stopped his work and turned to stare at the Constable. ‘Cruel, Mr Nottingham. No caring in them at all.'

‘What was he doing here?'

‘With a lass, having their dinner. In one of the private parlours. They had the look of kin.'

‘Kin?'

‘Their faces,' Hercules replied as if it was obvious. ‘The shape, you could see it. Brother and sister.'

‘What was she like?'

‘Not big like him.' He thought for a moment. ‘Fair hair, pretty enough, happen a year or two younger than him.'

‘Have you seen either of them before?'

The man shook his head.

‘What were they talking about?' the Constable asked.

‘Nowt when I was there. They kept quiet.'

‘Did you hear a name at all?'

‘No.'

Nottingham left two coins on the shelf.

A brother and sister. How did that information help him? Whoever the woman might be, she wasn't the dead girl in the cold cell; the corpse had brown hair and was no more than sixteen or seventeen.

They had money enough to dine at the Rose and Crown, and the sense to keep their mouths shut when someone else was around. Still, it was one more link to add to the chain, and enough to make Nottingham spend part of the morning going round the other inns on Briggate, asking after their guests. No brother and sister, and no one recollected any.

Out of habit he returned to the White Swan for his dinner, a cold game pie and a long cup of ale. He looked up, startled, as someone moved on to the bench across the table.

‘Nothing on the girl, boss,' Rob said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

‘I didn't expect there would be. Keep on trying. I know a little more about this man with the large hands.'

He explained it all, Lister attentive as he gulped down his food with the eager appetite of the young.

‘Someone knows them,' Rob said when the Constable was done.

‘Then we'd better find out who. Do what you can this afternoon. But make sure you take Emily home when she's finished at the school.'

‘Yes, boss.'

Nottingham stared out of the window and suddenly stiffened. He moved quickly, dashing out of the inn and running down Kirkgate. Rob followed, unsure what was happening, knowing only that it had to be be important. He caught up with the Constable just as he gripped a man tightly by the arm, swinging him round.

‘I'm surprised to see you still here, Mr Johnson.'

T
hey took him back to the jail. The Constable pushed Johnson into a chair and sat on the other side of the desk, his palms flat on the wood.

‘The last time I saw you, Mr Johnson, you were cursing Leeds and everyone who lived here.'

Rob stood close enough to see the man's face redden.

‘I was angry,' he said, sorrow filling his voice.

‘I'd have thought you'd want to leave this place far behind you.'

The man stayed silent for a long time.

‘Well, Mr Johnson?' Nottingham asked, then pressed again, ‘Well?'

‘I found a job,' he answered softly.

‘Doing what?'

‘I help set up the trestles for the markets.'

Nottingham watched his face carefully for any sign of a lie. ‘That's only two mornings a week, Mr Johnson. How do you fill the rest of your time?'

‘I'm …' he started, then shook his head. ‘I'm looking for more.' It came out almost as apology.

‘What made you decide to look for work in Leeds?'

‘I didn't have any money.' He shrugged. ‘I needed some to move on.' He hesitated. ‘I said things I didn't mean.'

Nottingham smiled gently, softening his tone to coax out more information. ‘We all do that, Mr Johnson. Where are you living?'

‘I lodge with Mrs Frame.'

He knew it, across the river, cheap beds in a dirty house.

‘Tell me, what do you know about the schools in Leeds?'

‘Schools?' The man looked confused. ‘Nothing. Why?'

‘My daughter runs a school.'

Johnson simply looked at him, baffled.

‘Not long after you told me you hated Leeds and everyone in it, things began happening there. Broken windows, threats, books destroyed.'

The man's eyes widened. He began to rise and Rob placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘You think that I …?'

‘Give me a good reason to believe you didn't, Mr Johnson.'

‘I didn't.' He sounded desperate, eyes wild and bulging. ‘I didn't even know about it.'

In spite of himself, the Constable believed him. If the man was a liar he was one of the best. His expression, the way he held himself, everything spoke of his innocence. He doubted Johnson had paid attention to any school, let alone Emily's. All he was trying to do was get through this life without too much pain.

Nottingham nodded at Rob and the lad moved away.

‘I'm sure you understand my concern, Mr Johnson.'

‘Your daughter, of course.' He nodded eagerly, the sweat shiny on his face.

‘And perhaps you'll see why I thought you were responsible.'

Johnson lowered his head slightly.

‘I didn't do it.' He sounded close to tears.

‘I know that now. My apologies for the way I cornered you.' He stood and extended his hand. ‘You're free to go.'

‘You're sure, boss?' Rob asked after the man had left.

‘Certain.' He sighed loudly. ‘So we're back where we started, with no idea who's been in the school.'

‘What do we do now?'

Nottingham pushed the fringe off his forehead. ‘I don't know. I wish I did.' He glanced over to the corner, imagining John there, leaning against the wall, a mug in his hand, thinking of the next step.

‘We'll find him, boss.'

The Constable gave an empty smile. He'd been certain that Johnson was their man. Now he had no other ideas, nowhere to turn. Whoever did it would be back; they always came back. He just had to hope putting a man in the school at night would be enough.

‘Carter's killer,' he said. ‘We have work to do.'

The girls had already left the school when Rob entered. He'd wanted to be there earlier but he'd been following a tip to find someone with big hands. In the end the man had been old and bald. Large hands, yes, but definitely not who they were seeking.

‘How were they?' he asked, sitting on one of the tables. He tried to remember when he'd slept properly. Days ago, it seemed. The ache of weariness filled his body, there was still dried mud on his hose and breeches and his skin felt slick with sweat.

‘Unruly,' Emily answered, raising her eyebrows and counting off the reasons on her fingers. ‘They're excited about the books coming, I think they're still scared about what might happen, and it's too hot. Do you know what I'd like to do?'

‘What?'

‘Jump into some cold water and stay there for an hour.' She laughed. ‘Silly, isn't it?'

‘It sounds perfect,' he told her. He could almost feel the coolness, washing away the dirt, every moment of the day.

‘All we need is somewhere we can be alone.' And that was something they'd be hard pressed to find in Leeds, he thought. His day wasn't even done. After he'd walked Emily home there were more hours to go.

She was slow to gather her things, checking every shutter and the bar on the back door before turning the key and checking the lock. Then she slipped her arm through his as they walked down towards the Parish Church.

‘You haven't found him yet, have you?'

‘No.'

She turned her wide eyes on him. ‘I look at the girls every morning and hope he won't do something that hurts them.'

He wanted to assure her, but he couldn't lie to her about it.

‘Having someone in the school at night will help,' he said and she nodded cautiously. She'd been reluctant, but he'd persuaded her in the end.

At the house on Marsh Lane he changed his shirt, the dry, clean linen delicious against his skin, and downed a long mug of ale before walking back into the city. He talked to the whores who'd come out along Briggate, asking about the missing girl, blushing as they teased him, but they all had the same answer: none of them knew her.