The Tin God Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Chris Nickson from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Afterword

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Chris Nickson from Severn House

  The Inspector Tom Harper Mysteries

  GODS OF GOLD

  TWO BRONZE PENNIES

  SKIN LIKE SILVER

  THE IRON WATER

  ON COPPER STREET

  THE TIN GOD

  The Richard Nottingham Mysteries

  COLD CRUEL WINTER

  THE CONSTANT LOVERS

  COME THE FEAR

  AT THE DYING OF THE YEAR

  FAIR AND TENDER LADIES

  FREE FROM ALL DANGER

  THE TIN GOD

  A Tom Harper Mystery

  Chris Nickson

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

  Copyright © 2018 by Chris Nickson.

  The right of Chris Nickson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8786-3 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-909-2 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-964-0 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  ‘She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.’

  Spoken to Senator Elizabeth Warren in the U.S. Senate, 2017

  To the late MP, Jo Cox, Catherine Buckton, Mary Gawthorpe, and all the women who keep persisting after warnings, explanations, and violence.

  ONE

  October, 1897

  Tom Harper stared in the mirror.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked doubtfully.

  He felt ridiculous in the swallowtail coat and stiff, starched shirt. But the invitation had been clear: it was an official dinner, formal dress required. The fourth occasion this year and the suit wasn’t any more comfortable now than the first time he’d worn it. He’d never expected that rank would include parading round like a butler.

  ‘Let’s have a gander at you,’ Annabelle said and he turned for inspection. ‘Like a real police superintendent,’ she told him with a nod. ‘Just one thing.’ A few deft movements and she adjusted the bow tie. ‘Never met a man who could do a dicky bow properly. Now you’re the real dog’s dinner.’

  She brought her face close to his. For a moment he expected a kiss. But her eyes narrowed and she whispered, ‘I’ve had another letter. Came in the second post. May Bolland’s got one, too.’

  His face hardened. He’d expected some outrage when Annabelle announced she was running to be elected to the Board of Poor Law Guardians. A few comments. Plenty of objections. He was even willing to dismiss one anonymous, rambling letter as the work of a crank. But two of them? He wasn’t going to ignore that.

  ‘What did it say?’

  She turned her head away. ‘What you’d expect.’

  ‘The same person?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘I burned it.’ Her voice was tight.

  ‘What?’ He pulled back in disbelief. ‘Why? It’s evidence.’

  ‘Little eyes,’ she hissed. ‘You know Mary’s reading has come on leaps and bounds since she started school. Safer out of the way.’

  He breathed slowly, pushing down his anger. For a long time he said nothing. What could he do? It was dust now. Maybe Mrs Bolland had kept hers; he’d send Ash round to see her in the morning.

  ‘Button me up and we’d better get a move on.’ Deftly, she changed the subject. ‘That hackney’s already been waiting for five minutes.’

  Annabelle was wearing a new gown, very demure, dark blue silk, with no bustle, high at the neck with lace trim and full leg-of-mutton sleeves, the pale silk shawl he’d bought her draped over her shoulders. Her hair was elaborately swept up and pinned. She looked every bit as lovely as the first day he’d seen her.

  There were calls and whistles as they walked through the Victoria pub downstairs. Her pub. She laughed and twirled around the room, enjoying the attention. He was happy to keep in the background, to try and slink out without being noticed. People didn’t dress like this in Sheepscar. They owned work clothes and a good suit for funerals; that was it.

  ‘What is this do, anyway?’ she asked as the cab jounced along North Street.

  ‘The Lord Mayor’s Fund,’ he replied. ‘Charity.’

  The Mayor’s office had finally become the Lord Mayor’s office that summer, Leeds honoured by Queen Victoria to mark her Diamond Jubilee. Sixty years on the throne, Harper thought, going back to well before he was a twinkle in anyone’s eye, before his parents had even met. There had been parties and civic events around the city all summer, all carried off with hardly any problems, as if everyone simply wanted to celebrate the occasion with plenty of joy.

  The chief constable had been pleased, and even happier once the crime figures came out: down everywhere. The biggest drop was in Harper’s division. God only knew why; he didn’t have an explanation. He’d praised his men then held his tongue, not wanting to tempt fate.

  Annabelle’s elbow poked him in the ribs. ‘You’re miles away.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Is this a sit-down do tonight?’

  ‘Three courses, then the speeches.’

  She groaned and he turned to smile at her.

  ‘We’ll have plenty more of these once you’re elected.’

  ‘If I’m elected,’ she warned. ‘Do
n’t be cocky.’

  She was one of seven women who were standing to become Poor Law Guardians, their election costs paid by the Suffrage Society and the Women’s Co-op Guild. The campaign was no more than a few days old, but already the Tories and the Liberals were deriding the women for trying to rise above their natural station. The Independent Labour Party had its eye on the positions as stepping stones for their ambitious young men. And the newspapers had their knives out, pointedly advising people to vote for the gentlemen. He’d arrived home two days earlier to find her pacing furiously around the living room, ready to spit fire, with the editorial in her hand.

  ‘Listen to this,’ Annabelle told him. ‘Apparently they think men “don’t possess the domestic embarrassments of women”. What does that mean? I could swing for the lot of them.’

  ‘Who wrote that?’

  ‘Gerald Hotchkiss.’

  Of course. A journalist who praised political balance, as long as it leaned far to the right, and believed a woman’s place was firmly behind the front door. He’d savaged the police a few times, as well. One of those hacks who loved to manufacture outrage.

  She threw the newspaper on to a chair. But he could hear the hurt behind her words. Whatever she’d hoped, this election wasn’t going to be a fair fight.

  The first letter arrived the same day. Second post, franked at the main post office in town, no signature or return address. It was a screed explaining that women should be guided by their husbands, live modestly, and look to the welfare of their own families. Religious, condescending, with everything written in a neat, practised hand. Senseless and rambling, Harper judged when he read it, but no real threat. All the women running for the Board had received one. He’d placed it in his desk drawer at Millgarth and forgotten about it. But another … Now he was going to do something.

  ‘Take a look at that,’ Harper said and tossed the letter across the desk. Inspector Ash raised an eyebrow as he read, then passed it on to Detective Sergeant Fowler.

  ‘Looks like he’s not all there, if you ask me, sir,’ Ash said. ‘I notice he didn’t bother to sign it. Anything on the envelope?’

  ‘Nothing helpful.’ He sat back in the chair. For more than two years this had been his office, but the ghost of Kendall, the old superintendent, still seemed to linger; sometimes he even believed he could smell the shag tobacco the man used to stuff in his pipe. ‘All the women candidates running to be on the Board of Guardians received one.’

  ‘I see. That was Mrs Harper’s, I take it?’

  ‘There was another yesterday. She burned it.’

  ‘Whoever wrote this was educated,’ Fowler said as he studied the letter. ‘All the lines are even, everything spelled properly.’ He grinned. ‘Of course, that’s doesn’t mean he’s not completely barmy.’

  He pushed the spectacles back up his nose. The sergeant had been recommended by a copper from Wakefield. He was moving back to Leeds to be closer to his ill mother. Harper had taken a chance on the man. Over the last twelve months it had paid off handsomely.

  Fowler didn’t look like a policeman, more like a distracted clerk or a young professor. Twenty-five, hair already receding, he barely made the height requirement and couldn’t have weighed more than eleven stone. But he had one of the quickest minds Harper had ever met. He and Ash had clicked immediately, turning into a very fruitful partnership. One big, one smaller, they seemed to work intuitively together, each knowing what the other would do without needing to speak.

  ‘Mrs Bolland, one of the other candidates, received a second letter, too.’ He gave them the address. ‘Go and see her. I doubt we’ll be able to track down the sender, but at least we can put out the word that we’re looking into it. That might scare him off.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Ash stood. ‘How’s Mrs Harper’s campaign going?’

  ‘Early days yet.’

  She’d only held one small meeting so far, in a church hall just up Roundhay Road from the Victoria. Soon enough she’d be going full tilt; their bedroom was already filled with piles of leaflets ready to be delivered and posters to plaster on the walls all over Sheepscar Ward.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll win, sir.’

  He smiled. ‘From your lips to God’s ears.’

  Once they’d gone he turned back to the rota for November, trying to recall when he’d once believed that coppering meant solving crimes.

  Billy Reed drew back the curtains, pushed up the window sash, and breathed in clean, sharp salt air. After so many years of soot and dirt in Leeds, every day of this seemed like a tonic. He heard Elizabeth moving around downstairs, then smelt the frying bacon.

  They’d been in Whitby since July, all settled now into the terraced house at number five, Silver Street. The pair of them, and her two younger children, Edward and Victoria. The older ones had stayed in Leeds, both in lodgings, with work, friends and lives of their own.

  Moving had been a big decision, an upheaval. He’d come to love Whitby on his first visit, after he’d left the army, just home from the wars in Afghanistan and troubled in his mind. The water, the beach, the quiet of the place had brought him some peace. Since then he’d always had a yearning to live here. But when he’d seen the advertisement for inspector of police in the town, he’d hesitated. After all, he was an inspector with the Fire Brigade in Leeds, moving across from the police. He already had rank and responsibility.

  ‘Why not write and apply?’ Elizabeth urged him. ‘The worst they can say is no.’

  ‘We’re fine here. I’m doing well enough. And you have the bakeries.’

  She stared at him. ‘Billy, do you think we’d be happy there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Reed answered after a moment. ‘I do.’

  ‘Then sit down and write to them.’

  It had taken time. First the application, then an interview. Elizabeth travelled with him on the train and inspected the town while he was questioned by the watch committee. Another wait until the answer arrived, offering him the position. After that, life became a scramble of arrangements. In the end, he’d gone on ahead while she finished up the sale of the bakeries, packed the rest of their possessions, and said goodbye to all the friends they’d made.

  He had no regrets. He liked his job, but it was time for a move, for something new. And this was certainly different. Through the bedroom window he could make out the shouts of the fishermen on the piers as they unloaded their catch, and hear the gulls screeching. That wasn’t something he’d ever known in Leeds.

  ‘You’d better come and get it while it’s hot,’ Elizabeth shouted up the stairs.

  The children were already eating, ready to hurry off to their jobs. Soon enough, Elizabeth would march down Flowergate, over the bridge and along Church Street to the shop she’d leased, ready to open her tearoom and confectioner’s in the New Year. She’d made the bakeries in Leeds turn a fair profit, and she wasn’t one to be content as a lady of leisure. She relished work; she needed something to spark her.

  ‘It’s right by the market,’ she pointed out to him, ‘so I’ll pick up some regulars from there. And all those folk going to the abbey in holiday season will pass right by the door.’

  She’d developed a good eye, he knew that, and she’d already managed to cultivate a few friends in town, like Mrs Botham, who had her own bakery and tearoom up on Skinner Street and knew Whitby like the back of her hand. A formidable woman, Reed thought, but she and Elizabeth could natter on for hours.

  Reed had settled quickly into the rhythm of his job. During the summer he’d mostly dealt with complaints from visitors and broken up occasional fights once the pubs closed. If things carried on like that, it was going to be an easy life.

  He strolled over to the police station on Spring Hill and went through the log with Brown, the sergeant, before setting off in the pony and trap. Sandsend and Staithes today. Both of them poor fishing villages, hardly any trouble to the law, but he still needed to put in a monthly appearance. Show the flag. He covered a large area, all the way
down to Robin Hood’s Bay, and inland as far as Sleights, but on a day like this, with the sun shining and a gentle breeze blowing off the water, no job could be better.

  No, Reed thought with a smile as the horse clopped along the road, no regrets at all.

  TWO

  ‘I saw Mrs Bolland.’ Ash settled on to the chair in the superintendent’s office. ‘She’d kept the letter.’ He ran his tongue round the inside of his mouth. ‘It left her scared.’

  ‘What does it say?’ Harper put down the pen and sat back.

  ‘Read it for yourself, sir.’ The inspector pulled a folded sheet of notepaper from his inside pocket.

  A woman’s place is in the home, tending to her family and being a graceful loving presence. It is not to shriek in the hustings like a harridan or to display herself in front of the public like a painted whore.

  The Good Lord created His order for a purpose. Man has the reason, the wisdom, and the judgement. He is intended to use it, to exercise his will over women, not to be challenged by them, the weaker element. Eve was persuaded to eat the apple and tempted Adam, and since that time it has been her duty to pay for the sin.

  It is time for you to withdraw your candidacy. Should you fail to do so, if you continue to talk and challenge men for what rightly belongs to them, we shall feel justified in taking whatever means necessary to silence you for breaking God’s profound will.

  ‘A death threat this time. No wonder it frightened her.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Funny what these types come up with in the name of religion, isn’t it? It was all love thy neighbour back when I was at Sunday school.’ Ash gave a wry smile.

  Harper took the first letter from his drawer and compared them.

  ‘The same handwriting. Twice means he’s a problem, especially with words like these. We’re going to follow up on this and make sure nothing happens to her.’ He thought about Annabelle. ‘To any of them. Where’s Fowler?’

  ‘I sent him off to talk to the other women, to see if they’d had anything like this.’

  ‘Odds are that they have. That “we” in there makes me wonder, too.’