Constant Lovers Page 10

  ‘If he does we have him for murder.’

  ‘And then someone new comes and takes his place, like this Hughes. If he doesn’t find her then people will think he’s lost his power and they’ll be on him like wolves.’ He sighed. ‘He’s the devil we know.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We find her first,’ Nottingham answered simply. ‘That’s our job. She and whoever’s with her can’t be from around here. They’d never have stolen from Worthy otherwise, that’s just tempting trouble.’

  ‘We haven’t had any luck so far,’ the deputy pointed out.

  ‘Then we’re going to have to work harder. I want you on it, John.’

  ‘Why not Rob? It would be a good start for him.’

  The Constable considered the idea, then said, ‘No. You know what you’re doing, and Worthy has his men out looking. It’s going to be quite a while yet before Rob’s ready to go up against them. I’ll keep him with me on the murder. Use some of the night men if you need help. You know what to do if you have a problem with Worthy’s men.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Try the inns first. If they have money the chances are they’ll be spending it. A good room, drink, clothes.’

  ‘Aye, boss.’

  Lister returned soon after, horse dung from the road thick on his shoes, a satisfied smile on his face.

  ‘Third place I tried,’ he said.

  ‘Definitely Sarah Godlove?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘Yes.’ The smile became a wide grin. ‘She used the same stable every time, that one on Cripplegate, just off Boar Lane. The first time she was there the ostler asked her name and she didn’t have the wit to give a false one.’

  ‘Good work.’ The lad knew what questions to ask and how to ask them, it seemed. ‘Did he mention the maid?’

  ‘Always with her, he said, but only one horse.’

  ‘That sounds right enough. And from the description, the pair of them visited Jackson’s lodgings every week.’

  ‘So what now, boss?’

  That, the Constable thought, was a good question. If Jackson and Sarah were lovers, Samuel Godlove became the obvious suspect for the killing. Yet he’d seemed innocent enough when he came to report his wife’s disappearance, and distraught when he learned she was dead. So either he hadn’t done it or he could have had a career on the stage.

  ‘I think we’ll go to Horsforth on Monday and talk to Mr Godlove again,’ he decided. ‘How are you on a horse?’

  The early evening was heavy with the scents of wild flowers as they strolled up the bank of the Aire. Lizzie’s arm was through his and they both kept an eye on James as he ducked and scuttled through the trees or ran too close to the water’s edge.

  Bees buzzed, a deliciously lazy, summer sound, and John Sedgwick felt fully content being here with his family. He glanced over at Lizzie, a soft smile on her face, one hand moving to rub at her belly, polishing the life growing in there.

  ‘Tell me when you’re ready to go back,’ he said.

  She looked at him happily. ‘Not yet. This is lovely.’

  They’d gone beyond the city and its bustle and buildings, past the upper tenters when the cloth lay stretched on the frames and out into the country. Across the river sheep were bleating as a shepherd walked towards them, crook extended to gather them in. But on this side they might have been the only people in the world.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked her. ‘With the babby, I mean.’ He indicated with a dip of his head.

  ‘John.’ She stopped, pushed herself on to tiptoe and kissed him lightly on his pox-marked cheek. ‘You can be a soft bugger at times. Everything’s fine. I’d tell you if it wasn’t. Come on, I’ll race you to that oak over there.’ She picked up her skirts and started to run, looking over her shoulder and laughing, the cap tipping back on her head. He began to dash after her. He loved her, but he was damned if a woman was going to beat him at this.

  She was breathless by the time her fingers touched the wood, ready to sit and rest in the shade. He took off his coat, folding it into a pillow for her then wandered off hand in hand with James to find flowers they could pick for her.

  He needed this feeling of freedom and fresh air. The afternoon had been hours of frustration, full of hints that promised something but evaporated as he approached them. Someone had told him of a couple staying at the New King’s Head and spending freely, but the landlord soon scotched that, and neither the Old King’s Arms nor the Rose and Crown had lodgers who might be them. He’d talked to his touts, but all he’d received for his time was a series of shaken heads.

  Whoever they were, the thieves at least had the sense to lie low. If they’d had any brains at all they’d be partway to London by now, he thought, watching as James snapped the stem of a pale gillyflower and added it to the posy in his pudgy hand.

  ‘Do you think we have enough?’

  ‘Not yet,’ the boy told him firmly, moving back to the riverbank where the sun reached the plants, stopping to stare at the deep red of some wild roses.

  ‘Don’t touch those,’ Sedgwick warned. ‘They have thorns on the stems, see?’

  ‘How do you pick them, then?’ James asked.

  ‘You don’t. Just leave them like this. They look grand enough as they are, don’t they?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ the boy agreed reluctantly before running on, his feet raising tiny plumes of dust on the track.

  Lizzie was dozing when they returned, but James wasn’t going to let her rest. He pushed gently against her shoulder until she stirred and opened her eyes, then he put the small bouquet in front of her face.

  ‘We got these for you, mam,’ he announced proudly. Her arms snaked out and pulled the boy down, kissing his forehead and making him giggle.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, and glanced at Sedgwick. ‘Thank you. And thanks to your dad, too.’

  He knew she treasured the way James had taken to her as his mother, and that the flowers would end up pressed and kept somehow, a memory for the years to come.

  ‘Ready to go home?’ he asked. ‘About time me laddo here was in bed.’

  Twelve

  A few clouds were drifting up over the horizon, offering the faint hope of a shower later in the day. The farmers would be happy, Nottingham thought. After so long without water they’d welcome rain on the crops before they wilted in the field.

  He kept the horse trotting, Lister beside him on another animal. It was a comfortable pace, one that would see them there soon enough but without so many of the aches riding usually brought.

  ‘The work hasn’t been the easiest so far, Rob,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. The lad was still in his old suit, although he wore a pair of good leather riding boots, the Constable noticed, polished to a glow, and he sat in the saddle as if he’d done it all his life.

  ‘I’m enjoying it,’ he replied with enthusiasm. ‘It’s certainly not what I expected.’

  Nottingham laughed. ‘And what did you expect?’

  ‘That I’d be spending all my time dealing with drunks and whores.’

  ‘You’ll have more than your share of those, don’t worry,’ the Constable advised. ‘They take up enough of our time, but it’s usually the night men who arrest them. Don’t forget theft, too.’

  ‘And murder?’

  ‘Murder’s rare, thank God.’ Nottingham turned serious. ‘When it does happen, it’s usually lovers or a fight between drunks. Easy enough to solve.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘You’ll learn, lad.’

  They took the bridge over the Aire close to Kirkstall forge and began the long climb up the hill.

  ‘Sarah was found at the abbey, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s not too far from Horsforth,’ Lister speculated, and Nottingham agreed.

  ‘I know, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Just remember that. You’ve got to keep an open mind. Most of this job is just watching and listening.’

  ‘Doesn’t it wor
ry you, boss?’

  ‘What?’ he wondered.

  ‘Talking to someone like Mr Godlove. He’s one of the richest men around here, that’s what my father says, anyway.’

  The Constable smiled.

  ‘It comes with the job. High-born, low-born, paupers and wealthy, it doesn’t matter; any of them can be innocent or guilty. We talk to them all. And at bottom they’re all just human.’

  ‘And if they commit a crime?’

  Nottingham looked at him. ‘Then we arrest them. We’re paid to take care of crime, whoever’s responsible. Always remember that.’

  Just as Sedgwick had described, Godlove owned a big house, probably once a manor and added to over the generations until it had sprawled out, becoming grand and imposing. It stood back from the road, down a long, landscaped drive, but it was apparent that this was a working farm, not a showpiece estate. The doors to the barns stood open and the cluck of chickens came from somewhere behind them.

  The lawn before the house was carefully sculpted, sweeping down the slope to give a wide view over the river valley. The Constable paused, drinking it in with pleasure, and for a fleeting moment he envied Godlove the vista.

  They dismounted and handed the horses over to a stable boy. Nottingham dusted off his coat and breeches before knocking on the heavy door.

  ‘Does he know we’re coming?’ Lister asked.

  ‘Never tell them that,’ the Constable advised. ‘You always want to catch people unprepared.’

  A servant, looking with disdain at their old clothes, showed them through into a withdrawing room and loudly closed the door behind them.

  ‘And now we wait,’ Nottingham said wryly. ‘You might as well make yourself comfortable. The rich always take their time.’

  It took almost half an hour for Godlove to appear and then he bustled in as if he’d been dragged from important business. He wore a suit of brown kersey, worn and creased, along with stout shoes and holey stockings. With no waistcoat, he looked as though he’d thrown on the coat to see his visitors.

  ‘Constable,’ he said, eyes alight. His face had taken on the pinched look of a man pummelled down by life. ‘I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could. I was out in the fields. You have news, I take it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Godlove. But I do have some more questions.’

  The man’s shoulders slumped. ‘You’ve asked me questions, your deputy’s asked me questions,’ he said, an edge of desperation in his tone. ‘Please, when are you going to start giving me some answers?’

  ‘As soon as we have them, sir,’ Nottingham replied evenly. ‘It’s taking us time to learn more things. The more we know, the better the chance of finding whoever murdered your wife.’ He made it sound perfectly obvious and reasonable.

  ‘Go on,’ Godlove agreed with a weary sigh. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. If it helps find Sarah’s killer it’s worthwhile.’

  ‘Where did you meet your wife?’

  The man looked up in surprise. ‘At the Assembly Rooms in Leeds. Why?’

  The Constable ignored the question. ‘How long ago was that?’

  Godlove had to think. ‘Two years, two and a half, perhaps?’ He paused. ‘She was sixteen, so two and a half years.’ As before, his gaze challenged the Constable to mention the difference in ages.

  ‘I’m told that your wife and her maid went out one day every week.’

  ‘Yes. It gave her a chance to get away from here for a few hours. She’d see friends, visit the sick among the tenants, go shopping.’ He sighed. ‘This is an isolated place, you can see that. I think she needed more of a social life than we had here.’

  ‘Of course,’ Nottingham agreed with a kind smile. ‘Did the two of you go to the assemblies together?’

  ‘Sometimes. Sarah was young. She had high spirits, she loved to dance.’ Nottingham watched carefully and saw pain flicker across the man’s eyes.

  ‘Do you know a man called William Jackson, by any chance?’

  ‘Jackson?’ Godlove frowned. ‘No, I don’t. Why, does he have something to do with Sarah’s death?’

  ‘It was just a question,’ the Constable assured him. ‘There is something that’s come up, though. About the time you announced your engagement, the Gibtons came into some money. I have to know, was that anything to do with you?’

  Godlove dropped his head, then raised it again once he’d decided how to phrase his answer.

  ‘Once Sarah’s parents and I agreed to the betrothal, they felt that her new state required more money than they could provide. Theirs, too,’ he added carefully. ‘I have plenty of money, more than I’m ever going to spend, so I settled some on them. That way they could live more according to their title.’

  ‘Was that title important to you?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘Sarah was important to me,’ the man replied carefully. ‘Who she was, not what she was.’

  ‘But she was the Honourable Sarah Godlove, wasn’t she? That can mean a great deal to a man.’

  ‘It can, Constable. I’ll admit that.’

  ‘Did it to you?’ Nottingham looked into the other man’s eyes. ‘I really do need the truth,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes, it did,’ Godlove answered finally. ‘Look at me. I’m wealthy. I have land. I give generously to charity. But the only way people like me can find that kind of respectability is by marrying it.’

  ‘So Sarah Gibton was an attractive proposition? A title and parents who had very little.’

  ‘At first. Once we were married I began to fall in love with her. I hoped that in time she might come to love me.’ He smiled wanly. ‘Hope and love can live a long time.’

  ‘How was she with you?’

  ‘A perfectly dutiful wife in every way,’ he replied carefully. ‘She had a great deal of freedom. I’m active on my estate, and I’m out all day.’

  Nottingham nodded. He felt guilt at the questions he’d had to ask and what he’d forced the man to reveal.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We’ve taken up enough of your time.’

  ‘Constable,’ Godlove said as a farewell, and left the room.

  ‘What did you make of that?’ Nottingham asked as the horses walked down the hill.

  ‘I felt sorry for him,’ Lister said.

  ‘So did I.’ He’d seen the awkwardness and embarrassment in Godlove’s manner, the pain behind his admissions. ‘Did you notice anything else?’

  ‘He never asked about the maid.’

  ‘Very good,’ the Constable said. ‘Not too surprising, though. It’s the way of the world. The rich never see the poor unless they need them.’

  ‘Why did you ask him about Will, boss? If he knew his wife had been seeing Jackson he wouldn’t have admitted it.’

  Nottingham shrugged. ‘You never know, I’ve had stranger things happen.’

  ‘And why the questions about how he met his wife?’ Lister wanted to know.

  ‘Because he wasn’t expecting them. Catching people off guard is a good way to trip them up.’

  ‘Do you think he killed her?’

  ‘No,’ the Constable answered eventually. ‘I don’t think he could have hurt her. And I don’t think he knew about Will Jackson at all.’

  ‘What about the baby? Mr Sedgwick mentioned that.’

  ‘If there was a baby,’ he cautioned. ‘We don’t know about that.’

  ‘It would explain a lot, though,’ Lister countered. ‘Especially if the baby was Will’s.’

  Nottingham frowned. ‘That’s too many ifs for my liking. Something we haven’t considered yet is the idea that Jackson might have murdered her and killed himself later.’

  ‘Will wouldn’t do something like that. He didn’t have any violence in him at all.’

  ‘Rob,’ the Constable said gently but insistently, ‘anyone can be violent in the right circumstances. The unlikeliest people commit murder if they’re pushed hard enough. You want ifs – what if Sarah told Will she was going to stop seeing him and be faithful to her husband?
If he loved her passionately enough that could make him kill her.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible,’ Lister admitted reluctantly.

  ‘There, you see. When we get back to Leeds, go to the stable and find out the last time she was there. The same at Jackson’s lodgings. If she was there when she was supposed to be on her way to Roundhay it could change things.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  The clouds were thickening behind them and the smell in the air had changed, the promise of rain growing stronger on the breeze.

  ‘Come on,’ Nottingham said, nudging the horse into a canter, ‘we’ll beat the shower back to town.’

  The first large drops fell as he walked up Briggate towards the jail, leaving spots the size of pennies. Glancing to the west he could already see blue sky in the far distance. This shower wouldn’t last long, but as a respite from the heat it would be welcome. By the time he turned on to Kirkgate the rain was a heavy veil, rapidly soaking his coat and feeling luxuriantly fresh and cool against his face. He ducked through the door and rubbed a hand over his hair, pushing the wet fringe back from his forehead.

  ‘Bit damp, boss?’ Sedgwick laughed.

  ‘Careful, John, or I’ll send you out to buy us some ale.’ He sat behind the desk. ‘Any joy on the servants yet?’

  ‘Nothing at all. You said Worthy’s men were out looking for them?’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ the deputy said worriedly. ‘No one I’ve talked to has mentioned them.’

  Nottingham pursed his lips in concentration.

  ‘He’s got to have men out, he can’t ignore this.’

  ‘So they’re looking in different places. That’s what worries me.’

  The Constable rubbed his chin. It meant that they had some information of their own, something the law didn’t know.

  ‘Do you have any ideas?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been asking, but no one’s saying anything. Maybe his men have been putting the fear of God in everyone. He must really want that lass.’

  ‘He does, and if he gets her first she’ll be a corpse by the time we see her. The same for anyone with her. Amos needs this to keep his reputation. And he needs to find her quickly.’