The Hanging Psalm Read online

  Jane would be somewhere close, concealed from sight, watching and ready. Simon idled, letting the minutes pass. He’d changed into his working clothes, an old jacket, heavy trousers that clung to his legs, a felt hat, and boots with thick, sturdy soles. Milner would see exactly the kind of man he expected to find.

  The man was late; the echo of the bell tolling the hour at the parish church had long since faded when he came strolling along. He had an easy gait, shoulders back, a walking cane giving rhythm to his step. Even from a distance, his clothes were well cut, expensive, a thick coat with a waist-length cape, stock tied into a soft bow, his hair a bristly grey burr over his skull.

  But it was his face that told the real tale. It was tight, his lips pressed together as if he was desperately trying to hold something inside. Pale eyes, the skin around them dark and smudged. A man having sleepless nights, he thought.

  ‘You’re Westow?’

  ‘I am.’ He nodded. ‘Simon Westow.’

  For a moment Milner said nothing, examining him. He could look till the cows come home, but he’d find nothing beyond a blank stare.

  ‘You’re the thief-taker.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you charge?’

  Only the venal ones asked that question first. Weighing whether it was worth the fee.

  ‘It depends what’s been stolen.’

  Another silence, longer than the first. It seemed to grow until it overwhelmed the space between them.

  ‘My daughter,’ Milner said finally.

  Westow had retrieved silver plate, cloth, bonds, too many things to count. But never a woman. Yet a woman was property; that was the law. She belonged to her father, then to her husband. She was his possession. A daughter had value for the marriage she might make. Or the worth she could so easily lose.

  ‘When did it happen?’ he asked.

  ‘Yesterday. In the afternoon.’ Milner’s jaw tightened. ‘The stupid girl wanted another gown. She and two of her friends went to the dressmaker to select the fabric. And when she finished there, she had to go to the milliner for a new hat and God knows where else.’ He raised his head. ‘She didn’t come home.’

  ‘You didn’t send a servant with her?’

  ‘No. Why would I? She had the other girls to chaperone her. This is Leeds. There’s never been a problem.’ Milner’s face was strained. He reached into his pocket and brought out a folded sheet of paper. ‘This was delivered this morning.’ His hand shook a little as he passed it over.

  I have your daughter with me. She has undergone no harm. She is unsullied and perfectly content for the present.

  But this situation cannot last, as I’m certain you will appreciate. After all, sir, it costs money to keep a girl.

  With that in mind, I propose a bargain between gentlemen. In return for a fair payment I will ensure that she’s returned to you entirely unharmed. Given who she is and who she might become, I believe £1000 is a reasonable figure.

  Should you not comply, of course, her fate will be a little different. I will take pains to let it be known what has happened to her. After that, you will understand, no decent man will be willing to take her for a wife.

  The choice lies with you. I shall send another letter with more instructions.

  A thousand pounds. It was an outrageous sum. More than half a dozen working men might hope to see in their working lives. A ransom for one girl. Simon took a deep breath.

  ‘That’s a fortune.’

  ‘I know exactly how much it is, Westow. To the penny.’

  ‘Do you have that much?’

  ‘That’s my business.’ Milner glared at him. ‘But yes, I do. And whoever sent this seems to know what I’m worth.’

  Simon tried to clear his head. Talking about money wasn’t going to find her. ‘Who brought this?’

  ‘A boy. He handed it to one of the servants and ran off.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who sent it?’

  ‘No.’ A curt, angry reply. ‘If I did, I’d kill him myself.’

  ‘Are you negotiating a marriage for your daughter?’

  ‘Not yet. But there are some prospects.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ She was a person, not an item.

  ‘Hannah.’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  Milner considered for a moment. He seemed to have difficulty conjuring her into his mind.

  ‘Fair hair. A pretty enough face, I suppose. Small; she doesn’t stand to my shoulder.’

  About five feet tall, Simon judged.

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was at work.’

  ‘It would be helpful to find out. Nobody’s courting her?’

  ‘I told you, no. She attends the dances at the Assembly Rooms. But her mother always accompanies her when she goes. That’s as much as I’ll allow.’

  The man believed he was as hard as iron. Yet someone had quickly found the point where he’d break. He’d been forced to see that he had weaknesses. A man like Milner wouldn’t enjoy that.

  He wanted his daughter back. For the girl herself, but even more for what she could bring to his family’s future. How a good marriage could burnish him.

  ‘I’ll need the names of the friends she was with.’

  Milner banged the tip of his cane against the ground. ‘You don’t talk to them. Not a word of this gets out.’

  Any rumour could ruin Hannah Milner’s marriage chances. Even suspicion would be enough to tarnish her reputation. She’d be soiled goods, unsaleable to any respectable bidder.

  ‘That’s fine.’ He kept his voice even. The job would be harder, but he’d have to manage. ‘It would help if I could speak to your wife.’ Mothers knew more about their daughters than any father might suspect.

  ‘No.’ It was an answer that brooked no argument. ‘She’s taken to her bed. You don’t come anywhere near my house. The next I want to hear from you is that you’ve found her, untouched. And not even a hint about what’s happened. Not now, not ever. You understand? Milner’s mouth curled a little and he licked his lips. ‘They tell me you’re good at what you do. Bring her back before the money’s due and I’ll pay you two hundred guineas.’

  That was far more than Simon had made in his very best year. But if he could afford to pay out a thousand pounds, the man could afford it.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed.

  ‘And I want it done fast. Before people get it in their minds to talk.’ The man started to turn away, then stopped. ‘And before I have to pay this damned ransom. I expect success. Ask anyone – I don’t take to people who fail me.’

  Simon stood and watched until the man was no more than a smudged figure in the distance.

  TWO

  He was halfway home by the time Jane caught him.

  ‘He had a man keeping watch,’ she said. ‘Over in the trees.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  She didn’t bother to reply. He should have known better than to ask. No one spotted her unless she wanted it. But she took in everything, noticed every detail. That was how they’d met. She’d appeared at his side one day when he was following a man who’d stolen two pounds’ worth of parts from a watchmaker. Simon had lost him in one of the courts down near the river, not sure which way to turn.

  ‘He went to the right.’ A girl was suddenly whispering. ‘I’ve been watching you trail behind him all morning.’

  He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t even sensed her there. Simon gave her a shilling from the reward. She stared at the coin in her palm and eyed him with a curious innocence.

  ‘Does this mean I work for you now?’

  They’d never said more about it. Jane was simply there every day, entwined in his work. Then in his life, once she moved into the room up in the rafters. She was there. To anyone outside, she might have been part of the family. But that was just surface. Underneath, Jane kept her distance. Her world was inside her head. They’d worked together for a few years, but he
still knew little about her. Most of the time he had no idea where she went or what she did. But he accepted that. She was good at this work. The best he’d ever seen. The rest was her choice. Long before they ever met, she’d built a wall between herself and the world. Even now, she remained wary, untrusting of everything. As if this could all crumble to nothing one day and she’d be left on her own again.

  ‘Someone’s snatched his daughter. Her name’s Hannah. Wants a thousand for her.’

  ‘A thousand?’ she asked as if the figure couldn’t exist. ‘Is that what the rich are worth these days? I’ve seen her going in and out of the shops.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘She giggles a lot.’

  That was her judgement. A frivolous girl without a serious thought in her mind. Someone with everything laid out before her. Perhaps it was true, but it didn’t matter. Their job was to bring her home safe.

  ‘He doesn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘That’s going to make things difficult for us,’ Jane said.

  ‘We’ve no choice on this job. Start asking around.’

  ‘I will.’ And she was gone.

  In the house, the boys ran to him and Simon knelt and hugged them close. Three years old, growing each day. They were twins, but he could always tell them apart. Richard was impulsive and daring, with a shy, beguiling twist to his grin, while Amos looked at everything with Rosie’s forthright, evaluating stare. Before the baptism he’d plucked their names from the graveyard outside the parish church, hunting for anything at all to call them. What did it matter, anyway?

  He’d been named for his father; he had the faint memory of his mother telling him that once. Sometimes he believed he could even recall the sweet tone of her words as she said it; it seemed like a dream of the time before his parents died, when he still had his innocence. But in the end, the name was all his father was able to pass on to him. And any weight it possessed ended when they put him in the ground.

  He stood, a son wriggling in each arm as he gripped them tight. He was dwelling too much on the past. It was the session that morning. He’d thought it might help. Instead, it just painted the old pictures again, bringing them back in vivid colours.

  Rosie came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an old piece of linen.

  ‘Did he want something important for his sovereign?’

  He told her, taking out the letter and waiting as she read.

  ‘A thousand pounds?’ She stared at him in disbelief. It was beyond counting. ‘Do you think she might have eloped? Maybe they’re using this to get some money.’

  ‘Milner claims no one’s courting her.’

  Rosie snorted. ‘He’s the father. What would he know? Most men can’t see in front of their faces.’

  ‘He’s convinced she’s been taken.’

  ‘And he wants his property back,’ she said. ‘The poor lass must be terrified, Simon. Did he bother to think about that? Or just what she’s worth?’

  He didn’t need to answer. Hannah Milner was a commodity. To her father, to the man who’d taken her. Even to him. A commodity worth her weight in gold.

  ‘Maybe he’ll see things differently when she’s home and safe.’

  ‘Come on. You know he won’t. Men like that only see the world in pounds, shillings and pence.’

  She was right. But he’d never change the Milners of this world. It wasn’t his job. He’d leave that to the Radicals and the agitators, for all the good it would do them.

  ‘Do you think of me as your property?’ Rosie asked as he took a small box from its hiding place under the stairs, selected a few coins and slipped them into his purse.

  He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t dare, and you know it. I’ll be back later,’ he said as he kissed her. No point in promising a time.

  ‘Bring her home quickly,’ she said. ‘And safely.’

  ‘That’s what I intend to do.’

  ‘And make sure Milner doesn’t start giving you those ideas.’ Her smile was warm. ‘Not if you value your existence, Simon Westow. A thousand? I hope you’re stinging him well for this.’

  ‘Two hundred,’ Simon told her, watching Rosie’s eyes widen in astonishment and greed. He grinned. ‘Guineas.’

  Jane wandered and listened. Nobody noticed her; down here she was one more ghost among so many. All these folk cared about was surviving until the next morning. Some food, a bed indoors, keeping their babies alive, the formless wish of work for the men tomorrow.

  No scrubbing would ever remove the grime ingrained in their skin. Few talked. Words were nothing more than wasted breath. Some had given up caring, slumped and staring at the wall.

  None of them was likely to know about Hannah Milner. But Jane came here anyway. This was where she always began. It focused her mind, reminded her who she’d once been. She’d spent years among these people. She knew who they were, how they felt. Sometimes their despair even rested comfortably on her shoulders. And very occasionally she’d catch a spark that sent her in the right direction.

  Not this afternoon. The only thing around here was the fracture of hope.

  She left, gathering her old shawl over her head as she moved up and down Briggate, stopping to gaze in the shop windows. Another ragged girl looking at things she could never afford. Jane smiled to herself. They didn’t know she had nigh on a hundred pounds hidden away where no one else would ever find it. Not even Simon.

  In the glass she saw the reflection of two young women, prattling as they passed by. She’d seen them before, arm-in-arm with the missing girl. Quietly, she followed. Close enough to hear them, but far enough away not to be noticed. They had no thought for anyone but themselves, anyway.

  Along Boar Lane, listening as they commented on this and that – a woman’s dress, how handsome a passing young man might be – then up West Street by the side of the Mixed Cloth Hall, Jane remained behind them like a pale shadow.

  Finally, as they approached St Paul’s Church on the edge of Park Square, one said: ‘Did you hear about Hannah?’

  Suddenly Jane was alert, aware of every word.

  ‘No,’ the other replied. ‘Where is she? I thought she was coming out with us today.’

  ‘I called for her earlier. The servant told me she’d had to go to York. Her grandmama’s been taken ill.’

  ‘Poor thing. I hate having to go and see relatives when they’re unwell, don’t you? Especially the old ones. It’s not as if I can do anything to help them and the sick rooms always smell so awful. About the only reason I’d go is if I was in the will.’

  ‘I don’t know. It might have its good points. I’ve heard the dragoons are there at the moment. Maybe Hannah will meet an officer. A good-looking captain. Even a colonel.’

  The other girl snorted. ‘They won’t bother with a little stick like her. When is she coming back, anyway?’

  ‘The servant didn’t say. She’ll probably find herself a rich husband and never return.’

  The pair of them giggled and walked on into the square, arms still linked together, the hems of their skirts just above the dusty pavement.

  Jane didn’t follow. She’d be too visible, her appearance too out of place there; someone would see. Still, she had something to pass to Simon. The family had made an excuse for her absence. More importantly, her friends believed it. That would buy them a little time.

  She walked slowly back into Leeds from the west end of town, always aware of the people around her, their faces, the way they moved. There were times she imagined she saw her mother in the distance and her heart would start pounding in her chest as she darted through the crowd. But the resemblance always vanished when she drew close.

  Eight years old, waking in the morning with her father’s weight on top of her. His coaxing words, the smell of his breath, his sweat against her skin. Then the sharp, awful pain between her legs that made her scream. When she turned her head her mother was standing in the doorway, mouth open, the basket of shopping tumbling out of her hands on to the floor. Jane cried out for her.
She shouted and begged.

  But her mother was already calculating. It was in her eyes. A husband meant security. He brought in wages. A growing girl was nothing more than temptation. Before her tears could even dry, Jane’s mother had forced her out of the door. She heard the key turn in the lock.

  It was all illusion. That woman would never come searching for her daughter.

  He passed a pair of drunks snarling at each other on Briggate. One yelled and lurched forward. In a moment they were rolling on the cobbles, throwing feeble punches that hit nothing but air. A man offered odds on a winner.

  Simon strode along, weaving between people, jumping out of the path of a coach as it careened out of the Talbot Inn. The man he wanted to see had his office on the far side of the Head Row, close to old St John’s Church.

  George Mudie ran the Leeds Gazette. Once he’d been the editor of the Intelligencer, a power in the town, but when it was sold the new owners wanted fresh blood. Now he ran a small paper that always tottered on the verge of bankruptcy.

  The printing press stood at the back of the small office, filling most of the space. Mudie was a fastidious man, always well-barbered and shaved, a suit of good wool, his linen crisp and white. Everything but his fingertips; they were permanently black after a lifetime of setting type. He was sitting behind his desk. Except for a bottle of rum and a glass, the surface was bare.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said with grim satisfaction. ‘The final edition’s on the street. No more Gazette. We’re out of business. Want a drink to celebrate?’

  When Simon shook his head, Mudie poured a tot and raised it.

  ‘To new ventures,’ he toasted, and swallowed the rum in a single gulp. He jerked his head towards the machinery behind him. ‘Do you know anyone who needs a press?’