Chris Nickson - Come the Fear
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- Название:Come the Fear
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- Издательство:Creme de la Crime
- Жанр:
- Год:2012
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:3 / 5. Голосов: 1
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Sedgwick sat up straight. ‘What? What do you mean, boss?’
‘If I had to guess, I’d say our thief taker has a hand in this,’ Nottingham said ‘For a fee he arranges the return of the property.’
‘What about the thief?’ the deputy asked.
‘He’s paid for his efforts and probably makes more than he might if he sold the items to someone like Joe Buck. And with everything returned and the householder satisfied, no one will testify to a crime.’ He threw down the quill. ‘I’ll be talking to Mr Walton later. It looks as if his advertisement might have paid for itself already.’
‘It’s wrong,’ Rob said.
‘Of course it’s wrong,’ the Constable agreed angrily. ‘But the law of the land says it’s legal, as long as Walton didn’t arrange the burglary himself.’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘Right, you go home, Rob. John, see if you can give our drowner a name.’
Sedgwick was the one to talk to servants. The Constable knew that. He had the touch, the mixture of charm and easy banter that gained their trust and opened them up to say things they might never utter otherwise. They seemed to understand he was one of them.
Today, though, all he felt was a brittle weariness in his bones, as if he might snap into pieces at the lightest touch. Isabell had had another bad night, Lizzie up every hour to tend to her, feeding and soothing. And he’d lain awake, wondering what to do about James. He could take his belt to the boy, the way his own father had done often enough. But he knew it would do no more good now than it had then. The lad might be young but he was already like his father, bull-headed. As soon as the pain wore off and the tears dried James would be more determined than ever.
What sleep he’d managed had come in brief snatches, and now the skin on his face felt tight and his eyeballs gritty. He’d identified the dead man quickly enough as Jacob Miller; the deputy had known his face for years. There were no signs of violence, so he’d likely tumbled in the Aire when he was drunk. God knew that enough managed it as a way to die, by accident or design.
The Cates house was up at Town End, just beyond the Head Row. It was barely a few years old, its genteel, plain front as broad a notice of money as any. But that entrance was for the gentlemen and ladies who’d come to call on the family. He looked around until he saw his way to the back, where the servants and those in trade could come and go without the master having to notice them.
The kitchen door was open, the room steamy with the smell of cooking and the heat from the fire. A young girl was chopping onions, stopping to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand, her apron ill-fitting and stained. He could hear the cook yelling her orders. He knocked and walked in. The room went silent.
‘Who are you?’ the cook asked finally. She was a heavy-boned woman, short and squat, hair pushed awkwardly under a cap, face red and flushed with sweat.
He smiled. ‘I’m John Sedgwick,’ he said. ‘I’m the deputy constable. Have you got a moment?’
The cook had no time for gossiping, with a meal to prepare and have on the table for guests at noon, but she called down one of the serving girls to talk to him. Grace was a plain little thing; she looked thirteen but swore to three years older. She glanced nervously at the deputy, fingers working together nervously at having to talk to authority. He found a quiet nook where they’d be out of everyone’s way, the dark wood around them smelling freshly of polish.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ he told her, ‘you’ve done nowt wrong. You’re not in trouble.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She bobbed her head quickly and he smiled.
‘No need to call me sir, either. I’m just John. Did you know Lucy?’
Grace’s eyes brightened. ‘She was lovely, was Lucy.’
‘You were friends, were you?’
‘We shared a bed up in the eaves,’ she said. ‘But she didn’t talk too much. She hated it ’cause the words all sounded funny. Once you got used to it, it were easy enough to understand her, really.’
‘You know she was pregnant?’
Grace nodded seriously. ‘I tried to tell her, sir, but she wouldn’t believe me.’ She paused and blushed. ‘John.’
‘Why not?’
‘She didn’t know how girls get babies.’
He raised his eyebrows slightly in disbelief. Still, if she was as simple as everyone said, it was possible.
‘Do you know who the father might be?’
She shook her head, but it was too quick, too adamant.
‘Do you?’ he asked softly.
She lowered her head to hide her expression but he could see the livid colour rising up from her neck.
‘Was it someone here? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered in a voice so quiet he wasn’t sure whether he’d imagined it.
‘Do the men here. .?’
At first she was perfectly still and he stayed silent, waiting to see if she’d reveal anything. Then she gave a tiny nod.
‘All of them?’
Grace glanced around hurriedly to assure herself no one could hear then whispered, ‘Mr Cates and his sons.’
He kept his face blank and his voice steady. ‘With you?’
‘Yes.’ She sounded resigned and hopeless.
‘And with Lucy?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked up at him and he could see the tears in her eyes, thin shoulders shaking with the sorrow and secrets she’d been keeping inside for a long time. ‘They didn’t like her, they laughed at her. So maybe they didn’t.’
‘Didn’t she say?’
The girl pulled at the hem of her apron. ‘No.’
‘Did she have anyone she saw when she had free time?’
‘Just her mam and her brother.’
‘Was she happy here?’
‘Yes.’ Grace smiled again briefly, her face lighting up, blue eyes bright and glistening. ‘She was. We looked after her, you see. She felt safe here.’
‘What was she like when she had to leave?’
‘She cried. All the girls did.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘No. She didn’t know.’
‘Not to her mam?’
‘She said she couldn’t, not now.’
‘Did she say why?’
Grace looked confused. ‘I just thought it was because she was having the baby.’
‘Thank you, love. You’ve been very helpful.’
He stood and she looked up at him. ‘You won’t. .?’ she asked, then begged. ‘Please.’
‘I promise,’ he assured her. ‘Honestly.’
The Constable strode up the Head Row, his face set hard. A little before the impressive brick of the Red House he knocked on a door and waited for a servant to open it.
When one finally arrived, he gave his name and was shown into a withdrawing room that looked out on a tidy garden. No fire had been laid and he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat to keep them warm. He listened for the sound of the servant’s heels in the hallway.
He knew that Alderman Ridgely had dropped his case, and he was sure of the reason why: he was going to pay good money to the thief taker for the return of items that already belonged to him. But Nottingham wanted to look the man in the eye and hear the words from his own lips. It wouldn’t be satisfaction, but it would be a small beginning.
When the servant finally returned, he looked abashed.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but the master says he doesn’t have time to see you.’
The Constable gave a small nod but said nothing. He picked up the tricorn hat from the chair where he’d left it and walked out. Word of this would run all around Leeds before the day was done, how the man had snubbed Nottingham. But who would look worse for it, he wondered? Men in Leeds would laugh at anyone fool enough to pay twice for his own property.
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