Chris Nickson - Come the Fear

Cates snorted. ‘The Constable here a few days back, you today. Who’s it going to be next, that lad you have?’

‘She’s dead,’ the deputy told him. ‘Someone killed her.’

‘So you thought you’d come back and hound me?’

‘We’re looking for anything that can help us find her murderer,’ he said evenly. ‘Or perhaps you think she’s better off dead, Mr Cates?’

‘You watch your tongue with me, boy,’ Cates warned. ‘I already told your master everything. There’s nothing to do with her death here. He should know better than to send his dog round.’

‘So you and your sons don’t take your pleasure with the serving girls?’

Cates rounded on him, anger in his eyes. ‘What we do or don’t do in this house isn’t your business. Or maybe you’d prefer me to talk to the mayor and the aldermen?’

Sedgwick returned the stare, his head high, taller than the merchant.

‘You can talk to whoever you want, Mr Cates. But I’ll tell you this — if what happened here led to her death, then it’s our business. Or perhaps you don’t feel the law should apply to you? I’m sure the aldermen and the mayor would like to know if that’s the case. Sir.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘No.’ The deputy drew the word out slowly. ‘I never threaten, Mr Cates. And I’m sure there’d never be a need here, would there? Now, we can begin again if you’d like, or I can take you to the jail and ask the questions there.’ He knew he was on dangerous ground, but he was damned if he’d be cowed by someone who stood on his money box to speak.

Finally Cates shook his head in frustration. ‘I’ll tell you what you need to know if it’ll get rid of you. I never had that girl. Never wanted her. I didn’t even want her in the bloody house, but my wife thought it would be a charity. How does she repay us? Gets herself with a baby.’ He gave a shrug. ‘You want to know the truth? I was glad to be able to dismiss her. I hated seeing her ugliness around my house every day. Between that and her stupidity, the world won’t miss her.’

‘Some people will,’ Sedgwick said quietly. ‘Her mother, for one, and her brother. Perhaps you’d like to think of them.’

The man waved the idea away with a shrug.

‘She wasn’t pregnant when she began work here,’ the deputy said.

‘What the servants do on their own time is their business,’ Cates said brusquely. ‘I told the Constable that. As long as they don’t bring this family into disrepute, I don’t care what they do. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes.’

‘The girl was a simpleton. She was stupid. Anyone could have had her.’ His voice tightened. ‘I’ll say this for the very last time. I didn’t have her, and I doubt either of my sons did. Now, do you understand that?’ The final words came out as a furious hiss.

‘Thank you.’ Sedgwick put his hand on the doorknob, then turned back. ‘You’ve had other serving girls.’

‘What of it?’ Cates said with a snort.

‘Unless they agree, that’s called rape. Sir.’ He left the room, closing the door quietly, and made his way out into the fresh air. Away from the house, back across the Head Row, he made for the Rose and Crown. What he needed more than anything was a long drink of ale to wash the taste of the last few hours from his mouth.

Would Cates say anything to his cronies, he wondered? Probably not; even quiet words would make him seem ridiculous in front of his friends. He took a deep sip from the mug, feeling the liquid flood through him with a sense of relief. In the end it was just as well that Cates had backed down. Parading him past the Moot Hall to the jail would have been one step too far. As it was he’d made another enemy for the Constable and himself.

But he felt certain that none of the Cates men had been responsible for the baby. He disliked all of them, each in his own way, yet their revulsion when he mentioned Lucy seemed too real to be a lie.

It had felt like a long day, one of endless frustrations. Richard Nottingham was glad to feel the softness of evening gather around him as he walked home over Timble Bridge, listening to the birdsong in the trees and the sound of cattle being driven home from the fields for milking.

The house was warm from cooking, and he hung his coat on the nail inside the door. In the kitchen he could hear Mary and Emily talking quietly.

‘It’s just me,’ he shouted and settled in his chair with a loud, weary sigh. Soon enough, he knew, someone would come bustling through on an errand and supper would be ready, the chatter of the family together before sleep.

Until then, though, he had time to think. They were no closer to finding Lucy Wendell’s killer than they had been when he’d discovered the body. With some luck Rob might learn something when he talked to the woman by the river, but that would only take them one step closer. He wanted the murderer. Someone who could be so callous and cold with life needed to hang, and for his crimes to be known. Alice Wendell deserved justice for her daughter.

Then there was the business with Walton. The alliance with Joe Buck should pay dividends, although it would require a little time. But he was determined to do things properly, legally, so word would spread and no one else would come to try the same tricks. Enforcing the law was difficult enough without having to deal with people like the thief taker.

He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, but before he could sleep footsteps ran through the room and clattered up the stairs, followed by the slam of a door. Emily, he thought, and went into the kitchen.

‘Is she in a mood?’ he asked. Mary was standing by the table, head bowed, her palms pressing down on the wood. When she lifted her eyes, he could see the start of tears there, and he took her in his arms. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered in a small voice. ‘She won’t tell me.’ He stroked her back gently, her fingers clutching tight at his shirt.

‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘School? Love?’

Mary pulled back and looked at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

‘All I know is that she was upset when she came home. She was crying. It’s nothing to do with school, I’m sure of that. She’d talk about that.’

‘So it must be love,’ he said calmly. ‘An argument, maybe? Did Rob meet her from school?’

‘He always does, you know that,’ she told him with a small smile. ‘But he didn’t come in,’ she added with a frown. ‘That’s not like him.’

‘I could talk to her,’ he offered.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t, Richard. It’ll probably end up being something and nothing. You know what she’s like, she flares up. Better to let her be for now.’

‘I could have a word with Rob.’

‘Do you think he’d talk to you about it?’ Mary wondered. She’d regained her composure. ‘He might not want to.’

‘I’ll leave that up to him,’ the Constable promised. But he needed to know what was behind all this. Emily had been so happy since she’d begun teaching at the Dame school and taken up with Rob. He’d been able to see a settled life mapped out for her, with marriage and children, and he knew Mary had her dreams of the same thing. For a moment he considered walking back into Leeds to see Lister, but thought better of it. The morning would be soon enough, a quiet word before the lad went off to sleep after his night shift.

‘Maybe they’ll make up quickly,’ Mary said hopefully, reaching out and stroking the back of his hand.

‘It’ll be his loss if he lets her go,’ he told her. ‘She’ll have no shortage of suitors. I’ve seen men looking at her when we’re out walking.’

‘She loves Rob,’ Mary countered. ‘And he loves her, it’s obvious when they’re together.’