Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

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.’

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 worry 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.