Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘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.’

‘Maybe they’ve already gone,’ Sedgwick offered hopefully.

‘For their sake, I hope so, but I doubt it. Come on, John, anyone who’d steal from Amos Worthy can’t be too smart. They’ll still be here somewhere. Somebody knows something.’ He glanced out of the window. The shower had moved east, leaving the air clear and clean, the sky pristine. ‘Just keep looking. Give them money if you have to. I need to go and see the mayor.’

The Moot Hall bustled with the busyness of any working day. Clerks scurried along corridors while aldermen in their finery stood and chatted, comparing clothes and profits. He caught the eye of Grady, the mayor’s man of all work, who gestured him through.

Kenion was in his chair. He looked up briefly from a lengthy document and waved the Constable to a chair. Minutes passed in the muted tick of the longclock before he finished the last page.

‘Right, that’s that. What do you want, Nottingham?’

‘I was wondering what you’d heard from the Gibtons about their daughter’s murder.’ There had been no summons, no demand for action, and it troubled him.

‘Three notes so far, and probably another one today.’ The mayor ran a hand over his pink jowls. ‘The last time they threatened to go to the Lord Lieutenant.’

‘What have you told them?’ He was intrigued. Normally the mayor would have been ranting for an arrest. This hatred must run deep, he thought.

‘That you’re doing everything you can and hope to have an arrest soon,’ he said with aching weariness, as if he’d repeated the lines far too often. ‘Does that sum it up?’

‘As much as it can,’ the Constable agreed.

‘I told them that if they want to go to the Lord Lieutenant, they can, but it won’t make a damn bit of difference.’ He sat back again and folded his arms, glancing up from under bushy eyebrows. ‘Do you want to know why I haven’t been roasting you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ he admitted.

‘I don’t like their ways. High-handed as they come. If they lived in Leeds it might be a different matter. And,’ he added, ‘two more months and I’ll be done with all this. Come September John Douglas will be sitting here, and good luck to him. I’ve had enough of it. I’ll be glad to get back to business.’