Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘What about Godlove? Have you heard from him?’

‘He wrote that he wanted to be informed of all the progress, and that he was sure we’d find her killers. Sounded like a man lost in grief to me. Anything else?’

‘That’s everything.’

The Constable rose to leave.

‘Nottingham,’ the mayor said. ‘Find whoever did it.’

Without mistake, it was an order.

Lister was waiting when he returned to the jail. The lad looked thoughtful, as if he was trying to work out an answer to a vexing question.

Nottingham poured himself a mug of ale and asked, ‘What did you find?’

‘She was here on the Thursday, right enough. Stabled her horse about ten, as far as the ostler remembers. Will’s landlady let her and her maid in a little later and they stayed for two hours.’

‘I don’t suppose she happened to hear any conversation?’

Rob shook his head.‘Not for want of trying, though, from the look of her.’

‘Did she see Sarah when she left?’

‘Just heard the door. And Will went out soon after. Sarah collected the horse and left early afternoon.’

‘Good, that’s one more piece.’ He smiled at Lister’s look of confusion. ‘Do you ever play puzzles?’

‘I did when I was young.’

‘Sometimes a crime is like a puzzle and you need to discover the answer bit by bit until you reach the answer. This one’s going to be like that. You knew Jackson. Do you know who his close friends were?’

‘Some of them.’

‘I want you to talk to them, see if they knew he had a girl. We also need to find out where he was after Sarah left and the day after that. Go to his business, too, see if he was there and working.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘When you get down to it, most of what we do is asking questions,’ the Constable explained. ‘When we’ve done that we sift through the answers and hope for important information.’

‘Wheat and chaff,’ Rob said. ‘I’ll do my best, boss.’

‘Good lad.’

Alone again, he tried to make sense of things. He was glad that the mayor was obstructing the Gibtons. When progress was so slow it made his life easier. Still, however difficult it was, they were crawling forward, inch by inch. It was just as he’d told Lister; there’d be no quick solution to this.

And then was the problem of the false servants. He knew that there was a good chance Worthy could discover them first using threats and violence to find information. If he did find them and kill them, proving he was behind it would be a difficult matter. Nottingham knew all too well just how cunning the pimp could be. When it came to his own survival, the man had no scruples. He’d cover his trail and even sacrifice one of his men if it would keep him out of prison and away from the noose.

What else could they do? Sedgwick knew his job, he’d do all he could to find the thieves. Still, the Constable had a few sources that were purely his own; perhaps it was time to talk to them.

Hercules lived in a tiny outbuilding tucked at the back of the yard of the Rose and Crown. No one knew if he’d been born with that name; few had ever asked. His room had an earth floor and a small pallet of ancient straw covered in blankets once used for horses. Age had stooped him into a figure dressed in patched rags, looking more like a scare-the-crow than a man. In return for his lodging and the scraps of food left by customers, he swept out the inn and cleaned the stables. He was the man no one noticed, an invisible heartbeat, but someone who heard everything. Sometimes, in exchange for a few coins he’d never spend, he gave Nottingham information.

He was exactly where the Constable expected to find him, in one of the stalls, brushing the coat of a horse to a soft shine. Hercules had little love for most people, but he was content around horses, whispering tenderly to them in a voice wracked and ruined by the years, and they responded to his gentle care. He heard Nottingham approach and pointed him to a corner as he continued working.

‘You’ve heard Amos Worthy was robbed?’

Hercules nodded, his mouth close to the nag’s ear, words coming out as quiet as breaths.

‘He’s looking for the girl who did it. So am I.’

The man turned. He had a face that had aged without grace, carrying all the deep wrinkles of life, his beard thick and white, reaching down on to his chest, his eyes a deep, penetrating blue.

‘I heard them talking,’ he said. ‘Her and her man. They were here after it.’

‘Did they stay here?’

‘Saved their brass. A few drinks and they were off.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘No. Never said that I heard.’

‘What did they look like?’

‘Young ’uns, the pair of them.’ He searched his memory for a moment. ‘She had dark hair, I know that. Skinny as a twig, too. A clever face. She was in charge.’

‘And him?’

‘Dark hair, too. Not tall, but he was broad. Scars on his hands like he’d done a lot of fighting. He was older than her, mebbe twenty.’ He stopped. ‘Brother and sister, mebbe? They had that look about them, that and the way they talked.’

‘So how did you know who they were?’

Hercules took something from the pocket of his filthy, disintegrating coat and fed it to the grateful horse.

‘She were boasting about it, wan’t she? Said how easy it had been to fool the old man. Lower her bodice a bit, show some leg.’

‘So they didn’t know who he was?’

‘No.’

‘Anything else useful?’ Nottingham asked.

‘He called her Nan and she called him Tom. And they didn’t sound like they were from Leeds.’

‘Where, then?’

‘Yorkshire, don’t know where. That’s all.’

The Constable left a couple of coins on the floor of the stall and walked away, leaving the man and the horse peacefully together.

Brother and sister, he thought. It made sense; at least they’d trust each other. And if they weren’t from Leeds they probably wouldn’t have known who Worthy was. They might not even know he was pursuing them or what to expect if he found them.

Rob Lister found Henry Hill lounging in Garraway’s coffee house on the Head Row. From the scatter of pages on the table, he’d been leafing through the latest edition of the Mercury .

The son of a country landowner, Hill had never worked. Instead, he spent his time at the house the family owned in the city, an old, rambling place near the bottom of Kirkgate, and he gambled, drank and whored as the mood took him. He was charming and funny, but for all his louche manner and London-cut clothes, he kept a clear eye and keen intelligence. He’d known Will Jackson as well as anyone.

‘Hello, Henry.’ Lister sat on the bench opposite him.

‘Rob.’ Hill greeted him with his usual lazy smile. ‘People are saying you’ve become a working man.’

‘I have.’

‘And for the Constable?’

‘Yes.’

Hill sat back and raised his eyebrows.‘That’s hardly something I’d have expected from you.’

Rob grinned. ‘Not enough cachet, you mean?’

‘Too much work, more like.’

The pair of them laughed and Hill signalled for two dishes of coffee. One day, Lister thought, Henry might do something. He had abilities, if he ever chose to use them; he was an incisive writer and had a sharp mathematical mind. But if it happened it would be in his own time; the man was in no hurry, enjoying his freedom and his surfeit of money.

‘That was terrible about Will,’ he said.

Hill shook his head.‘I can’t believe he did that. I’ve been trying to make sense of it.’ He looked up at Rob. ‘Do you know why?’

‘A woman,’ Lister told him.

‘Are you sure?’ Hill asked in surprise. ‘It must have been a great deal more serious than he ever showed, then.’