Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

Nottingham laughed. ‘Why’s that?’

‘All you see is misery. People hurt, robbed, even dead.’

‘But we catch the people who did it. That rights a wrong. Surely that’s a good thing?’

‘It’s what you have to go through to do it. It makes my life seem very straightforward.’

‘For what it’s worth, I couldn’t be a merchant.’

Nottingham stood up, leaving his own history unspoken. His father had been a merchant, one who’d sold his business and moved away after throwing out his family. All he’d left his son was his surname.

‘Be glad you’re not,’ Williamson told him. ‘It’s a brutal business, Richard.’

The Constable grinned. ‘Just not as brutal as mine.’

With a wave he headed back to the city. He felt frustrated. The more he learned, the less he seemed to know or understood about this case. As he walked he pried the pieces apart in his mind and tried to slowly reassemble them to see if they made any more sense.

They had a girl who’d been murdered, one who’d been married for just a year to a man much older than her. She might have been pregnant. She had a lover she saw weekly who had killed himself after she’d died. She’d gone to visit her parents and taken her maid, but never arrived. The maid was missing.

Her husband had paid her parents handsomely to have her in marriage, but he’d fallen in love with her.

That was what they knew. He was certain that she hadn’t been the victim of a robbery on the highway. If that had happened she’d just have been left by the road. They wouldn’t have used an expensive knife and left it in her body. So it was someone who knew her.

He needed more. He needed the small pieces that would connect these items and let him see the real picture. As it was, the fragments he possessed couldn’t even tell him how large that picture might be. Until he had more information, something solid, he’d be like a dog chasing its tail and becoming more and more frustrated. Someone had wanted Sarah Godlove dead. If he could only understand why, he might be able to find out who.

The Constable was still trying to make sense of everything as he entered the jail.

‘Boss?’ Lister said, shaking Nottingham into the present. ‘I think I’ve got something here.’

‘What’s that?’ He sat down, hopeful for anything that might move them along.

‘I’ve been going through Will’s business letters. From the look of them he was trying to sell his share of Tunstall’s.’

‘What?’ He stopped. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m positive.’ He picked up the letters and riffled through them. ‘From what I can see, it started about three weeks ago. He wrote to a few people who might be interested. Said he was looking to leave Leeds.’

The Constable’s heart started beating a little faster. ‘Did he say why at all?’

‘Not that I’ve found,’ Rob replied. ‘He had two people who were interested, one from Bradford, another from Wakefield. Quite seriously, too, from the look of the letters. But it all stopped about three days before he killed himself.’

‘Which would be when news of Sarah’s death would have started to spread,’ Nottingham mused.

‘They could have been running off together.’

‘It’s possible,’ he allowed guardedly. ‘How much was he asking for his share of Tunstall’s?’

‘Enough to live on quite well for a while.’

The Constable sat down, brushing the fringe off his forehead.

‘Go back over all the letters from Sarah, see if there’s anything to indicate them leaving together.’

‘I didn’t see anything before-’ Rob started, but Nottingham held up his hand.

‘We didn’t know what to look for before. There might be something in there that makes sense in the light of this. Have you found anything else?’

‘That’s all.’ Lister started to knead his neck. ‘What’s it like outside?’ he asked with a weary grin that made the Constable laugh.

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be back out there soon enough, and then you’ll be wishing you were back here with some papers.’

‘If you say so, boss.’ Rob smiled.

‘Just make sure you go through everything today. Tell me in the morning if there’s anything more.’

‘Yes, boss.’

Past Timble Bridge he looked into the distance, watching the small specks of men working in the fields, and the sheep grazing contentedly on the grass. This murder was weighing hard on him. Every scrap, every pace ahead had to be hard won, it seemed.

He wanted to put it all behind him when he stepped through his doorway, but he knew it was never as simple as turning a key in a lock. Whatever he did, it would nag quietly at the back of his mind. It was simply his way. He loved his job, too much perhaps.

Emily was sitting in the chair. She’d been reading, but looked up with a warm smile when he entered. Her eyes were bright and her skin clear, all the traces of her misery now history. In a way he envied her her youth, being able to put things behind her so quickly.

‘I went to see Mrs Rains at the Dame School today,’ she told him.

‘Was she surprised to see you?’

‘Yes,’ Emily answered with a little laugh. Mrs Rains had recommended her for the post as Hartington’s governess.

He settled down across from her. ‘What did she have to say?’

‘Well,’ she began, and from the way she lowered her head, the colour rising in her face, he could tell that she was eager with good news, that it needed to burst out of her. ‘She asked if I’d like to teach there with her.’

‘Really?’ he asked and she nodded emphatically, biting her lip, her grin wide. ‘Oh, love, that’s wonderful.’ He reached across, squeezed her hand and kissed her flushed cheek. ‘What did your mother say?’

‘She said she thought it was the best news she’d heard in a long time. She’s gone into town to buy some cloth to make me a new dress for work.’

Nottingham laughed, infected by her joy. ‘So when do you start?’ he asked.

‘Next week,’ she answered excitedly. ‘She wants me to begin on Monday. It’s going to be so lovely, papa. I can live here, and the school’s become quite busy now, I’ll be doing a lot of teaching on my own, too. That’s why I’m reading now.’ She indicated the small pile of books next to her. ‘I have to be ready.’

‘You’ll do very well,’ he assured her. ‘I have faith in you — and so does your mother.’

‘Thank you, papa.’ Her smile was wide enough to light up any room. ‘And thank you for persuading Mr Hartington to write his recommendation. I don’t know how you managed to do that. .’

He stood up and ruffled her hair.

‘Don’t you worry about how. You’ve got a position that’ll suit you well. Just make sure you work at it.’

‘I will, papa,’ she promised with pleasure.

In the kitchen he found cheese under a cloth, bread and ale and he’d just returned to the sitting room when Mary arrived home with two lengths of cloth under her arm.

‘Oh, Richard,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I had to go and buy these.’ She glanced at their daughter, eyes twinkling. ‘Did Emily tell you?’

‘She did, and it’s glorious news.’

‘If she’s going to be teaching she needs a new dress and petticoat, so I thought I’d sew one.’ She gave Emily the plain cotton. ‘You can make the petticoat,’ she told her. ‘It’ll be good practice for you. I’ll do the dress.’

‘Yes, mama,’ the girl replied with no real enthusiasm. Mary rolled her eyes and vanished into the kitchen. Nottingham followed her. Dust motes hung in the sunlight through the window.

‘I haven’t had a chance to cook anything today,’ she explained.

‘This is fine,’ he told her, holding up his plate. ‘What do you think about our daughter, the teacher?’