Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘So do I,’ Nottingham agreed, his eyes flickering towards the morgue. ‘If we did he’d be out in an hour, though. There’s no evidence. And even if we had something, his friends among the aldermen would have him gone soon enough.’

‘Nothing we can do?’

‘No,’ the Constable said vehemently. ‘Sod all.’

‘I had a thought about Jackson.’ He reached into his pocket and found the paper, squinting to make out his sleepy scrawl. ‘What if his business partner knew he was going to sell out his share of the business?’

Nottingham stopped moving the papers on his desk and looked at the deputy with curiosity.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Tunstall wouldn’t be happy if he found out, would he? He’d be getting a new partner, no say in the matter.’

‘Go on.’

‘It could be reason enough to commit murder.’

‘The only problem is that Jackson killed himself.’

‘But what if he didn’t?’

The Constable thought, then answered slowly.

‘I just don’t see it, John. Either way Tunstall would end up with a new partner. And the note indicates Jackson was a suicide. It was in his own writing. Do you think Tunstall’s that clever?’

‘Aye, maybe you’re right,’ Sedgwick conceded sadly. ‘It came to me while I was sleeping.’

‘Never ignore your hunches,’ Nottingham advised. ‘They’ll be right often enough.’

‘Just not in this case.’

‘No, John. Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘So what are we going to do about Nan? If Worthy really was telling me the truth then she’s still out there.’

‘After what happened to her brother, or whatever he was, she’ll have run as far from here as she can.’

‘I hope so. But if she hasn’t, we still need to find her. If we don’t, Worthy’s men will and we’ll be looking at another corpse.’

‘All the inns and alehouses must be sick of us asking about her by now.’

‘At least they’ll notice her if she walks in,’ Nottingham said. ‘Get the men out on a sweep of them again. And the places where she might sell what she’s stolen. She still needs to eat and drink.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He stood and prepared to leave.

‘How’s Lizzie?’

‘Strong as an ox.’

The Constable smiled. ‘Then let’s pray she remains free of any trouble.’

‘Aye, true enough.’ Sedgwick held up a pair of crossed fingers. He was smiling but inside he was wishing fervently that all would go well. To lose her would break him and devastate James. The boy had only just become used to a loving mother. He could learn to share her with someone else, but not to be without her entirely.

He’d never had to do so much riding when looking into a crime before. It wasn’t something he relished. Still, it could have been worse. The weather was set fair, the sun pleasant and not too hot, a faint breeze like whispers beyond hearing. If he really had to ride to out Godlove’s estate, this was a day for doing it.

The horse took the hill at a slow, easy pace that suited the Constable. He didn’t know what he could ask Godlove that he hadn’t already asked, or if there was anything that might trip him up. But at least by talking to the man he was doing something, trying to press matters forward.

As he rode along the long drive he could see workers out in the field, but no activity in the yard. At the stable a boy took his mount but told him that the master had left early for an appointment in Bradford.

So much for this journey, Nottingham thought wryly, and went to the kitchen in search of something to drink while the horse was watered and brushed. With the oven going the room was sweltering, the door wide open to try and release some of the heat, the cook red-faced and sweaty.

‘Mr Godlove’s gone, they said.’

‘Aye, away at the crack of dawn to Bradford. Didn’t even take time to eat owt first.’ She wiped her brow with a forearm and eyed him carefully. ‘I’ve seen you here before. Summat to do with the mistress,’ she said suspiciously.

‘I’m the Constable of Leeds,’ he told her, keeping close to the fresh air by the door.

‘Wasted your time coming out here today, then. I suppose you want some ale.’

‘I’d love some,’ he said with a grateful smile.

She gestured at the table. ‘It’s on there, help yourself. Have you found out who killed her, then?’

‘No,’ he admitted, pouring a tall mug and taking a long, welcome drink. ‘Not yet.’

‘The master’s been all inside himself and upside down since it happened. He doted on that lass, you know.’

‘What was she like?’

The cook crossed her arms, the pink flesh on her upper arms jiggling.

‘Not going to say ill of the dead,’ was all she offered.

‘Do you remember the day she left?’

‘Easier to remember the times she was here,’ the woman snorted. ‘Off out every week, then to see those parents of hers, sometimes out with the master. Couldn’t keep track of her. Didn’t think much of it when she left. Until she didn’t come back, of course,’ she added hastily.

He took another sip. They brewed well here, with a rich, deep taste. Better than he’d had in many inns.

‘Was Mr Godlove here that day?’

She shook her head.‘After the mistress left he decided to go off to Bradford. Don’t blame him, really. Saddled up his horse about an hour after she went, saw him through the window there. Stayed away overnight, and all. Dinner I made would have gone to nought if I hadn’t ended up giving it to the men. Not that they minded, of course.’

‘When did he come back on Friday?’ Nottingham tried to make the question one of friendly interest, a simple way of making conversation. She stopped for a moment, casting her mind back.

‘Late,’ she answered finally. ‘Gone dark, I remember that, because the stable lad had to get up to look after his horse.’

He drained the mug and decided not to press the cook further. She’d probably been here for years, with a strong sense of loyalty to Godlove. Better to let it rest. But it was interesting news and worth storing for later.

‘Do you know when he’ll be back today?’

She laughed. ‘He doesn’t tell me, love. He’ll be here when he’s here. But he didn’t say not to cook, so he’ll probably come back this afternoon.’

‘Could you tell him I was here looking for him and I’ll come back tomorrow?’

‘Aye, I’ll do that. You’re the Constable, you said?’

‘That’s right.’

She nodded sagely. ‘Important job, is it?’ she asked.

‘I suppose so. The title’s worth more than the pay.’

She looked him up and down. ‘Aye, love, I can tell.’

He was still smiling as he rode back down the hill. She’d put him in his place right enough. He glanced at his old coat, shiny at the elbows and collar, his white stock discoloured to ivory, the brilliant yellow of his long waistcoat faded with age. It was a tatterdemalion appearance, he understood that. It might be all well and good in the city, where people recognized his face and knew his position, but out here it just marked him as a poor man.

Still, the things she’d told him had been revealing. Sarah Godlove hadn’t managed to win the affection of the servants, it seemed, and she apparently hadn’t cared too much for being stuck on Godlove’s estate.

But it was the man’s absence when his wife vanished that was the most disturbing point. It meant that he could have killed her; he had the time and the chance. And if he knew about Jackson, he had a reason. Things seemed to be starting to point to Godlove and that worried him. He’d been so convinced of the man’s innocence, that he was a sincere, grieving widower. Was he losing his instinct? Or was the man really that good an actor? If so, he was even fooling his servants. Whichever it was, it gave the Constable pause. He prided himself on being able to pick out a falsehood quite easily. If he couldn’t he was worthless at his job.