Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘Was that why you did it?’

The deputy laughed. ‘Always be nice to people until they give you a reason not to be. That’s what my father told me. He was right, too. She’s done nowt, there’s no need to treat her anything but politely.’

Lister looked at him with curiosity and respect. ‘And her pimp?’

Sedgwick grinned. ‘Wait and see.’

When the door opened again, Hughes was standing there, drinking from a chipped mug, dressed in an old, darned shirt, his stock loose, breeches and stockings stained. The deputy watched him carefully, seeing the way he tried to mask the anger in his eyes.

‘It’s early,’ Hughes complained, running a hand over his shaved scalp. ‘What do you want?’

‘Just another word,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘Here or inside?’

The man shrugged and led them into the house and through to the kitchen, as slatternly kept as the parlour. Dishes sat on the table caked in dried food, hosts of flies buzzing as they fed on them. Scraps littered the floor, rotting and slimy underfoot, and runnels of damp bloomed mould on the walls. God help the coroner if there was ever a dead body here, the deputy thought. The poor bugger would choke.

‘You like your luxury, don’t you?’ he asked, gazing around. Hughes looked blankly, missing the irony. ‘Planning a run in with Amos Worthy, are you, Edward?’

The man spat on the floor. ‘You can call me Mr Hughes if you want to ask me any questions.’

‘Can I?’ Sedgwick said. ‘That’s very generous of you, Edward.’

The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

‘Aye, we’ve had some words,’ Hughes admitted finally.

‘People are saying you’ve threatened to kill him.’

Hughes laughed, showing discoloured teeth. ‘That’s what they’re saying, is it?’

‘It is.’ The deputy’s voice was hard and dangerous. ‘And the people who told me don’t lie.’

‘So what if I did say that?’

Sedgwick shook his head slowly. ‘Threatening murder. That’s a serious business.’

Hughes snorted. ‘He’s been warned, that’s all.’ He began to raise the mug to his mouth. The deputy reached out calmly and in a single, flowing move snatched it from his hand and threw it against the wall.

‘So have you. You’ve been warned twice now. Edward.’

Hughes crossed his arms over his chest. ‘So he’s paying you off as well as your master, is he?’

In a swift moment Sedgwick had him pinned against the wall, a forearm tight across the man’s throat.

‘Don’t you ever suggest that,’ he said coldly. ‘Ever. You got that?’

Slowly he applied more pressure, staring at Hughes as the man’s face reddened, increasing the force until the man nodded his understanding. Sedgwick moved back, leaving Hughes to rub his throat. ‘I don’t care what you were thinking, Edward,’ he told him. ‘It’s over. Do you finally get that?’

‘Yes,’ he answered in a croak.

‘Run your whores like a good boy, no one’s going to quibble about that. We already told you, didn’t we?’

Glaring, humiliated, Hughes croaked agreement.

‘If you want to go beyond that, find somewhere else to do it. Next time I come back here it won’t just be for a friendly word. You’ve had your second warning now and it’s your last.’

The deputy turned on his heel, gesturing at Lister to follow him. He slammed the door loudly, pushed a hand through his thick, wiry hair and said, ‘I need another drink after that. Christ, that place smelled foul.’

‘Do you think it’ll work?’ Rob asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Sedgwick sighed loudly as they walked up Call Lane, back towards Kirkgate. ‘Maybe for a day or two. He thinks he’s a tough one, does that lad. He reckons Worthy might be weak so he’s going after him. But he’ll get a shock it if really comes down to it.’

‘Worthy’s still strong, then?’

‘Oh, aye. Have you ever met him?’

Lister shook his head.

‘He must be well over sixty by now, but he’s still big. I wouldn’t want to go up against him. Got a temper on him, too. Hughes wouldn’t stand a chance. The boss hates him, but he seems to like him, too. It’s strange; doesn’t make any sense to me.’ He pushed open the door of the White Swan once more and sat on an empty bench in the corner. ‘You can get them,’ he told Rob.

The Constable nudged the horse into a canter, holding tight on the reins as he jounced up and down in the saddle. He wondered grimly what the deputy had found and hoped against hope that Hughes and Worthy wouldn’t collide. He needed to be out here, on his way to Horsforth, but he needed to be back in the city, too, taking care of his business there.

He’d made good time, but felt his legs tremble as he dismounted, the animal snickering with the pleasure of the exertion as he turned it over to the stable boy. Well before he could reach the door, Samuel Godlove was coming out to him, dressed in his country clothes, once again a suit of sturdy brown cloth, woollen stockings rather than hose, his head bare, and worn, scuffed, working boots on his feet.

‘Mr Nottingham.’ He extended his hand and the Constable took it, seeing no sign of guile and deception in the man’s sad eyes. ‘Please tell me you have some news.’

‘Not yet,’ he apologized. ‘I’m sorry, I know you need answers, but I do have a few more questions.’

Godlove’s face clouded momentarily but he said, ‘Yes, of course, of course. I need to check a few things, would you mind walking with me?’

Nottingham agreed and the pair set off together.

‘You went to Bradford that last time your wife left to see her parents.’

‘Yes,’ Godlove answered, sounding a little surprised. ‘That’s hardly a secret. I have some friends over there. I go and see them often.’

‘Might I ask who?’

‘Charles Deane and his wife. He trades in wool there; I’ve known him since we were boys.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘Are you trying to suggest something?’

‘Not at all.’ The Constable smiled reassuringly. ‘I just need to know where you were.’

‘I stayed there overnight,’ Godlove offered. ‘I do that regularly, have done for years. We played cards and drank quite a bit. I had some business out towards Halifax the next day and then I came home.’

‘Quite late?’

‘Yes, I suppose it was,’ he answered slowly. ‘I never thought about it. I didn’t imagine I’d have anyone asking me questions on what I’d done.’

‘No, of course not.’ Nottingham paused, changing the topic warily. ‘Tell me, did you know your wife went into Leeds every week?’

‘Leeds?’ he said in astonishment. ‘She went there sometimes, to see a dressmaker or buy things, and we’d go to the assemblies on occasion, but it certainly wasn’t every week.’

‘She and her maid went out one day each week.’

‘Yes. I told you that before.’

‘That’s when she went into the city.’

Godlove was silent for a long time.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said eventually, his confusion evident. ‘She always told me she could only tolerate Leeds in small amounts.’

‘I can assure you, she went there every week,’ the Constable said again. ‘We have proof of it.’

The man raised questioning eyes. ‘But why would she go there?’

This would be the test, he thought, to see how Godlove reacted when he heard. So far he seemed perfectly honest, his sorrow completely believable. God knew he didn’t want to have to say it; if the man was innocent it would break his heart. But there was no other way.

‘Well?’

‘She had a lover there.’

He watched carefully, studying the man’s face. For a moment Godlove was completely still, as if the world had stopped, and then his mouth started to move, but no words came out. If this was acting, Nottingham decided, he was the best player in England.