He left his report with a clerk at the Moot Hall and walked swiftly down Briggate. Anything involving Amos Worthy was grim news. Nottingham was more than ready to believe it had been his men who’d cut the whore as a warning; it was his style. But Worthy was also a man of strange honour, and he and Nottingham shared a tangled history that reached back through the decades.
The old, unpainted door on Swinegate was unlocked, the passage running straight through to the kitchen, and the Constable walked in without knocking. Worthy would be there in the tottering old addition to the already ancient house, enjoying the warmth of the fire in the hearth even in the midsummer heat.
In his sixties, the man had aged since the winter. His hair had thinned, his face was a little more gaunt, and he’d taken to walking with a silver-topped stick since he’d been stabbed in the thigh. He was a rich man but he still dressed in the same old dirty clothes every day, hoarding the money he made from his girls and all the rest, a man with his finger in many of the city’s pies, some legal, most not.
Even now, older and looking a little smaller, he wasn’t a man to be crossed. He had power and a violent temper. His justice was quick and his justice was bloody.
He had a pair of men in the room who stirred and pulled their blades as Nottingham entered, but the pimp waved them away.
‘I thought you’d be here sooner or later, Constable,’ he said. ‘Little birds been singing, have they?’
‘A few words,’ Nottingham conceded, settling on a stool by the table and pouring a mug of small beer.
‘Help yourself, why don’t you, laddie?’ he said wryly. ‘Come to gloat?’
‘Come to warn you,’ the Constable corrected him. ‘What happened, Amos?’
Worthy shook his head slightly. ‘Save your breath, laddie. I’m going to find who did this.’
‘And then?’
‘Make them pay,’ he answered matter-of-factly.
‘Kill them, you mean.’
‘Aye.’ He reached across, tore off part of a loaf and began to eat, ignoring the crumbs that fell on to his old waistcoat, a patchwork of stains and dirt.
‘No,’ Nottingham said.
Worthy raised his eyebrows.‘No?’
‘How much did she take?’
‘Ten guineas.’
It was a sizeable sum, the Constable had to admit.
‘If anyone dies, it’s after a trial.’
The pimp snorted. ‘That’s if you catch them.’
Nottingham said nothing, but kept his gaze on the man. ‘I hear you have some competition, too.’
‘Oh aye? Who would that be, then?’
‘Someone called Hughes. Arrived recently with his girls.’
‘I’ve heard the name,’ Worthy said absently. ‘You know how it happens, Constable. They come and go.’
Forced out or dead, Nottingham thought.
‘One of his lasses was cut the other night.’
‘Shame,’ the pimp said flatly, his eyes blank.
‘I won’t ask if it was your doing.’
There was no response.
‘Whoever did it needs to hear what I’m saying, though,’ the Constable continued. ‘It stops here.’
Worthy raised his eyebrows.
‘Oh aye?’
‘And if you think Hughes is behind this theft, don’t. There’s been a service lay in the city. How did it happen?’
Worthy at least had the grace to lower his head. ‘I took on a new lass last week after the last one left to get wed. There’s a whole house upstairs needs looking after.’
‘Was she called Nan?’
‘Aye. Been around, has she?’
‘I think there’s two of them, her and a man. What did she look like?’
‘Pretty enough,’ he answered. ‘Not too tall, long dark hair, blue eyes, not filled out yet.’
‘How old?’
‘Fourteen, fifteen?’ Worthy shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask. She had a reference.’
‘And you never thought she’d be stupid enough to steal from you.’
The pimp turned, his face dark, his voice quiet and menacing. ‘It’ll be the last time she steals from anyone, Constable.’ He spat on the floor. ‘I have people out looking for her.’
‘Call them off, Amos.’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘If she stands trial she’ll hang for the ten guineas.’
‘And your way’s better? Find her and kill her?’
‘Aye, laddie, it is. I can’t do anything else. She’s made a laughing stock of me.’
Nottingham understood. If Worthy didn’t catch the girl and take his revenge, others would think he was losing his power and come after him. Hughes was already trying to push his way in, to challenge the man’s power. His own men might start doubting his judgement and sharpening their knives. Worthy lived in a world that had no use for mercy or compassion. But understanding that didn’t mean accepting it. The Constable took a drink.
‘I told you, you’re not the only one she’s done this to. There are two of them, we’ve been looking for them.’
‘Well, you haven’t bloody found them yet, have you?’ His voice was sharp as metal.
‘We will.’
‘Not before I do, laddie.’
‘We’ll see about that, Amos.’ He stood up, brushed the fringe from his forehead and left.
Sedgwick was already back at the jail, putting a prisoner into one of the cells, the man shouting in drunken incoherence.
‘This early?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Left over from last night, more like. He was wandering all over Boar Lane.’ The deputy hung the key back on the hook. Ale was good, being drunk once in a while was fine, but he had no time for public stupidity.
‘Did you find anything out at Jackson’s?’
‘A woman used to come to visit one day a week, right enough. Not always the same day.’
‘Very good.’ The Constable settled back in the chair.
‘She visited with her maid, so the landlady thought everything was proper. Thought it was a relative who cared for him.’
‘Even better. And what about a description?’
‘The woman was young and blonde, tiny little thing according to the landlady. Seemed very respectable, always wore an expensive gown. The maid was just a little older, with dark hair. Got to be Sarah, boss.’
‘Yes,’ Nottingham admitted. ‘But we have something else to think about.’
‘Oh?’ He pursed his lips, waiting.
‘That girl from the servant lay. Her name was Nan, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, Nan’s either been very bold or very stupid. She stole ten guineas from Amos Worthy last night.’
Sedgwick’s face broke into a grin and then laughter. ‘Oh, that’s lovely, boss. I could kiss her for that.’
‘You’ll not get a chance if Worthy finds her first,’ the Constable told him seriously. ‘Word’s spread about it. He said he’s going to kill her.’
‘If he does we have him for murder.’
‘And then someone new comes and takes his place, like this Hughes. If he doesn’t find her then people will think he’s lost his power and they’ll be on him like wolves.’ He sighed. ‘He’s the devil we know.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We find her first,’ Nottingham answered simply. ‘That’s our job. She and whoever’s with her can’t be from around here. They’d never have stolen from Worthy otherwise, that’s just tempting trouble.’
‘We haven’t had any luck so far,’ the deputy pointed out.
‘Then we’re going to have to work harder. I want you on it, John.’
‘Why not Rob? It would be a good start for him.’
The Constable considered the idea, then said, ‘No. You know what you’re doing, and Worthy has his men out looking. It’s going to be quite a while yet before Rob’s ready to go up against them. I’ll keep him with me on the murder. Use some of the night men if you need help. You know what to do if you have a problem with Worthy’s men.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Try the inns first. If they have money the chances are they’ll be spending it. A good room, drink, clothes.’
‘Aye, boss.’
Lister returned soon after, horse dung from the road thick on his shoes, a satisfied smile on his face.
‘Third place I tried,’ he said.
‘Definitely Sarah Godlove?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Yes.’ The smile became a wide grin. ‘She used the same stable every time, that one on Cripplegate, just off Boar Lane. The first time she was there the ostler asked her name and she didn’t have the wit to give a false one.’
‘Good work.’ The lad knew what questions to ask and how to ask them, it seemed. ‘Did he mention the maid?’
‘Always with her, he said, but only one horse.’
‘That sounds right enough. And from the description, the pair of them visited Jackson’s lodgings every week.’
‘So what now, boss?’
That, the Constable thought, was a good question. If Jackson and Sarah were lovers, Samuel Godlove became the obvious suspect for the killing. Yet he’d seemed innocent enough when he came to report his wife’s disappearance, and distraught when he learned she was dead. So either he hadn’t done it or he could have had a career on the stage.
‘I think we’ll go to Horsforth on Monday and talk to Mr Godlove again,’ he decided. ‘How are you on a horse?’
The early evening was heavy with the scents of wild flowers as they strolled up the bank of the Aire. Lizzie’s arm was through his and they both kept an eye on James as he ducked and scuttled through the trees or ran too close to the water’s edge.
Bees buzzed, a deliciously lazy, summer sound, and John Sedgwick felt fully content being here with his family. He glanced over at Lizzie, a soft smile on her face, one hand moving to rub at her belly, polishing the life growing in there.
‘Tell me when you’re ready to go back,’ he said.
She looked at him happily. ‘Not yet. This is lovely.’
They’d gone beyond the city and its bustle and buildings, past the upper tenters when the cloth lay stretched on the frames and out into the country. Across the river sheep were bleating as a shepherd walked towards them, crook extended to gather them in. But on this side they might have been the only people in the world.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked her. ‘With the babby, I mean.’ He indicated with a dip of his head.
‘John.’ She stopped, pushed herself on to tiptoe and kissed him lightly on his pox-marked cheek. ‘You can be a soft bugger at times. Everything’s fine. I’d tell you if it wasn’t. Come on, I’ll race you to that oak over there.’ She picked up her skirts and started to run, looking over her shoulder and laughing, the cap tipping back on her head. He began to dash after her. He loved her, but he was damned if a woman was going to beat him at this.
She was breathless by the time her fingers touched the wood, ready to sit and rest in the shade. He took off his coat, folding it into a pillow for her then wandered off hand in hand with James to find flowers they could pick for her.
He needed this feeling of freedom and fresh air. The afternoon had been hours of frustration, full of hints that promised something but evaporated as he approached them. Someone had told him of a couple staying at the New King’s Head and spending freely, but the landlord soon scotched that, and neither the Old King’s Arms nor the Rose and Crown had lodgers who might be them. He’d talked to his touts, but all he’d received for his time was a series of shaken heads.
Whoever they were, the thieves at least had the sense to lie low. If they’d had any brains at all they’d be partway to London by now, he thought, watching as James snapped the stem of a pale gillyflower and added it to the posy in his pudgy hand.
‘Do you think we have enough?’
‘Not yet,’ the boy told him firmly, moving back to the riverbank where the sun reached the plants, stopping to stare at the deep red of some wild roses.
‘Don’t touch those,’ Sedgwick warned. ‘They have thorns on the stems, see?’
‘How do you pick them, then?’ James asked.
‘You don’t. Just leave them like this. They look grand enough as they are, don’t they?’
‘I suppose so,’ the boy agreed reluctantly before running on, his feet raising tiny plumes of dust on the track.
Lizzie was dozing when they returned, but James wasn’t going to let her rest. He pushed gently against her shoulder until she stirred and opened her eyes, then he put the small bouquet in front of her face.
‘We got these for you, mam,’ he announced proudly. Her arms snaked out and pulled the boy down, kissing his forehead and making him giggle.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, and glanced at Sedgwick. ‘Thank you. And thanks to your dad, too.’
He knew she treasured the way James had taken to her as his mother, and that the flowers would end up pressed and kept somehow, a memory for the years to come.
‘Ready to go home?’ he asked. ‘About time me laddo here was in bed.’