‘Because I don’t want you coming home one day and announcing you’re betrothed to the girl, that’s all,’ he said, his voice firm as iron.
Rob bristled. ‘Why not? I love her, so does Mother — you just said that you like her yourself.’
Lister shook his head as if his son was stupid.
‘Liking’s fine, loving’s fine, I suppose,’ he said, ‘but she’s not a girl for you to marry.’
‘I thought you respected Mr Nottingham. You recommended me to him for a job.’
‘He’s a good enough Constable,’ Lister acknowledged. ‘And he can be fine company at times. But he’s not the right class socially.’ All the pleasantry had gone from his voice. ‘Tell me, what do you know about your Constable? About his past, I mean.’
‘Nothing, really,’ Rob admitted. ‘I’ve never felt the need. I know there was money when he was young, but it went and he lived as best he could.’
‘His father was a wool merchant — quite middling, the wife brought all the money to the marriage,’ his father explained. ‘He discovered she was having an affair and threw her and their son out. She had to make her living as a whore while the lad begged and stole.’
Rob stayed silent, staring at his father. He’d heard hints of the story, nothing more. But the Richard Nottingham he knew was the Constable, an excellent one, too, a man he admired, that he’d learned from.
‘I don’t see how that affects Emily,’ he said, concentrating on keeping his voice under control.
Lister snorted. ‘I’d hoped you’d managed to acquire a bit of common sense by now, Robert. We’re a respectable family. We have a long line, we have some money, we’re not scrabbling in the dirt for our pennies. We have a reputation. I won’t have my son marrying the granddaughter of a whore.’
‘So the Constable’s daughter isn’t good enough for your son?’
‘No, she’s not,’ Lister answered sharply. ‘You see how her father dresses; the man might as well be wearing rags. And the girl? She works, she teaches.’
‘What are you saying I should do?’ Rob asked. Anger was growing inside him, but he kept it carefully tamped down, his fists clenched tight at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
‘Drop her. Or keep on walking out with her if you want. Bed the bitch if you can, if she’s slut enough. I don’t really care.’ He turned his gaze on his son. ‘But I won’t have you marrying her. Your mother and I will find you a suitable wife.’
Rob pushed himself away from the door frame. ‘Is that advice or a demand?’
‘It’s whatever you want to make of it,’ Lister told him. ‘But you’d do well to remember that there are consequences for every action. I want a good match for you. Take a little time and think about that.’
‘Goodnight, father,’ he said coldly and ran up the next flight of stairs to his bedroom.
Six
An early mist had come down as the Constable walked into Leeds, giving a cobweb light to the land. Somewhere off in the trees crows were cawing and he could hear the soft smack of hooves on the earth, but he couldn’t see them. Once the sun rose it would all burn away and bring another bright spring day, but for now he might have been alone in the world with its soft, beautiful chill.
Three weeks, he thought. Someone must have seen Lucy Wendell in that time. She’d need to eat and drink, she’d want somewhere to sleep. If she’d had any money at all it would have been precious little, not enough to keep her for all that time.
He was still brooding when the deputy arrived at the jail, rubbing the sleep from his face. He sat on the bench, stretching out his long legs.
‘Bad night?’
‘Isabell kept waking and I don’t know what I’m going to do about James.’ He chuckled drily and shook his head. ‘Aye, other than that it was fine.’
‘Have you seen Lucy’s brother yet?’
‘Yesterday. He claims he hadn’t seen her.’
Nottingham waited.
‘But?’ he asked.
The deputy shrugged. ‘There’s something about him I don’t like. He said he’d go searching for her, keep it in the family. From the look of him, he spends most of his money on drink and beats his girl.’
‘Plenty of men do that,’ the Constable countered.
‘I know.’ Sedgwick yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I just had the feeling he wasn’t telling me the full truth.’
‘You didn’t tell him she was dead?’
‘No.’ Sedgwick poured himself a mug of small beer. ‘Are you even sure it’s her, boss? There was so little left, how can you tell?’
‘It’s her, John,’ he said. ‘I’m certain. That had to be a harelip.’ He pushed the fringe off his forehead. ‘All it means is we still don’t know anything. I’m going to ask at the inns. She might have gone looking for work after Cates dismissed her. Someone took a lot of trouble to try and make her disappear. If it hadn’t been for pure luck we’d never even have known she’d lived, let alone that she was dead. She’d just have been ashes. We need to find whoever could do that.’
‘Have you thought more about asking around the whores?’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Nottingham said with a nod. ‘Why don’t you do that?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Was there anything else yesterday?’
‘A body from the river. Scudamore Mitchell, you remember him?’
‘Is he the carpenter whose work kept falling apart?’
‘That’s the one. His friends said he’d been drinking Saturday night, probably fell in. And there was another who was cleaning his fowling piece and blew off his foot.’
‘Nothing suspicious?’
The deputy shook his head, no longer surprised by the things people did. ‘No, just stupid. He might live, if he’s lucky.’
The Constable stood. ‘Write them up,’ he said. ‘I’m going to start talking to the innkeepers. Lucy didn’t just vanish for three weeks.’
He began at the top of Briggate, at the Rose and Crown. People were already hunched over the benches, breaking their fast with bread and cheese and ale. Martin, the owner, wiped his hands on his leather apron and tucked money away in the pocket of his long waistcoat. His wife would be in one of the outbuildings starting a new draught to brew while their daughters worked in the kitchen, preparing the vegetable stew for dinner.
‘You’ll have something to drink?’ He began to reach for a mug. ‘How can I help you, Constable?’
‘Nothing for me today,’ Nottingham said pleasantly. ‘Just a few questions. Do you have many seeking work here?’
‘A few,’ Martin replied with a laugh. ‘Got to be careful who you take on in a place like this or they’ll be tipping the profits down their gullets.’
‘I’m looking for a girl who might have asked about becoming a servant.’
‘Oh aye?’ He folded his arms. ‘Never a shortage of those. There’s always too many lasses looking for work.’ He winked. ‘And some reckon they can make some brass on the side from the men.’
‘You’d remember this girl. She had a harelip.’
The man grimaced and the Constable noticed the small hand movement he made to ward off evil. Harelips were bad luck, cursed by God, their words twisted, their looks ugly. People shunned them lest their own babes became the same way.
‘Not had one like that here,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t have hired her, anyway. She’d drive business away.’
The Constable made his way down the street, stopping at all the inns to ask and receiving the same answer everywhere. She’d never sought employment at them and none would have taken her on. By the time he reached the Talbot he was downcast; the search seemed fruitless, but he’d go in and ask anyway.
With its cockfighting pit and gambling, the Talbot was a place he hated. The men were called there two or three times a week to quell fights or arrest a pickpocket. He’d have closed the inn if he’d had the power. As he entered he felt the conversation hush. The landlord spat on the stone floor and turned away to examine the spigot on a cask. Nottingham walked up to the serving trestle and waited.