‘So Thomas was not to wed. He’d imagined it, and his death was over nothing.’ The peeler looked around him, especially at Lucy.
‘It would be a cold day in hell, Officer, the day I married Thomas. He was the lowest of the low and, personally, I’m glad he’s gone to his grave. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way to Black Moss.’ Lucy felt shaky, but at the same time she was jubilant over the news of the death of Thomas. Her secret, and that of her family, was safe, as Thomas Farrington would be taking it to his grave.
‘So you work for Adam Brooksbank? He was one of the witnesses who gave a statement on behalf of the landlord. I’d never come across him before, but the sergeant down at Keighley had. He told me Brooksbank was an ex-peeler, but lost his way when his wife and unborn child were killed. He seems like a decent man.’ The peeler looked at Lucy as she threw her shawl around her.
‘He is a good man. I’ve no complaints. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.’ Lucy looked around at her family: the oldest of her siblings were not daring to stir, with a peeler’s presence in the kitchen, and her mother and father were shaking their heads at the news.
‘No, you get away. I’ll not keep you any more,’ the peeler said and then turned to Bill. ‘Do you think we could have a look around his home? I understand he rented it from you? Just to see what state of mind he was in when he picked his fight with young Braithwaite.’
Lucy made for the kitchen door and caught her breath, hoping against hope that there was nothing in Thomas’s home to contradict her saying that her marriage to him was simply a fabrication, made up by his unstable mind. She said a silent prayer also that nothing would be found that would incriminate her father; with the babies buried in the lime pit, she hadn’t had time to move them, and had not relished the idea of digging for the poor lost souls or known what to do with them if she did find them. She glanced at the flay-pit workers, who all watched her as she walked across the yard.
‘We all know Thomas was fucked in the head; we all know he was lying. We didn’t believe for one minute that you were going to wed him. Nobody in their right mind would even look at him,’ Ted Briggs shouted to Lucy, as she put her head down and made for the pathway and the sanctuary of Black Moss Farm.
Lucy did not reply. She didn’t know what to say in reply to the curious workers.
Bill and the peeler stood in the bedroom of Thomas Farrington and looked at the possessions and sketches carefully arranged on the set of drawers.
‘These are our Lucy’s buttons and ribbons. She kept saying she was losing things off her clothes, when they had been hung out to dry, but none of us took any notice. The carts and animals push back the washing, and the clothes could easily become snagged. The weird bugger has been collecting things of hers. And look at these pictures he’s drawn – now that’s not normal.’ Bill rubbed his head and looked at the peeler.
‘He’s obviously been obsessed with your daughter and perhaps you should be thankful that he’s died, for there could be no knowing what he’d have done over time.’ The peeler looked around him. ‘How could anybody live like this? He’s got a two-bedroom house to himself, yet it’s like a pigsty inside.’ Both men inspected the room, which was covered in filth and dirt and still had the same curtains hanging at the window that had been there since his mother had died, when Thomas was just in his early days. ‘Now what do I do with his body? Are you willing to pay for him to be buried?’
‘I am not. Seeing this around me, Thomas can rot in hell, because that’s where he looks to have been living for quite a few years. He’s nowt to do with me, and definitely nowt to do with our Lucy.’ Bill spat out a mouthful of saliva and looked at the peeler.
‘Pauper’s burial then, unless he’s left some brass to bury himself with,’ the peeler said.
‘I doubt you’ll find a farthing. He spent all his money at The Fleece and never had two pennies to rub together. I’ve been bloody blind. All I saw was how hard Thomas worked, but now I know differently; he was a filthy, weird bugger who could have harmed my lass. As I say, he can rot in hell, as far as our family is concerned.’ Bill shook his head at the state of Thomas’s home, along with the state of his mind.
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll have a quick look round – see if I can find anything that might lead us to a family member who might help with his funeral costs, or any savings that he might have stashed away.’ The policeman looked around him again, not wanting to stay too long in the foul-smelling place. How anybody could make their home on Providence Row, he didn’t know, but this house was worse than anything he had ever seen. He could see that it was infested with vermin, and that Thomas Farrington had been anything but houseproud.
‘Aye, do what you want. I’ve never known him to have visitors, nor known of
