you’re never around when she loses her temper. I saw it happen once at an assembly. Everyone was getting as far away from her as possible. The serving girls were in tears. It was very ugly.’ He paused. ‘Is any of this useful?’
‘Everything’s useful at the moment,’ the Constable answered with a small smile. ‘It’s all far outside my circle. And outside the city. I’m impressed you know so much.’
Lister bowed his head. ‘You never know when something will come in useful,’ he explained. ‘It must be the same for you.’
‘More or less,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘Still, if you ever want a change of employment, I can use someone who gathers this much information.’
The man patted his paunch contentedly. ‘Not for me. I like the quiet life. All I have to worry about is people threatening legal actions against me.’ He cocked his head. ‘Are you really looking for someone?’
‘I am.’ This murder had shown him how tightly they were stretched.
‘I should send my oldest boy down to see you, then.’
‘You don’t want him here?’
‘I’d love to have him here,’ Lister complained. ‘He could take it all over in time. But it doesn’t interest him.’
‘What does?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted sadly. ‘I’m not sure he does, come to that.’
‘Working for me means long hours. The pay is poor, too.’
Lister chuckled. ‘The money’s poor for everything in Leeds, unless you’re in cloth.’ His face turned serious. ‘He’s a good lad, Mr Nottingham. Reads and writes well, a good thinker, does what he’s told — unless it’s me telling him, of course,’ he added ruefully.
‘How old is he?’
‘Almost eighteen. He was an apprentice last year, but only lasted three months.’ He frowned. ‘That was good money poured away for nothing. Then I tried him here and he didn’t care for it. His mother doesn’t know what to do with him and neither do I.’
‘Send him to see me if he’s interested,’ the Constable said. He couldn’t be any worse than some of the people who’d come hoping for the job.
‘And just imagine,’ Lister added, eyes twinkling, ‘he’d have access to all his father’s gossip.’
Nottingham laughed and stood up. ‘Tell him to come to the jail.’
‘I’ll be printing something about Sarah Godlove’s killing. Murder most cruel.’
The Constable turned and stared. ‘Murder’s never anything else, Mr Lister.’
Seven
Sedgwick never felt comfortable away from the city. Born and raised in Leeds, the quiet of the countryside was eerie to him. It took an hour of steady striding out to reach Roundhay village, a collection of ten cottages where the road made a turn. At least the Taylors wouldn’t be hard to find.
A woman was working in the garden of the first house, down on her hands and knees, sleeves rolled up high as she pulled scrubby weeds away from carrot tops. To the side he could see mounds for the potatoes, and peas strung against the wall. She hadn’t heard him approach, and jerked her head up sharply as he coughed.
‘Morning,’ he said with an easy smile.
‘Morning,’ she replied warily, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked to be in her late forties, hair tucked tidily beneath a cap. The heat had put a shine on her skin and he waited as she wiped her forearm across her forehead.
‘You’ll have a good crop this year,’ Sedgwick said affably.
‘Hope so. The more we grow, the less we buy.’ The woman stared at him, then asked, ‘Can I do owt for you?’
‘I’m looking for the Taylors.’
She stood, pushing herself up with strong arms then smoothing down the dress. Her knuckles were red from work, and he saw that two of the fingers on her right hand were swollen and misshapen.
‘I’m Catherine Taylor,’ she told him, walking to the drystone wall that separated them. ‘What do you need?’ There was deep suspicion in her voice.
‘I’m John Sedgwick. I’m the deputy Constable of Leeds.’
‘Oh aye, and what brings you out here to see me, then? My husband’s out in the fields over yon.’ She tilted her head to the west. ‘Her from the alehouse said a Constable had been out round here, too.’
‘It’s about your daughter. Anne.’
‘Our Annie?’ Taylor looked confused, then smiled. ‘Nay, love, but you’ve got that wrong. She’s been with Sarah Godlove — Gibton as was — for nigh on ten year now.’
‘I know,’ he said, watching as the edges of fear began to show in her face. ‘Can we talk away from the road?’
After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. ‘Aye, come on in. I’ve a fresh stoup of ale if you’re thirsty.’
‘I could do with that,’ Sedgwick admitted. ‘It’s a long walk out here when it’s warm.’
He followed her into the house. There was a stool and two wooden chairs on the flagstones, an old, discoloured rug made from scraps of fabric between them, in front of the empty hearth. A table sat up against a wall, its wooden top scrubbed, a bowl of berries sitting on top under the window.
She brought him a wooden mug and he took a drink, feeling the liquid lubricate his dry throat.
‘It’s good, is that,’ he said, taking another gulp.
Catherine Taylor sat down and gestured to the other seat. ‘Now, what’s all this about our Annie, then?’
‘It’s also about Mrs Godlove,’ he began, emptying the cup and placing it on the floor.
‘She married that rich man from Horsforth way. Wanted to keep Annie with her. And her parents got all that money not long before, too.’
He could tell she was talking just to delay the news. She urgently wanted to hear it and yet it terrified her.
‘Sarah Godlove’s dead,’ he told her. ‘Someone murdered her last Saturday.’
‘What?’ Her hand came up to her mouth.
‘She was coming over to Roundhay, but she never arrived. She had Anne with her, but no one’s seen your daughter since.’
‘Annie?’ She didn’t understand. ‘Annie?’
‘Has she been here lately, Mrs Taylor? Have you seen her?’
The woman shook her head dumbly, in shock.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sedgwick said. ‘We don’t know where she is and we need to find her. She must know what happened to her mistress.’
‘She’s been with that Sarah since she was fourteen. She loves her. You’re not saying she killed her?’
‘No.’ Sedgwick smiled kindly. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Do you think she’s dead?’ Catherine asked bluntly.
‘We don’t know,’ was the best he could offer her. And it was true, he thought. They really did have no idea at all. ‘I was hoping she’d come here.’
‘No.’ There was emptiness in her eyes.
‘When did you see her last?’
‘A month ago, mebbe? Aye, four week ago last Saturday. She stayed over and we went to church together.’
‘The servants at Godlove’s told me that Sarah and your daughter would go off one day each week. Do you know where they went?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. She doesn’t say much about what they do, or her duties or owt like that.’ She stopped herself suddenly, as if suddenly realizing all those days could now be past, a sorrowful, vanished history. ‘Please, tell me, do you think Annie’s dead?’
‘I really don’t know,’ he answered her honestly. ‘But if she comes here, we need to talk to her.’