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.’
Twelve
A few clouds were drifting up over the horizon, offering the faint hope of a shower later in the day. The farmers would be happy, Nottingham thought. After so long without water they’d welcome rain on the crops before they wilted in the field.
He kept the horse trotting, Lister beside him on another animal. It was a comfortable pace, one that would see them there soon enough but without so many of the aches riding usually brought.
‘The work hasn’t been the easiest so far, Rob,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. The lad was still in his old suit, although he wore a pair of good leather riding boots, the Constable noticed, polished to a glow, and he sat in the saddle as if he’d done it all his life.
‘I’m enjoying it,’ he replied with enthusiasm. ‘It’s certainly not what I expected.’
Nottingham laughed. ‘And what did you expect?’
‘That I’d be spending all my time dealing with drunks and whores.’
‘You’ll have more than your share of those, don’t worry,’ the Constable advised. ‘They take up enough of our time, but it’s usually the night men who arrest them. Don’t forget theft, too.’
‘And murder?’
‘Murder’s rare, thank God.’ Nottingham turned serious. ‘When it does happen, it’s usually lovers or a fight between drunks. Easy enough to solve.’
‘Is it?’
‘You’ll learn, lad.’
They took the bridge over the Aire close to Kirkstall forge and began the long climb up the hill.
‘Sarah was found at the abbey, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not too far from Horsforth,’ Lister speculated, and Nottingham agreed.
‘I know, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Just remember that. You’ve got to keep an open mind. Most of this job is just watching and listening.’
‘Doesn’t it worry you, boss?’
‘What?’ he wondered.
‘Talking to someone like Mr Godlove. He’s one of the richest men around here, that’s what my father says, anyway.’
The Constable smiled.
‘It comes with the job. High-born, low-born, paupers and wealthy, it doesn’t matter; any of them can be innocent or guilty. We talk to them all. And at bottom they’re all just human.’
‘And if they commit a crime?’
Nottingham looked at him. ‘Then we arrest them. We’re paid to take care of crime, whoever’s responsible. Always remember that.’
Just as Sedgwick had described, Godlove owned a big house, probably once a manor and added to over the generations until it had sprawled out, becoming grand and imposing. It stood back from the road, down a long, landscaped drive, but it was apparent that this was a working farm, not a showpiece estate. The doors to the barns
