Hercules nodded, his mouth close to the nag’s ear, words coming out as quiet as breaths.
‘He’s looking for the girl who did it. So am I.’
The man turned. He had a face that had aged without grace, carrying all the deep wrinkles of life, his beard thick and white, reaching down on to his chest, his eyes a deep, penetrating blue.
‘I heard them talking,’ he said. ‘Her and her man. They were here after it.’
‘Did they stay here?’
‘Saved their brass. A few drinks and they were off.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘No. Never said that I heard.’
‘What did they look like?’
‘Young ’uns, the pair of them.’ He searched his memory for a moment. ‘She had dark hair, I know that. Skinny as a twig, too. A clever face. She was in charge.’
‘And him?’
‘Dark hair, too. Not tall, but he was broad. Scars on his hands like he’d done a lot of fighting. He was older than her, mebbe twenty.’ He stopped. ‘Brother and sister, mebbe? They had that look about them, that and the way they talked.’
‘So how did you know who they were?’
Hercules took something from the pocket of his filthy, disintegrating coat and fed it to the grateful horse.
‘She were boasting about it, wan’t she? Said how easy it had been to fool the old man. Lower her bodice a bit, show some leg.’
‘So they didn’t know who he was?’
‘No.’
‘Anything else useful?’ Nottingham asked.
‘He called her Nan and she called him Tom. And they didn’t sound like they were from Leeds.’
‘Where, then?’
‘Yorkshire, don’t know where. That’s all.’
The Constable left a couple of coins on the floor of the stall and walked away, leaving the man and the horse peacefully together.
Brother and sister, he thought. It made sense; at least they’d trust each other. And if they weren’t from Leeds they probably wouldn’t have known who Worthy was. They might not even know he was pursuing them or what to expect if he found them.
Rob Lister found Henry Hill lounging in Garraway’s coffee house on the Head Row. From the scatter of pages on the table, he’d been leafing through the latest edition of the
The son of a country landowner, Hill had never worked. Instead, he spent his time at the house the family owned in the city, an old, rambling place near the bottom of Kirkgate, and he gambled, drank and whored as the mood took him. He was charming and funny, but for all his louche manner and London-cut clothes, he kept a clear eye and keen intelligence. He’d known Will Jackson as well as anyone.
‘Hello, Henry.’ Lister sat on the bench opposite him.
‘Rob.’ Hill greeted him with his usual lazy smile. ‘People are saying you’ve become a working man.’
‘I have.’
‘And for the Constable?’
‘Yes.’
Hill sat back and raised his eyebrows.‘That’s hardly something I’d have expected from you.’
Rob grinned. ‘Not enough cachet, you mean?’
‘Too much work, more like.’
The pair of them laughed and Hill signalled for two dishes of coffee. One day, Lister thought, Henry might do something. He had abilities, if he ever chose to use them; he was an incisive writer and had a sharp mathematical mind. But if it happened it would be in his own time; the man was in no hurry, enjoying his freedom and his surfeit of money.
‘That was terrible about Will,’ he said.
Hill shook his head.‘I can’t believe he did that. I’ve been trying to make sense of it.’ He looked up at Rob. ‘Do you know why?’
‘A woman,’ Lister told him.
‘Are you sure?’ Hill asked in surprise. ‘It must have been a great deal more serious than he ever showed, then.’
‘You knew about her?’
Hill pursed his lips. ‘Not really. You know what Will could be like, he played his cards close and never said too much. He did drop a few hints when he was in his cups, though.’
‘Oh?’
He drank and wiped the corners of his mouth fastidiously with a cloth napkin before looking curiously at Rob. ‘I have the strange feeling this conversation isn’t just social.’
‘It’s not,’ Lister admitted easily and lifted the dish to taste the steaming, bitter coffee.
Hill seemed amused. ‘Well, I never imagined I’d be talking to a Constable’s man. Why are you interested in Will, anyway? It hardly seems to be anything to do with the law if he killed himself.’
Rob tried to make his words light. Whatever he said wouldn’t be convincing. ‘Loose ends, if you like. What did he tell you about the girl?’
‘Oh, next to nothing, really.’ He waved his hand idly in the air. ‘Is she married? I thought she must be since he’d say so little about her.’
Lister didn’t respond and finally Hill gave up with a small, gracious bow.
‘He told me they were lovers. But the last time he was drunk he was talking about how things might change in the future.’
‘Change?’ Rob asked sharply.
‘I don’t know, he was very secretive about it. He didn’t say any more than that.’
‘When was this?’
Hill thought. ‘The Wednesday before he killed himself??’ he wondered. ‘Yes, it must have been. I ran into him on my way home from the cockfight at the Talbot and we went on to the White Swan.’
‘And you didn’t see him after that?’
‘No. I went up to visit dear papa for a few days to keep in his good graces.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll miss him, you know. Will was a good friend to me over the years.’
‘I know,’ Rob agreed quietly.
‘Come out with me sometime soon,’ Hill suggested with a wan smile. ‘When you find some better clothes and you’re not asking questions.’
‘I will,’ Lister promised.
He strolled down to the Calls with a faint feeling of satisfaction, ignoring the thick, rancid smells of ordure from the tannery. Talking to Henry was the first thing he’d handled himself and he believed it had gone well. He’d asked his questions and he’d learned a little more about Will.
He was certain he could enjoy this work. So far he’d done so much more than he could ever have imagined in his life. He was seeing a Leeds he’d never known, never even guessed at, as if someone had drawn a whole new city over the one that was familiar to him. But however gruesome it might be, all this was giving him the sense of being alive. It made him think and that was more than any job in the past had done.
Far more than that, he liked the Constable, and John, too. They weren’t cowed by wealth or title, and that was something to admire. He believed he could learn from them. His father might imagine he’d leave after a week, as he’d done in so many other situations, but he was sure he’d stay a great deal longer if he could satisf?y the boss.
At the cloth finishers he noted that the name of Jackson on the sign had already been crudely painted out. He didn’t have to wait long for Tunstall to appear, looking anxious and harassed.
‘I wish you people would stop coming here,’ he complained. ‘First it was that what’s his name, the tall one, and now you. It’s bad for business when people see the law arriving.’
