‘You didn’t hear anything last night?’
‘Nothing.’
Johnson gave the corpse a last sad look and hurriedly strode off out of sight, the dog close at his heels. The Constable found him around the corner, standing silently, packing tobacco in a clay pipe.
‘She’s nobbut a lass,’ he said mournfully. ‘Who’d do that to someone like her? Leave her like that?’
‘That’s what they pay me to find out,’ Nottingham told him. ‘Have you seen any of her clothing? Anything at all?’
‘Nowt,’ Johnson answered. ‘Just her, like that.’ The Constable could see that the man’s hand was trembling, clutching tight on the brittle pipe stem.
‘Have some people look around,’ he suggested. ‘There might be something.’
‘I will,’ Johnson agreed.
‘Do you have a coroner out here?’ Nottingham said. Outside the city boundary, this was beyond the writ of Edward Brodgen, the Leeds coroner.
‘Usually the master does it, but he’s gone, like I say.’
‘Have his deputy pronounce her dead. Can you find someone to bring her to the jail?’ he asked. ‘I’ll need her there.’
‘I’ll get Elias and his cart. He does all the hauling round here.’
‘Cover her properly,’ Nottingham warned gently. ‘We don’t want all the world staring at her.’
‘Aye,’ Johnson agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Aye.’
‘And if you find anything, bring it to me. Anything at all. It could be important.’
He walked away, leaving the farmer to his thoughts, and mounted the horse for the ride back to Leeds. His spine hurt from the constant, jarring movement, and he looked to the distance, happy to see the outline of the city, the roofs and spires that meant home.
Like it or not, it seemed that looking for the girl’s killer was going to be his job. She obviously wasn’t local to Kirkstall; someone would have known her immediately. Nor did she have the air of the country girl about her. Her skin was too white, too smooth; she’d never spent much time exposed to the sun. When they brought her to the jail he’d look at her hands, but he was willing to wager there would be no calluses.
She came from money. Everything about her said that. Very soon someone would report her missing and then he’d be under pressure to find the murderer. The mayor, now in the last months of his office, would carp and command. Never mind the poor who died from violence, this would come first.
But there was nothing more he could do until he inspected her body properly. He hadn’t paid attention to see if she wore any rings, or had marks on her fingers from them. There would be a few things she could still tell him, even in death.
He sighed, willing the horse back to its stable so he could plant his two feet on the ground. The heat had grown during the morning, and even the small breeze simply stirred the warm air around.
Soon enough, though, Leeds was around him, the noise and press of people, the full, awful summer perfume of the city filling his nostrils. Strangers often found the place unnerving, roaring loud, busy and crowded, but the familiarity of it all comforted him. Smiling, he walked back along Boar Lane, glancing up at the buildings, the inviting scent of ale seeping from the open door of an inn.
Sedgwick was waiting at the jail, the remains of a beef pie on the desk in front of him, his coat thrown across a chair. Nottingham poured a mug of small beer and drank eagerly.
‘Any joy with the thieving servants?’ he asked.
‘No. I’ve told people to look out for the lace handkerchiefs. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do for now. If this lot have any sense they’ll have moved on by now and be trying it somewhere else.’
‘How many criminals have sense?’ Nottingham asked. ‘We’ve got something bigger now. We have a murderer to find.’
‘Oh?’ Sedgwick fixed his stare on the Constable.
‘They called me out to Kirkstall. A girl stabbed at the abbey.’ He poured more beer and drank. ‘From a quick look at her, I’d say she’s from quality.’
Sedgwick made a sour face. He knew what that meant.
‘Someone’s going to be bringing her in later. Once we know a little more I’ll tell His Worship.’ The mayor would need to be informed.
‘If we’re looking for a murderer we could use someone else to help,’ the deputy pointed out.
‘I know.’
Until the spring they’d had someone, a young cutpurse named Josh who’d turned into a promising Constable’s man. But he’d left, and Nottingham couldn’t blame him for going. His girl had lost their baby and died, and Josh had been beaten bloody by a pair of thugs. There’d been precious little to keep him in Leeds.
Since then he’d talked to a few prospects, but there’d been no one to equal the lad they’d lost. He’d had intelligence and energy, he listened well and was used to being invisible, unnoticed. Finding someone that good was hard, but the Constable wasn’t going to settle for less.
‘I need to find the right person,’ he said. ‘You know anyone?’
Sedgwick shook his head. ‘None of the men are up to it. They’ll do what you need if you prod them but nothing more than that.’
Nottingham grinned. ‘Maybe we’ll be lucky and solve this one in a day.’
‘Aye, and maybe someone will have left me a fortune in his will.’ The deputy stood and stretched loudly, his arms extending almost to the ceiling. ‘Do you want me to check the Hall later?’
Every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon undyed cloth was sold at the White Cloth Hall. Like the morning market on Briggate it was held in near silence; only the sound of whispers and footsteps echoed around the stone wings of the building. There was never any trouble, but they went when they could, just to walk around and remind people that the law was watching.
‘Yes, I suppose we’d better put in an appearance,’ Nottingham answered. ‘I’ll wait here for the body.’
Left alone he slipped next door to the White Swan for a fresh jug of ale and a pie from their kitchen. It would be at least an hour before the carter arrived with the corpse and he’d no intention of going hungry while he waited.
The mutton was stringy but the gravy was rich and spicy, soaking deep into the pastry. The ale tasted refreshing, cool from the deep, dark cellar where a stream ran through the earth. He sat back on the bench, resting his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow his family would all be together. Emily would have the day off from her post as a governess in Headingley, and walk into Leeds to be with them. Mary would be cleaning the house now, although it was already spotless, ready for their daughter’s arrival.
The girl seemed to have settled happily into her position. There was a new air of gravity and maturity replacing the wild ways of last autumn when she’d seemed uncontrollable. She loved the two young girls in her care, and responsibility agreed with her, smiles and sharp eyes replacing the bleak silences of winter.
But that season had been a bad time for them all. After Rose had died, slipping away to a wraith in just a week, their lives had simply crumbled. Slowly, painfully they’d managed to look ahead. And now, with Emily gone, he and Mary were gradually becoming used to life alone again, cast back on themselves.
It had been a tenuous easing back to old familiarities and intimacies. They were finding each other again, reminded of the pleasure of each other’s company once more. With the good weather they’d taken to walking together, just as they had when they were younger, letting their grief evaporate in the long, warm evenings.
The grating squeak of a cart turning the corner on to Kirkgate roused him from his thoughts and he glanced through the dust on the window. The man had made good time from Kirkstall. He gulped the last of the ale and rushed into the street.
The carter had stopped in front of the jail. He was a squat, bearded man, dressed in breeches and shirt, an old leather apron bulging over his large stomach, sleeves rolled up to show brawny, tanned arms.
‘Got summat for you,’ he said, gesturing idly at the bundle in the back of the wagon. The girl had been covered with a dirty sheet, but there was no mistaking the fact that a body lay underneath. ‘I’ll help you get her in.’
She was an awkward load, but together they managed to ease her through to the cell the city used as a mortuary.
