frontages and deep, lush gardens. In the distance lay the Quaker Meeting house and burial place, a small, simple structure of plain stone.
Nottingham knew a few Quakers, all of them honest, sober men. He didn’t understand their faith but he admired them for it. The last traces of his own belief had died in February with his older daughter. He still attended church, but the words he heard there had become nothing more than a familiar form that had lost all its meaning. Mary felt the same, he knew. How could anyone offer his soul to a God who’d rip his family apart for no reason?
He began to retrace his steps and had just reached Leeds Bridge when the first thunder came, its echo reverberating like doom along the valley. As if in answer, the first large drops of rain arrived, followed by the swift, startling crackle of lightning. The Constable stopped and raised his head, letting the water land on his face.
While others ran for shelter he stayed still, the coolness washing his skin, the comfort of the rain reaching his heart. He could feel the downpour soaking through his coat, but it didn’t matter. Already the air seemed fresher, the sultriness vanishing.
By the time he reached the jail the heavy shower had passed, the air clear, dust damped down on the streets. The sun was out again but the overbearing heat had broken. Lister and the deputy were already there, deep in discussion over a mug of ale.
‘Get caught in it again, did you, boss?’ Sedgwick asked with a grin.
‘Stayed out in it,’ he replied, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘It felt good after a morning in the saddle. Now, anything more on these thieves?’
‘They’re not staying at any of the inns,’ Lister told him. ‘But,’ he added, ‘a couple who could well be them have been seen drinking at a couple of alehouses and in the gin shop down on Call Lane.’
‘When did someone last think they saw them?’
‘Night before last,’ the deputy answered. ‘So it looks as if they’re still here. They’ve probably found a room in one of the courts.’
Nottingham rubbed his chin against the back of his hand, feeling the rasp of stubble against his skin.
‘Then it’s only a matter of time until Worthy finds them. He’s put the word out and there’ll be plenty eager to get into his good graces with a quiet word. This pair must be stupid. Either that or they still don’t know he’s looking. Or they’re planning something else here.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Is there any pattern to the places this couple might have been?’
‘Mostly down towards the river, the Calls, Call Lane, up by Currie Entry. All this side of Briggate, though.’
‘Right. John, take some of the men and start asking in the courts down there. Find the old women who sleep with their eyes open, they know everything that’s going on. See if you can track these two down. I want them before Worthy can get his hands on them.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘What about me?’ Lister asked.
‘I’ve got something else for you, Rob. I need to find out more about Baron Gibton’s wife. Do you know anyone in those social circles?’
‘Not really,’ he said doubtfully. ‘But I suppose my father would. Do you want me to ask him?’
‘Yes, as long as you tell him that none of this can appear in the Mercury.’
‘I will,’ Rob agreed readily. ‘What do you want me to ask these people?’
‘I’ve been hearing some interesting things.’ He recounted what he’d been told that morning. ‘I want to find out just how mad she really is. I’ve never heard of anyone dismissing the servants for a few days before.’
‘And if anyone’s reluctant to say?’
Nottingham cocked an eyebrow. ‘That says a lot in itself, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so,’ Rob agreed.
‘There’s as much in what people don’t say as in the words that come out of their mouths,’ the Constable advised him. ‘Remember that. I told you that listening well is a big part of what we do. Listening for what they don’t say is just as important.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Lister grinned. ‘Can you tell me something?’
‘Go on.’
‘Why do you want me doing this? I could have been out with Mr Sedgwick, helping to chase down those thieves.’
Nottingham smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Because you’re more useful to me this way. Being your father’s son will get you in to see the type of people who know the Gibtons, and they’ll be more likely to talk to you than to me. Does that make sense?’
Lister nodded, doubt still in his eyes.
‘Look, we all have our strengths,’ the Constable explained. ‘We just need to make the most of them. John can get more out of those women in the courts in five minutes than I could in a month. You’ll be better at this. It makes sense to do what we do best.’
Rob knew where he’d find his father. The man spent far more time at the Mercury office than he did in his own home. He was at his desk, scratching away quickly with his quill, hair unkempt, the cuffs of his old, mended shirt black from ink. He never so much as glanced up when the door opened.
Lister flopped down in a chair and waited. He wouldn’t receive any attention until his father had his thought written down satisfactorily. Finally the older man lifted his head. He started to smile then switched to a look of concern.
‘Don’t worry, they haven’t got rid of me yet,’ Rob grinned. ‘I’m here on business.’
‘Well, I’m pleased to hear that,’ James Lister said with relief. ‘You’ve bounced from job to job so much-’
‘I plan on staying with this one, father. It’s interesting. The Constable and Mr Sedgwick have a great deal to teach me.’
The older man raised his eyebrows. ‘If you want to know about crime, I suppose they do,’ he said archly. ‘Now why has Mr Nottingham sent you here?’
‘He wants me to talk to some people who know Lady Gibton, to see if she’s as mad as she seems. And that’s not for the paper,’ he added quickly.
His father pursed his lips in distaste. ‘Of all people, Robert, you should know I can keep a confidence as well as anyone.’
‘When it suits you,’ Rob laughed.
The older man shook his head in a sly grin. ‘You know Matthew Simpson, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’ The pair were often in the inns together.
‘Talk to his parents. They’ve dined with the Gibtons quite a few times and they might be able to tell you a few things. And if you catch Lucy Simpson on her own and charm her a bit she’ll give you all the gossip you can stand.’
‘That’s a start,’ Rob said. ‘Is there anyone else?’
James Lister sat back, steepling his fingers over his ample belly.
‘Try old Mrs Mapperly, if you can get any sense out of her,’ he said finally. ‘She lives out past Town End in one of those small cottages. If I remember rightly she knew Catherine Gibton’s family; I can’t recall their name just now.’
Rob stood. ‘Thank you.’
‘So you really do like this work?’ his father asked doubtfully.
‘I do. It’s not like anything else. I think I’ve learned more about Leeds in the last few days than I ever knew before.’
‘Just be careful,’ his father warned. ‘There are things worth knowing and things best left alone.’
‘Don’t worry, father, I’ll be fine.’
The Simpsons lived on Kirkgate, between the jail and the church, just three doors from where Ralph Thoresby had kept his museum, empty now since his death but still famous in Leeds.
Matthew was off attending to his work as a lawyer, but his mother was happy to entertain one of his friends. Lucy Simpson was a smiling, guileless woman, one who didn’t have enough to occupy her time, Lister guessed. She dressed smartly in all the fashions fresh from London, doing everything she could to hide her age, pulling her stays a little tighter each year, attending all the assemblies and concerts, and dining in the houses of friends all across the
