area.
‘Catherine Gibton?’ she said in surprise. ‘Why would you want to know about her?’
‘You know I work for the Constable now?’ he asked her confidentially, and when she nodded he continued. ‘It has to be secret. That’s all I can tell you.’ He knew her well enough to be certain she’d take the bait and he was right. In less that half an hour he’d learned everything he might want to know about Lady Gibton, although he was certain much of it was wild gossip, slander and outright lies.
But it was enough to establish that Catherine Gibton was a woman of delicate nerves, given to deep, dark moods and violent outbursts. She took every slight, real or imagined, to heart and never let any of them fall away.
She could lock herself away for days at a time when the black dog came, refusing food and raging loud and long into the night. If Lucy Simpson was to be believed, she’d become even worse in recent years; her madness could strike with little warning. It had reached the point where the baron and his wife attended fewer and fewer affairs. The title meant that the invitations still arrived, but so often they were refused.
It was a curious portrait Matthew’s mother had painted, Rob thought as he walked up Briggate, the afternoon sun pleasingly warm on his back. The woman sounded like a terrible creature, shrill, fearsome and impossible to please, and in a strange way he felt sorry for the husband who had to live with it all.
He crossed the Head Row and passed St John’s church, strolling out into Town End. This was where many of the merchants had chosen to build their large new houses, the brash statements of wealth that showed they could afford the cleaner air outside the city. The grammar school stood apart from everything in a field, and the whole area was a curious mix of country and town.
Virginia Mapperly’s cottage was definitely part of the country. Old and run down, it must have stood there for generations, he decided, tucked away beyond the grandeur of the new mansions. He knocked politely on the door and waited, pulling down on his coat and waistcoat and checking that his stock was well tied. A good impression could count for a great deal.
The woman who eventually answered stood straight-backed, dressed in a silk gown that was long out of fashion but beautifully kept. Her right hand, mottled with the brown spots of age, rested on a polished stick and she regarded him with a long, inquisitive gaze.
‘I don’t know you,’ she said in a firm voice.
‘No, ma’am,’ he agreed. ‘I’m Robert, James Lister’s son. He suggested I come to you.’
‘I see,’ she replied slowly, and he felt she was assessing him. Her hair was carefully brushed, powder on her face; she was elegant, looking as if she might be about to leave for an important engagement. Finally she gave a sharp nod and said, ‘Don’t dawdle on the doorstep then, young man, you’d better come in.’
She still sat the way her governess must have taught her, rigid and upright on the polished wooden chair, her back rod straight. Across from her, taking the low stool she offered, he felt like a child.
‘I knew your grandmother well,’ she told him. ‘She died before your time, I think?’
‘Yes.’
‘A wonderful woman, and hard pressed to keep that hellion who’s your father in check,’ she told him with a secretive smile. ‘Did you know he was always in trouble? The masters at school would beat him, then his father would beat him because the masters had been forced to.’
Lister laughed. It was hard to imagine his father that way, rebellious and rabble-rousing.
‘He said you knew Lady Gibton when she was young.’
‘So that’s why you’re here.’ She looked at him again, more curiously this time. ‘And why do you want to know about her, I wonder?’
‘I work for the Constable,’ he explained, watching her eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘We do need to know about her, and I’ll keep all your confidences, but I must also ask that you don’t say anything to anyone else.’
‘And how did you come to work for Mr Nottingham, young man?’ she asked.
‘He was looking for someone, and I needed a job.’ He began to shrug then stopped, remaining on his best behaviour.
‘His father was a merchant here, you know.’
‘Really?’ He didn’t know that. This was a day for revelations, he thought.
‘It’s old business now,’ she said dismissively. ‘If he wants to tell you, I’m sure he will. Or you can always ask your father.’
‘I’ll do that.’
She looked at him, studying him closely, then seemed to come to a decision.
‘So, Catherine Hall. That was her maiden name,’ she explained. ‘What do you want to know about her?’
‘Anything you can tell me.’
‘Well, Master Lister, pour me a glass from that decanter and I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not a great deal, I warn you.’
He took her some of the deep-red wine, watched as she sipped and set the crystal down delicately on a table. Her furniture, like everything in the room, was carefully chosen, and none of it cheap. She was a woman who’d had some money, he guessed, and who chose to keep the standards she’d always known even if her income was much lower now.
‘She was the prettiest child I ever saw,’ Mrs Mapperly began, smiling briefly at the memory. ‘And very well behaved when she was little. Her father was a butcher, you know. He had a shop on the Shambles and did well for himself.’
‘Is the family still there?’
She put a finger to her lips and continued.
‘Everything was fine until Catherine was seven. Was it seven or eight? I forget after all this time. Anyway, she was outside her family’s shop on Briggate and a cart toppled as it went by. She was trapped underneath. They managed to get her out and she seemed well enough, just bad bruises and scrapes, that kind of thing.’ She paused to take another sip of the wine and stared into the liquid for a long time before picking up the tale. ‘My guess is that she hit her head and something happened to her mind, though. After that this lovely girl developed an evil temper. She’d been so placid before, a kind, sweet thing to match her looks, but when she drew into her mood she started screaming and howling if anyone tried to stop her doing things. God knows her father tried to beat some sense into her, but that didn’t work.’ She took another small drink, swirling the glass lightly and watching the light refract off the wine. ‘Her temper improved as she grew older, but she’d still fly into rages and break things. I think people forgave her because she’d turned into such a beautiful girl. People will tolerate a lot in beauty, it seems,’ she said reflectively. ‘All the young men wanted to marry her, but they weren’t good enough for her mother. After all, the family had made a little money in trade, and with Catherine’s face she thought she could aim high. Have you met Lord Gibton?’
‘No, ma’am,’ Rob replied.
‘He was a charming young man back then. I suppose he had to be since the family had lost most of its wealth. Anyway, he believed he was getting a prize in Catherine, and her mother did everything but throw the girl at him so she’d have a title. I suspect the pair of them have spent all the years since then regretting it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was so smitten with her looks that he never saw what was beneath them, and she discovered he wasn’t being modest and that the Gibton family fortunes really were as badly off as he claimed. I suppose she must have inherited something when her parents died, but most of it went to her older brother.’
‘Does he still live in Leeds?’
‘No. He moved on as soon as he could. I can’t blame him, really. He worked hard, never gave any trouble, and saw his sister receive all the attention. He was always going to be in her shadow here. He finished his apprentice as a butcher then went to set up shop in Sheffield.’
‘How did you know the Halls, Mrs Mapperly?’ Lister asked.
She finished the glass of wine and set it down.
‘We were neighbours. My husband was a butcher, too. So I saw Catherine grow up. There were plenty of nights she’d keep us awake as she shouted and screamed. Poor girl,’ she said with real sympathy.
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Oh, not for many years now.’ She let out a long, slow breath. ‘I suppose it would be not long after her daughter was born. She brought the baby to visit her parents, not that she came too often, mind you, once she was
