‘Aye, that’s a good idea. Always one to collect gossip, is Bessie. Thank you, Joe. Just make sure you watch yourself.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, Mr Sedgwick.’
Back outside, the deputy looked at Lister. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure. What does he do?’ Rob wondered.
‘Joe? He handles stolen goods, a lot of them. I know he looks like a molly, him and that servant, but don’t be fooled. He’s a tough man under it all.’
‘Who’s Bessie Hardcastle?’
‘An abbess,’ Sedgwick said, and grinned at Lister’s confusion. ‘A bawd, she runs a brothel. Been doing it since God was a lad. Half the time I think she hears about things before they happen. I should have thought of her before. It’ll still be early for her, mind. The lark’s her nightingale.’
The house stood on Vicar Lane, just down from the corner of the Head Row. It was a nondescript place, with nothing to mark it out, fitting tidily between its neighbours. The deputy knocked lightly on the door and stood back, staring at the upper storeys where shutters were closed tightly behind the glass.
Finally the maid answered, a girl who would have looked demure except for the saucy twinkle in her eyes. She showed them through to a parlour hung with the fug of old smoke and stale beer.
‘Are they all like this?’ Lister asked, gazing around.
‘All what?’
‘Brothels.’
‘You mean you’ve never been in one?’
‘No,’ Rob admitted with a deep blush.
Sedgwick laughed. ‘Well, there’s all sorts. This one’s respectable, looks like any other house and there’s plenty of decorum.’ He indicated the good furniture and the painting hung over the mantle. ‘This is where the merchants and the men from the Corporation come. It seems like home. They feel comfortable here.’
Before he could say more a woman bustled into the room, still adjusting a cap over her hair. She was in her forties, hard hawk-faced, her skin still puff?y from sleep.
‘The girl said it was you, Mr Sedgwick. What can I do for you so early?’
‘Hello, Fanny,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Business good? I was hoping for a word with your mam.’
‘She’s still sleeping,’ the woman told him. ‘She’s been poorly lately, she doesn’t do as much as she used to.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. How old is she now?’
‘Seventy-eight, as close as we can reckon,’ Fanny Hardcastle said with pride. ‘Remembers everything, too, even Charles coming back after Cromwell.’
‘So are you looking after things at the moment?’
‘I am.’
‘And getting the same gossip as her?’
The woman sniffed and stood straighter. ‘I’d better be or I’ll want to know why.’
‘What’s happening between Amos Worthy and Edward Hughes?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘I thought it was all over everywhere by now.’
‘If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, would I?’ the deputy asked patiently. ‘They’ve been at it a bit, but I mean in the last couple of days.’
‘Well,’ she began slowly, ‘yesterday evening someone told me that Hughes has threatened to kill old Amos.’
‘You think it’s true?’
She nodded. ‘The man who told me has always been right before. Why are you asking?’
‘Just that Worthy’s hired someone new and he’s keeping his men very close.’
‘That’s not like him. Amos has never been the worrying sort.’
‘Aye, I know,’ Sedgwick agreed. ‘He must be taking it seriously.’
‘It’s going to come to a head soon, that’s what I heard.’ She looked at the deputy. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen,’ he told her and she raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
‘You’re going to keep Amos Worthy from a fight?’
‘If it comes to that, yes.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ she said. ‘Now, gentlemen, if there’s nothing more. .?’
‘Give my best to your mam. I hope she’s well soon.’
Back out on Vicar Lane the deputy led them to the White Swan and they sat with mugs of ale.
‘Are we going to stop them?’ Lister asked.
‘I’m trying to work that out,’ Sedgwick said with a deep sigh. ‘The problem is Fanny’s right. If the pair of them are really set on a scrap we’ll be hard pressed to keep them apart.’
‘Worthy’s been a pimp for a long time?’
‘Yes.’ The deputy took a long drink.
‘But Hughes is new here? He could be the weak link,’ Rob said thoughtfully.
Sedgwick looked at him. ‘How do you mean?’
‘He won’t be sure of his ground here yet.’
‘He’s cocky enough to challenge Worthy.’
‘Yes, but what if the city pushed back hard at him?’
‘It won’t work. The boss and I were already there. It didn’t seem to do much good.’
‘That was talk. What if it was more than just a word?’ Lister suggested. ‘Make sure he knows exactly where he stands.’
Sedgwick gazed down into his mug, swirling the dregs.
‘I suppose it’s worth a try,’ he decided finally. He drained the ale and stood up. ‘Well, are you coming?’
They strode down to the Calls, stepping between puddles of waste in the street as the deputy glanced among the broken, dilapidated houses.
Finally he banged on a door that looked the same as all the others on the street. The girl who opened it looked barely fourteen, her face still young and unlined but eyes deep and full of sad experience.
‘Hello, love,’ the deputy said kindly. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thank you, sir,’ she replied, confused by the question, and tried to sketch a brief curtsey.
‘Is Mr Hughes around?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell him the deputy constable wants a word, will you? There’s a good lass.’ He gave her a warm smile.
‘Yes, sir.’
She closed the door again and they heard her footsteps. Sedgwick shook his head sadly. ‘Poor girl has probably never had a kind word spoken to her in her life.’
‘Was that why you did it?’
The deputy laughed. ‘Always be nice to people until they give you a reason not to be. That’s what my father told me. He was right, too. She’s done nowt, there’s no need to treat her anything but politely.’
Lister looked at him with curiosity and respect. ‘And her pimp?’
Sedgwick grinned. ‘Wait and see.’
When the door opened again, Hughes was standing there, drinking from a chipped mug, dressed in an old, darned shirt, his stock loose, breeches and stockings stained. The deputy watched him carefully, seeing the way he tried to mask the anger in his eyes.
‘It’s early,’ Hughes complained, running a hand over his shaved scalp. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just another word,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘Here or inside?’
The man shrugged and led them into the house and through to the kitchen, as slatternly kept as the parlour. Dishes sat on the table caked in dried food, hosts of flies buzzing as they fed on them. Scraps littered the floor, rotting and slimy underfoot, and runnels of damp bloomed mould on the walls. God help the coroner if there was ever a dead body here, the deputy thought. The poor bugger would choke.
‘You like your luxury, don’t you?’ he asked, gazing around. Hughes looked blankly, missing the irony. ‘Planning a run in with Amos Worthy, are you, Edward?’
