‘You look like someone with too much on your mind.’

  ‘I want to find out about something,’ Jane told her, then corrected herself. ‘Someone.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘A man called Julius White. Who was he?’

  ‘Oh my,’ Catherine said as she pulled a small handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘My, my. That is the past, isn’t it?’

  Simon lay on the floor and let the twins climb on him. Soon enough they’d be too big for this. Already, their little knees and elbows jabbed sharp enough to make him wince. But he was reluctant to let it go. He loved the contact. To see the joy on their faces, hear their laughter as he tickled them; it seemed to replenish him.

  Tonight, he vowed, he’d go nowhere, do nothing except wear out his sons. Hannah Milner was home, White could wait until the morning. The man wouldn’t be going anywhere until his business was finished.

  Rosie was studying the accounts, her foot tapping out a rhythm on the floorboards. Finally she put down her pen and sanded the page.

  ‘We’re doing well enough for now. But that two hundred from Milner would have seen us sitting very pretty.’

  ‘Work will come,’ Simon told her. ‘People are never going to stop thieving.’

  ‘Thank God.’ She sighed. ‘What are we going to do about White? I don’t want to spend every day scared he’s going to come.’

  ‘I’ll find him. I did it before.’

  ‘Don’t be too cocky,’ she warned. ‘He’s led us a dance. It looks as if he learned plenty when he was Bayside.’

  ‘I daresay he did.’ He placed his hands around Richard’s chest and lifted the boy into the air, swinging him from side to side until he squealed with pleasure. The old White had just been brutal. This new one was cunning. Nine years could ring plenty of changes.

  In 1808, England had looked bleak. The war with France was going badly. Napoleon ruled most of Europe. The year before, he’d taken Portugal; now he was marching in Spain. At home, the government was terrified of revolt that simmered just below the surface. And well they might be. When a man could barely earn enough to live, food prices kept rising, and the enclosures by landlords drove people out of the countryside to try and earn something in the towns, the poor were going to feel like a threat. The manufactories were bringing in new machines that let one man do the work of ten. A skilled trade meant nothing any more.

  People stole in order to live. What justice could there be when a man worked all week and still saw his family starve? The owners had their fine houses, their servants. They wanted for nothing.

  Simon retrieved the things they took. But he’d never taken a man to be prosecuted for trying to feed his children. The law was a crooked system, everyone knew that. It was rigged for the rich; steal a few loaves and you ended up on the far side of the world in a penal colony. Take a fortune and they made you a lord.

  Simon was still young then, but he’d already earned a small reputation in his work. He had the nose for it, a natural gift. He knew who to ask, the places in Leeds to go in order to hear things. He scuffled out a living. He and Rosie made enough to keep themselves. They were young, they could survive on next to nothing. Finding Lizzie Henry’s locket and arresting Julius White changed all that. It had been the making of him.

  Lizzie began praising him to her clients and the people she knew. Soon notes arrived, asking him to find things that had been … lost. And to manage it with speed and discretion. He did work for the wealthy, the people he despised, and made sure he charged them stiff fees for his services.

  And now …

  Now he was comfortable. A businessman. He had a house for Rosie and the children, money in the lockbox. An account with Beckett’s Bank. He’d become just like the people he loathed. Julius White had been the foundation of it all. Now he could be the end of it, too.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Nothing. Just memories.’ He turned his head to look at her. ‘We’ll find him.’

  ‘You’d better kill him this time, Simon,’ she said. ‘Make sure he can never come back again.’

  That thought was lurking, hiding at the back of his mind. Could he do it? He’d never needed to discover that about himself. He’d wounded men before, but to kill? Better to hand someone over for the justices.

  Finally, he sat up, rolled the boys off him and sent them to bed.

  ‘Whatever happens can wait until morning. We found Hannah Milner. I’ll call that a fair day’s work.’

  They were eating breakfast when the sharp knock came. Simon glanced at Jane. She followed him into the hall, closing the kitchen door behind her. He had his knife in his hand as he drew back the latch.

  George Mudie stood there, a piece of paper waving in his hand. Simon exhaled slowly and slid the weapon back into its sheath.

  ‘What’s dragged you out so early?’ he asked. ‘You’re rarely about before ten.’

  ‘This.’ He pushed the paper towards Simon’s face.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  It was a discussion for the parlour, away from his family.

  ‘You look worried, George. What’s the trouble?’

  ‘Read it.’

  A letter. He scanned it quickly, then raised his head to see Mudie watching him.

  ‘When did this arrive?’ Simon asked.

  ‘This morning. Damn fool doesn’t know the Gazette doesn’t exist any more. I was cleaning the press when a boy brought it.’

  This notice to be in your next edition. A shilling enclosed to pay for the advertisement.

  There are people in Leeds who might well recall the name Julius White. I was transported to Australia for the theft of a piece of jewellery. There, I served my seven years under the hot sun, with good masters and bad. I received my pardon and now I have returned to England. My conviction was unjust, as all honest folk should know. I’ve come back to seek redress, to find justice. Those who saw me convicted and sent across the world for so long know who they are, all of them still alive and in Leeds. Let them be warned.

  The same shaky hand as the notes to Milner.

  ‘Has he sent to it the Mercury and the Intelligencer, too?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mudie said. ‘I came straight here. But it’s a fair bet that he has.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll publish?’

  ‘Not if they have an ounce of sense. The council would ask too many questions.’ A half-smile flickered. ‘Of course, if anyone at the Intelligencer had a brain, they’d never have got rid of me. Is it true, though? Is White really here?’

  ‘He is, and he’s already doing what he promised.’

  ‘Did you know that when we talked the other day, Simon?’

  ‘Not then, no.’

  A suspicious frown crossed Mudie’s face. ‘You were asking me about John Milner, too. Does all this have anything to do with him?’

  ‘No,’ Simon said. As far as things went, it was true. Milner’s part was done. His only importance to White had been the money. ‘That was business.’

  ‘If you say so,’ he replied doubtfully. ‘I remember when White was in court. I thought he’d hang.’

  Simon had believed that, too, until he saw the guarded looks between defendant and judge and knew something had been arranged. The charge of murder had already been dismissed. It made him wonder if White had some powerful friends. Now the letter brought the idea back to him. It was a declaration of intent. Of war.

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘It’s obvious who he means,’ Mudie said. ‘You’re the one who arrested him. Lizzie Henry paid for the prosecution.’ His eyes flickered and his brows drew together. ‘Didn’t he say back then that he’d have his revenge?’

  Simon nodded. ‘When they led him down from the dock. Spoke it like a preacher.’

  ‘And none of us believed him.’

  ‘Why would we, George? We knew where he was going. How many come back from there? Name one.’

  Neither of them could.

  ‘You know chapter and verse on everyone in Leeds, George. White’s been in town for a while.’

  ‘Has he?’ The man looked startled. ‘Nobody’s mentioned him.’

  ‘I know. And he came back with money. Who could be hiding him? Who owed him enough favours for that?’

  ‘There were always rumours …’ Mudie began. ‘You must know that.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I’d come across his name. The first time we met was when I found him with the locket he stole.’

  ‘He goes back a long way here, Simon. Before you started working. He helped people when they ran into some trouble. Important people.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’ve tried to find out often enough, but it’s like clutching fog. One thing’s certain. People owe him favours, and when he wants to collect, they daren’t say no. White knows where the bodies are buried in town.’ He gave a dry bark of a laugh. ‘Probably literally, in some cases.’

  ‘Do you know who he’s killed?’

  ‘No, and nobody’s going to start naming names. He might have been away a long time, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t scared of him. Especially if you’re right and he’s back in Leeds.’

  ‘He’s here. There’s no doubt about it.’

  ‘There was a rumour once …’ Mudie began.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That someone with influence had murdered a man and paid White to get rid of the body and cover things up. But it was never more than words. I never managed to find anything. People just went silent when I started asking.’

  ‘It’s not like you to give up,’ Simon said.

  ‘Sometimes you realize you’re never going to get anywhere, however hard you try.’ He shrugged. ‘Then another story comes along and it all becomes history.’

  ‘Do you think you could find a name?’

  ‘After all this time? I can try, but don’t hold your breath. I doubt I’ll be any more successful than I was before. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Find him and finish this business.’

  He read the letter to them. Rosie stared at the table and stayed silent. Jane sat and listened without speaking.

  ‘His idea of justice is to kill us,’ Rosie said when he finished.

  ‘He’s careful enough not to say that, though.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to know about me,’ Jane said.

  Simon shook his head. ‘He knows, right enough. You can bet on that. He’s planned all this very well. But you were never a part of it. And he doesn’t have any idea how good you are.’

  ‘Where do we start looking for him?’ she asked.

  ‘We ask questions, same as ever.’ He drank, wiped a hand across his mouth, and stood. ‘The sooner we begin, the sooner it’ll be over.’

  She heard Rosie lock the door behind them. In a moment they were simply two more faces among all the people on Swinegate. A man with a crutch limped by. Two children played in a puddle. A woman cried out, the words slurred together, madness in her eyes.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I want you to talk to everyone you know. We need to find someone who’s seen him.’

  ‘I asked someone about White yesterday,’ Jane said. ‘What he was like.’

  ‘Leeds was safer when he was on the other side of the world.’

  ‘She said people believed he’d murdered more than that servant.’

  ‘Six,’ Simon answered. ‘That’s the guess. But no one’s certain. Maybe it was none. He never said.’

  ‘Why did it take so long to put him in the dock?’

  He shrugged. ‘No evidence. If White really killed them, he hid it very well. People were unwilling to take him to court and testify. He had powerful friends.’

  ‘Who?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Councilmen, landowners, probably. He did their dirty work.’

  Jane frowned. ‘If he knew all those people, how did you manage to get a guilty verdict?’

  ‘Because Lizzie Henry brought the prosecution, and she wields some influence, too. He had the locket that was stolen from her. We had the evidence for that, at least.’

  ‘You’re the one who got him convicted.’

  ‘Seven years was the lightest sentence the judge could give him.’

  Jane nodded. ‘What about Lizzie Henry?’

  ‘I’ve warned her.’

  ‘I didn’t like her.’

  ‘Don’t be too quick to judge. She has her uses.’

  ‘Do you think he still has important friends after all this time?’

  Simon exhaled slowly. ‘We’ll find out.’

  She began where she’d first heard the name. Mrs Rigton. The woman didn’t appear surprised to see her again.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you.’

  There were no more than a handful of drinkers in the place, men with no work to fill their days. One had his head down on the table, snoring quietly. Two others played cards. Jane sat on a bench opposite the woman.

  ‘Who told you White was back?’

  ‘Found out all about him, have you?’

  ‘More than enough.’

  ‘Keep your distance, that’s my advice.’ Mrs Rigton reached out and placed a hand on the girl’s wrist. ‘Be careful, girl. He’s a dangerous man. I don’t want to see something happen to you.’

  ‘I need to know. He’s after Simon and Rosie.’

  The woman stayed silent. Finally she sighed. ‘I shouldn’t tell you. I want you safe.’

  ‘If we can get rid of White, everyone will be safer. Catherine told me all about him.’

  Mrs Rigton nodded sadly. ‘I’m sure everything she said is true.’ The woman seemed to come to a decision. ‘Maybe you’re right. We’d all be better off without his type. I heard it from Sam Crookshank.’

  ‘I don’t know who he is,’ Jane said.

  ‘No reason you should, child. He’s a businessman, very respectable. Does work for the council. He has an office at the top of Kirkgate.’

  ‘If he’s so respectable, why would he know someone like White?’

  ‘Because money doesn’t care if it gets its hands mucky.’ Mary Rigton shook her head and sighed. ‘It can always wash them clean again later. Business is a strange world. Right and wrong don’t mean much when there’s profit to be made.’

  Jane had watched a preacher once, calling people out for their sins as he stood on Briggate, bellowing at the top of his voice. If you make money your God, he warned, you’ll stand in filth. At the time it made no sense to her: people needed money to live. They chased it – they had no choice. But later she began to understand what he meant. There was money and there was wealth, and a sea divided them.

  ‘Thank you.’ She started to rise.

  ‘You can’t go marching in there, child.’ She tempered the warning with a tender smile. ‘His clerks will throw you straight out. Wait until he goes for his dinner. Find him on his own and tell him I sent you.’

  ‘How will I know who he is?’

  ‘He’s easy enough to spot, girl.’ She rubbed her cheek with a knotted old hand. ‘He has a mark the colour of port wine right here.’

  Jane didn’t have to move. She could follow Crookshank with her eyes as he walked the short distance from his office to the alehouse in Turk’s Head Yard. Back again half an hour later. No chance to talk to him.

  She’d come back after the business locked its doors for the day. She’d find her opportunity to approach him then.

  As she began to walk away, Jane felt the familiar prickle down her spine. Someone was watching her. She didn’t turn, just drifted slowly up Briggate. He followed. Soon she could pick him out in the reflections from shop windows. A young man. Nervous, to judge by his face. Inexperienced.

  Time to find out what he wanted.

  She slipped into Bay Horse Yard, and behind a wall, drawing her knife as she waited.

  The footsteps were hesitant. One, two, then stop. Another, and another, until he was in the yard.

  Suddenly Jane was behind him, with the blade at his throat, patting his coat with her free hand to feel for weapons. Nothing. He stood absolutely still, looking ahead.

  ‘Why are you following me?’

  ‘I’m not.’ His voice quivered with fear. She could smell it on him. Jane pressed the tip of the knife against his skin, just hard enough to bring a drop of blood.

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she warned.

  ‘The man I work for told me to see where you went.’

  ‘And who’s he?’

  ‘Mr Crookshank.’ The words came in a flood, almost tripping over each other. ‘Someone saw you from the office window and told him. I’m just the junior clerk. He said I had to watch you and follow, then tell him.’ Very carefully, he held out a hand with ink on the fingers. ‘See?’

  Jane took the knife from his neck and stepped back. The young man began to rub the spot where she’d jabbed him.

  ‘If he wants to know, he can ask me himself. Go back and tell him Mrs Rigton sent me. What time does your office close?’

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ he answered without thinking.

  ‘I’ll be outside then, waiting for him.’ She took another pace backwards. ‘Go on, go and let him know what I said.’

  He turned and ran, boots echoing loudly in the passageway before he vanished.

  Jane stood and thought. She was angry with herself for being spotted; she needed to be more careful. But she’d been able to deliver her message to Crookshank. At eight she’d discover whether he was willing to talk to her.

  With the knife safe in her pocket and the shawl over her head, she moved back down Briggate.

  Julius White. Simon said the name so often during the afternoon that he could taste the soot whenever he spoke it. A few had heard he was back, but no one admitted they’d seen him.

  The man hadn’t turned into a spirit on the other side of the world. He didn’t know any magic. He was flesh and blood and bone, the same as everyone else. He’d hired people, he’d written letters. He was somewhere in Leeds.

  By six, Simon felt as if he’d spent the hours hitting his head against a wall. He felt frustrated. He was good at this work; he’d proved it over the years. But the last few days had shown him that he wasn’t good enough.

  He’d go out again later and see what the night brought.