‘What about Shackleton?’ the constable asked. ‘What do we know about him, other than his time in prison, and the fact the Foxes probably rented him that room and Mrs Fox was over there twice?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Inspector Fry’s been asking people, and nobody seemed aware he’d come here after his escape from jail in York. They were all surprised to learn he’d been strangled.’

  ‘Another mystery,’ Simon agreed and grinned. ‘I’m glad it’s yours and not mine.’

  He grunted. ‘One more where we’ll never find an answer.’

  FOURTEEN

  The soft evening deepened, bringing a small chill to the air. Jane came in from the garden, locking the door of the cottage and setting the lamp on the table.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ Mrs Shields said. ‘I’ve been feeling a little light-headed all evening.’ Her skin was dry as paper, eyes rimmed with red.

  ‘Again? You’ve had that more often lately.’

  ‘It’s nothing, child. Growing old and tired.’

  ‘Do you want your smelling salts?’ The bottle was sitting on a table by the bed.

  ‘No, bless you. I’ll be fine once I lie down.’ She seemed a little unsteady as Jane helped her into her nightclothes, finally settling the old woman under the covers and adjusting her cap. A quick kiss on her cheek, waiting until her raspy breathing steadied into a soft, even rhythm of sleep. In the other room, she picked up The Pioneers again.

  She must have started to doze; the frantic knocking on the door jolted her up in the chair. She blinked, tensing and reaching for the knife in her pocket as she turned the key. Ready to strike, she opened the door.

  Two of the children from the camp by the river were standing there, looking at her with wild, terrified faces.

  ‘It’s Sally.’ The boy was so frightened he could hardly say the name.

  ‘She’s been hurt, miss,’ the girl said. ‘She’s very bad. Can you come? Please?’

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  Mrs Shields was sleeping; the noise hadn’t disturbed her. Could she leave? Jane knew what the old woman would say: go, child, look after her.

  She took a deep breath and laced up her boots.

  ‘Show me,’ she said as the children caught their breath, then ran through the night behind them, heart up in her throat, terrified of what she’d find. Without thinking, she turned the gold ring on her finger, the one the old woman had given her to bring luck.

  ‘Gently now. Put her down here,’ she told them, and the children supporting Sally eased her on to Jane’s bed. Getting her to Green Dragon Yard had been a struggle. No shortage of willing hands, but the girl had been unconscious, nothing more than a limp, awkward weight.

  Jane darted into the bedroom to check on Mrs Shields, then softly closed the door.

  She lit the lamp, raising the wick high enough to give a bright light. The young girl had been right – Sally was badly hurt. Her face was covered with blood, the nose broken. Jane took a deep breath.

  She filled a bowl of water from the ewer, soaked a cloth and began to clean Sally’s face with small, tender strokes. After that, she’d have a clearer idea of the injuries.

  Her blood was roaring in her ears, her chest so tight it was painful. Every nerve screamed at her, but she forced down the panic that kept trying to rise inside. She’d often watched Mrs Shields as she worked, the calm, ordered way she went about each task, and tried to do the same. For a second, she thought about rousing the old woman and have her take charge.

  No. She was unwell, she needed to rest.

  Jane had to do this herself.

  Everything felt urgent, pressing down on her. Sally wasn’t going to die. She felt certain of that. Her pulse was strong and steady.

  The girl couldn’t die. She wasn’t going to allow it.

  ‘Will she be all right, miss?’ one of the children asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered after a heartbeat. She had to believe, and she wouldn’t let them see her fear. Quietly she shepherded them outside, into the darkness. ‘You go. I’ll send word to you as soon as I know something.’

  Sally had grazes and welts all over her face and skull. Some of the hair had been pulled from her scalp. The broken nose was bad. Jane knew from experience how much it hurt. She took a breath, placed her fingers just so, and forced it back into place. Sally grunted but didn’t wake. Jane dampened a tiny wad of cloth to clear the dried blood from her nostrils. Slow work, but the girl would be able to breathe more easily.

  Worse was the wound across her cheek, running from hairline to her mouth. Someone had sliced her open with a knife. It hadn’t gone deep; that was one small blessing. In the kitchen, she found a jar of white ointment and sniffed it. Something Mrs Shields had prepared to keep away infection. She spread a thin layer over the cleaned skin.

  Jane stood back. She knew she didn’t have the skill for all this; she’d always been one who killed, not healed. But there was no choice. She pulled off the girl’s dress; it was nothing more than a rag now, anyway. Very carefully, she bathed away the dirt and blood and spread more of the white ointment over the wounds. Jane was thorough, pausing occasionally to wipe sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Inside, she was frantic, overwhelmed, barely keeping control over everything. It was all in order, she kept telling herself, the way she’d watched the old woman do it.

  She pressed Sally’s arms and legs: no broken bones. No problem with the ribs.

  Jane stood back. She’d done everything she knew. She pulled the covers over the girl’s shoulders. For now, rest would help her.

  As she opened the door to empty out the water, she saw a girl waiting. Eight or nine years old, a frightened rabbit of a child with large, fearful eyes.

  ‘How is she, miss?’

  ‘Sleeping.’ Jane didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Is she going to die?’ There was terror lurking around the words.

  ‘No.’ She smiled and stroked the girl’s hair. ‘You can go and tell the others that.’ She reached into her pocket and felt for a penny as she glanced up at the sky. Still the deep black of night. ‘Buy yourself something to eat in the morning.’

  The girl darted away.

  Back in the house, she stared at Sally. Had she forgotten something, missed some important sign? Made a mistake? Jane retraced every step, feeling the worry tighten in her chest.

  But she’d done it all. She stroked the girl’s hand and felt the fingers move to give her a faint squeeze in return.

  She settled herself in the chair beside the bed. The screams of the girl from the mill came again as she slept, always unearthly. It seemed to stretch out for minutes.

  Dazed, she opened her eyes. Everything was still dark in the room. She listened, hearing Sally’s steady breathing, and let her eyes close again.

  ‘Child, I’m proud of you,’ Mrs Shields said. She was having a weak morning, supporting herself with two walking sticks. Her skin seemed almost transparent in the light through the window. But her eyes shone bright and there was pride in her voice. ‘I couldn’t have done better myself.’

  Jane beamed, relieved at the praise. She’d done it all properly.

  When the old woman woke, she’d given a wan smile.

  ‘I did feel strange last night. But I believe it’s almost passed now.’

  Then her face had grown more serious as Jane explained what had happened. Sally slept on as the old woman examined her, then nodded her approval and spoke.

  ‘She’ll wake later,’ Mrs Shields said. ‘Do you see how her eyelids are fluttering? That’s a good sign. Have you watched her all night?’

  ‘I slept a little in the chair.’ No need to mention the dream, though she could still hear a faint echo of the girl’s terror. ‘Do you think you can watch her for a few minutes? I need to tell Simon and Rosie.’

  ‘Go. I’ll look after her.’ She smiled. ‘Just bring me a small glass of the medicine in the blue bottle first, please, child.’

  ‘Do you know where Sally is?’ It was the first thing Rosie asked as she pulled the door open. Her voice was frantic. ‘She never came home last night. Simon’s out looking for her.’

  The horror grew on her face as she listened.

  Simon moved around Leeds. Porter had heard nothing about Sally. Inspector Fry had caught a rumour of a beaten girl out near Dale Mill but hadn’t checked. It wasn’t enough to concern the watch; too many other things needed attention. Walking fast, pain jolting through his leg, Simon hurried over there. A quiet little lane, close to where Kirkstall Road and Wellington Road met. No houses around, nobody to ask. He kicked through the trampled weeds at the side of the path and caught a glint of something in the light. As he bent to pick it up, his stomach lurched. Sally’s knife. She’d never give that up without a fight. He placed it in his pocket as he searched all around, urgency clawing at him as every minute passed, but there was no other trace of her.

  An hour later, his throat was raw from questions that grew more desperate each time he asked them. He’d looked, but he hadn’t spotted any of the children to ask about the girl. Something had happened to her.

  As he unlocked the door at home, Simon felt dazed and empty. He saw Rosie’s note on the table.

  ‘She stirred,’ Mrs Shields said. ‘She asked where she was. I gave her a sip of cordial and she closed her eyes again.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Rosie asked. She knelt by the bed, staring intently into Sally’s face.

  ‘You can see her face and her body are a mass of bruises. Poor girl. I don’t know why anyone would do that to her.’

  Jane stood quietly, listening as they talked. Sally had woken. She’d spoken. Very slowly, she felt hope rising through her body.

  ‘… it’s too early to know.’ Mrs Shields shook her head. She began to push herself upright and Jane was there, supporting her, letting the old woman rest her weight against her. A moment for the old woman to catch her breath. ‘I had a little turn last night,’ she explained to Rosie. ‘I’m probably not completely myself yet.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Could you make me a little of that porridge and bring me some of the elderflower drink? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a nuisance.’

  Sally was going to recover, Jane thought as she worked in the kitchen. She’d suffered; she’d go on suffering for a long time. But most of the wounds would heal.

  Simon gave her a quizzical look when she answered his knock, then stood next to his wife to stare at Sally. As if she sensed him there, her eyes fluttered open again. She turned her head to look at them.

  ‘Where am I?’ Her voice was slow and wet. From the broken nose, Jane decided.

  ‘You’re at Mrs Shields’s house,’ Rosie told her, but Sally’s eyes had already closed.

  Simon watched for another moment, his face giving nothing away. Then he tilted his head; Jane followed him into the yard. Warm again, and the air was heavy and dirty; she could taste it on her tongue.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Someone made sure he hurt her.’

  ‘Who brought her here?’

  She told him what had happened. The children knocking on the door, leading her to Sally.

  ‘I was looking for them,’ he said when he’d heard the story. ‘I didn’t see a single one of them.’

  ‘They’re frightened,’ she told him. ‘Hiding.’ They knew how to keep out of sight. It was one of the things that helped them stay alive.

  Then he asked the question that had been in his mind from the time he arrived.

  ‘Who did it?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘What will you do when you find out?’

  She kept her eyes on his face. ‘I’m not sure.’

  He didn’t believe her. Simon knew her too well. Jane would be carrying revenge in her heart.

  ‘Do you need anything? Any help?’

  That was a question laden with too many meanings. She shook her head.

  He’d never imagined Sally as helpless. But looking down at her, at the wounds across her face, the scar she’d carry for the rest of her life and the other injuries he couldn’t see, he let his fury rise, bitter and hard.

  ‘She’s going to need this.’ He reached into his pocket and took out the knife.

  Jane weighed it in her hand and smiled. ‘I’ll give it to her. Where did you find it?’

  When he told her, she nodded. ‘The same place the children discovered her.’

  ‘Can you look after her?’

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘As soon as she’s well enough, I’d like her back with us. Home.’

  Jane would understand that, he thought. This little house was her home. Her safety. Sally’s was with Simon and Rosie. Once she was behind those walls, nobody could hurt her. She’d become a daughter of sorts to them, as well as someone who worked for him. A strange, ambiguous situation.

  ‘She will be,’ Jane promised him. ‘Once she’s able.’

  There was nothing he could do here but take up space. Whoever beat her had shown no mercy; it must have been relentless. Maybe her body would return to full health; the young came back quickly. But how would it affect her mind?

  Since he’d been stabbed, every step was a reminder of all the things he’d lost. He had to rely on a stick like an old man, he couldn’t fight with a knife any more. He couldn’t even run. Those were the obvious, physical things. But there was more, hidden away in his mind. The damage had planted a kernel of worry that refused to leave.

  Sally had always been fearless. Aware of danger but plunging on anyway. What if she began to hesitate?

  He knew he couldn’t help her to heal. But he could help discover who’d done this. Jane would search, but he had other avenues he could try.

  If he found them, what then? It was the same question he’d asked Jane, and he had no more of an honest answer than she did. First, though, he had to talk to people.

  Mrs Shields had gone back to bed, still not herself. She woke shortly after noon, her face brighter than it had been three hours before.

  ‘No need to worry. I’m definitely better now, child.’ She lifted an arm and let it glide gracefully back down to the bedcover. ‘Still a little weak, but the last of it has passed through me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Losing her would be … Jane couldn’t think about that. Not now.

  ‘I’m positive.’ She gave Jane a gentle, calming smile. ‘No need to fret.’

  Jane felt the woman’s shrewd gaze. ‘You have business, don’t you?’

  For a second, Jane was reluctant to admit it; her place was here, to tend the girl. Then she said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘You go. Rosie’s still here. The two of us can take care of Sally.’

  Before she left, Jane curled Sally’s fingers around the hilt of her knife. She’d feel it. She’d know.

  Jane hurried down Briggate, to the corner of Boar Lane where Kate the pie-seller was bellowing her wares. As soon as she smelled the meat, Jane realised she hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

  ‘Two,’ she said, fumbling in her pocket for the coins.

  The big woman stared. ‘Come on. I’ve known you too long. You’d better tell me.’

  It spilled out and she saw the fury on Kate’s face.

  ‘Please, if you hear anything at all …’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, pet. I’ll ask around and I’ll make sure you know what I learn. We can’t have men like that wandering round town.’

  She found Dodson sitting on Vicar Lane. The beggar was still wearing a ragged old coat in the summer heat, his wooden leg and tin cup stretched out in front of him. People paid scant attention to beggars, never thought they might hear conversations and secrets; he’d brought her useful pieces of information in the past.

  ‘She’s the one who looks out for the children, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll listen,’ he promised.

  Davy Cassidy, too, the blind fiddler, when she followed the music down to Vicar Lane.

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed, as he started up another tune. ‘I’ll do that.’

  It didn’t feel like much. She needed answers, names. At least it was a start. Now she needed to find the children. This was when she needed their help, to start them searching. But Simon was right. They’d vanished.

  FIFTEEN

  Simon sat at the kitchen table and stretched out his leg. Rosie was still at Mrs Shields’s house and the boys hadn’t come home from school yet. The house was quiet, only the soft, regular tick of the longclock in the hall.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, but all he could see was Sally’s torn face. Before he could begin to brood, Richard and Amos arrived in a tumult of noise. Sometimes it felt as if they’d never been silent since they were born. They tore bread from a loaf and sat across from him, eyes brimming with pleasure as they told their tales of their day, the schoolmasters and the other pupils. Finally, they looked at each other and finished it all with a laugh.

  ‘I have something to tell you.’ They caught the serious tone of his voice and sat up straighter, suddenly attentive.

  They’d come to accept Sally as a sister. Though she didn’t have the same family rules they needed to obey, she’d played games and tumbled with them, run beside them.

  He didn’t give them much detail; they didn’t need the weight of that. Just enough to prepare them for how she’d be once she came back here.

  ‘Can we go and see her?’ Richard asked. He glanced at his brother; Amos nodded.

  ‘Not just yet. At the moment she wouldn’t even know you’d been. Your mother is helping to care for her.’ He paused until they nodded. ‘That means the pair of you need to do more here, help to keep everything tidy and clean.’

  ‘How long until she’ll be able to come home?’ Amos’s voice was thoughtful and youthfully light.