The man shook his head. ‘I didn’t dare to look. Really, I didn’t. He’d know.’

  Simon weighed what he’d heard. Cartwright was scared; he could almost hear the man’s heart thumping. Most of what he’d said had the taste of believability.

  ‘If he comes back, I want to know about it straightaway. Agreed?’

  He waited for the nod. Acceptance. Defeat. Maybe Cartwright would do it, maybe not. But he’d put the fear of God in him.

  As they walked out on to Briggate, Simon began to laugh. Even Jane was grinning.

  ‘Now we’d better go and talk to some ostlers. White left that farm on a horse, you said. He has to be keeping it somewhere.’

  Too many of them, Jane thought. She’d spent the afternoon trudging from stable to stable all through Hunslet and Holbeck. The larger ones served the coaching inns; the smaller ones often had no more than two or three beasts, spavined hacks for hire.

  By four her feet ached and she was sick of seeing horses. But in Josh’s coat she was warm. She’d slit the pocket so she could quickly reach through to her knife; now she felt safe again.

  Six o’clock and she’d visited the last place. No one resembling White had left a horse on this side of the Aire. She crossed Leeds Bridge, watching the carts and coaches make their way in and out of town.

  On Swinegate, Jane stopped so suddenly that the man behind bumped her aside as he strode past. She crept back to the corner, hiding in a ginnel. A man was watching Simon’s house. Not White. This one was pale, with a thick moustache and a high-crown hat, staring at the building as if he wanted to imprint every detail on his mind. Two minutes later he thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and started to amble away. She followed.

  ‘He went into the Boot and Shoe,’ she said. ‘There were only a few drinking inside, and it’s impossible to stand in the yard there without being seen. There’s a back entrance, too.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Simon rubbed his chin. He had no idea what it meant, but there was nothing he could do about it for now. ‘At least I found the stable White’s using. It’s out near Bean Ing Mill.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘Rosie’s come up with a plan.’

  ‘Tomorrow I’m going to dress up in my best clothes and go there,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell the stable owner that’s my horse. Someone stole it, and I want to know where to find him.’

  ‘If we can find out where he’s staying, we can go after him.’ Simon continued with a grin. ‘We’re going to turn the hunter into the hunted.’

  ‘What are we going to do tonight?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her. ‘We’re going to rest and sleep and be ready for the morning. Don’t you think you’ve earned it?’

  He heard small feet dashing down the stairs, the shout of one boy, then another, voices trying to climb over each other.

  ‘Enough,’ Simon cried. ‘If you’ve got something to say, come in here and do it properly. You’re not a pair of animals.’ A few seconds later they came into the kitchen, heads down, trying not to giggle.

  ‘Let me see those hands,’ Rosie said, examining them as Richard and Amos held up their palms. ‘How could you get so mucky upstairs? Over by that bowl, now. I’m going to scrub the pair of you clean.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ Jane asked quietly.

  ‘It might,’ Simon replied after a moment. ‘We need to do something.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Someone watching this place …’ She shrugged.

  ‘We’ll look into it tomorrow,’ he promised.

  FIFTEEN

  Jane stood by her window, staring down at Swinegate. The street was dark, the only light coming from cracks in shutters or a night walker holding up a lantern. She stayed in the shadows, out of sight.

  The man wasn’t there. She couldn’t spot him, couldn’t feel him. But something about him worried her. The way he took his time and studied the house, then wandered easily away. It meant something, she was sure of it. But she didn’t know what.

  It was a bad dream, a nightmare. She woke, gasping for breath as she sat up in the bed. But it clung to her, little shards hooked in her mind. No details, just images, fragments. A feeling like a shroud. She knew if she closed her eyes again it would return, and she’d plunge deep into it once more.

  Still the middle of the night, blackness outside. She picked out footsteps running hard along the street. One man, no one behind him. A small pause and then a hammering on the door. Jane slid out of the bed and stood, watching out of the window.

  He was warm, Rosie was twined around him, but the knocking woke him instantly. Gently, Simon untangled himself, pulled on his trousers and crept downstairs, making no noise, the knife ready in his hand.

  He took hold of the handle and pulled the door wide, ready to strike. But he knew the man on the doorstep. Lizzie Henry’s servant. Her guard. A big, brutal man. Now his eyes were wild with fear.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘She’s dead.’ He had to place a hand on the frame to steady himself. His voice was shaking with grief. ‘Someone got in and killed her.’

  ‘How?’ She knew White was after her; Lizzie had been so scared she’d have kept her rooms secure.

  The man tried to collect his thoughts. ‘I found her … I don’t know … not long. She was already dead.’

  No question who’d done it.

  ‘Go back there,’ Simon ordered quickly. ‘Get all the customers out. Give them some story, it doesn’t matter what. Send them home, and make sure the girls are safe.’

  The man nodded. He craved instructions, someone to make the decisions.

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘After that, wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  Simon locked the door and took a breath. He saw Jane at the top of the stairs, coat gathered around herself, the blade tight in her fist.

  ‘Did you hear all that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me dress and we’ll go.’

  A clear night. Even the haze that hung over the town couldn’t block all the stars in the sky. Enough of a chill in the air to bring a bloom to their breath as they walked quickly through the streets. The town was almost silent, eerie, just the snuffle of a dog in a midden, the bark of a fox off on a hill somewhere. No human sounds. A time for all good people to sleep or stay out of sight.

  On Black Flags Lane, the door to the house stood ajar. The mistress was dead, the men with money gone; no reason to lock it any more. No noise inside; the man must have done what he’d ordered. A lamp burned in Lizzie’s parlour, casting a soft glow over her corpse. She was sitting in her chair, head back.

  ‘She looks like she’s asleep,’ Jane said from the doorway.

  ‘She won’t be waking up again.’ Simon crouched by the woman, examining her face. ‘Someone’s broken her neck. Snapped it.’ He glanced around the room. Nothing disturbed. No sign of a fight. He tried the back door: locked. The windows were all closed, the shutters barred tight. The only way in and out was the door to the corridor. From her chair, Lizzie would have been able to see anyone who entered.

  He kept prowling until he heard the servant. The man hurried in, then stopped. A few tears began to fall down his cheeks as he gazed at Lizzie. He breathed deep and wiped his face with the back of a hand.

  ‘The clients left quickly and quietly,’ he said after a moment. ‘No fuss.’

  ‘What about the girls?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I’ve put them all together in one of the rooms upstairs. They won’t try to go anywhere.’

  Simon looked at him, but he was still staring at his mistress.

  ‘Where were you when it happened?’

  ‘We had a disturbance. A gentleman was beating a girl. That doesn’t usually matter too much, but she was screaming loud enough to interrupt everyone. I had to go up and take care of it. I threw him out.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It was the first time he’d been here.’

  ‘And what happened after that? Did you come back here?’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes hadn’t left the body. ‘I wanted to let Miss Henry know. She was …’ He extended his arm in an empty gesture. ‘She was like this.’

  ‘What about the front door? Was it unlocked?’

  ‘No. In the evenings I’m in the hall. When a gentleman arrives, he knocks and I let him in.’ Simon saw Jane ready to speak, but made a small motion with his hand.

  ‘Was it always that way?’

  ‘No. Miss Henry changed it a few days ago.’

  ‘When you escorted the gentleman out tonight, was the door locked then?’

  It took the man a minute to answer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted finally. ‘He’d been drinking and he didn’t want to leave. I had to force him out. I don’t remember. I never thought …’

  ‘No reason you should,’ Simon assured him. ‘You didn’t hear anything?’

  ‘No.’ He hung his head. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Why did you come to get me?’

  The man drew himself up. ‘Miss Henry told me that if anything happened I should go and find Mr Westow. She said you’d know what to do.’ He brought a key from his waistcoat, walked over to a bureau, unlocked it and picked up a letter from the blotter. ‘She said I should give this to you.’

  Simon broke the seal. Just a few words written on the page in a rounded, girlish hand.

  You and the girl. Find him and kill him.

  Folded in with it was a draft for one hundred pounds, drawn on Beckett’s Bank. He put everything in his coat.

  ‘Did you see anyone strange outside tonight?’

  ‘No.’ He sounded certain. ‘Miss Henry had told me to keep my eyes open. I never saw anyone besides the customers.’

  ‘Right.’ Simon took a final glance around the room. Perhaps something was missing, after all … ‘Her locket. Where is it?’

  The servant stared at Lizzie’s neck.

  ‘It’s gone. I know she was wearing it tonight. I remember seeing it.’ He looked lost and helpless. ‘He must have taken it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘He did.’

  Outside, the night wrapped around them.

  ‘White must have arranged it all,’ Simon said. ‘Paid someone to go in and create a disturbance so he could pick the lock and slip inside while the servant was busy.’

  ‘Why didn’t she scream?’ Jane asked. ‘She must have seen him.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Simon sighed. Fear? Resignation? ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘What was in the note?’

  ‘She wants us to find him and kill him.’ A small hesitation. ‘She’s paying us a hundred pounds.’

  ‘Why did you ask about the locket?’

  ‘That’s where it all began.’

  Their footsteps rang off the buildings as they reached town. Somewhere close by, the bakers were already hard at work, bread in the oven ready to sell in the morning. The familiar smells of Leeds.

  ‘Are you going to do it? Kill him, I mean,’ Jane asked.

  ‘Everyone keeps asking me that,’ Simon said with regret.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘No,’ he answered finally. ‘Not unless he doesn’t give me any other choice. I’m not a killer. I’ll make sure he dies at the end of a rope. By law.’

  ‘I’d do it.’ She was so certain, so casual about it, she might as well have said she needed to tie a shoelace.

  ‘First we have to find him,’ Simon reminded her. ‘Let’s hope Rosie can discover something at the stables.’

  ‘I still don’t really understand why he came back,’ Jane said.

  ‘He always intended to return. He’s had years to savour his revenge. That’s a long time. Now he wants to taste it and discover how sweet it is.’

  ‘Why, though?’

  Why. He didn’t know the answer; the best he could offer was guesses. Maybe White couldn’t accept that he’d been caught, that he hadn’t been able to pay or lie his way out of the sentence. He’d been a criminal long before Simon had found him with the locket. An untouchable man who’d taken a very swift tumble from grace. Or perhaps it was hate and anger that drove him.

  Simon understood hatred. He’d known it, he’d nurtured it since he was a boy. Hatred of the people who ran the workhouse, the factory owners who only cared about their profits, the overseers who revelled in their cruelty. Hatred was a knot in his belly. A fire that burned and never went away. It never would.

  Or maybe White simply needed to prove he was still better than all of them. But pride was a stone tossed in the water. It vanished and sank.

  The only one who really knew why he was doing this was White himself. And the only certain thing was that he was a very dangerous enemy to have.

  ‘Go back to bed. We might as well have a little more sleep while we can. It’s going to be a busy day.’

  Jane didn’t rest. She sat by the window, watching the street, seeing people start to move around with morning, ready in case the man returned. And he definitely would come back, as sure as breathing. His gaze was too intent, too set. When she saw him, she’d follow and find out exactly what he wanted.

  The boys became quiet as soon as they saw their mother. She glided down the stairs wearing a deep red dress, an elaborate design in lace on the hem and at the neck. Her hair was up, gathered under a hat, rouge colouring her cheeks, her lips a bright, brilliant red.

  The twins had never seen her like this before. They stared, open-mouthed and astonished, as Simon escorted her to the door.

  ‘Good luck,’ he whispered in her ear. A few seconds later, Jane slipped out too, almost hidden inside her coat.

  ‘Well?’ He turned to Richard and Amos. ‘What do you think of your mother? Surprised?’

  It was easy to keep Rosie in sight. She moved along the street as if it belonged to her. People parted around her. At the stable Jane stayed back, finding a space that let her see into the yard. No one had followed them, but she still kept her eyes sharp; there was one man she wanted to spot.

  Five minutes and Rosie made her way out again, delicately raising her skirt above the muck and treading carefully. At the gate she looked around, winking as her gaze slid over Jane. Back towards home.

  Dressed that way, everything about Rosie changed, Jane thought. She held herself differently, walked with all the confidence of money and position, as if she didn’t have a care to bother her. The only thing she couldn’t alter was her face, but the cosmetics tried hard.

  She was still trying to puzzle it out, to understand why and how, as they turned on to Swinegate and she caught something – a small movement, a glimpse of a face – from the corner of her eye. Him. Back again. He was trying to look invisible, but he didn’t possess the knack of it.

  His eyes were fixed on the house. He hadn’t noticed Rosie yet. Another ten yards, though …

  Jane sped up until she was just behind her and hissed: ‘Don’t go in the front. Someone’s watching.’

  The smallest of nods. Rosie didn’t break stride. The man saw her, kept his gaze on her as she went past the house and along the street. It gave Jane time to find a place to watch the watcher.

  ‘Why did you use the back door?’ Simon asked as Rosie came in, pulling the hat off her head and letting down her hair.

  ‘Someone’s outside. Jane told me.’

  ‘Did he spot her?’

  She started to laugh. ‘Come on, Simon. You know better than that.’

  The boys were sitting at the table, drawing in chalk on pieces of slate. She bent over them, asking what each picture was, praising them, ruffling their hair before she turned back to him.

  ‘I did what we said. Told him my horse had been stolen, and someone had seen it in his yard. At first, he didn’t know whether to believe me or not. But he did say someone called Black had brought it. Mr Black.’ She repeated the name. ‘Recently returned to England from a spell in the Indies, it seems.’ Rosie raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s paid for a week, hasn’t been back since. The poor stable lad was almost falling over his feet to help. He showed me the animal as soon as I asked.’ She grinned as she recalled it. ‘About all I could do was keep nodding and hope I looked as if I knew what he was talking about.’

  ‘What did you do when he finished?’

  ‘I gave him a penny and told him to give Mr Black a message from me. To tell him that Miss Henry desires the return of what was taken from her. He’d know where to find me.’ She grinned with satisfaction and twirled around the floor. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Lizzie Henry?’ Simon stood and wrapped his arms around her. ‘That was an inspired touch. The dead visiting our friend, Mr Black.’

  For a fleeting moment he could see the woman in her parlour, eyes wide, fixed on nothing. Wanting him to make White pay for her death.

  ‘I even made him repeat the name so he wouldn’t forget it.’ She sighed and pulled away. ‘I’m going to change. I never feel like myself dressed up like this.’ At the door she turned. ‘What are we going to do about the one outside?’

  ‘Leave it to Jane. She’ll take care of it.’

  One hour of standing, then another, until her legs ached the way they had when she was a doffer girl in the mill. The man hardly moved, more like a statue than a person. But if he could do it, so could she.

  SIXTEEN

  It was easy enough to leave the back way. Through the ginnels, one leading to another, then out to Briggate along the yards. Simon gave a small grunt of satisfaction and crossed Leeds Bridge into Hunslet.

  The houses were grim, the factories grinding as he marched along the streets. He hadn’t wanted to come over here. He and Gerrold Peters had stood on opposite sides of the law for too long. But needs must, and the devil was driving him across the river. The man might be able to help. For a fee.

  Peters was a sneak thief. He’d spot an open window, an unlocked door, then slide quietly into the house and carry away every small item of value he could cram in his pockets. He’d sell them on to a fence, or back to the owner through a thief-taker.

  The man was careful. No single thing he stole was worth much, not enough to make a householder pay for a prosecution. Still, he managed to make enough to sketch a life, not rich but not poor, either. Middling.