And Peters knew a few things about Leeds better than anyone else. Who lived where, what guests they had, when they were likely to be out. Everything was stored away in his head. It was his business, and he took care of it scrupulously. His freedom depended on good information.

  He had a small, tidy house, close to the pottery on Jack Lane. The garden was his pride, always carefully tended. Shoots were poking through the dark, rich soil. By summer he’d have a fine display of flowers, colourful and brilliant.

  Peters answered the door himself, looking down his long, straight nose and snorting as soon as he saw his visitor.

  ‘If you’re here looking for something, you’re out of luck. I’ve been poorly.’

  ‘You won’t have been earning, then.’

  Peters shrugged. He was tall, elegantly thin, his hair combed forward to hide the way it was receding up his forehead.

  ‘Not any concern of yours, is it?’

  ‘It might be. I could put some money in your pocket.’

  He spat. ‘Is that right? And why would you want to do that, Mister Westow? Concerned about my welfare all of a sudden, are you?’

  ‘Information,’ Simon told him. ‘I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘Then good luck to you.’ He began to close the door. Simon stuck out his boot and leaned his weight against the wood.

  ‘I’m not here to pass the time. You can help me and I’ll be grateful. Or the next time I catch you with something stolen, I might swear out a complaint myself with the magistrate and pay for the prosecution. Imagine this garden of yours growing wild for seven years.’

  ‘You couldn’t afford it.’

  Simon smiled. ‘Are you sure you want to wager on that? I’m a man who cherishes his grudges.’

  Peters shook his head. He was bright enough to know when he was beaten. ‘What do you want, Westow?’

  ‘You know who’s staying where.’

  ‘I told you, I’ve not been well the last few days.’

  ‘But you can find out.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You can,’ Simon insisted.

  ‘Don’t beat around the bush. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Do you remember Julius White?’

  ‘Hard to forget, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He’s back. I want to know where he is. He’s staying somewhere in town.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll pay you five pounds.’ It was far more than any working man could earn in a month. More than generous, and Peters knew it. His eyes shone with greed.

  ‘That’s all you want, to know where he is?’

  ‘And to make sure it’s true. I’ll pay when I know you’re not lying.’

  After a moment, Peters nodded. Simon knew the man too well: given half a chance he’d pass on a false address and pocket the money.

  ‘I need to know today.’

  ‘It’ll take me a while. I told you—’

  ‘I know what you said. And you heard what I’m offering. I’ll come back at six.’

  ‘Make it seven.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’ He glared at Peters. ‘You’d better not let me down.’

  Simon wasn’t going to put all his faith in Gerrold Peters. White had to be showing himself in order to hire people. Yet nobody admitted they’d seen him. The bastard wasn’t invisible, unless he’d learned some trick from the natives in Australia. And whatever magic they might have wouldn’t work in England.

  There were too many beershops and gin palaces in Leeds to ask in every one. But wherever he went, no one remembered seeing a man with a face burned by the sun.

  He went home frustrated, eyes moving along Swinegate until he picked out the man watching the house. At least he’d be surprised.

  Jane saw Simon walk along, unlock his front door and disappear inside. For a moment, all the watcher could do was stare. Then he scuttled away and she began to move, glad to work the ache out of her knees.

  Following him was easy. He never even glanced round to see who was behind. He didn’t seem to notice much at all as he tried to push his way through the crowds on Briggate. Market day and the place was thronged with women hunting for bargains and the cheapest prices. None of them paid attention to a girl in an old coat and a shawl over her head. She might as well not have existed.

  He was stupid, she thought, keeping to the main streets when ducking through the courts and ginnels would have been quicker. Jane stayed well back, never letting him out of her sight. Down the Head Row, across Vicar Lane. Along to Mill Garth, and finally Lady Lodge, close to the rickety bridge over Sheepscar Beck. He knocked. A moment later he was gone.

  ‘That’s excellent work,’ Simon told her. ‘No one saw you?’

  ‘Why would they?’ Jane replied. ‘There was nobody behind me.’

  ‘Who lives there?’ Rosie asked. ‘I know I’ve seen the place. Whoever owns it must have some money.’

  He didn’t know. But Peters would, and he’d be seeing the man in a few hours. Lady Lodge wasn’t far from Black Flags Lane; White could have walked back there in five minutes, before anyone discovered Lizzie Henry’s body.

  The hands on the clock always moved more slowly when he was waiting. Time seem to take forever to trickle away. Finally it was twenty to seven and he pulled on his coat and hat.

  ‘Is anyone watching?’ he called up the stairs.

  ‘No,’ Jane shouted back from the attic.

  He was ready to go.

  Even down on Jack Lane, he could hear the parish church tolling the hour. Peters was waiting for him.

  ‘Well?’ Simon asked.

  ‘He’s at Lady Lodge.’

  At least he could be certain the man was telling him the truth. No point asking how he’d found out; Peters would never tell. Sources, secrets, information. They were the real gold in this business, and people guarded them closely.

  ‘Whose house is it?’

  ‘Belongs to Mr Madeley.’

  ‘I don’t know him.’ He’d never even heard the name before.

  ‘Rich man.’ Peters shrugged. ‘Someone told me he has a stake in a mill. Put up a lot of the money, but kept it very quiet.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Milner’s.’

  That was interesting. Worth five pounds all by itself. Milner’s daughter kidnapped and White a guest of his business partner. Something was wrong there. Very wrong.

  ‘What’s the best way to get into the Lodge?’

  The man snorted. ‘Don’t want much for your money, do you? You’ve got what we agreed. You’ll find out I was telling the truth.’

  ‘I already know you were. Maybe it’ll become a habit.’

  Jane had followed him. He hadn’t asked, and she’d stayed far enough away that Simon would never even know. She’d had her own dealings with Peters, and knew better than to trust him.

  But no one hid in the shadows. As Simon left the house she melted away. No need for him ever to know she’d been here.

  ‘We need a proper look at the house.’ He chewed the last of the tripe and pushed his plate away.

  ‘I could go over tonight,’ Jane said.

  ‘No,’ Rosie said. ‘If White’s had that message from the stables he’ll be on his guard.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘You know, it makes sense now. White wants to lure us out to Lady Lodge. I started to wonder about that lad watching this place. He was standing outside, plain as day. We couldn’t have missed him if we’d tried. Then he went straight over there.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Simon asked.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Simon, think about it for a moment. It’s a trap. You break in, you’re caught. The owner of the house claims you’ve stolen something, prosecutes, and that’s it. You’ll end up where White was for seven years and he’ll be sitting here laughing.’

  As soon as she said it, Simon could see it clearly. Stupid. He should have known better. Instead, his mind had been concentrated on finding the man. This had every hallmark of White. Devious as the devil himself. Thank God Rosie’s brain was working properly; his certainly wasn’t.

  ‘What do we do, then?’ he asked. ‘How do we catch him?’

  ‘He has to come out sometime,’ Jane said.

  SEVENTEEN

  Nobody spying on the place as he left home. Simon marched briskly all the way to Milner’s house, his anger rising with each step, and hammered on the front door until the servant answered.

  ‘Is he home?’

  ‘Mr Milner is here.’

  ‘Tell him we need to talk. It’s important.’

  He waited in the small library. It was a man’s room, dark and heavy, looking out over a small back garden. Not too many books on the shelves, authors with strange names that Simon didn’t recognize: Tacitus, Herodotus. Cicero, Bede. He was studying the spines when Milner entered, his face like thunder.

  ‘You’d better have a good reason for coming here.’

  ‘I do. You’d better sit down, Mr Milner.’

  ‘And to the front where people will see you—’

  ‘I said sit down.’ He barely raised his voice, but it was enough to shut the man up.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You own a mill. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Milner glared. ‘Everyone knows that. Why have you come to—’

  ‘Who else owns it with you?’

  ‘No one,’ Milner snapped. ‘Don’t be a damned fool.’

  Simon took a pace forward. He was younger, bigger, stronger. ‘I said who else?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘A gentleman named Madeley.’ His look could have burned Simon on the spot.

  ‘Just him?’

  ‘Yes. My name’s on it, and I own one third of it.’ Milner seemed to have to drag the admission out from deep inside.

  ‘Has your partner tried to buy you out?’

  ‘He’s suggested it once or twice. I’ve always said no.’

  ‘I think he’s stopped taking that for an answer, Mr Milner. Where are your wife and daughter?’

  ‘What does that—?’

  ‘Where are they?’ Simon spoke slowly, a careful emphasis on each word.

  ‘They’re in York, staying with some relatives of my wife. She thought it would help their nerves.’

  Out of the way. Good.

  ‘Where did you get the money for Hannah’s ransom?’

  ‘From the bank.’

  ‘How much do you have left in there?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘If you want it back, it’s very much my business, Mr Milner. The man who took your daughter is staying with your business partner.’

  For a few seconds, the room stayed silent. The colour rose in Milner’s face and his eyes began to bulge.

  A decanter stood on the desk. Simon sniffed it, poured a glass and placed it in Milner’s hand, making him drink.

  ‘Bastard,’ he said finally. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I guessed. How long has he been trying to buy you out?’

  ‘A year or so, I suppose.’

  ‘Is the factory making money?’

  ‘It gets by, but it needs more investment. New machines.’ He turned and looked at Simon. ‘I don’t have the money to put into it.’

  ‘Does Madeley know that?’

  Milner shook his head. ‘No.’ A small hesitation. ‘I didn’t think he did.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe I was wrong.’

  ‘When did he last approach you with an offer?’

  ‘The day after Hannah …’ He corrected himself. ‘After you brought Hannah home.’

  He’d expected something like that. The timing was right. But Milner’s new humility was a bonus. Now the bluster had gone, perhaps they could find something useful.

  ‘How much money do you have?’

  The man gave a wan smile. ‘Nothing. Two hundred, maybe. The thousand took almost everything.’

  Two hundred was hardly nothing. It could keep most families alive for years.

  ‘You own property.’

  ‘It’s all mortgaged.’

  ‘Does Madeley know?’

  ‘No.’ He considered his answer. ‘I don’t know; maybe he does. Did he really arrange my daughter’s abduction?’

  ‘I think it’s likely that he had a hand in it,’ Simon said. ‘And he had the perfect person to carry it out.’

  ‘This Julius White man?’

  ‘Yes. White wants money. More than that, he wants his revenge on the people responsible for his transportation. He’s already begun.’

  ‘What?’ Milner blinked. He was looking dazed, stunned by what he’d learned. Hardly surprising. The whole world was crashing down around him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you hear about Miss Henry?’ The man nodded. ‘Years ago, she prosecuted White for the theft of a locket. That’s why he was sent to Australia.’

  ‘Then why don’t you go in and take him? You said you know where he is.’

  ‘Tell me, is your business simple and straightforward?’ Simon asked.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Neither is mine.’

  He needed proof, something so solid that a good lawyer couldn’t tear it apart in court. And so far he had nothing at all. White’s letter to the newspapers was artfully phrased. He could argue he meant justice by law. And there was nothing at all to show he’d been out on Black Flags Lane. If he tried to find the men who’d followed him on White’s orders, Simon knew he’d discover that they’d vanished or died.

  ‘What are you going to do? I want my money back.’ Milner gazed at the floor. ‘I need it.’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  A walk out to a silent house, and a quiet word.

  ‘Do you want revenge for your mistress’s murder?’

  ‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘I do.’

  ‘I might be able to give you that chance soon.’

  ‘Just tell me where and when.’

  ‘Milner’s going to send a letter to Madeley suggesting they meet at the factory tonight to discuss things.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Rosie asked. Simon had brought a pair of wooden toys home from the market, and the boys were playing noisily in the front parlour as the three of them sat in the kitchen and talked.

  ‘I’ll be at that meeting.’ He turned to Jane. ‘I want you to see who comes with Madeley and waits outside.’

  She nodded. ‘Do you think White will be there?’

  ‘He’s not going to show his face that easily. He’ll stay at Lady Lodge.’

  ‘Then how does that help us?’ Rosie said.

  Simon smiled. ‘We’re going to do something he doesn’t expect and see what happens.’

  The machines stood idle, dozens of them lined up on the factory floor. What would it be like in here during the day? Simon wondered. An ocean of noise. It would be impossible for the workers to speak. People learned to read lips, he knew that; it was the only way they could communicate. Twelve hours of standing and they went home each night half-deaf, worked to the bone.

  The air was heavy with a mix of scents: wool, lanolin, oil, and the stale sweat that seemed to have soaked into the building.

  In the offices, things were different. Sparse and cold for the clerks, wooden desks and hard benches, then a plush, decorated office for Milner, with a carpet over polished floorboards, a large desk and a window that looked out towards the river and the hills off to the south.

  Simon picked up a chair and moved it to the corner. Madeley wouldn’t see him when he entered. Milner sat behind his desk, but he couldn’t settle, no sooner down than he was up again. Pacing to the window, staring for a few seconds, then back again.

  The longclock ticked off the minutes to seven. Finally the hour began to strike, and the chimes faded. A short while later, Simon heard footsteps along the corridor. The door opened and Madeley came hurrying into the room.

  ‘John, I’m glad you finally want to talk about this.’

  He wasn’t an imposing man. Small, stout, a full head of curly brown hair revealed as he removed his hat. There was nothing menacing about him, not even a single thing that was memorable. There were hundreds just like him around Leeds. He was better-dressed, but otherwise he would have faded instantly into a crowd.

  Milner swallowed. His gaze darted around the room. ‘We have to discuss it sometime.’

  ‘And why not now, eh?’ Madeley sat, crossing one plump leg over the other and placing the hat in his lap. ‘We need to spend capital on this place. You know that.’

  ‘We’re doing well as we are.’ His voice quavered. Still Simon stayed perfectly still, not a word, not a movement, listening and watching.

  ‘But we could do better.’ Madeley was full of enthusiasm. ‘We could do so much better. If we spend money on these new machines, we can let a quarter of the employees go. Think of the savings in wages, man. By itself, that will pay for everything in two years. We’ll be able to produce more cloth, and sell more. You know it’s sensible.’

  ‘You don’t understand the business,’ Milner said.

  ‘I know how to make money. And I’ll have you to advise me; I’ll pay you well for your services.’

  ‘Is everything money to you?’ Simon asked as he rose from the chair. Madeley jerked his head round in surprise, then turned back to Milner.

  ‘Who’s this? I thought it was just going to be you and me.’

  ‘Let’s say I know the man who’s staying with you at the moment.’

  ‘What?’ He tried to stand, but Simon placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You’re here and you want to talk, so why don’t we do that? We can talk about Julius White.’

  ‘I don’t know who you mean. I came here in good faith—’

  ‘You came here because you smelled money,’ Simon corrected him. ‘You see the chance to grab all of Mr Milner’s business and you’re happy to take it. What kind of terms did you propose?’

  ‘Fair ones. Very fair.’ All the heartiness had vanished from his voice. Simon leant close enough to smell the fear.

  ‘A good gesture would be to return the thousand pounds your guest stole from Mr Milner.’