Madeley shook his head. ‘You don’t say no to someone like that.’

  Not when he knew so much that you didn’t want out in the open.

  ‘How long did those few days become?’

  ‘A week. Then he was back six weeks later. He needed some ready money, he said.’

  ‘And you had the idea of putting pressure on Milner by kidnapping his daughter.’

  ‘Yes,’ Madeley admitted quietly.

  ‘Never mind. It’s all over now.’

  The man stood, and gave a small bow towards Rosie. ‘I can’t say it’s been pleasant to meet you, Mr Westow. But it’s been instructive.’

  ‘I’ll be there in the morning.’

  Simon needed to sleep. His body was exhausted, muscles aching after the night. His mind was drained, thoughts swirling emptily. Rosie was curled up against his chest, his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘What happened tonight?’

  He was warm, comfortable, starting to drift.

  ‘I’ll tell you when it’s light.’

  Jane sat on her bed. She’d failed. Again and again, she went through every single detail, sifting the pictures in her head, trying to understand how White had taken her by surprise. But she couldn’t find an explanation. He wasn’t there; she knew she was alone in that room. And then, before she even knew it, she felt his hand and smelled his breath and the pressure of a blade at her neck.

  The candle flickered, throwing shadows around the attic. She pushed up the sleeve of her dress. Took the knife, forcing it down slowly against her skin. A thin line. The dark bloom, looking as deep as the night. She felt it. The release, the guilt. Once, twice, three times. She watched as the blood trickled down her arm. She’d failed. She deserved this. She needed to be punished.

  Simon woke rested and calm, and stretched in the bed. Rosie and the boys were downstairs, bustling round the kitchen. Sunlight leaked through the shutters. By the time he left the house, the day was mild, just a few light clouds hanging in the sky.

  Sabbath morning, and Leeds was quiet. Soon enough, the bells would begin to peal for service. The parish church, St John’s, Holy Trinity, a clamour of them for the faithful. For now, though, there were few people around, nothing more than a carriage or two on the road. By afternoon, couples would be promenading up and down Briggate. Groups of young men would gather to flirt with girls. Probably the way it had been since the town was first here.

  But for him, it was a day of business.

  Jane had left the house before he’d even risen.

  ‘She was very quiet,’ Rosie said. ‘Hardly said a word.’

  ‘She’s always that way.’

  ‘This was more than usual. She looked as if she hadn’t slept. And she kept rubbing her forearm. I asked if she’d hurt herself, but she just drew back like she’d been scalded.’

  Simon didn’t know. He couldn’t begin to understand. She was a strange one. She took some things so deep to her heart while others flowed over her. Everyone made mistakes. He accepted his. He learned from them. But in this trade, he knew, any mistake could be the last.

  White had gambled. The way he pushed Jane, he was so certain she’d send Simon tumbling. He’d failed, too. He didn’t know about the knife on Simon’s arm. And so he’d lost. It could so easily have gone the other way. Dwelling on it wasn’t going to help. You took the good fortune that came.

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  Rosie snorted. ‘Does she ever? Ate some bread and left. The boys weren’t even up.’

  Lady Lodge looked bonny in the sun. Peaceful. The grass around it was a brilliant spring green, and the light fell flatteringly on the stones. Beyond it, Sheepscar Beck burbled and sang over the rocks. He could almost have been in the middle of the countryside.

  Turn around, though, and the truth stood stark. The manufactories loomed like castles. Houses were packed tight against each other. Chimneys stabbed at the sky. No smoke, a day of rest today, but tomorrow it would all return, as dark and awful as ever.

  Madeley looked as though he’d spent a restless night. His clothes were clean and fresh, a sober, churchgoing suit, white stock carefully tied at the neck, trousers tight in the fashion, and boots with a glistening shine, but he seemed anxious, eager for Simon to be done and gone, as if that might erase everything that had happened.

  ‘I’ll take you up to his room.’ No small talk, not a smile.

  The windows gave a view over the slope down to the water and the hills rising in the distance. The bed was neatly made. A bureau, a small table with a basin and ewer. A worn pannier lay over the back of a chair. Simon tipped out the contents. A purse with a few coins. Some letters that he pocketed. And there, fastened behind a small flap, Lizzie Henry’s locket. With that, and her servant’s testimony, no jury could fail to convict, on top of the kidnapping charge. And no judge dare give less than a death sentence. All the influence in Leeds couldn’t buy him out of it now.

  But there was more. He knew there was more. The ransom White had taken from Milner. His eyes searched around the room. Two minutes later, he had the leather bag in his hand. Hidden behind the carving on top of the wardrobe. Simple, obvious. Inside, more bank notes than he’d ever seen in his life. At home, he’d count then, take out the two hundred guineas of his fee, and return them to Milner.

  Madeley was waiting impatiently by the door, hat in his hand, ready to leave for church.

  ‘Did you find what you wanted?’

  ‘I did. You can rest assured. Julius White is going to swing.’ Simon saw the relief on the man’s face and leaned closer. ‘And if you’re lucky, he won’t implicate you.’

  He left before Madeley could say a word. Let him think about that as he sat on a pew. Maybe it would make his prayers more fervent.

  Simon strolled back along Vicar Lane. He felt satisfied – he had everything he needed to see White face justice. And he’d earned every penny of his fee. Last night he’d come closer to death than he’d ever known in this work. Jane had stood on the brink and stared over the edge of it. But they’d both survived. They were here. They’d see tomorrow and the days that came after.

  He raised his head as someone called his name. George Mudie was hurrying along in his fat man’s waddle, waving his stick and shouting.

  ‘You want to be careful, George,’ Simon said. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury.’

  ‘I’ve been looking for you. Have you heard the news?’ he wheezed as he came to a stop, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.

  ‘About White? He was arrested last night.’

  Mudie’s eyes widened and he shook his head wildly. ‘No, not that. He was up before the magistrate a few minutes ago.’

  ‘What?’ That was impossible. No court sat on the Sabbath. He’d never heard of it. ‘Which magistrate?’

  ‘Hardisty.’ Mudie had caught his breath. ‘I don’t know who arranged it, but they opened up the Moot Hall.’

  ‘It can’t be. You must have heard it wrong. Who was there to prosecute?’ Simon asked. Someone must have been. Milner had brought the complaint. His lawyer must have known.

  ‘No one,’ Mudie answered. ‘Just White and the judge.’

  ‘That’s …’ It couldn’t be legal, he was certain of that.

  ‘It’s what I heard.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Hardisty said that since the prosecution hadn’t put a case, White was free to go. He walked out of the courtroom.’

  It couldn’t happen. Not in England. This wasn’t the law. But Mudie was serious. Someone had given the magistrate his orders or a bribe, and he’d done as he was told. But now Julius White was back on the streets. Now he understood what the man had said the night before. No need to peach. Not when things could be arranged.

  ‘Where’s Hardisty?’ He turned back, ready to run to the Moot Hall.

  ‘He left Leeds straight afterwards. A relative who’s ill, he said. I saw him ride away myself.’

  Sweet God, he thought. Rosie. The boys. Jane. Milner. Madeley. Too many people were in danger.

  ‘I need to go.’ He shook Mudie’s hand. ‘Thank you, George. I’m glad you found me.’

  ‘Did you find—’ Rosie began. Then she saw the look on Simon’s face. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘White’s been released.’

  She stood, stunned. Exactly the way he felt.

  ‘But … how?’

  He told her the little he knew.

  ‘I want you and the boys out of Leeds until this is done.’ Simon slapped the bag with Milner’s money on the kitchen table. ‘Our fee’s in there. Take it and go somewhere safe.’

  Rosie looked down at it, then raised her head to him.

  ‘No, Simon. I’m not leaving. I’m not going to let him force me out of my home.’

  ‘Amos, Richard,’ he said. ‘Get them out of here, at least.’

  She nodded. ‘I can send them to stay with Mrs Burton in Kirkstall. She’s always said she’d like them to visit.’

  ‘And what about you? I want you safe, too.’

  ‘I’m staying here.’ She held up her left hand. The wedding ring caught the light. ‘You see that? I haven’t forgotten what it means.’

  She wasn’t going to back down. Not on this. She was here, with him, the way she’d been since they first met. He smiled at her, then counted out two hundred pounds from the bag and another ten for himself.

  ‘I’ll take the rest to Milner. He can use it. And he needs to know. I’ll tell Madeley, too.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I will. Keep the house secure. And make sure Jane knows as soon as she comes home.’

  ‘She’ll probably have heard by then.’

  The news had spread quickly. Jane was sitting with Mrs Rigton when a man dashed in to tell them. The old woman’s face showed nothing. Once the man had rushed on to pass the word, she said, ‘You need to watch out for yourself, girl. He’s going to be especially dangerous now.’

  ‘I told Simon we should have killed him.’ Jane’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. She remembered the way he’d held her, the steel cold on her skin, the feel of his body pressed against hers.

  ‘Maybe you should have. But today’s too late for regrets. I daresay Simon thought he was doing the right thing.’

  ‘Now we have to do it again.’ Without thinking, her hand slipped through to her pocket for the reassurance of her knife.

  ‘I wonder what kind of hold he has over them,’ Mrs Rigton said. ‘I’ve never heard of a magistrate sitting on a Sunday in my lifetime. It takes power to arrange that, child.’

  It needed the kind of men she’d never know. Men who had no need to shout, because every whisper was obeyed. The ones who really ran everything.

  She should be scared. Somehow, though, the news hardly touched her. He’d beaten her once. He’d had her helpless. She was never going to let that happen again. Never.

  ‘I’d better go. Simon …’

  ‘He’ll know,’ Mrs Rigton said. ‘You have to look to yourself.’

  ‘I will.’

  The woman patted her knee with a bony hand. ‘Make sure that you do. If I hear anything, I’ll get word to you.’

  In the distance she could hear voices raised in a hymn from the Methodist chapel. Maybe God helped them, but in her world He’d turned his face away from every plea. Or perhaps He’d just never seen or heard them at all. In their corners and crevices, the poor were easy to miss.

  She kept looking around every few moments. But Jane didn’t sense anyone behind her. Nobody watching. Not a soul lurking near Swinegate as she made her way home.

  Inside, Rosie was busy packing two bags with clothes and a toy or two for the boys.

  ‘You’ve heard,’ Jane said.

  ‘I have. I’m sending the twins to stay with someone.’

  She nodded and began to help. Enoch, the coachman at the ostler’s yard down the road, would take them.

  ‘I can go with them,’ Jane offered. ‘Make sure they’re safe.’

  A moment’s hesitation, then Rosie nodded her agreement.

  Milner had turned pale at the news. He hugged the money close to his chest and didn’t say a word.

  ‘Are your wife and daughter still in York?’

  The man nodded dumbly.

  ‘If I were you, I’d go and join them for a few days. One way or another it’ll all be over soon.’

  Madeley was still at church. The news would be flying around him as he left the service.

  One more call to make.

  Even from a distance, Lizzie Henry’s house seemed deserted, dead. As Simon approached, the feeling in his belly grew. A sense of dread. The front door hung open. Something bad was inside.

  He called out once, twice, but there was no answer. Simon moved from door to door. Every room was empty. The same upstairs. Just silence. Only the attic left. He climbed the stairs warily, knife in his hand. Halfway up, the smell hit him.

  A chair lay on its side, tipped over. The noose had been tied over a beam. The window was open. In the breeze, the servant swung slowly, to and fro, like a pendulum. A pool around his feet, and the stench of soiling himself.

  He hadn’t been dead long; his skin was still warm when Simon reached out to touch him.

  It could have been suicide. Who was to say anything different? But he knew the truth.

  NINETEEN

  He cut the body down, caught it like a sack before it fell and laid it on the floor. The man deserved that much at least. He’d been devoted to Lizzie; at least he’d be with her again now.

  In heaven. That was what the master of the workhouse had always told them. Every Sunday at service, every morning at prayers. Drummed into them all, into their heads and their backs. A better place than this earth, and their suffering here would help them find a place with Jesus.

  Even when he was young, Simon had never believed it. All he needed to do was look at the hopeless faces all around him. Why would any God let them hurt?

  He was thinking too much. Sometimes memories could help. More often, they were vicious and cruel and painful.

  Simon left the house, pulled the door to and walked back into Leeds. White was somewhere out there, waiting.

  Enoch’s cart rumbled over the cobbles. Jane had rarely ridden in one before. She’d forgotten how different the world could seem from up here. To look down at people as they marched along, so caught up in their own worlds that they never glanced up to see her.

  Back in the ostler’s yard, she climbed down to reality. Invisible in a different way. No one had followed them to Kirkstall. The boys were both safe with Mrs Burton and her husband, ready to have adventures out at the ruined abbey.

  White had to die. If they’d done it last night … but Mrs Rigton was right; what ifs had no currency in this world. Regret never changed a single thing.

  With the boys gone, Rosie would worry about them. But it was better this way. And it wouldn’t be for long. Jane could feel it in her blood. Things would boil over quickly enough. After last night, White would be eager to complete his revenge.

  Where could she start to look? The old blacking factory was empty. No one would gather there before dusk, not while there was the chance to find a penny or two in town. Begging was better on a Sunday. A day of rest, a day of church, when people’s rusted hearts creaked open to charity. It had helped keep her alive once or twice when she was younger.

  White would want to kill her, too. To complete it all. As she walked, Jane kept her right hand in the pocket of the old coat, reaching through to keep her fingers tight on the hilt of her knife.

  She ducked into the passage by the Ship Inn. Behind a door in the wall lay a rickety old stair up to a platform, and a hole in the wall that let her see over Briggate. No one was waiting below, no one searching. Maybe White wouldn’t be trusting anyone else now, and doing everything himself.

  Jane sat and thought, her back against the wall. All she needed was one glimpse. Just one. White had to hunt down three people. They were only searching for him. A single glimpse and she’d be behind him. This time she’d make sure he didn’t take her by surprise. And when they were alone, she’d make him pay for everything he’d done to her. A cut for each one she’d given herself.

  There was only one way to face her fear. To take her blade, tear through it and make it disappear. Up here, out of sight, she was safe, but being hidden away wasn’t going to bring an end to all this. She needed to do something.

  By dinnertime, the news about White was common knowledge. It grew in every telling. Simon heard that White had killed four men, that he’d held off a group baying for his death. That the magistrate had offered him a complete pardon.

  In the space of a day he’d gone beyond flesh and blood. He’d become a tale, a myth. Someone claimed that in Australia he’d learned to walk through walls, to cast spells so he wouldn’t be seen.

  No. He knew better. The man bled. He felt pain. He was as real as any of them.

  The only sure thing was that no one seemed to have seen him since he left court. Julius White had vanished. And Simon knew that wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t leave Leeds until his job was done. He’d travelled ten thousand miles to carry it out. He still had the loyalty of some very influential people in Leeds.

  Those were the ones he needed to find. To discover what hold White had over them and break it.

  Mudie’s rooms above the old newspaper office were shabby. Old furniture, books and papers lay all round, gathered in dusty piles and tied with string. No fire burning in the grate, and only a dusting of coal left in the scuttle.

  The man was poor. The loaf of bread on the table looked as if it had lasted him for days. A shilling or two would go a long way here. But Simon knew Mudie; he was too proud to beg for charity.

  ‘You said that Hardisty was the magistrate who held the hearing this morning?’ Simon had a faint image in his mind of a man with a cold, stern face.

  ‘Convened the court at eight. The hearing lasted five minutes. As soon as it was done, he left Leeds. I already told you all this.’

  ‘Hardisty didn’t arrange this by himself, George. Someone pushed him. Who’s behind it? Who gave him his orders?’