Mudie raised a pair of thick eyebrows. ‘I don’t know. I tried to find out when I heard.’

  ‘I’ll pay for the information.’ Simon reached into his pocket and dug out a florin. ‘That’s on account. And I need to know as soon as possible.’

  He saw Mudie eye the coin hungrily.

  ‘I’ll do what I can.’

  Park Square was almost silent. Trees coming into leaf, a sense of peace and calm. No coaches rumbling around, only a nanny and two children on the pavement. He thought about Amos and Richard. By now they would be out in Kirkstall, and Rosie would be on her own in a quiet house.

  Soon enough the boys would be back and the place would ring with noise again. He’d make sure of it. But this way was best.

  At Mrs Hart’s house on Park Lane, the servant eyed him doubtfully. The other day he’d worn his best clothes to visit, the fashionable jacket with the swallow tails and the tight-cut trousers. Today he was dressed for work, and half the garments had seen much better days.

  ‘She’ll see me,’ he assured the girl. But still she closed the door and made him wait on the step. Finally, he was allowed in, escorted through to the parlour. Emma Hart sat in her Sunday best, a gown that cost more than he wanted to imagine. She was standing by the window, staring out at a garden just beginning to come alive for spring. As he entered, she turned, looking amused.

  ‘Hettie thought a tramp had come to the door. I told you last time, Mr Westow, you look so much more handsome when you dress well.’

  ‘Needs must.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Well.’ She eyed him. ‘I suppose you must have a reason for arriving like this. I’d imagine it has something to do with Julius White.’

  ‘It does.’

  She glided across the room and poured two glasses of wine from a decanter, handing one to him. Did money teach grace? he wondered. The way she moved, her ease around everything …

  ‘Court on a Sunday? I’ve never heard of anything like that before.’ Mrs Hart shook her head.

  ‘No one has,’ he said. ‘And White was released. There wasn’t a lawyer in the room to make the case against him.’

  ‘What have you come to ask, Mr Westow?’

  ‘You know who’s powerful in town, Mrs Hart. Who’s pulling the strings? Someone gave Hardisty his orders. Someone told him to get White out of the gaol.’

  ‘A man who can do that carries plenty of weight,’ she said thoughtfully, tapping her index finger against her chin. ‘There aren’t many who could arrange something like that. Not in a few hours on a Saturday night.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The mayor, of course.’ She shook her head. ‘No. He’s a venal little man, but he’d never flout the law so obviously.’ Her eyes stared at nothing as she weighed the faces in her head. ‘I can think of two possibilities,’ she said after a while. He waited. ‘Do you know Councillor Atkinson?’

  ‘I know who he is,’ Simon replied. He’d seen the man, but never met him. Tall, haughty, with thinning ginger hair and a sharp face. The type who exuded power and took wealth as his right. Yes, he could be a good candidate. But what hold would White have on a man like that? ‘Who else?’

  ‘Robert Fairfax.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I’ve never even heard of him.’

  ‘You won’t have. That’s how he prefers things.’ Emma Hart gave a brief smile. ‘I know his wife a little. We sit on a pair of charity committees together. She’s pleasant enough but she’s … cowed. Always flustered.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Do?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not everyone needs to do things. Really, you ought to know that by now, Mr Westow. He has money. A fortune. He inherited it. That’s what he does. And he enjoys moving people around as if they belonged to him. Like toys.’

  ‘Why would he help Julius White?’

  ‘I couldn’t begin to tell you. I’ve no idea if he did. You asked me for names, that’s all. You can’t expect me to know their motives as well.’

  ‘Where does Fairfax live?’

  ‘Out in Chapel Allerton, I believe. I’ve never been to visit.’ Another hurried smile. ‘I’ve never been invited. But I’m not sure anyone has. He’s very private, I understand.’

  ‘And those are the only two you can think of?’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s more than enough for a place like Leeds? Two men above the law.’

  ‘Honestly?’ he replied. ‘I expected more. All I want is for this business to be over, and White where he belongs.’

  Her eyes sparkled. ‘Where’s that, Mr Westow?’

  ‘At the end of a rope.’

  Jane walked. It was the best she could think of, to wander around town, to make herself a target. Her body felt tight, tense, every sense on edge. She wanted White to come after her, to hunt her. She knew Leeds better than he did. The tiny ways, the hiding places. The best spots to ambush.

  Let him come and then she’d have her revenge for the night before.

  All afternoon she moved around. Up and down Briggate. The Head Row, Vicar Lane. Boar Lane, Park Row. Mile after mile, feeling the pale sun on her face, on her back. Twice men had followed her for a short distance, then turned away. But no White.

  By five, her legs ached and her feet were sore. Slowly, she made her way home to Swinegate, cutting through the courts and the ginnels and coming out close to the house, where she could stand and spy on anyone watching the place. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

  ‘He thinks he’s above the law,’ Rosie said. She slammed her hand down on the table in frustration. The strain showed on her face. Missing the boys, Simon thought. Worrying about them.

  ‘He’s already proved he is above the law,’ he said quietly. He unfolded the piece of paper in front of him on the table. ‘I’ve been given two names. People who have the power to tell the magistrate to hold his session today and free him. Robert Fairfax and Councillor Atkinson.’ He ran his finger down the list, stopping briefly, then moving on. ‘Lizzie Henry gave me the names of her clients,’ he explained. ‘Atkinson’s here. No mention of Fairfax.’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of him,’ Rosie said.

  ‘I hadn’t, either. He’s a very rich man, apparently. Reclusive.’

  ‘Why would someone like that help White?’ Jane asked.

  ‘We don’t know that he did.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s just a name I’ve been given. I need to find out. He certainly has the power.’

  ‘Since Atkinson’s on that list, we should go after him first,’ Rosie said. ‘We have a lever.’

  ‘Not quite. We have a name.’ Simon sighed. ‘That’s all. Lizzie’s dead.’ He paused for a moment. ‘So is her servant.’

  He heard Jane suck in her breath.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about that,’ Rosie told him.

  He gave a slight shrug. ‘What was there to say? I didn’t want to scare you even more. I went there this morning. The place was empty. He was up in the attic, hanged. It looks like suicide, but …’

  ‘But it was White,’ Jane said.

  His voice was solemn. ‘Paying him back for the beating last night. And we don’t stand a chance of proving it.’

  ‘One more reason he needs to be caught,’ Rosie said quietly.

  ‘I know. Believe me, I know.’ He pointed at the list again. ‘In the morning I’ll go after Atkinson.’ He took a breath. ‘He’s not going to know what Lizzie wrote about her customers. A few threats might bring something.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Jane asked.

  ‘The same thing you’ve been doing today,’ he told her after a moment. ‘It’s a good idea. Sooner or later, he’s going to be tempted. And start asking again, if anyone’s seen him.’

  Simon couldn’t think of any other way she could help. But he doubted that White would be lured quite so easily; the man was probably hiding somewhere out of sight, making his plans. Still, it was worth trying, and he couldn’t take Jane along to confront Councillor Atkinson. She knew that, too. With her alongside him, they’d simply be turned away. Alone, in his best clothes, he might have a chance to talk to the man.

  She nodded. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  He heard her feet on the stairs, then silence. Simon reached across the table and took his wife’s hand.

  ‘Missing them?’

  ‘Every second. I keep worrying that they’re all right.’

  ‘So do I.’

  She gave a weary smile. ‘You’d think we’d be happy to have some peace and quiet here, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘There won’t be any peace until White hangs.’

  She nodded. ‘He will. But that’s what we thought last night, remember?’

  ‘This seemed so simple when we started.’ He kept hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly. ‘All we had to do was find Hannah Milner and take her home. Now I can hardly believe she was involved. It seems so long ago.’

  ‘That was before we knew White was behind it.’

  ‘True.’ His voice was bleak. He sighed, then smiled. ‘He’s good, but he can’t beat the three of us.’

  ‘He came close.’ Rosie’s reminder was stern. ‘Don’t you ever forget that.’

  ‘No.’ He raised his head, as if he could see through the ceiling. ‘I don’t think Jane will, either. You were right, she’s been even quieter than usual today.’

  ‘She blames herself,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Why? Nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘You don’t understand. She expects everything from herself, Simon. She doesn’t give herself an inch. Look at her: she’s lived here for two years, and as soon as she steps out of the door you wouldn’t know she’d ever been in the house.’

  ‘That’s just how she is. It’s her way.’

  ‘But two years?’ Rosie shook her head. ‘She’s hardly changed in that time. I know she likes the boys, and they love her. But, honestly, Simon, sometimes I believe she could walk away and never give another thought to anything here.’

  ‘No. She’d still think about it,’ he said. She might go, and maybe she’d never return, but it would remain there in her mind. ‘That’s Jane, and we can take it or leave it. Nothing we can do or say is ever going to change her. She’s very good at this job. She was born for it.’

  TWENTY

  Monday morning. Already he could taste the smoke in the air. The manufactories were working, the constant thumping of machines and the noise of the people out on the streets. A cacophony.

  Simon was in his good suit, and fresh from the barber. His hair was cut short and oiled, his shave sharp and clean and smooth. There was no rush. Atkinson would be at the monthly council meeting. He’d find the man once it was done.

  Carts filled Briggate. A man came out from Rose and Crown yard, arm raised to halt traffic as the mail coach veered out into the street, sending people scattering out of its path.

  Simon stood in front of the Moot Hall. The building sat right in the middle of the road, an island with the town flowing briskly around it. In front of him, the old wooden stocks stood soft and rotting, the metal hinges brown with rust. They’d never been used in his lifetime. As he studied them, Simon became aware of a movement, someone coming closer. He turned quickly, starting to reach into his sleeve for the hidden knife. But it was only Martin Holden, the eager Radical who’d arranged his testimony about the workhouse and factories to the Commission.

  ‘Simon … good day.’ He bobbed his head nervously.

  ‘Hello, Martin.’

  ‘You promised we could talk more.’ The man always seemed fretful, as if he was unsure of himself and how people might welcome him. It was an odd trait in someone so dedicated to finding justice for children. But this wasn’t the right time for a conversation. Holden could talk for hours. He was full of facts and numbers. He overwhelmed with them, too many for anyone to take in.

  ‘I did,’ Simon agreed. ‘Once my work was done, I said. It’s not over yet.’

  ‘Oh.’ The man looked bewildered. ‘When …?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’ve heard about Julius White?’

  ‘Who?’ He frowned, then his face cleared. ‘Oh, yes. I have.’

  ‘Once he’s caught and sentenced, then we can talk.’

  ‘I see.’ He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and nodded. ‘Another time, then.’

  He watched Holden walk away. So earnest, just one thing in his head. Perhaps the man really could bring some changes, but Simon doubted they’d happen in his lifetime. The world only moved quickly when there was money to be made. On anything to help the poor, it was as slow as treacle.

  Half an hour of standing and pacing around, watching dulled faces, lost in the raw sounds of Leeds. Finally, the councillors began to emerge. Two of them hurried down the steps, late for their appointments; the others followed in dribs and drabs and began to drift away. Two minutes later, Atkinson emerged, tapping his hat down on his head, casually surveying Briggate before sauntering towards the Head Row.

  He lived out along North Street, in a large house close to Sheepscar Beck. Simon didn’t hurry; there was ample time. He caught up with the man near Brunswick Place, just as the sprinkling of small dwellings dwindled away to become fields.

  ‘A word, if I might, Councillor.’

  Atkinson turned, curious. He stared down his nose, as if every man he saw was below his concern.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No.’ Simon smiled. He didn’t offer his hand; Atkinson would never have taken it, anyway. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ He fussed with his gloves, pulling them tighter over his hands. His skin was pale, a few freckles scattered across his cheeks.

  ‘Lizzie Henry.’

  Atkinson didn’t even glance up. ‘I heard she was dead.’ His tone dismissed her. She was history, no longer any concern of his.

  ‘That’s right. And the man who murdered her was in the gaol until yesterday morning.’

  ‘I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me.’ He started to walk away.

  ‘She left a list of the customers who enjoyed her girls, and what they enjoyed. Your name is on it, Councillor.’

  He continued, but his stride faltered a little.

  ‘You’re a gentleman of influence in town.’ Simon pitched his voice a little louder, letting it ring over the grass. ‘The kind of man who could give orders to a magistrate to fix a trial.’

  Atkinson halted. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Perhaps you should tell me, Mr Atkinson.’ Five steps and he was close enough to see the man’s chest rise and fall.

  ‘And if I choose not to?’

  ‘Then I daresay the Mercury would enjoy publishing some scandal. It’s interesting how quickly a reputation can crumble once secrets start to come out. Turned away from society, not welcome in many places …’

  ‘Plenty of people used Mrs Henry’s establishment.’ Atkinson tried to keep his voice steady, but Simon could hear a tiny quaver. The first small crack in the façade.

  ‘That’s very true,’ Simon agreed. His bluff might work. ‘But I’m not interested in them. Only in you, Councillor. Think about it for a moment: you’d become quite the centre of attention. Even if the papers didn’t publish, a few hints would be bound to leak here and there. That can be very effective.’

  ‘Some people might call that blackmail.’ He began to walk again, but more slowly now, with Simon keeping pace, staring ahead.

  ‘They can call it what they like. All I’m interested in is the truth. Tell me that and no one will ever know about your … tastes.’

  ‘And how could I trust someone like you?’ A sneer in the words. Keep going, Simon thought, and I’ll let everyone know for the sheer pleasure of it.

  ‘You can’t,’ he replied. ‘But then again, you don’t have the power here. I do.’ Let the man feel what that was like for once in his life. Let him squirm.

  For a hundred yards they stayed silent. Finally Atkinson gave a small cough.

  ‘For whatever it’s worth, I had nothing to do with what happened in court yesterday. I didn’t even know about it until I heard the gossip after church.’

  ‘Give me one good reason to believe you.’

  The man shook his head. ‘I can’t do that. The only person who can tell you who gave the orders is Hardisty. I believe he left Leeds in a hurry.’

  ‘He did,’ Simon said. ‘And no one seems to know where he’s gone. Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve told you the truth. The council will have its reckoning with him when he returns.’

  As much as he wanted the man to be a liar, Simon believed him. There was no varnish on his words. He’d left himself open.

  ‘Who else has the power to give orders to a magistrate?’

  ‘Have you heard of Mr Fairfax?’

  ‘Not until yesterday. You’re the second person to mention him.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should attend to the advice.’ He peered more closely at Simon. ‘I know who you are now. You’re Westow, the thief-taker.’

  ‘I am.’

  Atkinson cocked his head. ‘Two years ago, you found something that had been stolen from Mrs Collins.’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a hazy memory. A simple job, he recalled, everything done in half a day.

  ‘She was impressed by your work. Said you were honest.’

  Simon nodded. ‘I try to be.’

  ‘Then perhaps you really will keep my secrets, Mr Westow.’ He gave a dark smile. ‘But as you say, you hold the cards.’

  ‘Fairfax,’ Simon said. ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘He has the ear of everyone important.’

  ‘Why would he help someone like White?’

  ‘You’d need to ask him.’

  ‘I will. Does he come into Leeds much?’

  ‘Rarely,’ Atkinson replied. ‘When he wants to talk to someone, he summons them.’ He paused for a moment. ‘People go to him, not the other way round. I believe his wife is a little more social, but I’ve never met her.’

  ‘If I wanted to see him, what would be the best way?’

  ‘Ingenuity.’ He straightened his back. ‘With that, I’ll trust to your honesty and wish you good day and good luck, Mr Westow.’

  Simon watched him go, standing until Atkinson turned between a pair of gateposts and disappeared.