Fairfax.

  He needed to find out about the man.

  Jane huddled in the long coat as she drifted around the streets, waiting. For once, she hoped that someone would see her. But this was a day when she couldn’t make herself visible. No one followed her, no one even seemed to notice she was there.

  She talked to people she knew. Old women, children scavenging in the courts, two of the pickpockets who worked Briggate and dreamed of finding a fortune in a purse. But no one had seen Julius White.

  But he was here. Somewhere in Leeds. She could feel him in her blood.

  Mudie was in the newspaper office, jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up as he cleaned the printing press.

  ‘Found a buyer for it yet, George?’

  The man turned, a broad smile on his face. ‘I’ve done even better. I have two printing jobs lined up.’ He wiped his hands on a dirty rag, but he’d never shift the ink from his fingers. ‘You wanted information.’

  ‘I still do,’ Simon told him.

  ‘I haven’t come up with much for your money, I’m afraid. About the only name was Fairfax.’

  ‘Other people have been saying that to me, too. What do you know about him?’

  ‘Well.’ He drew the word out slowly as he walked through to the front of the office and sat at his desk. ‘He tends to stay out of sight, I can tell you that much. His grandfather made the family money. They were never poor, but he married a woman with proper wealth.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Some men have all the luck.’

  Simon laughed. ‘You love your wife and you know it.’

  Mudie sighed. ‘Fairfax’s father made some good investments. God only knows what they’re worth. It’s safe to say they’ll never need to worry about their next meal.’

  ‘I want to know what he’s like, George.’

  ‘I’ve never met him. I’ve only seen him a few times, I haven’t written about him. But I don’t think he’s a well man. A while ago he lost weight; he was as thin as a wraith. He might still be. And I’ve heard he has a temper on him.’ The man shrugged. ‘That’s all I know, Simon.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  Mudie thought. ‘Thirty-five. Something like that. He inherited about ten years ago, when his father died.’

  ‘Does he have any children?’

  ‘Not with his wife,’ the man answered guardedly.

  ‘But?’

  ‘There have been rumours about a mistress.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t have any idea if they’re true. You know how people love to gossip.’

  ‘Does she have a name?’

  ‘Mrs Chambers. She’s a widow, quite young. Two boys, I’m not sure how old they are. Probably still quite young. She’s only in her twenties. Very pretty.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘She took a house in Potternewton a couple of years ago. I don’t know where she lived before that. Someone said Horsforth, I think.’

  Potternewton was close to Chapel Allerton, no more than a few minutes from Fairfax. It might be a way to get to the man.

  Simon rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. ‘How does he have so many people in his pocket?’

  ‘Money.’ A simple answer, and plain as day. ‘You know how it works. Money means power, and he likes to exercise it. I think he enjoys seeing everyone running around, doing his bidding. Like a boy playing with lead soldiers.’

  Could it be as simple as that, something so stupid? A man taking his pleasure from seeing everyone scuttle and scurry to his whims? But he didn’t even know if Fairfax was involved. It might be nothing at all. But if he was, then White must know something about the man, something that could destroy him.

  It was the only thing he could imagine.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘We’ll meet back here,’ Simon said. They’d walked out along the road from Leeds as coaches sped past and carts rumbled slowly by. A pair of cottages stood close together, their windows looking along the long hill into town.

  ‘I might not see her,’ Jane said. ‘It’ll probably be the cook or the maid.’

  ‘That’s not important. Talk to them, see what you can find out about her.’

  She nodded. Three miles out here through the countryside, it was safer with company. If people looked, they saw him, not her. She was just a girl, nothing. And she’d had no feeling of anyone trailing behind them.

  While she went to Mrs Chambers’s house, Simon would walk a little further, into Chapel Allerton, to discover what he might about Fairfax and have a chance to see his property.

  She’d been sitting in the kitchen when he came home, honing her knife with a whetstone. She did it every day, keeping the edge keen and brilliant, ready to cut through anything with the lightest touch. As Simon explained what he wanted her to do, she wiped the blade on her dress and slid it away into the sheath in her pocket.

  It was a ritual. Her ritual. It made her feel safe.

  She touched the hilt now, as she walked down the road on her own. The third house along on the left, Simon had told her. They were dotted on the hillside, a fair distance from each other. Private.

  Jane stood at the end of the drive. The place was modest, smaller than she’d expected, the stone still clean, shining in the sunlight, a big window on either side of the door, three of them on the floor above. She pulled the shawl up over her hair and started to walk over the gravel.

  The back door. It would always be the back door for someone like her.

  Simon watched her go, a small figure blending into the distance, then he walked the last half mile up the road and into the village. It was a quiet place. A church with its graveyard, a pair of inns. A few big houses and more that were smaller, poorer.

  Over on Chapeltown Moor he could see the small quarry and the brickworks. They once held the hangings out here, someone had told him. Big crowds would come from all around Leeds to see a guilty man have his neck stretched. Stalls would be set up, selling food, all manner of things, and horse races to finish the day. It seemed impossible to imagine now.

  The smith was working in his forge, hammering out a horseshoe as a groom waited, holding his animal by the reins.

  ‘Where’s a good place to find something to eat?’ Simon asked.

  The smith never lost his rhythm.

  ‘There’s the Regent and the Nag’s Head. You’ll have passed the Bowling Green Inn down the hill.’

  He lifted the shoe with a pair of tongs, inspected the glowing metal, and tossed it into a bucket of water. Steam rose in a sudden hiss. The man wiped the sweat off his face with a cloth.

  ‘Not too many stop here.’ He nodded towards the road. ‘Most just go by.’

  ‘I was hoping to see someone,’ Simon told him.

  ‘Who’s that, then?’ His voice turned wary.

  ‘Mr Fairfax.’

  The groom snorted. ‘You’ll not get near him. No one does.’

  ‘No one?’

  ‘He’s not partial to people,’ the smith said. ‘We don’t hardly see him and we live here.’

  ‘Which house is his?’

  The blacksmith pushed out his chest and folded a pair of thick arms. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m curious, that’s all.’

  ‘Quarter of a mile along the road,’ the groom told him. ‘You can’t miss it. Big place.’ The smith turned and glared, but the man didn’t notice. ‘Gates are always closed. Like I said, they don’t take too kindly to visitors.’

  ‘I see.’ Simon tipped his that. ‘Then thank you, gentlemen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be making a nuisance of yourself,’ the blacksmith warned. ‘Mr Fairfax might not like company, but he’s one of us. You understand what I mean.’

  ‘Perfectly.’ With a nod, he was gone.

  The Regent was a poor place, two cramped rooms and a bar. A pair of men played cards in a corner, their mugs empty. Another talked to a weary barman, who seemed glad to move away and serve a new customer.

  ‘Beer,’ Simon said. ‘Do you have something to eat?’

  ‘Nothing fresh,’ the man replied. ‘We get a few in for their dinner and the wife cooks for that. No call later in the day.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Bread and cheese, I suppose, if you’re hungry enough.’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  There wasn’t much more to learn about Fairfax in this place, and the owner was reluctant to talk. The man had never been a customer, didn’t order his wine or ale here. A few of Fairfax’s servants sometimes drank in the public houses of an evening. Most went down to the Bowling Green.

  Simon finished the beer and food and ambled along the road. Fairfax’s house was easy to spot, exactly as the groom had promised. A high fence of metal spikes faced the road, the tall gates firmly closed. A long expanse of lawn led to the building. No sign of anyone working. From somewhere behind the building he heard a shot. Then another, and the faint sound of men laughing.

  Getting in could be a deadly test. Doing it legally, impossible. But he needed to find a way. White could be there now, staring out at him with a satisfied smile.

  Jane knocked on the door and stepped back, staring down at the flagstones in the yard. She heard movement inside, and a curious tapping sound. Then a key turned in the lock and she looked up.

  A man. One good leg, the other gone at the knee, a carved wooden stump in its place. He was tall, his hair dark and thick. A wide scar on his chin, a leather patch covering his right eye. And a warm, kindly smile on his face.

  ‘What do we have here, then?’

  Jane was used to a cook or a housekeeper answering the door. They were the ones who ruled the servants. She could talk to a woman. A man standing in front of her, especially one who looked like this, was unnerving.

  ‘I’m looking for work, sir.’

  ‘Are you, now?’ He had a deep, tender voice. ‘And what’s your name, love?’

  ‘Jane, sir.’

  ‘What work can you do, Jane?’

  ‘Anything, sir. Scrub, clean.’

  ‘Done it before, have you?’ he asked doubtfully.

  ‘I have, sir.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the workhouse.’

  It was the lie she’d built with Simon. No one would employ a girl who had no experience. This explanation sounded possible.

  ‘You don’t look as if you’ve been there in a while.’

  ‘No, sir.’ She kept her voice meek. ‘I didn’t like it there. They beat us.’

  ‘When did you eat, girl?’

  ‘Supper yesterday, sir.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what: I can’t offer you any work, but I can give you some food.’ He held the door wide. ‘Come in and warm yourself.’

  She stepped into the house, wary. The man might have a wooden leg, but he was big, he had broad shoulders and strong arms. Jane kept her hand in her pocket, fingers round the hilt of her knife, ready.

  ‘Where’s the cook, sir?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re looking at him. Cook, the mistress’s coachman and bodyguard. There’s me and a maid who’s also the nanny. We’re a strange little house here, Jane.’

  The kitchen was spotless. The pans were hung up, shining in the light through the window. The man limped over to a cupboard and brought out a board with some bread and cheese and a jar of pickle.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘No job here for you, I’m afraid, but you can help yourself to that. Take the rest with you, if you like. It’s never good to have an empty belly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jane cocked her head. ‘Have you been hungry yourself?’

  ‘Once or twice.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘More, after I got back to England. There aren’t many willing to employ a man with one leg and one eye.’

  ‘What happened to you, sir?’ She nibbled at the bread and broke off a piece of the cheese. ‘Was it the French war?’

  ‘No, it was nothing like that. A crocodile did it. Do you know what they are?’

  Jane shook her head.

  ‘They’re nasty beasts. Don’t look like one of God’s creatures at all. They’ve got skin like armour and they can grow to twenty feet long. Mostly they wait in the water to gobble up what they can, but if they come up on land they can move faster than a man. And they weigh more than I can lift. One of them decided he’d like the taste of me.’ He shrugged. ‘He settled for my leg.’

  She’d heard tales of beasts like that, but only from the storytellers at the market. She’d never believed they really existed.

  ‘Where did it happen?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Australia,’ he told her. And suddenly she was very alert, paying attention to every word.

  ‘Were you a convict?’

  The man laughed again. ‘No, thank God. A little better than that. I was a soldier. Only a private, I never wanted rank. After I left the army, I decided to make a life out there and try my hand at farming. Then I met the croc. Bayside isn’t any kind of country for a man with one leg.’

  She looked at his face. No sign of anger or resentment. It had happened, and that was it.

  ‘You said there’s a mistress here, sir?’

  ‘That’s right.’ His voice softened. ‘Mrs Chambers. She’s a widow woman, very young. She took a chance on me, and I’d do anything for her. That’s why I’ll let in someone who comes to the door. It’s always good to give a little charity. Someone gave it to me.’ His eyes moved around the kitchen. ‘I had some good luck for once.’

  ‘How many children does she have?’ Jane had finished the cheese. The bread was almost gone, the jar of pickle empty. Soon she’d have to leave. For now, she’d keep asking questions.

  ‘Two. A pair of lads, three and four. Playful as the devil, but well-behaved. Mrs Chambers sees to that herself.’

  ‘What happened to her husband?’ She placed the final crumbs in her mouth.

  ‘A seizure, she said. It happened before I came to work for her. She was still carrying Joshua, the youngest. Mrs Chambers took me on when he was still in the cradle, after she moved here.’

  ‘And you have a home now.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed with a smile. ‘A good one, too.’ He slid the empty board away from her. ‘I hope you can find one, too, Jane. You look like a girl who needs a welcoming place.’

  As she sat by the roadside, waiting for Simon, she wondered if she should have mentioned White to the servant. They might have known each other on the other side of the world. No, she decided; silence was safer. The name would have given too much away.

  ‘We’re no further along.’ Simon kicked at a stone, watching it spin down the road.

  ‘No,’ Jane said. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied after a moment, his jaw set. ‘I don’t bloody know.’

  ‘White might not even be in Fairfax’s house.’

  ‘Then where is he?’ Frustration prickled at him, cut his temper short. ‘Tell me that. We can’t find him, and he hasn’t come after us.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not in town any more.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘He’s still here. He’s not going to leave Leeds until he’s satisfied. He didn’t come all this way just to kill Lizzie Henry. He wants all of us.’

  White was toying with them. Like a cat biding its time with a mouse before it pounced. The man wanted them so terrified that they’d jump at their own shadows. To live with fear.

  ‘Then we’ll wait,’ Jane said. ‘Let him show himself.’

  Simon kicked out at another stone. He was always the hunter. That was his job. It was what he knew. This sat too heavy in his belly. It ate at him. He didn’t like to wait. Patience had never been one of his gifts.

  ‘We’ll stop at Lady Lodge on the way back,’ he said. ‘Madeley might have an idea how we can bring White into the open.’

  But the door was locked. No servants in the house, the shutters all closed. It looked as though the man had gone away.

  Simon could feel his temper rising. Every way they turned today, there’d been a wall in front of them.

  ‘You know that’s exactly what he wants,’ Rosie said. ‘He’ll wait until you’re so frustrated that you do something stupid. As soon as that happens, he’ll be there.’

  ‘I’m going to be careful.’

  ‘Simon.’ She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him. ‘Look at yourself. You’ve snapped at me three times since you came home. You’re ready to explode.’

  ‘I just want this over. I want the boys back here.’ He let out a breath. ‘I want everything the way it was.’

  Rosie put her arms on his shoulders. ‘It will be,’ she said softly. ‘It will be. Come on, let’s go to bed.’

  In the middle of the night, Jane rose and stood in the darkness by the window. She thought she’d heard something, a scratch at the door. But Swinegate was empty, no lights showing anywhere.

  Quietly, she put on her dress and coat and tucked the shawl around her head. In stockinged feet, she slipped downstairs and out of the door, stopping to lace up her boots. And she vanished into the blackness.

  The night didn’t scare her. She could use the darkness, hide in it. This was the time when the people she knew would be out. Gathered round their fires, caught in the space between sleep and waking.

  No one behind her. Not a soul to be seen.

  The river was almost silent, just the faint lapping of water by the wharves. At the entrance to the old blacking factory Jane stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom.

  The children slept in the corner, holding each other close for warmth. The adults sat quiet by a small blaze, too lost for sleep. She moved from one to the other, whispering her questions, watching the reflections of flames in their dead eyes.

  But none of them had seen Julius White.

  It was the same out by Drony Laith at the camp in the woods, and in the cellar off one of the old Briggate courts. She was just leaving, hands pushed deep in her pocket, fingers running along the knife hilt, when she heard someone hiss.

  Jane stopped.

  ‘I’ve seen him.’

  It was a boy’s voice, thin and high. He was in the shadows, only his face visible. One eye was swollen shut. His lower lip was cut, blood dried on his chin.

  ‘What happened to you?’