‘Will you stay there?’

  ‘That’s my intention.’

  A last nod and he walked off. Simon nodded for Jane to follow and see him safely back to the house. Barton disappeared through the lychgate and out of sight. He’d never acknowledged Jane was there, Simon noted. But she was the one who’d found his son’s body. In his mind, maybe he laid some blame on her for the death.

  Find Fox before he persuaded someone else to come for them. Someone better than Carter Young.

  The man had to be staying somewhere. But there were too many lodging houses and rooms in Leeds to begin searching through them all.

  They’d set things in motion. People were looking. Now they had to wait, to be patient and that the promise of money would make sure people kept their eyes sharp.

  ‘You’re so much better, child.’ The old woman beamed as she watched Sally’s awkward walk. ‘It’s been quicker than I’d expected after the way you were when you arrived. You’re ready to go home.’

  Jane saw the relief on the girl’s face.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you. Both of you. You …’ She searched for the words then gave up, shaking her head instead. The eagerness shone in her eyes. Going back to the attic room at Simon and Rosie’s would mean she was almost well.

  ‘Just be careful,’ Mrs Shields warned. ‘You still need to give your body time.’ Her fingertips traced the line of the cut across Sally’s face. ‘This will always be there. But you’ll forget about it.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I’ll remember.’ Her voice was hard. ‘I’ll always remember.’

  They kept a slow pace from Green Dragon Yard down to Swinegate. Jane walked beside Sally, there in case the girl stumbled or grew weary. But always with a hand on her knife, all her senses aware of the people milling about them. Watching, taking in the faces.

  But with their shawls drawn over their hair, they were invisible.

  ‘What about reading?’ Jane asked. ‘Do you still want another lesson?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. But she sounded as though she hadn’t given it a thought, caught up in the excitement of going home. ‘Could we do it tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course.’ But would tomorrow become the next day, then the one after that?

  ‘Rosie can help you, too. Simon. Rich and Amos.’ No shortage of people in the house to teach her.

  ‘I know …’

  Maybe she’d keep going. Maybe not. It was probably a distraction, something to relieve the boredom.

  By Boar Lane they stopped to see Kate the pie-seller.

  ‘Fresh in, not even five minutes ago,’ she said, staring at Sally’s face. ‘You took a proper battering, pet.’

  ‘I know.’ A blush glowed through the bruises that coloured Sally’s face.

  ‘Have one of these.’ A grin. ‘It can’t cure you, but at least it’ll fill your belly. No charge for you, today only. But you tell anyone and you’ll feel the rough side of my tongue.’

  ‘One for me, too,’ Jane said; she handed over the coins.

  ‘This is a good batch.’ Kate turned back to Sally. ‘You watch out for yourself.’

  Eating as they strolled down towards the river, then along Swinegate. The house stood on the corner, and she saw the last stiffness leave Sally’s body as they drew close.

  Home. It would help to heal her.

  ‘Almost cut off his lip?’ Constable Porter nodded in admiration. ‘She’s quite a one.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So Fox has come back.’ He let out a long breath and rubbed his chin. ‘He has to answer for two murders.’

  ‘I’ve put the word out,’ Simon told him.

  ‘If you find him, let me have him, Westow.’

  ‘I have a few questions of my own first.’

  ‘Just make sure you turn him over to us in one piece.’

  ‘I will, and if you find him …’

  ‘I’ll give the two of you five minutes together.’ He paused and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. ‘Want to make it interesting?’ He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a sixpence. ‘I’ll wager you this my men track him down before you.’

  It cut against the grain to bet on work. But if it made everyone look harder, why not?

  ‘Done.’

  Nothing to do but walk and wait. Twenty minutes later, Simon stood on the Head Row, leaning on his stick and breathing heavily as he looked at the house where the man he’d injured lived.

  It was time. If he didn’t do this now, he might as well turn away and never come back.

  He rapped on the wood, waiting until the landlady turned the key and opened the door a few inches. Just wide enough to let her assess him.

  ‘Who are you?’

  He took off his hat and made a small bow. ‘My name is Simon Westow. I believe the man who has his rooms here hurt himself the other night.’

  ‘Took a bad fall,’ she told him. ‘Why? What is it to you?’

  ‘I wanted to ask after him.’ He held up the stick and smiled at her. ‘I might be able to offer him some advice.’

  ‘Does he know you?’

  ‘We’ve met.’ That much was true, at least.

  For a moment he wondered if she’d close the door in his face. Finally she decided and pulled it back.

  ‘Up the stairs. I’ve heard him moving around.’

  Everything was clean, the wood polished, not a speck of dust to be seen as Simon knocked lightly on the door.

  Uneven steps, and then he was facing a young man who stood awkwardly, leaning heavily on the stick in his left hand. Dressed in a shirt and stock of brilliant white and a jacket that fitted close against his body, he was a gentleman of fashion. But one who couldn’t stand tall with a damaged knee.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked. He looked at Simon with a sneer. ‘What do you want?’

  He’d taken the man by surprise. ‘You mean you don’t remember me … friend?’

  ‘No …’ he began, and then he realised. His face changed, suddenly pale. He tried to back away and close the door, but Simon took two paces forward. He was inside, and the young man was still retreating.

  A moment to close the door behind him and take in the room. Bright, airy, smelling of tobacco and the jug of coffee on the table.

  ‘I … how did you find me?’

  ‘People tell me things. Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.’ A short glance at the man’s leg. ‘I came to talk. Fetch some cups and we’ll sit at the table.

  ‘Are you in much pain?’ Simon asked as the man lowered himself to the other chair and eased out his leg.

  ‘The physician said you did something to it. He explained, but I didn’t follow.’ The corners of his mouth slipped down. ‘He claims it will ease in time, but I’ll have problems for the rest of my life. I’ll always need to use a stick.’

  ‘I won’t apologise, Mr …’

  ‘My name is Collins.’

  ‘Mr Collins. You know who I am.’ A flicker of a smile. ‘I hope you do, since you and your friend tried to kill me.’

  ‘We only intended to warn you. To hurt you a little and discourage you.’

  ‘I see. Why would you want to do that?’

  The man’s hand shook as he raised the cup to his lips and coffee spilled on the table.

  ‘The girl got what was coming to her.’

  ‘Did she? That was as bad a beating as I’ve ever seen.’ No need to raise his voice. Collins’s eyes were enough to terrify him. ‘She’ll have a scar on her face. You and your friends gave her that, then left her to die.’

  He shook his head. ‘I …’

  ‘If you’re going to say you weren’t there, it doesn’t matter. You became a part of it when you went after me.’

  ‘I’ll spend the rest of my days paying for that.’

  ‘We always pay for our mistakes.’ Simon tapped his own damaged leg. ‘Tell me, who was with you that night?’

  For long, strained moments he wasn’t sure if the young man would answer. If he didn’t … no violence or threats. He’d try persuasion or simply leave.

  ‘Billy. Billy Harding.’

  Good. He had that information. ‘Did you both take part in beating the girl?’

  Collins shook his head. ‘We weren’t here. At a ball in Ripon. Billy’s cousin.’

  Simon didn’t understand. ‘Then why would you threaten me?’

  ‘Charles heard you’d been asking questions. He said that since we missed the fun, we could be part of it by warning you off.’

  ‘Charles.’ He racked his brain for the name. ‘Ibbotson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Simon drained the cup. No better than coffee from the cart. He pushed himself upright. He’d found what he came for.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Collins. I wish you a speedy recovery.’

  The man’s expression was a mixture of relief and disbelief that it had ended so peaceably. Let him wonder, Simon thought as he walked up the Head Row.

  Billy Harding. It shouldn’t take too long to find him.

  Charles Ibbotson. He remembered the man.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The cottage felt strange, Jane thought. Too empty, too spacious. She’d grown used to Sally being here and now the difference was stark.

  Jane moved a hot pan from the stove for Mrs Shields, the scent of elderflower cordial filling the kitchen. A final look around before she placed the basket over her arm, pulled the shawl over her hair, and started for the market.

  This was a domestic day. There was nothing more she could do now in this search for Fox. Simply stay aware of danger and keep her knife close and sharp.

  Onions, potatoes and long beans. One final stop for meat. She’d just come out of the butcher’s shop on Timble Bridge, counting coins to be sure she’d received the proper change, when she felt someone watching her.

  Hitching up the basket, she slipped her knife into her hand and began to walk. A short lane led to the gates of the burial yard. As good a spot as she was going to find in the middle of the day. She turned, ready.

  The boy held up his hands, mouth open wide in fear as he suddenly faced the blade. A child of seven or eight, hair clumped and matted, face sharp with the cunning he needed to survive. The words rushed out of him.

  ‘Hannah says can you come, miss. She thinks she’s seen the man you wanted.’

  She followed, heart pounding as questions rippled through her mind. Could it be Fox? That would be too simple, too easy.

  Over Leeds Bridge, hurrying along Water Lane. Past Marshall Street, with its big factory, to the end of Kellets Row, close to the mill ponds. The girl was sitting on a low wall, so still that she was barely noticeable. As Jane approached, she stood and moved a few yards, out of sight of the street.

  ‘Is it him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She glanced back at the street. ‘It could be. All we have is what you told us.’ Her face clouded. ‘He had someone with him. A woman.’

  A woman? She wondered for a moment. That didn’t feel right. No reason she could name, nothing more than her sense of the man. Still, he was somewhere in Leeds, and this was the first hope they’d had of him.

  ‘Which house?’

  ‘The third one along with the strips of paint peeling off the door.’

  ‘He’s in there now?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘One of the boys saw him earlier and came to fetch me. I started to follow him. He met the woman this side of the bridge and they came back here.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I think it was about an hour ago.’

  Jane took coins from her pocket and gave them to the girl. Another penny for the boy who’d found her. She calculated: back to Green Dragon Yard with the basket, find Simon. It would take time.

  ‘Can you keep watch for another hour or two?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sally’s gone home.’

  The girl smiled. ‘I know. One of the others saw you both going to Swinegate.’

  Simon stared at Kellets Row. Back-to-back houses, no more than a few years old, but the bricks already smoke-blackened. Jane stood beside him; she’d found him walking with the constable and given him the news.

  Porter was on his way with men from the watch. The law wanted Fox for murder; he’d let them do the rough work of dragging the man out of the house.

  ‘You said you haven’t seen him yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  All of them were hoping the man behind that door was Frederick Fox, that they could write an ending to the story. But the chances were slight when there were so many men in Leeds. Still, if it was him … He sighed. Lady Luck wouldn’t just be smiling down on them. She’d be giving them a wide grin.

  He stayed by the corner after the inspector and two members of the watch arrived and marched to the house behind Porter. The knock echoed, then the men disappeared inside. Only one entrance. No easy escape if Fox was really in there.

  Three minutes and the men trooped out again. Porter dismissed them and shambled along the flagstones, hands pushed into his pockets.

  ‘It’s definitely not him. Married with a child. A mechanic at the Round Foundry.’ He shook his head. ‘We’re back where we began.’ His gaze moved to Jane. ‘Next time just make sure it’s Fox before you come for us.’

  ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ Simon assured her as they crossed Leeds Bridge. Below them, the river stank with chemicals from dyes and waste. A pair of dead rats floated downstream. The wharves were busy, barges moored two and three deep with men scurrying across planks with the cargoes. ‘You did the right thing. If that had been Fox, he’d have been cock-a-hoop and singing his own praises. Keep them looking.’

  ‘The children have never seen him,’ Jane said. ‘All they can do is guess.’

  ‘Yes. Next time we’ll wait to tell Porter. Make sure it’s the right man.’

  She nodded; at the Head Row she turned towards Green Dragon Yard. He strode on, stopping at Mudie’s printing shop. No reason to go there, but nowhere better to be.

  ‘Did you honestly believe you’d find him so quickly, Simon?’

  ‘Not really. But …’

  ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Ever heard that?’

  Simon chuckled. ‘He’s here somewhere. He already conned one man into going after us.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘He won’t want to be seen for a while.’

  Simon saw the man’s expression change; Mudie didn’t ask for more.

  Another few minutes and he left. Safe enough among the crowds on the street.

  The house felt different. Full once more, alive. A burble of conversation from upstairs. Richard, Amos, Sally, all eager and speaking over each other. In the kitchen, Rosie was stirring a pan, the rich smell of meat filling the room. With the girl here, it felt like home again.

  ‘Did Jane find you?’

  Simon nodded. ‘It wasn’t Fox.’ He raised his eyes, looking up to the ceiling. ‘It’s like having a family back, isn’t it?’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I thought exactly the same when she came in. Do you know the first thing she wanted? Some bread, even before she went upstairs.’

  ‘How did she manage the steps?’ Two sets, going all the way up to the attic.

  ‘Slowly. But she was steady.’

  Walking from Mrs Shields’s house, climbing the stairs … only a short time since that had looked impossible. But young bodies made fast recoveries, even if she’d carry some scars forever, probably far more of them inside. He’d had a raw childhood in the workhouse, bullied day after day in the factory. But at least he’d had somewhere to sleep and his meals. Both Sally and Jane had needed to survive on the streets every day, to find food, to remain one step ahead of death. They were tougher than he’d ever be. In some ways, older than he’d ever been. He heard Sally laugh upstairs. The sooner she was busy again, the better. He needed her skills, and with little to fill her time, she’d be restless, bored with the world. For now, though, the boys could keep her entertained.

  A breeze began to blow after dark. Jane felt it rippling her skirts as she walked up and down Briggate, back talking to the whores in the slim hope one of them might have seen Fox. But not a single one of them knew him.

  The man was still out there. She knew it, she felt it in her blood. Somewhere in Leeds. Whatever he was planning would come soon, she was certain of that.

  The first fat drops of rain sent her scurrying for home. The streets were suddenly quiet as she ran. Far off to the west, rumbles of thunder boomed, growing louder each time. Lightning lit the world for a brief moment and the rain grew heavier.

  Jane was soaked by the time she locked the door behind her. She spread her clothes over the chair to dry and stuffed newspaper into her boots. Towelling her hair with an old piece of linen, she caught sight of herself in the mirror before she pulled on her nightdress.

  A woman now. She knew it, she’d known it for a few years, but each time, the sight took her by surprise. Thunder exploded overhead, making her jump as the windows rattled.

  ‘Child, are you home?’ Mrs Shields called.

  ‘I’m here,’ she replied, and went to her.

  The storm lingered, lightning flashed and thunder rolled, with the rain lashing down outside. She felt safe inside these four walls.

  Not inside her own mind, though. The girl returned to her dreams, carried from the mill with a scream that cracked the world open. She sat up in bed, struggling through the fog of sleep as it echoed through her head. It was all her imagination, she knew that, but still real enough to terrify her. Why did it keep returning?

  She settled back down, heart still racing, and closed her eyes. Fox. What could they do about Fox?

  The rain had cleared long before Simon woke and made his way to the coffee cart on Briggate. Cooler, with a breeze, but the air was smudged with early smoke from the factory chimneys; around him, voices hummed with news of a dead body. But it was all too vague: a young man, someone said; another claimed he’d heard it was some old devil. That didn’t tell him a damned thing.