‘I tried to steal an apple from a cart at the market. He caught me.’

  You needed to be quick to survive. Sometimes you weren’t fast enough. She’d owned her share of bruises and welts. A scar on her back from a whip.

  ‘You said you’d seen the man I’m looking for.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was shivering. Jane moved closer. The lad wore a thin shirt, old trousers holed at the knee, his feet bare.

  ‘When was it?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘His skin was dark. His face and hands. He was talking to someone and he sounded strange.’

  ‘Strange?’ she asked.

  He had to think, to try and find the words. ‘I don’t know,’ the boy said finally. ‘A bit like he was from here, but it was different.’

  ‘Who was he talking to? Where did you see them?’

  ‘It was in the churchyard, that one on the other side of the Head Row.’ He looked down at the ground. ‘I ran there after I’d been beaten.’

  To hide. So nobody would see him cry. So no one would see his weakness.

  ‘I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just the voices. His was different. That’s why I remembered it. And how he looked. I’ve never seen anyone like that.’

  It was White. She knew it in her bones.

  ‘What about the other man?’

  The boy just shook his head.

  ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘I don’t know. I stopped looking.’

  Jane took two pennies from her pocket and put them in his hand. His flesh was cold as a corpse. His teeth were chattering.

  ‘Wait,’ she told him, then took off the coat and handed it to him. ‘Wear that. It’ll keep you warm.’

  Jane drifted through the darkness, from place to place, camp to camp. But no one remembered him. One sighting was enough. Out in the open, striding around, unafraid. She believed the boy.

  A band of pale light glowed on the horizon as she made her way home. The early chill brought goose pimples to her arms. She liked the coat, but she could get another. Anyway, soon enough it would be summer and she wouldn’t need one. It was just another possession to weigh her down.

  At the bottom of Briggate she stopped suddenly and drew in her breath. There was something. She couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it. But she could feel it. Carefully, she moved to the wall, pulling the shawl over her head, and peered around the corner.

  Nobody. No movement to catch from the corner of her eye. But there was something. She was certain of it.

  Jane retraced her steps towards home, picking her way slowly and silently through the ginnels. At the final corner, she stopped again. Crouching down low, she waited, listening until it was there. So faint that she might have imagined it. Someone breathing. Then the soft scrape of a foot shifting on the dirt. It was still too dark to be certain of anything.

  Right there. Outside the gate. Someone. Standing, waiting. Jane had the knife in her hand, clutching it so tight that her fingers ached.

  The figure was just a blurred, faint shape.

  She needed to be patient. Another five minutes and there’d be enough light to make out the figure.

  Her gaze never moved. Her body was ready. But she still missed the moment, the shift in the light when black became grey.

  The outline began to take form.

  A woman? At first she wasn’t sure. But a woman could kill as readily as a man. And die just as quickly.

  Jane waited, completely still. Ready.

  The minutes moved and the brightness grew enough to make out the woman’s face. Jane stood slowly and began to walk. She made each step loud. The woman turned. She was wearing a rich silk gown. Her eyes were lost. Helpless. Terrified.

  ‘Hannah Milner,’ Jane said softly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  TWENTY-TWO

  In the kitchen, Rosie fussed around the girl. Poured a tot of French brandy that brought the colour back to her face. Built up the fire to give some warmth to the room.

  Simon waited. There was food on the table, but no one had eaten. They waited for Hannah’s tale. But every time she opened her mouth to speak, she began to cry. He tried a question, but Rosie shook her head sharply. She needed time.

  And he needed to know. Something bad had happened. Finally he stood and walked away, pausing at the door and beckoning to Jane.

  ‘Milner’s house?’ she asked as they hurried along Swinegate. His heels rang on the cobbles. A few men on their way to work paused to stare at them.

  ‘Yes.’

  The front door was locked. But the back was only pulled to, the wood splintered around the lock where it had been forced. Simon pushed the door open with his fingertips, listening for any sounds inside.

  The kitchen was empty. All the pots were clean and polished, hanging on their racks. Dishes were stored away. The mess lay on the other side of the door. Blood on the floor of the parlour and the dining room. Still pools of it, mounds of flies feasting. The whole house smelt of iron. Enough blood to fill a bucket. It looked like more than any human could contain.

  But no corpse. Simon gestured, and Jane crept slowly up the stairs. Light from the window flickered on the knife in her fist.

  He moved from room to room downstairs. The library. A sewing room. Blood in every one of them. No sign of Milner or his wife. No trace of any servant.

  He turned quickly at the squeak of a stair tread. But it was only Jane, shaking her head.

  ‘Empty,’ she said. ‘But there’s blood on all the beds and the rugs.’

  ‘And everywhere down here,’ Simon said. He chewed on his bottom lip. ‘But not a body.’

  They searched again, from cellar to attic: nothing.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘The place looks like a massacre happened here. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe Hannah will be ready to talk now. She was just standing by the back gate?’

  ‘She looked as if she’d been there for hours. There was dew in her hair. When I spoke her name, all she could do was look at me.’

  ‘She must have come here and seen all this.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘We’d better hope she can tell us.’

  ‘When I was out, someone told me he’d seen White.’

  He stopped suddenly and turned to her. ‘What? Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘When did I have the chance?’ Jane stared at him. ‘Anyway, it happened the day before yesterday. Up at the old church. He was talking to someone.’

  White was brazen, open. But still they couldn’t find him. Simon clenched his fist tight then opened it again and looked around.

  ‘Where are Milner and his wife?’ he asked. ‘And whose blood is that?’

  In the kitchen, Rosie was scouring the table.

  ‘Where is she?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I gave her some laudanum and put her in the boys’ bed. She needed to rest.’

  Damn. He had to know.

  ‘Did she say anything at all?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rosie pursed her lips. ‘What’s in the house, Simon? All she could tell me was blood.’

  He rubbed his face. ‘That’s all there is. Gallons of it. Everywhere except the kitchen. But no one dead.’ His voice was tired. Weary as death.

  All he could do was pace. Wait for her to wake. No boys here to play and laugh and distract him. Jane had vanished, off somewhere without a word. Rosie was in the kitchen, cooking, checking their accounts. Each time he wandered in, she waved him away.

  Questions spilled from his brain.

  Three hours passed. Four. Finally, he heard a stirring overhead.

  Rosie was ahead of him. She crouched by the bed, speaking softly, pushing the girl’s hair away from her forehead.

  ‘You’re safe. You’re with us. Simon Westow and his wife. Do you remember him? He found you when you were taken.’

  Hannah Milner nodded dumbly, her gaze moving round the room.

  ‘Where am I?’ Her voice was thick from the drug, the words slurred.

  ‘In our house.’ Rosie took a glass from the table. ‘Nothing can hurt you here. Sit up and drink this.’

  Like an obedient child, she did as she was told.

  ‘How …’ she began.

  ‘Simon has things he wants to ask you.’ Rosie’s voice was calm and gentle. ‘Do you think you can answer him?’

  Another nod. ‘I’ll try.’

  The family was staying in York. John Milner had joined his wife and daughter there, the servants with them.

  Hannah’s friends had wanted to attend a ball in Leeds. It was one of the events of the Yorkshire season, held every spring at the Mixed Cloth Hall. She’d been reluctant, she felt too scared to come back to Leeds. Not yet. But her friends didn’t know what had happened to her. That secret had held. They persisted, sending letters and notes day after day, urging her to come, until they wore her down and convinced her. There would be five of them together. Servants with them and chaperones in attendance at the hall. Everything would be completely safe.

  Her father had said no. At least the man had some sense, Simon thought. But her mother had argued. No word of the kidnap had slipped out. And the ball was a good place to meet an eligible young man. After two days of nagging, Milner had given in.

  She’d had five dances and drunk three glasses of wine. The evening was filled with laughter and the pleasure of charming company. Too much of it. Hannah had forgotten all her fears. She had a fan at the house that would set off her gown perfectly. It was no more than five minutes’ walk each way. She was young, nothing could hurt her. She could slip away and be back before anyone realized she’d gone.

  She found the back door open. Yet still she’d gone inside, lit a lamp. And then she’d seen the blood, smelled it everywhere … the next thing she remembered was Jane finding her.

  ‘I knew you lived on Swinegate, but I couldn’t remember which house.’ The tears came again. ‘I thought if I waited somewhere …’

  ‘You’re safe now.’ Simon turned to Rosie. ‘We need to get a message to the Milners.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  He heard the quick scratch of pen on paper as he entered the kitchen. Rosie’s writing wasn’t copperplate, but it was legible; that was all they needed.

  ‘Is she sleeping again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Milner’s probably already on his way to Leeds,’ she said without raising her head. ‘By now he’ll know she’s missing.’

  ‘Very likely,’ Simon agreed. ‘At least this will put his mind at rest.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Her mother’s, too.’

  The hammering on the door came an hour later. Simon looked at his wife and took out his knife.

  Turn the key, lift the latch. He stood back, ready, as his hand turned the knob. Milner’s servant stood, dusty and dirty from the road.

  ‘Miss Mi—’

  ‘She’s inside. Sleeping. Not hurt.’

  The man let out his breath. His body sagged. ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘Have you been to your master’s house yet?’

  ‘Yes.’ A word as heavy as stone.

  ‘She saw it.’

  The servant nodded. ‘We’ll take her back to York.’

  ‘I’ll escort you up to Hannah.’ He hadn’t heard Rosie come through from the kitchen.

  ‘Is Mr Milner in the coach?’ Simon asked.

  ‘He is.’

  The man looked haggard, deflated. So much older than the last time they’d met.

  ‘She’s safe,’ Simon said. ‘Not harmed. And no one’s dead that I know.’

  No reply. Just silent, staring eyes. And then: ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  He’d wondered about it all through the morning. There was no reason to it. White. He didn’t even need to think about that. But Milner’s part in all this was long over. He’d never had more than a small role. It was just terror. Fear.

  He heard the stirring in the house, and the sound of hesitant footsteps on the stair. A thought came to him.

  ‘Do you know a man called Fairfax?’ Simon asked.

  Milner turned his head. ‘Not particularly well. He was a friend of my brother’s. Why? Are you saying he’s behind all this?’

  ‘Can you write me a letter of introduction?’

  The man’s gaze shifted and Simon turned. The servant was helping Hannah walk. She leaned against him, barely awake, a coat of Rosie’s draped over her body.

  ‘Is it important?’ Milner asked.

  ‘It might be.’

  ‘Does it have something to do with all this?’ He opened the door and helped the girl inside, settling her tenderly on the seat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll see that you’ll have it tomorrow.’ A short command and the coach pulled away.

  Jane walked. She saw Milner and the servant in the coach as it rushed into town. A moment and it was past her.

  She moved along Vicar Lane, down to Quarry Hill. Along Mabgate and back. The sound of people. The raw noise of machines. But no one behind her. The invisible girl.

  The whistles sounded for dinner, and a flood of chattering mill girls poured out of the doors. She lost herself among them, not even noticing the talk, happy to be part of a crowd for a few minutes.

  The Head Row, Woodhouse Lane. A circle round, then she disappeared into Green Dragon Yard.

  White was here. He was in Leeds. But he wasn’t taking her bait.

  Through one court, into the other, and she stood by Catherine Shields’s door again.

  ‘So soon, child?’ The woman gave her soft smile. ‘And look at you. Is something wrong?’

  Jane felt safe here; nothing bad could happen to her in this place. Catherine stroked her hair, placed a scoop of powder in a glass, poured in some liquid and passed it to her.

  ‘Drink this.’

  It seemed to sparkle in her mouth, as if the woman had somehow captured the heart of spring. A tentative sip at first, then she downed it in three long swallows.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked down at the dregs. ‘Thank you.’

  The old woman patted a space beside her on the settle.

  ‘Now, why don’t you come and tell me what’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing. I can see it on your face.’

  In the daylight the house looked worse. Flies were everywhere, black, shifting hills of them, gorging on the blood. They buzzed and flew, more landing on him as he brushed them away. On his clothes, in his hair, on his skin.

  Upstairs was worst. They gathered on the sheets, a crawling, seething mass. More of them than ever he’d seen in his life. This was their banquet.

  Simon was glad to leave and try to pull the door closed. To get away from the constant hum. The noise of Leeds – the distant rumble of carts on the road, the hammering of the factories – sounded like music, and the smoke was sweeter than the hard stink of blood.

  No need to worry about thieves. One glance inside and they’d run like the devil was after their souls.

  No sign that any bodies had been dragged through the house. He’d been right. This was terror. Revenge for losing the ransom money, more likely. His gift to the Milners; they were supposed to discover it when they returned from York.

  Jane didn’t tell it all. She never told everything. The more you said, the more power you gave away, even to a kind, open woman like Catherine Shields. Some things would always be hidden, unspoken. It was safer to keep pieces locked inside.

  ‘He almost killed you before, child,’ she said when Jane finished speaking. ‘Why do you want to give him the chance again?’

  ‘This time I’m ready for him.’

  ‘You were then, too. When you were in the house. That’s what you said.’ Catherine’s voice was quiet, not judging, not condemning.

  ‘Then I wasn’t prepared enough, was I?’ Jane answered.

  ‘You don’t have to prove anything, child.’

  She did. She had to prove everything. Not to the world. To herself.

  ‘Jane,’ Catherine said as the girl stood to leave. Jane felt thin, bony fingers take hold of her hand and press it a little. ‘Look after yourself, and may God protect you. I have something I want you to take.’

  A ring, a tiny band. Gold. It fitted perfectly on her middle finger.

  ‘My husband gave it to me. No, it’s not my wedding ring,’ she added with a smile. ‘It was for an anniversary. He said it would always look after me. It’ll do the same for you.’

  For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, what to do. She stared at it, the metal shining on flesh. Awkwardly, she hugged Catherine. The woman felt so frail, her skin so thin as if a breeze could gather her up and carry her off into the sky.

  ‘Thank you.’

  At the door she didn’t dare to stop or look back. Not until she was in Green Dragon Yard. Then she held up her hand and saw the ring there. It felt strange; she felt strange. That anyone would trust her with something like this. To carry a memory.

  Yet, as she came out on to the Head Row, among the wagons and the people, the sun breaking through the smoke, she felt stronger. Determined.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Leeds was a town of shadows. The courts and yards that hid from the light. The manufactories that rose and grew and blocked out the sun.

  Simon was chasing a shadow. White came and went, and no one seemed to see him.

  White didn’t forget. He stored up his wounds, he picked at them. They festered inside. The blood in Milner’s house proved that. But that was a distraction, a horror. The man’s plans were deeper and darker. More deaths, a full settling of accounts.

  Rosie or White. Jane or White.

  Him or White.

  He had to catch the shadow before it caught him.

  The day was empty. He trailed home with nothing. Without the boys, the house felt too quiet. He wanted them back. Simon wanted his life to be complete again. He needed this to be over.

  He stood by the kitchen table, trying to read the Mercury. The advertisements offering rewards for goods that were missing. Five shillings for the return of a bracelet. Ten for anyone who brought back a piece of silver plate. His business. His livelihood. But his mind drifted away every time he stared at the words.