But if he hadn’t? What if he returned with more men and did real damage? She’d always carry that guilt in her heart.

  ‘We need to be there again tonight,’ Jane said.

  Sally gave her a curious look and nodded. She’d have gone anyway. Two of them would offer the children some fleeting sense of safety.

  ‘What about Simon?’

  ‘I think we should wait and see what happens.’ If the men were going to return, it would be in the next two nights. She felt certain of that. If young Barton was with them, then they’d tell Simon. ‘For now, I think we ought to stay quiet.’

  ‘I need the two of you on the Foxes again. I don’t understand what they’re doing, but sooner or later they have to make a move of some kind on Barton.’ He paused and looked around the kitchen at Rosie, Sally, Jane. ‘Why else would they come back to Leeds?’

  ‘How long do you want us to follow them?’ Sally asked.

  ‘As long as it takes. Barton’s paying us.’ For a second, he imagined a glance between the young women as he mentioned the name. Simon turned to his wife. ‘I’d like you to call on Mrs Barton. All of this began because she liked to gamble and was in debt. Find out if she still does it.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘It’ll give me a chance to wear my best gown.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I don’t often have the opportunity to impress.’

  The house was quiet, Amos and Richard already off at school. No more tutor’s voice in the background all day. The silence had seemed strange at first, an emptiness that had gradually become normal. Space for him to think, but so far he hadn’t made head nor tail of all this.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he decided suddenly. ‘I need to speak to her husband.’

  It took time. He couldn’t stride along Briggate the way he once had. A slower pace these days.

  ‘I’m sorry. At this rate we might get there tomorrow.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Simon.’ She made a small curtsey to Mrs Williams on the other side of the street. ‘There’s no rush.’

  No sign of Sally or Jane near the house. No sense of the Foxes anywhere close. Simon knocked on the door. When it opened, he gave the servant their names.

  Inside, everything was old-fashioned. Sumptuous and grand when it was built, but that had been a century before. Now it seemed dark, with heavy panelling and too many shadowed corners. Small, mullioned windows that didn’t let in enough light. Even on a warm June day, the room carried a chill.

  No fire burning in the parlour, where the Bartons rose to greet them. A few polite greetings, then down to business.

  ‘What have you learned, Mr Westow?’

  ‘You were right, the Foxes are definitely here,’ Simon told him. ‘Both of them.’ He glanced at Rosie. She said something to Mrs Barton before the women disappeared.

  ‘At least it wasn’t my imagination.’ Relief, but the man’s face stayed clouded. ‘What do you think? Has he come back to take his revenge?’

  ‘I can’t see why else they’d be here.’ The man was paying to know the truth.

  ‘I’ve started carrying a knife and a loaded pistol.’

  Those were fine if he knew how to use them, but he’d wager good money that Barton had never learned.

  ‘We’re following both of them. If they attempt anything, we’ll stop them.’

  Barton gave a long, studied look. ‘Tell me, Mr Westow, can you make them leave?’

  ‘No. They haven’t broken any laws.’

  He nodded his acknowledgement. ‘Perhaps not, but that’s not the question I asked, Mr Westow.’

  It wasn’t one he wanted to answer. Instead, he said, ‘Do you know why Fox was pardoned?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Why, do you?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to find out. They’re up to something, but we don’t know what that is yet.’

  Barton’s voice hardened. ‘Revenge. You just said so yourself.’

  ‘But what kind?’ Simon asked. ‘If Fox wanted to kill you, he’s had plenty of opportunity to do it and vanish before anyone knew. I think he must have other plans.’

  ‘What kind of plans?’ He was brusque, tense. ‘He’s keeping them damned well hidden.’

  ‘As soon as we discover that, we can stop him.’ Simon paused, hearing heavy footsteps on the staircase in the hall.

  ‘My son.’ Barton shook his head in dismay. ‘Not an early riser. I used to hope he’d learn the business so he could take over in time, but he’s only interested in the money it makes and how much pleasure it can buy him. Do you have children?’

  ‘Two boys. They’re at the grammar school.’

  ‘Then I wish you better fortune with them than we’ve had. Andrew has brains, his teachers told us that. He just doesn’t seem to believe he needs to work. Out at night, roistering around and drinking his life and my fortune away. Every time we talk, it becomes an argument. It’s been worse since the winter.’ Barton sighed. ‘My apologies, it’s not your trouble. Just one more thing weighing on me. Where were we?’

  ‘Trying to learn what the Foxes are doing. Both of them are involved.’

  ‘Strange,’ he said once Simon finished telling him what they’d learned. ‘Now tell me, are we in danger?’

  ‘If you mean are you likely to be attacked, then no, I don’t believe so.’ He kept a calm, reassuring tone to his voice. He’d considered the possibilities; he believed what he said. Fox hadn’t come to murder. If he’d really wanted that, he’d have done it much sooner, then vanished. He seemed to have something else in mind, something Simon couldn’t puzzle out yet. But there was always the chance of violence. ‘Still, you should both be careful. We’re watching them, but we can’t do it every hour of the day.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you want us to continue?’

  ‘Yes.’ No hesitation at all. ‘Find out what they’re doing and stop them.’

  When he’d sent his note, he’d wanted Simon to keep him and his family safe. This was a little different.

  Mrs Fox was the first to leave the house on Middle Fold.

  ‘Do you want to stay with her, or change?’ Sally asked.

  ‘I’ll keep following her,’ Jane replied. She watched the woman move along the road, in no hurry, and wondered what was on her mind for today.

  ‘Good. I prefer him,’ Sally said. ‘He’s simple.’

  ‘I hope he stays that way.’ She drifted away, keeping a good distance between her and the woman as she turned on to Mabgate. Not too many people out on the street, just the dirt and the roaring and hammering of the foundry along with the other workshops that had sprung up around it.

  Over Lady Bridge, but not on to Kirkgate this time. The woman followed Vicar Lane to Leadenhall, where the butchers had moved their shops after the Moot Hall and Middle Row had been demolished, a street where the stink of blood ran high.

  Plenty of folk around, easy for her to keep close but out of sight.

  Mrs Fox had never learned how to shop. She didn’t understand the value of things. Jane was close enough to watch as she paid too much for a poor cut of meat, never trying to bargain on the price. Round to the Central Market on Duncan Street, browsing the stalls. Jane climbed the stairs to the balcony. It was a perfect place to observe; nobody ever looked up.

  The woman had no idea she was being followed; Jane was utterly certain of that.

  An easy amble back to the house. Sally had gone. She settled back to wait, wondering if the woman would emerge again. But it was a fruitless day of sitting, studying a door that never opened.

  ‘What did Mrs Barton tell you?’ Simon asked as they strolled home. Briggate teemed with people going in and out of the shops, gazing at the goods on display in the windows, pushing their way along the pavements. Carts and carriages rattled over the cobbles; a coach driver shouted angrily at vehicles blocking his way. A ragged man with a cart and shovel scooped dung from the cobbles. He saw Simon, nodded, and paused to light his pipe. Elias, always reeking so badly from his work that his wife could barely tolerate him. But he made enough to keep them in a fair house and put food on the table. And occasionally a snippet of information.

  ‘She says she’s stopped gambling.’ Rosie paused and thought for a moment. ‘For now, at least. The hunger for it is still there, though; I could see it in her eyes. But the episode with Fox and the bracelet has chastened her.’

  ‘For their sake, let’s hope so it stays that way. No other vices?’

  ‘Come on, Simon. Would you blurt out your secrets to a complete stranger?’ she asked with a gentle smile. But he knew his wife too well; after so many years together, he could read the hesitations and doubts in her voice.

  ‘Go on.’ They passed Turk’s Head Yard and he glanced at a smith hammering metal on an anvil at the back of the court.

  ‘She wouldn’t look at me as she answered. I think she has something she’s keeping quiet.’

  Simon pushed his lips together. People. Why couldn’t they be straightforward? But if they were, how much work would he have?

  ‘Any idea what it might be?’

  She took her time answering. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say a lover. That’s the obvious thing. She didn’t say anything to indicate, but … it’s just a feeling I have.’ After a moment she added, ‘Maybe she just wishes she had one. I don’t know.’

  He knew to trust her instincts; all too often she was right. One more thing to consider, he thought. Or maybe it had no bearing at all.

  ‘Did you see the son?’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Heard him, that’s all. His name’s Andrew. She didn’t have much good to say about him. She talked about their daughters instead. Both in good marriages to men with plenty of land.’

  ‘They sound like a family that values connections,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It could explain why Barton was so ready to believe what Fox told him. An old family from North Yorkshire that’s distantly related to the people who’ve owned Temple Newsam for centuries? He might feel flattered by that.’

  ‘The Ingrams own it.’ She rolled the name round her tongue. ‘Wasn’t there a whisper that they had a daughter who was the mistress of the Prince Regent?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ He paid no attention to that kind of gossip. He’d never been out to Temple Newsam; there had never been a reason. All he knew was that it was a grand house with sprawling grounds a little to the north-east of the town.

  ‘If there really was a family connection like that, it could explain a pardon, especially with that affair,’ she continued. ‘The prince is King George now.’

  ‘I could hire a cart and go out there,’ he said. ‘Someone at the house should be able to tell me.’

  She glanced down at his leg. ‘Could you manage the journey?’

  ‘Sally grew up in the country. We know she can ride. Maybe she knows how to drive a cart.’ He chuckled. ‘I could be the passenger and be carried in luxury. What do you think?’

  Rosie frowned. ‘It could be useful to know. But if Sally’s busy, who’s going to follow Fox?’

  He smiled. ‘Jane. Why don’t you go after his wife? She only ever had a very brief look at you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed with a smile. He knew she was glad to be part of the hunt again.

  Sally had placed the children in two camps. The younger, weaker ones stayed farther back, towards the riverbank, gathered around their own fire. The older boys and girls moved forward. She’d had them collect stones ready to throw, to fight back if the men returned.

  ‘I hope they won’t need to,’ she said. But the worry floated through her voice. Hardly surprising, Jane thought; a few rocks would never stop determined men. A few of the children carried knives, but how many would be willing to kill?

  It was late, long after dark, no more than a sliver of moon showing between the clouds. Still too early for a group of young men spending their evening drinking in the inns and dram shops.

  ‘Simon said you’re going with him tomorrow.’ They’d met at the house at the tail end of the afternoon and she’d seen the excitement on the girl’s face when he told her about the dog cart. That was just a name, he’d explained; it was pulled by a horse. ‘Have you driven one before?’

  ‘My father showed me.’ She stayed silent for a long time, thoughts drifting back towards a time she’d chosen to keep walled away. ‘I’ve never heard of Temple Newsam. What is it?’

  ‘It’s a big house,’ Jane told her. ‘Very big, with a lot of land.’ When she’d asked, Mrs Shields had told her about the place.

  ‘I went there for a ball one summer when I was a girl.’ The old woman’s eyes had sparkled; in her mind she was hearing the music again. ‘There were so many people, even more than at the assemblies here. They held it in the great hall, and people wandered out into the grounds and down to the lake. Torches were burning to make a path. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything so magical in my life. Have you ever heard of Mary, the one they called the Queen of the Scots?’

  Jane nodded; she’d seen the name in a book she’d read.

  ‘Her husband was Lord Darnley. He was born at Temple Newsam. That’s what my governess taught me. Their son was the James who succeeded Queen Bess in England.’

  She’d been rapt, falling back through time as the old woman spoke. But none of the history would interest Sally. She only believed in the things she could see and touch.

  Around the fires, quiet murmurs of conversation scattered through the night as the hours passed. They were only a small distance from Leeds; Jane sensed the town quietening and going to sleep.

  ‘They won’t come,’ she said finally.

  ‘Not tonight,’ Sally agreed. She spoke to the boy who seemed to be the leader. Almost a young man, his cheeks covered in spots. Giving him instructions before they left, just in case.

  Sally and Jane walked together through the empty streets to Swinegate. Maybe the men had learned their lesson, Jane thought as she covered the final yards to Green Dragon Yard. But that felt unlikely. They were young, they’d been humiliated; they’d return, craving their revenge. She kept the knife tight in her fist as she walked, alert and wary, all her senses sharp.

  Sally told him she’d driven a cart before. Simon spotted the lie as soon as they settled on the seat and she took up the reins. For five minutes she was tentative, warily nudging the horse along until she had the feel of the vehicle and could keep the animal under close control.

  He’d dressed very carefully, wearing his finest clothes, out at first light at the coffee cart to listen for any useful gossip, but hearing nothing. Then on to George Mudie’s printing shop for a little history about the family at Temple Newsam.

  ‘Easy for someone to claim he’s related to the gentry.’

  ‘I hope I’ll be able to find out if there’s any proof,’ Simon said.

  ‘Chances are that you won’t. The aristocracy all have so many by-blows and mistresses that they must spend half their lives in bed. It’s the murkiest world you can imagine. Lucky devils.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You’ll probably need to scrub yourself clean afterwards.’

  It would be worth the short trip to try and discover a little truth, Simon thought as they trotted along the road. Knowing more about Fox and any connections he might have could help them anticipate his moves.

  Or it might make no difference at all. Then there was the man’s wife to consider. What game was she playing? He couldn’t begin to penetrate that yet.

  Sally was grinning. Once she understood what she was doing, she relished every second of this. Driving sensibly, not too fast, taking no chances.

  ‘Better than riding a horse?’ he asked.

  She pursed her lips and stared at the road before shaking her head. ‘No. I like it, but it’s different. We had a waggon and I drove that a few times. It’s like this. But up on a horse you …’ She struggled for the words. ‘Up there you feel free.’

  Simon had tolerated being in a saddle, never more than that. With the damage to his leg, he could never ride again. But Sally had started life in the country; riding was natural to her. Driving the cart was the best he could offer her for now. She was enjoying this. He gritted his teeth. Each bump and jolt shot through his leg like a blow. He was going to ache later.

  It was strange to be standing next to Rosie, waiting deep in the morning shadows for the Foxes to leave their house. She was a very different presence from Sally. Larger – not as hidden. She stood quietly, with a thoughtful gaze, but Jane could feel her eagerness.

  Jane knew that Simon’s wife was good at this work; she’d seen it enough times over the years. Someone to be trusted. But Mrs Fox had her skills, too. Not a woman to take lightly.

  ‘Do they have any servants?’ Rosie whispered.

  ‘I’ve never seen any,’ Jane replied. ‘Which of them do you want to take?’

  ‘Her.’ Never a moment’s hesitation.

  The silence returned. Then a flurry of movement as the couple emerged. They parted at the end of Middle Fold. The man was hurrying along; Jane had to move quickly to keep him in sight. A hurried glance over her shoulder to see Rosie start to walk, pulling a shawl over her hair, her face set hard.

  Fox kept to his brisk pace. She had to hurry to keep up – never a good way to stay inconspicuous. Jane twisted the gold ring on her finger for luck. But nobody looked twice as she glided between people on Lady Lane, then Briggate, up Commercial Street and Lands Lane, all the way to the Head Row. A curious route, but Fox never slowed. He didn’t appear to know she was tucked in twenty yards behind him. A safe distance on a busy morning when the pavements were full.

  The day was warm again, the air still and weighted with humidity. Men sweated in their heavy woollen suits. Women waved small fans as they walked, trying to cool their faces. All around her, Leeds was a cauldron of noise. Voices, rumbling cartwheels, the relentless sounds of hammers from small workshops down in the yards.