‘It’s like I said, missus. I need work.’

  The woman coughed. ‘That’ll be two of us soon enough.’

  Suddenly Jane was very interested. Something was happening in this house.

  ‘Why missus?’ she asked. ‘Are you leaving?’

  ‘I am. This used to be a good place when old Mr Saville was alive. Everyone treated right and fair. These days I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I’m putting in me notice at the end of the month.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His sons inherited. Two brothers. They were a right handful while the master was alive. Since then the pair of them have run riot.’

  No loyalty to them. Even better; she should be able to learn a few things.

  ‘What are they like?’

  The cook pursed her lips into a frown. ‘Mr Daniel and Mr Taylor, that’s what they’re called. They expect the world, then give you nowt to do it with.’ Her expression softened for a moment. ‘Honestly, lass, you don’t want to work here, not if you have an ounce of sense.’

  Jane remained attentive, standing with hands clasped in front of her body. ‘Was there money? What have they done with it?’

  ‘Spent it all.’ The woman shook her head. ‘Every penny they were left, and it were a fair lot. Most of the time they’re not even here. Off in Leeds or somewhere. But once they’re home they want this, want that, and want t’other, and don’t give me a farthing to buy it with.’ She pointed at the hearth. ‘You see that meat over there? I had to beg it from the butcher. They haven’t paid him in half a year. There are only three of us still working here now, and we’ll all be gone before they know it.’ She sighed. ‘Take my advice, lass; for your own sake, look somewhere else.’

  ‘Are they here now?’ They must be, if she was cooking.

  ‘Mr Daniel’s out riding.’ The cook frowned again. ‘And God only knows where Mr Taylor’s got hissen to.’ She hefted herself upright and sighed again. ‘Onions. Always forget something.’ She began to waddle away. ‘I daresay you’re a decent girl. Best thing to do is walk away. Find yourself a position somewhere else. If you wait till I’m back, I’ll give you a crust.’

  ‘Thank you, missus.’ Jane gave a nervous smile, shifting from foot to foot until the woman had gone. As soon as she was alone, she took her chance, slipping along a corridor, keeping each step quiet, listening for the slightest noise, any voice. The cook would think she’d simply left.

  The house was like a tomb. Upstairs, two of the rooms had clothes tossed over the chairs and the sheets all tangled. All she found elsewhere was neglect – beds stripped and shutters closed. Jane darted out through a door to the stables. A horse whinnied in its stall as she entered. Nothing in the hayloft as she climbed the ladder.

  The byre and the barn were both empty. Hardly any wood left to feed the fires. In the distance she spotted a rider crossing the fields, keeping his horse at a hard gallop before reining it in hard as he came to the cobbles by the stable. For a moment her chest tightened. Good timing. Much longer and she’d have been trapped there. Five more minutes and she was hurrying back towards town.

  No sign that Hannah Milner had ever been near the place.

  The knock came just as Simon was ready to leave. He pulled the door open, seeing Milner’s tall servant.

  ‘My master said I should bring you this.’

  The smallest of bows and he was gone.

  ‘Who is it?’ Rosie called.

  ‘Another note,’ he said. Exactly as he’d thought. She came through, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘What does it say?’

  Sir,

  I understand full well that even a gentleman like yourself might need a little time to draw together one thousand pounds in notes. After all, you put your capital to work, rather than in a strongbox somewhere. But a day has passed, and I’m certain that you’ve made this your most important task. After all, you and your wife want to be reunited with your daughter. But in the event of difficulties, I shall grant you an extra twenty-four hours to ensure you have the full sum in your possession.

  On the day after tomorrow at noon by the parish church clock, be standing in the middle of the bridge, on the Eastern side. Have the money in a bag. A man will approach you and ask for your prediction on the weather. Give him the bag, wait two minutes, then go home. Your daughter will be returned unharmed and unsullied during the afternoon. She’s being well-cared-for. You have my word on that.

  I’m sure I have no need to say it, but I would advise you not to try and cheat me. Someone will be watching. If there are any problems, the consequences would be disastrous for your daughter and your family.

  ‘It’s very precise,’ she said.

  ‘Clever, too,’ Simon pointed out. ‘He could go either way from the bridge.’

  ‘Then we need to be prepared.’

  ‘No, what we need is to find her before this happens. That’s when we make our money.’

  Rosie was frowning as she read the letter once more.

  ‘Look at it again,’ she said slowly. ‘The tone. There’s something wrong with it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Simon was already thinking ahead, trying to make a plan for the bridge and hoping he’d never need to use it.

  ‘It’s a mixture of … I don’t know. Grovelling and warning. And the handwriting … see? It’s too careful, like someone who doesn’t use a pen often. Do you have the first one?’

  He brought it from his coat.

  ‘It’s the same person,’ he told her. ‘There, you can see the way he makes some of the letters. Why, do you have an idea?’

  Rosie bit her lip. ‘I need to think about it.’

  So did he. And there was a man he needed to visit.

  Afternoon now, and off towards the hills the clouds looked dark and heavy. An hour, maybe less, and the rain would begin. Already the air felt cloying and thick. He could taste the soot from all the chimneys on his tongue as he followed the streets. At least a good downpour would cleanse the town.

  Someone will be watching … was that real or bluff? Two men behind this would make sense. If they were both men. Possibly a woman; she could have lured Hannah, and be there to ease her terror now. He could see that. But none of it helped worth a damn.

  Park Square was ordered, precise. Hushed, as if it somehow managed to hold the clamour of Leeds at bay. The houses in the terraces had subtle differences, enough to please the eye. But there was also an easy, flowing unity to the design. Nothing overpowering, but with the quiet taste of wealth.

  Lawrence Jordan had his law practice on the far side of the square, the office on the ground floor and his quarters above. The man had sent him work in the past, clients who’d been robbed, swindled, an intimate letter plucked from their pocket. He’d found their items and taken his fee.

  ‘Simon.’ Jordan rose, hand extended. He was still in his court robes, the wig tossed carelessly on his desk. He blinked through a pair of spectacles. ‘Did we have an appointment? I’m sorry, I don’t recall …’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. But I need to talk to you. In private.’

  The lawyer cocked his head. He was a tall man, his back stooped, the fringe of hair around his bald head mostly silver now. He walked to the corner and closed the door that led to the clerks’ office.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ He settled in his chair, tucking the black gown around himself.

  ‘No. I want some information.’

  ‘Ah.’ He steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Information. Sometimes I think I know far too many things, Simon. Far more than I want. They weigh me down. It’s a curse of the profession. But I can never tell what’s passed to me in confidence. You should understand that.’

  ‘You might have to.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Lizzie Henry gave me a list of people who use her house. I was surprised to see your name there.’

  ‘Mine and many others, I’m sure.’ His voice was colder.

  Simon acknowledged it with a nod. ‘But very few of them have your particular preferences. I’m not after all your secrets, Lawrence. I wouldn’t even be here unless it was vital.’

  ‘And may I ask why?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Not exactly fair and equitable, is it?’ But Lawrence Jordan had been an attorney longer than Simon had been alive. He knew when to fight and when to surrender.

  ‘That’s the way it has to be. I’m not here to bleed you to death. A few questions and that’s all. My word on it.’

  Simon had little respect for lawyers. Most could vanish overnight and the world would be a better place. Jordan had been one of the few exceptions until he saw Lizzie’s list. Now he had an advantage, and he was going to press it home to get what he wanted.

  ‘You’d better tell me what you need, then.’

  ‘Who do you know who has money troubles?’

  Jordan’s laugh came out like a bark. ‘Good God, that’s half the people who come to me. Probably more, from the time it takes for them to pay my bills.’

  He wasn’t going to let the man distract him.

  ‘And how many of them also want to climb in society?’ Simon considered for a moment. ‘Let’s say someone unmarried or widowed.’

  ‘That’s a smaller number,’ Jordan replied.

  ‘He might also be a dangerous man.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d call any of my clients dangerous. Not in the way I think you mean.’ He paused. ‘Instead of threatening me, why don’t you tell me what this is about, Simon? I can help you.’

  Perfectly reasonable, Simon thought. But anyone who spent his life in court was an actor. Justice was a performance of masks and pretence.

  Jordan would be ruined if what he did at Lizzie Henry’s house became public knowledge. His clientele would melt away. He’d lose everything. And he knew it all too well.

  ‘I’m sure you can help me anyway, Lawrence.’ Simon smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  The lawyer sat and weighed his choices.

  Simon offered a sop. ‘They’ll never know who gave me their names.’

  ‘You might want to talk to Joseph Nicholson and Henry Barraclough.’ There was no anger or bitterness in his voice. This was nothing more than business, a negotiation where he’d come off worse. ‘Nicholson’s a widower. He has a weaving mill. The Luddites wrecked it back in ’12.’

  ‘I remember that. The council had to call out the dragoons.’

  ‘He spent a lot replacing the machinery. When the war with France ended, the army didn’t need uniforms any more. That was most of his business. I know for a fact that he’s in debt.’

  ‘What about Barraclough? I’m not familiar with him.’

  ‘He’s young. Struts around Leeds like he could buy the place, but he’s living on credit and that’s likely to be cut off soon. He inherited, but he made stupid investments.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘He has a house on the other side of the Square.’ Jordan tilted his head. ‘A brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head.’

  Would it be possible to hide Hannah Milner in a place like that? No, he decided. Too many people around. And servants; Jane had that right.

  ‘Does he have any other property?’

  ‘There’s a farm.’ The lawyer shook his head. ‘His father always fancied himself as a gentleman farmer. But he never made a go of it. It’s for sale.’

  ‘Close to town?’

  ‘On the far side of Holbeck.’ Jordan’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on, Simon? Why do you want to know?’

  He ignored the question. ‘Does the farm have a name?’

  ‘Long Hill Manor. The fields are rented out, but I doubt anyone’s been in the house since his father died.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Simon stood. ‘Your secrets will stay hidden.’ He had what he came for, places to look. The men shook hands. All forgiven, if not forgotten; nothing more than a deal. Jordan would have done the same thing.

  In the square, lights twinkled as evening began to fall. They made the place seem welcoming and safe. But that was just another lie, he knew that. Nowhere was ever safe.

  Another fruitless evening spent in the inns and the taverns. Down at the Wellington they’d been holding a wake for the Vulture, a dour, drunken affair. Simon had left quickly, and the hours since then hadn’t brought him anything worthwhile.

  In the morning they’d look at Nicholson and Barraclough. For now, he simply wanted to sleep, to feel Rosie’s body warm against his own. He smiled at the thought, then a noise caught his attention. Just something small, the rattle of a stone kicked down the street.

  He reached into his sleeve for the knife he kept hidden. The night was quiet, only a faint hum of sound carrying across the streets. A heel caught sharply on a cobble. About twenty yards behind, he judged. Just one person.

  Then there was another, coming round the corner in front of him, a darker shape against the shadows. Simon stopped, putting his back against the wall. He pulled another blade from his boot.

  Let them come to you. That was what an old street fighter had taught him when he was starting as a thief-taker. Make them work for it. Half the time they’ll back away; footpads want an easy mark, not a battle.

  But this was more than robbery. These men moved silently, purposefully. They were here to kill. Not a word, not even a look as they came towards him. Hats low to hide their faces.

  He was ready. One of them lunged, and he parried, feeling his knife cut deep into the man’s arm as he backed away. Simon was breathing hard. His gaze shifted from one man to the other.

  Watch out of the corners of your eyes. He could almost hear the voice from the lessons. Keep yourself loose. Keep yourself steady. Let them commit, then make your move.

  The other attacker was cautious, moving slowly, ready for any opening, for the tiniest lapse of concentration.

  Simon felt a bead of sweat edging down his forehead. In a moment it would drop into his eye. The man would take his chance then. He tightened his grip on the knife hilts and breathed in. Be prepared.

  Then everything changed. The wounded man gave a harsh, shallow gasp and collapsed to the ground. Simon looked. He couldn’t stop himself. Jane was standing over the body, a blade in her hand, no expression at all on her face. Like a ghost bringing death.

  The other man ran. Simon stood, waiting until the echo of his steps faded to nothing. He slipped his knives into their sheaths and flexed his knuckles.

  ‘I was coming home and saw him following you.’

  Simon pressed his hands against the wall to stop them shaking. The brick felt cold against his skin.

  ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t trust himself to walk yet. Another minute. He stared down at the corpse.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘No. He’s been behind you since Vicar Lane.’

  ‘I should have noticed.’

  ‘They won’t be back.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘These two won’t.’

  They’d had their chance and they’d failed. But there might be others. Stronger, quicker. Finally Simon felt able to move. He was alive, he was unwounded. Thanks to Jane.

  ‘Come on.’ He tried to sound light, as if nothing had happened. ‘Rosie will be worrying about us.’ He noticed she still had the knife in her fist. ‘You can put that away now,’ he said softly.

  Jane looked down at the weapon as if she hadn’t realized it was there.

  ‘He wasn’t the first, was he?’ Simon asked as they walked.

  ‘Him?’ She glanced over her shoulder, then shook her head.

  SIX

  The twins were asleep upstairs. In the kitchen, the shutters were closed, the jug empty on the table. Lamps lit the room, casting deep shadows into the corners.

  ‘Are you sure it has to do with this case?’ Rosie asked. She had a heavy shawl gathered around her nightgown, hair hanging free and uncombed down her back. Simon had woken his wife as soon as they returned. They needed to talk about this, all three of them together. ‘You’ve made quite a few enemies over the years, Simon.’

  The same subject, going round and round for more than an hour.

  ‘Who could have told them?’ she asked.

  ‘Milner’s servant?’ Jane said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he answered, then sighed. ‘Well, maybe it’s possible.’

  ‘Who else could it be?’

  Jane hadn’t given another thought to the man she’d knifed. No regrets, no guilt. Kill or be killed. Did this make up for her mistake with Lizzie Henry? Was the slate wiped clean now?

  ‘Someone could have been watching Milner’s house after the kidnap and followed the servant here,’ Rosie said.

  That made sense, Simon realized. But it meant that the man who’d taken Hannah Milner wasn’t working alone. He had a web of people.

  ‘And someone employed a pair of killers.’ He finished the uncomfortable thought and turned to Jane.

  ‘Tomorrow I need you to go out to this Long Hill Manor place and look around. It’s supposed to be empty.’

  She nodded. ‘As soon as it’s light.’ A glance towards the shutters; not too long until dawn, two hours at most.

  ‘After that, see what you can find out about Nicholson. Go to his mill, talk to some of the women. Find out where he lives and take a look at the place. As much as you can discover.’

  She nodded. It was straightforward enough, but a full day’s work.

  ‘What about you?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I’m going to ask questions. Someone will know the name of that man you killed, and who his friends are.’ He curled his hand into a fist and tapped it against his chin. ‘I don’t take it well when people try to murder me.’

  Jane lay curled on the bed, asleep as soon as she closed her eyes. No bad dreams that she remembered. Up with the first breath of day, before everyone else, washing her face and hands in cold water. Bread and cheese from the kitchen.

  The air was like balm against her face. Cool, with just a hint of dampness. She raised the shawl over her hair and began to walk. The early workers were already out; she was one more face, quickly lost in the crowd. Across the bridge, out along Water Lane, the river to her right, and fewer people around. Past Camp Field, Kellett’s Lane and Silver Street, where the first fingers of new buildings slowly edged out from Leeds. Houses, two or three small manufactories. Soon they were all behind her and she was the only person on the road. The only sounds came from cattle and sheep, and a breeze that rattled the tree branches. A quarter of a mile ahead, Holbeck village.