Come the Fear by Chris Nickson Read Free Book Online Page A

advertisement in next week’s newspaper. We’ll see if there’s a demand for what I do.’
    â€˜And if there’s not?’
    The thief taker gave a confident grin. ‘There will be. People are people, it doesn’t matter where you go.’
    â€˜I’ll be watching you,’ the Constable told him.
    â€˜Of course.’ Walton raised his hands. ‘What do I have to hide, Mr Nottingham? I’ve told you my plans.’
    â€˜I’ll wait and see what happens.’
    The man ducked his head. ‘I’ll bid you good day, Constable.’
    He watched the man walk away with his sure stride, looking around as he went. Nottingham didn’t trust him. Beneath the words he could make out the stink of evil, strong and sulphurous. He’d paid Walton little mind before; now that would have to change. Rob’s father published the
Mercury
; they’d be able to see the advertisement before it appeared. Then he could keep an eye on the man.
    He made his way back up Briggate, past the shit and piss that clogged the runnels in the street, hearing the Saturday market in full cry beyond the Moot Hall, the vendors yelling, ‘What do you need? What do you lack?’ and the sounds of voices shouting and haggling furiously.
    He turned the corner on to Kirkgate and saw the woman waiting by the door of the jail. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she glanced patiently at all the faces that passed, her face expressionless.
    â€˜Mistress?’ he asked. ‘Can I help you?’
    â€˜I’m waiting for t’ Constable,’ she said.
    â€˜I’m Richard Nottingham,’ he told her. ‘I’m the Constable.’
    He waited until she was seated. Her features had the sharpness of someone who’d never eaten her fill, the skin drawn and wrinkled. She was no older than him, he judged, but time weighed her down. Work had gnarled the knuckles of her hands into awkward shapes, the skin raw and red. Her dress was dowdy and ill-fitting on her thin body, the material worn thin.
    â€˜How can I help you?’
    She held his gaze with her clear blue eyes.
    â€˜I’m Alice Wendell. It’s about my lass,’ she said. ‘Mebbe it’s summat and nowt, but I don’t know where she is.’
    â€˜What’s her name?’
    â€˜Lucy. Lucy Wendell. She turned sixteen last month.’
    He said nothing. At sixteen the girl could have gone off anywhere, with anyone.
    â€˜How long’s she been missing?’ he asked.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she answered and he looked up sharply. ‘She were working as a servant but she never came home on her day off. And when I went to ask about her all they’d say was that she’d been dismissed. Wouldn’t even tell me when she’d gone.’
    â€˜What do you want me to do, Mrs Wendell?’ Nottingham wondered.
    â€˜Go and ask,’ she said bluntly. ‘They’ll tell you when they let her go. You’re the Constable.’
    â€˜I’ll do that if you want,’ he offered, ‘but it might not help you find her.’
    â€˜Aye,’ she agreed. ‘I know that. It’s somewhere to start, though. She were never the brightest lass, you see. It was always better when there was someone to look after her.’ Her face softened as she talked about the girl. ‘Me, her brother, the people where she worked.’ When she lifted her face he could see her anguish. ‘I don’t know what she’d do on her own.’
    â€˜Who was she working for?’ Nottingham asked.
    â€˜Cates. You know him, the merchant? She was a maid up with him and his family.’
    He knew them. They owned one of the new houses up at Town End, out where Leeds was pushing out into the countryside and the air was cleaner. Ben Cates had done very well from the wool trade over the years. He’d served on the Corporation, an alderman who’d used his connection to gather