Constant Lovers by Chris Nickson Page A

to learn,’ the deputy said cautiously.
    â€˜I know. But we all did when we started. I remember what you were like.’
    â€˜He’s quick, I’ll give him that. If he stays he might be all right. If.’
    â€˜I think he’d make a good deputy when you become Constable.’
    Sedgwick smiled. ‘If the Corporation lets it happen that way.’
    â€˜They’ll listen to my recommendation,’ the Constable said firmly. ‘No promises, mind.’ He waited until Sedgwick nodded his acknowledgement.
    â€˜Still, plenty of time before that happens, boss.’
    â€˜I bloody well hope so.’
    Sedgwick turned to leave.
    â€˜John?’ Nottingham held up the paper. ‘Worth learning to read?’
    Sedgwick grinned. ‘Aye, boss.’
    When he walked back into Jackson’s rooms, the deputy saw that Lister had thrown his jacket over a chair and was poring over the papers from the desk, sorting them into four piles on the table.
    â€˜What do we have?’ he asked.
    â€˜Those are nothing,’ Rob answered, pointing at his handiwork. ‘Just bills. Those are work – he was with Elias Tunstall, by the way – and those are family. Three sisters, one of them’s in Leeds, married to a merchant.’
    â€˜And what about those?’ Sedgwick gestured at a small collection.
    â€˜Those are his love letters.’
    â€˜All from the same girl?’
    â€˜The handwriting’s the same in all of them and they’re all signed S. No dates on any of them.’
    â€˜S is Sarah Godlove, the murdered girl. Jackson’s writing matches a note she had hidden on her.’
    â€˜Well  . . .’ Lister began, then couldn’t think of anything more to say.
    â€˜An interesting turn, isn’t it?’ the deputy said. ‘You finish looking through these and we’ll take them back to the jail.’
    â€˜John?’ Lister asked soon after, looking up from one of the notes. ‘Where did Sarah live?’
    â€˜Horsforth. Why?’
    â€˜Listen to this: Can we meet in Burley or Kirkstall this time, my love? I won’t have the time to come all the way into Leeds. He wishes us to go to a ball in Bradford that night so I must be back in good time. Both of those are on the way in from Horsforth. She was found at the abbey, wasn’t she?’
    â€˜Aye,’ Sedgwick agreed thoughtfully.
    The Constable divided up the tasks. Lister would continue to search through the papers. Sedgwick would go to Tunstall’s to break the news and see what he could discover. He himself would take word of Jackson’s suicide to his sister.
    The house on Vicar Lane was run down, as if the people inside had stopped caring about it some years before. The windows were dirty, the limewash old and worn, its colour faded from brilliant white almost to grey. Not the house of a successful merchant, he thought as he knocked on the door. But then not every merchant made his fortune; many lost everything.
    â€˜I’m Richard Nottingham, Constable of Leeds. I need to see Mrs Bradley,’ he told the maid, a toothless old wraith who showed him through to the dusty withdrawing room, sketching a curtsey on her way out. He had to spend ten minutes waiting until Elizabeth Bradley entered, skirts rustling, her face freshly powdered and hair up. She looked to be in her middle thirties, careworn and harassed but putting on a good front.
    â€˜Maggie said you’re the Constable?’ she enquired, confusion on her face. Had she dressed up to receive him, he wondered?
    â€˜I am. I’m sorry, Mrs Bradley, but I have ill news for you.’ There was never a way to break a death easily. Murder was difficult enough, but suicide was something impossible to understand.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ she asked sharply. ‘Has something happened to Henry?’
    â€˜No.’ He looked at her. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he told her.