Constant Lovers by Chris Nickson Page B

‘It’s your brother.’
    â€˜Will?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    She looked up at him, uncomprehending. ‘What is it? Is he in trouble?’
    Nottingham paused.
    â€˜I’m afraid he’s dead,’ he said finally. ‘He killed himself.’
    â€˜Will?’ She spoke the word again. ‘Will?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He watched with concern as her eyes began to lose focus, and took her hand to steady her. ‘Do you want me to get the maid?’
    She shook her head slowly, squeezing her eyes firmly shut to stop any tears leaking out. Her fingers squeezed hard around his, the grip tight. She needed to control herself, he knew that, to let the shock pass. She let go of him, pulling a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and crushing it into a ball in her small fist.
    â€˜It’s Will?’ she asked. ‘You’re sure?’
    â€˜It is,’ he told her in a gentle voice. ‘I’m sorry.’
    â€˜But why  . . . why would he kill himself ?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ the Constable answered. ‘We’re trying to find out. Can you think of any reason?’
    â€˜No,’ she said after a while, her voice full of bafflement. ‘He said that the business was doing well. He was making money. He was going to invest in Henry’s – my husband’s – firm.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Henry.’
    â€˜Mrs Bradley.’
    She looked at Nottingham, her thoughts jerking back hard to the here and now.
    â€˜Were you and your brother close?’
    â€˜He always came to church with us on Sunday. We go to the new church, we have a family pew there.’
    â€˜What about your sisters?’
    â€˜Alice lives in York and Susan is in Pontefract. I’m the oldest.’ Her eyes widened as another understanding reached her. ‘I’ll have to tell them, won’t I?’
    â€˜Yes. I’m sorry.’
    She dabbed quickly at a tear before it could run down her cheek.
    â€˜Did your brother have a girl, by any chance?’
    â€˜Will? A girl?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘You didn’t know my brother, did you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Will didn’t have time for courting. He was always working. I used to tease him about it, tell him he’d end up a rich old bachelor.’ She smiled briefly at the fleeting memory. ‘Why do you want to know?’
    â€˜Because it might give a reason. A cause.’
    She shook her head.‘No, I don’t think it can be that.’
    He stood up. ‘My condolences again,’ he said formally, and moved towards the door.
    â€˜Constable?’ He heard her draw in a breath and knew what was coming. He’d expected her to ask. ‘Is it possible that my brother’s death wasn’t a suicide? An accident, perhaps?’
    He knew the reason for the question. No family wanted the shame of a suicide. It was a stain that never washed out, the quiet whispers behind hands and the pitying looks without words. But there was nothing he could offer her except a short movement of his head that committed him to nothing. By now the word had probably spread too far to be drawn back.
    He strolled up Vicar Lane to the Head Row, then back down Briggate to stop at the Ship. The food was tasty, the meat fresh, not rancid and covered in spices, and Michael always carried good ale.
    But he barely noticed what he ate or drank. Instead he was thinking about Elizabeth Bradley. She’d said little but revealed much. Will Jackson obviously kept his own life away from his family. If he’d been courting an available girl there’d have been no reason for that.
    He’d also had money to invest in his brother-in-law’s business, so the cloth finishing must have been making a profit. That seemed to rule out money as a possible reason behind his death.
    Nottingham put the last of the mutton pie into his mouth, washing it down with the ale and made