Nickson - The Leaden Heart

Contents

The Inspector Tom Harper Mysteries

GODS OF GOLD

TWO BRONZE PENNIES

SKIN LIKE SILVER

THE IRON WATER

ON COPPER STREET

THE TIN GOD

THE LEADEN HEART

The Richard Nottingham Mysteries

COLD CRUEL WINTER

THE CONSTANT LOVERS

COME THE FEAR

AT THE DYING OF THE YEAR

FAIR AND TENDER LADIES

FREE FROM ALL DANGER

The Simon Westow Mysteries

THE HANGING PSALM

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First published in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

This eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Trade paperback edition first published

in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

Copyright 2019 by Chris Nickson.

The right of Chris Nickson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8879-2 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-597-8 (trade paper)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0216-1 (e-book)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

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Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

Leeds, July 1899

T he train pulled into Pontefract station with a thick hiss of steam and two short blasts on the whistle. Tom Harper opened the carriage door and watched Mary jump to the platform with an eager look. Annabelle took his hand as he helped her down the step.

She was wearing her new summer dress, a sky-blue colour that swirled around her ankles as she walked, carrying a parasol, a straw boater tilted at an angle on her head. It was another perfect summer day, not a cloud to be seen when he glanced up, the sun hot on his back as they walked along the road.

A solid week of glorious weather. Theyd had nothing like it in years. The temperatures had left people across England sweating in their heavy clothes. Hardly any crime, as if the criminals had all chosen to go on holiday. Maybe they had; as superintendent of A Division with Leeds City Police, Tom Harper was simply glad to see the figures plummet. If they stayed low for the rest of the summer, hed be a happy man. Aye, and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Their luck couldnt hold.

Harper held his daughters hand as Annabelle led the way up the hill and into Pontefract Castle. A romantic ruin, they called it. Well, the second half of that was right, he thought as he gazed around. Mounds of ancient stones hinted at the building that had once stood here.

But it was a fine Sunday to go somewhere, to be away from the stifling closeness of Leeds, to breathe some different air. And his wife deserved it. Shed spent the week running the Victoria while Dan the barman was away. Her pub, her responsibility, she told him. That was on top of her work as a Poor Law Guardian, talking to families around Sheepscar that needed help with their relief money, followed by a board meeting on Friday morning.

Im jiggered, shed said that evening as she collapsed on the settee with a cup of tea. Do you know what the silly beggars wanted today?

Go on, Harper said, what was it this time? It seemed that every session of the Guardians brought fresh complaints.

Someone brought in a pile of different ulster coats for the workhouse girls and they wanted me to try them all on so they could see which was best. She shook her head in disbelief. At first I thought they were joking.

That wasnt the end of things, he was certain.

What did you do?

I told them they could stuff it. She smiled, then sighed. Honestly, they dont have a clue. I know some of them mean well, but There might be elected women Guardians now, but equality wasnt even on the horizon yet. Annabelle looked at him. They say its still going to be nice on Sunday. We should go out for the day.

The castle was her idea; shed seen an article in the newspaper. And it was pleasant enough to stroll around, he had to admit that. But after a few minutes theyd seen what little remained, and went to the cafe for sandwiches and lemonade.

Mary was full of questions what the castle had looked like, and all the battles that had been fought here. Seven years old and inquisitive about everything. He didnt have any answers for her: history had never interested him. Instead, he bought a pamphlet of information to tell her what she wanted to know.

As they walked around the town, she read them information about the king whod been starved to death in one of the towers. Gruesome, but how many had gone for want of food over the centuries? It still happened, just to ordinary folk now, not royalty. When he was on the beat he used to see it week in, week out. Malnutrition, starved to death scrawled on the death certificates. The reality continued, as grim as ever.

Annabelle slipped into a shop, coming out with a brown paper bag.

Try one, she said to Mary.

What is it? she asked suspiciously, holding up a thick black lozenge.

Youll never know if you dont eat it, will you, clever clogs? Pop it in your mouth and see.

Warily, the girl did as she was told, eyes widening as she bit down. It tastes like Spanish!

It is Spanish. Liquorice. They call them Pontefract cakes and they make them here. See, theres even a picture of the castle stamped on them.

By the time the train brought them back to Leeds, the bag was empty, Marys tongue was black, and she was absorbed in the pamphlet again. Harper looked at his wife and smiled. The girl was a sponge for words and facts, her head always in a book, tucking every scrap of knowledge away in her brain. With each year, he could see more of Annabelle in her the same high, proud cheekbones and bow mouth, the flashes of red in her dark hair when the light caught it. Less of himself, luckily for her. But similar eyes, deep-set, always watching.

He felt content as they walked past the guard checking tickets and out into the sweltering station. A porter hurried by, face glistening as he pushed a trolley loaded with cases and chests. The change of scene had been a good idea. If it was still like this next week, maybe hed suggest a trip up to the Dales. Grass and clear air; a proper tonic.

He spotted a copper in uniform ambling around, eyes alert for pickpockets. The bobby noticed him and saluted.

Outside, he glanced at the newspaper sellers headlines: tensions rising towards war in South Africa, a burglary at a house in Leeds. Nothing that needed his attention.

Salad for tea. A couple of slices of cooked tongue, a few wilted leaves of lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and some buttered bread. A fine, light meal for a day like this. No factories open on the Sabbath, but still the smell of grime and machines came through the open window, bringing the thin layer of dust and dirt that defied cleaning and settled on everything.