Free Come the Fear by Chris Nickson Page B

owner, wiped his hands on his leather apron and tucked money away in the pocket of his long waistcoat. His wife would be in one of the outbuildings starting a new draught to brew while their daughters worked in the kitchen, preparing the vegetable stew for dinner.
    â€˜You’ll have something to drink?’ He began to reach for a mug. ‘How can I help you, Constable?’
    â€˜Nothing for me today,’ Nottingham said pleasantly. ‘Just a few questions. Do you have many seeking work here?’
    â€˜A few,’ Martin replied with a laugh. ‘Got to be careful who you take on in a place like this or they’ll be tipping the profits down their gullets.’
    â€˜I’m looking for a girl who might have asked about becoming a servant.’
    â€˜Oh aye?’ He folded his arms. ‘Never a shortage of those. There’s always too many lasses looking for work.’ He winked. ‘And some reckon they can make some brass on the side from the men.’
    â€˜You’d remember this girl. She had a harelip.’
    The man grimaced and the Constable noticed the small hand movement he made to ward off evil. Harelips were bad luck, cursed by God, their words twisted, their looks ugly. People shunned them lest their own babes became the same way.
    â€˜Not had one like that here,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t have hired her, anyway. She’d drive business away.’
    The Constable made his way down the street, stopping at all the inns to ask and receiving the same answer everywhere. She’d never sought employment at them and none would have taken her on. By the time he reached the Talbot he was downcast; the search seemed fruitless, but he’d go in and ask anyway.
    With its cockfighting pit and gambling, the Talbot was a place he hated. The men were called there two or three times a week to quell fights or arrest a pickpocket. He’d have closed the inn if he’d had the power. As he entered he felt the conversation hush. The landlord spat on the stone floor and turned away to examine the spigot on a cask. Nottingham walked up to the serving trestle and waited.
    â€˜Mr Bell,’ he said finally, and the man looked at him.
    â€˜I’d not seen thee there,’ the man said flatly. ‘You’ll have a drink with me, Constable?’
    Bell was a large man, strong and with the edge of danger in his temper. He’d fought bare knuckle when he was young and had the makings of a champion until he’d shattered the bones between his knuckles and wrist. Now there was a thick layer of fat over the old muscles, and the scars on his face and hands stood as the only reminders of his past.
    â€˜Not today,’ the Constable answered with a smile. ‘All I’m looking for is some information.’
    Bell eyed him warily.
    â€˜Have you had a girl with a harelip asking for work here? It would have been a few weeks ago.’
    The man chuckled.
    â€˜What? Alice Wendell’s lass, you mean?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Nottingham said with surprise.
    â€˜No,’ he answered firmly, ‘she’s not been in here. She knows I’d never take her on. They wouldn’t be happy.’ He tilted his head toward the customers. ‘I’ve known her since she was a nipper. Lovely girl, do anything for anybody, mind, but not a clever lass. Why are you looking for her, then? She done something?’
    â€˜She’s missing. I told her mother I’d ask after her.’
    Bell frowned. ‘That’s bad news. I always had a soft spot for young Lucy. I’ll keep a lookout for her.’
    So, nothing, he thought as he walked back to the jail. He could go through all the alehouses and dram shops, but that could easily take half a week. He sat at the desk, lost in thought. Lucy Wendell had been somewhere, and he was certain it had been in Leeds. It was probably the only place she knew, the only one where she’d feel that she might be