Read Online Come the Fear by Chris Nickson - Free Book Online

reaching to his neck and loosening his stock. ‘That’s better. They’re not old enough to be wed yet. And they don’t have any money.’
    â€˜Not having money didn’t stop us,’ she reminded him.
    â€˜We were older than them,’ he countered. ‘I was twenty, Rob’s just eighteen. Emily’s only sixteen. You were eighteen.’ But as he looked at her he knew words couldn’t win this. There was something deeper. ‘What about Rob? Do you think he loves her?’
    Mary’s eyes shone, her face as open as sky. ‘Haven’t you noticed how he looks at her whenever she’s in the room? He’s as besotted as she is.’ He saw the pure delight in her smile. After losing one daughter, she wanted the other to be happy.
    â€˜Give them time,’ he told her. ‘Last year you were glad to have her home with us.’ He recalled Emily on the doorstep in tears, trying to explain how she’d left her position as a governess after her employer attempted to force her to lie with him.
    He put her arm in his as they walked slowly back up Marsh Lane. By the beck the trees and bushes were green, the bluebells giving thick, glorious spots of colour on the ground.
    â€˜If it’s what they want, they’ll do it in time,’ he said.
    â€˜What about Rob’s father? What does he think?’ Mary wondered.
    â€˜I’ve no idea,’ the Constable answered. ‘When I’ve seen him we’ve never talked about it.’ He unlocked the door to their house and stepped aside for her to enter, the way he’d always done, the way his mother had taught him. Mary bustled into the kitchen. A few minutes later Emily dashed in, as always on the edge of lateness, gathering her skirt and rushing up the stairs to her bedroom. He sighed.
    The deputy knew Queen Charlotte’s Court well. He’d been here many times before. There’d been fights, stolen items, even bodies in the rubbish that crowded around the decrepit buildings. It was a place where people survived rather than lived. Precious little light came in, and rancid smells collected in the deep mud. There was no joy in life here.
    It only took a brief word to discover where Peter Wendell lived. It was a rooming house with the front door missing and wood on the stairs going rotten, never built to last but still here, making money for a landlord who only cared that his tenants paid on time.
    Wendell answered his knock promptly. He looked close to twenty, his face not yet fully settled into shape, thickset, with dark hair cut close to the skull and shirt sleeves rolled up to show bulging muscles. His eyes were blurry and bloodshot, and the smell of last night’s drink was strong on his body.
    â€˜Aye?’ he asked.
    â€˜I’m John Sedgwick, the deputy constable.’
    â€˜Oh aye?’ He pushed his chin forward in a challenge. ‘You got business here?’
    â€˜I want to talk to you about your sister.’
    The man cocked his head. ‘Better come in, then. Don’t want the world knowing my life.’
    There was a pallet in the corner with a grimy, stained sheet thrown hastily over it, a scarred table close to a dirty, cracked window, and two stools. A girl, haggard and thin, stood in the corner, pulling a threadbare shawl around her shoulders.
    â€˜So what about my sister, then?’ Wendell asked.
    â€˜Have you seen her lately?’
    The man shook his head slowly and turned to the girl.
    â€˜How long is it?’ he asked her. ‘Two months?’ She just looked back at him blankly. The deputy could see the garden of bruises on her arms and wondered how many more there’d be on her body. ‘Aye, two months, summat like that. Why?’
    â€˜She’s missing. Your mam’s worried about her.’
    â€˜Well, we’ve not seen her,’ he said, brushing the problem aside as if it had no importance. ‘She’s working for that