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down her hair then untied the mantua dress he’d bought her in May. It was second-hand, the blue faded to the colour of dawn sky, but she loved wearing it. She slipped into bed, curling around him with a kiss. Thoughts of the young man he’d once been touched him, his curious, cautious shyness, the sense that the world could fall at any time. And he realized he loved her more now than he had back then. A different love, less ardent maybe, but stronger than youth.
    Nottingham set off early for Roundhay, taking the gentle horse from the ostler and following the road that ran out by Sheepscar Beck. He could see people already hard at work in the fields but there were precious few travellers at this hour; all he encountered was a pair of riders and they were going into Leeds.
    He passed a small sign guiding travellers to Gibton’s Well. He’d heard of the place, that the waters there were supposed to be beneficial. For a while it had been fashionable and some of the merchants and aldermen had come out with their wives, all hoping to be healed of their aches and pains by its waters. None of them had ever looked much better.
    He continued up the gentle slope, the vista spreading out green before him, sheep grazing in large white flocks.
    By the time he reached Roundhay village the sun was well risen, the warmth rounding on his shoulders and leaving his throat dry. He stopped at the alehouse, letting the horse drink from the stone trough while he went inside for a mug of small beer.
    It was nothing more than a ramshackle cottage with a bench and two barrels of ale resting on trestles. The woman who served him was small and old, her back bent, lines cracking deep on her face.
    â€˜Do you know Lord Gibton?’ Nottingham asked.
    The woman chuckled. He could see her gnarled knuckles as she poured his ale.
    â€˜Oh aye, Lord,’ she said mysteriously, took a clay pipe from her apron and lit it, blowing smoke up to the low ceiling. The Constable waited and she continued, her voice rough and gravelly. ‘Allus had their airs, they have, thought they were better than everyone, although the family’s lived almost like the rest of us longer than anyone can remember.’
    She made a half-hearted attempt to wipe the table, brushing a few stale crumbs on to the earth floor with her hand, happy to continue the gossip.
    â€˜What happened to their money?’
    â€˜All sorts of tales,’ she said dismissively. She leaned forward, bringing the smell of ancient sweat and foul breath. ‘I’ll tell you what most folk round here say, though. Long time ago, they owned all this land but lost it at cards.’
    â€˜Do you believe that?’
    She shrugged. ‘All I know is they got some money again and they’re back living like royalty.’ She spat towards the empty hearth.
    â€˜How long ago did that happen?’ Nottingham asked.
    She stopped to consider, counting back in her head.
    â€˜About eighteen month back, something like that,’ she answered finally. ‘Not too long before that little lass of theirs got wed.’
    â€˜Sarah?’
    â€˜Aye, only one they had. They’d had some others, but they all died. Some of them as babbies, some older. Doted on that girl, they did, couldn’t do enough for her. Married her into wealth, from the way she dresses when she comes back.’
    â€˜Does she come back often?’
    The woman paused and thought. ‘Every month or so, I suppose. Hard not to notice her, way she prances around the place on her horse.’
    â€˜So where did this all new money come from?’ he wondered.
    â€˜They said they’d inherited it,’ she said, rolling her eyes, every word oozing doubt. ‘I reckon it was that farmer paid for Sarah. Cost him enough if it was, mind.’
    â€˜What?’ He couldn’t believe that. He knew well enough about the dowries many women brought to marriage, anything from land and coin to a small