Constant Lovers by Chris Nickson

Nottingham.’ The man stood, extending a hand whose skin was discoloured by dark stains. James Lister was small and round, all beaming eyes and bulging belly, with an open, jovial face. He’d only taken over the Leeds Mercury in January after the terrible winter had claimed the life of his employer, John Hirst. But in his life he’d forgotten more about Leeds and the area around it than most people had ever known. Where the merchants dealt in cloth, fact and rumour were his stock-in-trade. ‘What can I do for you?’
    The room smelt of ink, a deep, exotic scent that seemed to permeate the walls and the floor. Bundles of paper were stacked in a corner, ready for the next edition, and stained wooden boxes of type lined the wall. The Constable had been here before, and the mechanics of making a newspaper always amazed him.
    â€˜I’m hoping you might have some information.’
    Lister raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled slyly. ‘And here I thought you were the one who knew everything, Constable. Sit down.’ He gestured at the extra seat beside the desk.
    â€˜You heard about the body found at Kirkstall Abbey on Saturday?’ Nottingham began.
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜And you know who she was?’
    â€˜Not yet. Do you know?’ Lister asked eagerly, reaching for his quill.
    â€˜Her name was Sarah Godlove. Her maiden name was Gibton.’
    Lister sat back and let out a long breath. ‘I remember when they married last year. I wrote something about it, I’m sure. I couldn’t have ignored that.’
    â€˜What do you know about Godlove and Baron Gibton?’
    The man rubbed his chin. ‘Where do you want me to start? Godlove’s a rich man. His family owned a little land for generations. They did quite well as farmers, but it was his father who really made the difference.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ the Constable asked him.
    Lister smiled widely. ‘He started buying up small farms that weren’t doing well. Judicious purchases, too. He must have been a clever man. By the time anyone realized what he was doing, he must have owned most of the area between Horsforth and Bradford.’
    â€˜What about the present Mr Godlove?’
    â€˜He’s not the man his father was; at least, that’s what everyone says,’ Lister reported gleefully. ‘He runs everything smoothly enough, but there’s no fire about him. His ambition, or so I was told,’ he confided, ‘is to be part of the gentry. He wanted to be rich and respectable.’
    â€˜And the marriage brought him that?’
    â€˜In name, at least.’ He held up a warning finger, relishing the chance to gossip. ‘The Gibtons aren’t exactly the front rank of nobility.’
    â€˜He’s a baron.’
    â€˜Ah, but a baron is very low on the scale, Mr Nottingham,’ Lister said dismissively. ‘Even a viscount is higher, and they’re almost three a penny. But the Gibtons committed a cardinal sin in the eyes of the gentry – they lost most of their money.’
    â€˜The great-grandfather lost it. At least, that’s what Gibton told me.’
    Lister raised his eyebrows. ‘Very candid of him. It’s true enough, though. From what I’ve heard, the man should never have been let out anywhere at all. He’d wager on anything and everything and usually lose. Of course, he was drunk most of the time, which probably accounts for it. I suppose the family’s cursed him ever since. There they were, couldn’t even afford to live with the best society and all because of him. There was a little money, of course, they were hardly on the parish, but it wasn’t the luxury they’d once enjoyed.’
    â€˜And now they seem to have money again.’
    â€˜I was getting to that. Patience, Constable, please,’ he teased. He held out his hands, palms up, and raised the right one. ‘So here we have a man with plenty