He shook his head. ‘I’d tell you if I did. But it’s what folk are saying. They’re starting to wonder what’s going on when people go after the law. If I were you, I’d get him out and around this afternoon so people can see it’s all lies.’
‘He’s not here. Rob’s doing something for me.’
‘Get yourself out there and tell them, then.’ He took a long drink. ‘There’s something going on around here, Mr Nottingham.’ He raised a hand before the constable could object. ‘Don’t go telling me it’s all in my head. I can feel it. Like someone’s tightening a cord around the neck of the place.’
He wasn’t going to insult Jem by denying it. ‘How many do you think know that?’
‘A few, mebbe. Happen one or two think something’s wrong, but they can’t put their fingers on it.’
Better ignorance than panic, he thought. And word hadn’t reached Brooke yet or the mayor would be breathing down his neck and demanding answers. All he could hope was that it stayed this way.
‘I appreciate you telling me.’
‘Word to the wise, that’s all.’ Jem gave a cracked smile. ‘You’ve allus been good to me when I’ve been here.’ He stood and hoisted the pack. ‘They’ll be wanting more tales.’
Alone, the constable finished his food and ale. He’d parade himself in a few minutes and lie about Rob. Do whatever was needful to quiet the talk. People would still mutter and murmur, of course. There was nothing he could do to stop that. But it would grow even stronger if they saw Lister trying to hobble around.
There were questions. Fewer than he’d imagined, and they seemed to believe his answers. But it wasn’t bringing him any closer to the man behind it all. He was clever, Nottingham admitted reluctantly. Finer was right, it was as sly and devious as anything Amos Worthy had ever thought up. And with six dead so far, it was every bit as brutal.
That total would rise unless he stopped it. But he didn’t know how.
‘How’s your knee?’ Nottingham asked.
Rob had struggled into his clothes and made his awkward way down the stairs. It had been painful, it had taken time, and he was glad he’d done it all while no one was watching. The stick that the constable sometimes used helped him. But he moved slowly, tentatively, as if it was something he was just learning.
‘Better than it was.’
‘He’s going to need another day, Papa,’ Emily said. ‘More, if he’s going to be any use to you.’
They’d finished the meal, plates pushed to one side. He noticed that Rob had barely touched his food; a few bites of meat and nothing more. But he understood how frustration could dull the appetite.
‘They must have been watching the jail and saw you didn’t come in,’ he said later as they sat by the fire. Nottingham had seen the effort it took for Rob to move. Emily was right: it would be another day, at the very least, until the lad was fit enough for duty.
‘If I’d—’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ the constable told him. ‘You did what you could. He was lucky, that’s all.’
He slept, the warmth of Emily’s body next to him. In his dreams he relived the fight time and time again. Sometimes he won, with the other man on the ground in front of him. Sometimes he lost, waking with a start and a gasp as the knife pierced his skin. Then he’d lie, wide-eyed and terrified as the cobwebs of it all cleared from his mind, until it seemed safe to rest again.
Rob woke to full light, alone in the room, no sounds from inside the house. He groaned as he tried to ease himself out of the bed. He tried to stand, catching himself before his leg gave way, groping for the stick. That helped. His knee wasn’t so swollen this morning, but it was stiff; a dark bruise had blossomed on his skin like a flower. Very carefully, he dressed. Everything took longer, each action seemed to ache its way out. He felt like an old man.
TWENTY-FOUR
At least Rob had given him a few names. He went from one to the other, but they had nothing to tell. Maybe it was the truth; maybe they didn’t trust him.
He’d exhausted everything. There was nowhere else to turn. He walked, feeling the chill of the wind on his flesh. Wind had swirled the leaves into drifts and piles, oak and elm and ash. He kicked through them, hoping it might bring the same joy he’d loved as a boy. But there was no pleasure, not even for a moment. It was simply one more thing to slow him down.
Nottingham leaned on the parapet of the bridge, staring down as the river surged below. Small boats were lined up by the warehouses, and men moved back and forth to load them. Leeds was busy turning wool into money, cloth leaving for places all across Europe, the American colonies and who knew where else.
He’d done everything he could, followed every small nudge of hint. He’d talked until his throat was raw. And he still didn’t have the answer. He hadn’t failed yet, not with November the fifth still to come tomorrow, but this … it felt as if he had.
‘Don’t do it, Richard.’
He started at the voice by his shoulder. Joe Buck, grinning at his own joke. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, far from the world going on around him.
‘You don’t look like a happy man,’ Buck said. He was as elegant as ever, with a brilliant long silk waistcoat under his dark coat, the silver buckles shining on his shoes.
‘I’m thinking, that’s all.’
‘Dark thoughts. You were miles away.’
‘People seem to say that about me too often,’ he answered with a wan smile.
‘I heard about young Lister. Is it as bad as they’re saying?’
‘No.’ The constable could trust Joe to keep a confidence. ‘A blow to his knee. He should be back tomorrow.’
‘Let’s hope so, for your sake. It’ll be madness when they light the bonfires. Makes me glad I stay clear of it.’
‘We’ll manage. We always have,’ Nottingham said.
‘Will you?’ The question made him turn his head.
‘Why, have you heard something?’
‘Just the usual. The apprentices plotting their riots. They say they’re going to topple the statue from the Moot Hall.’
‘They say that every year and they’ve never come close yet.’
‘There are other rumours, too,’ Buck said.
‘Oh?’
‘That something’s going to happen.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘No. But folk are scared. They sense it. You know what it is, don’t you?’
‘Not enough of it,’ he admitted. ‘That’s the problem.’
‘Is it to do with those killings you were asking me about?’
‘Yes.’ He laid out what more he knew. It seemed like nothing as he told it, bare, baked bones with no meat on them.
‘Makes me glad my business isn’t violent,’ Buck said. ‘I’ll ask around, but folk would probably have told me if they knew anything.’
‘At the moment I’d be glad of crumbs.’
‘It all sounds like something Amos Worthy would have enjoyed.’
Nottingham gave a small, dry laugh. ‘You’re the second person to say that.’
‘Some of us remember. Have you made sure he hasn’t come back from the dead?’ Joe laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put that past him, either.’
The constable smiled. ‘Even he can’t manage that.’ Wearily, he pushed himself up. ‘If you come across anything …’
‘I’ll send word. I promise.’ Buck stood for a moment, staring. ‘Take care of yourself. We’re not as young as we’d like to believe we are.’
He knew that all too well, the constable thought as he walked back to the jail. He felt it in every ache and pain of life.
Rob stumped around the house, grateful for the stick. Every step still took effort, but it seemed a little easier. He was in the garden, hobbling up and down the path, when Lucy returned with her basket.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked.
‘Making sure I’m ready for tomorrow.’
‘And you’ll be no use at all if that knee
swells up again, will you? I have ears, you know. I know what you and Mr Nottingham have been talking about. He’s going to need you.’
‘That’s why I’m doing this,’ Rob said.
‘You’ve done it,’ Lucy told him. ‘Now go and sit down and rest it.’
She watched as he limped by her and settled in the chair. It felt good, easier, to have the weight off his knee, but he wasn’t going to admit it to her.
‘He’s scared, you know,’ Lucy said.
‘Scared? The boss?’ He’d never said anything, there hadn’t been a sign of it. Just Richard Nottingham with his impassive face and long silences. The man he knew.
‘He’d never let anyone see it. And you can wager he’d never tell anyone, especially you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he respects you, what do you think? He doesn’t want to show any fear, because it might make him look weak. You’re just the same. You keep it all behind your eyes.’
‘Me?’ He didn’t believe her.
‘The two of you are peas in a pod. Sometimes I think that’s why Miss Emily loves you, because you’re like her father.’ She was quiet for a moment, as if she’d said too much, then quickly smoothed down her apron. ‘That’s what I think, anyway. You take care of that leg. So you’re ready for tomorrow night.’ She bustled away into the kitchen.
At first he didn’t know what to think. He was completely different from the boss. He admired him, he had since he first became a constable’s man, but they were nothing alike.
Rob sat, thinking, trying to understand why Lucy believed that. She was sharp, she had a good eye for things. But she was wrong on this. She had to be.
The day was fading and still he knew nothing more. He felt as if he’d wasted it, rushing around like one of those chickens after the farmer had cut off its head. Going nowhere at all. But he couldn’t give up. This evening he’d go round the inns once more, hoping that someone might have even one small drop of information.
With darkness, the cold seemed to creep back in from the west, the skies clearing. There’d be a frost tonight, Nottingham thought as he strode up Briggate. No men with a pocket missing from their coats. Who knew if Henry Meecham had even really seen that? It could have been the drink addling his brain.
Men had gathered round the fire in the New King’s Arms and the Turk’s Head, but no one he recognized. The same at the Talbot when he stopped there, only Meadows giving a cheery wave.
The Rose and Crown was busy, conversation coming from all the small parlours. He saw Molly Reynolds carrying a tray full of mugs up the stairs, her father John busy as he filled more from the barrel.
‘You’re making money tonight,’ the constable said.
‘Earning it,’ Reynolds replied. ‘No idea why they’re all in here. Some days it’s just that way.’ He grinned. ‘Not that I’m complaining. And we’ll do good business tomorrow. The bonfires always make people thirsty.’
‘I hear the apprentices are planning their rampage, same as ever.’
‘And they’ll get as far as usual. They’ll either end up falling down drunk or fighting each other, or your lot will crack their heads.’
‘Have you had any word about anything else?’
Reynolds finished filling the mug and set it down.
‘Should I have?’ he asked.
‘A few people seem to be talking.’
‘Some folk are never happy unless they hear the sound of their own voices. I suppose one or two seem worried.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘Nothing, same as it ever is. It’s all blether, anyway. They don’t know, so they have to conjure something out of nowt.’
If only that was true, Nottingham thought. But he’d know what it was soon enough.
He stayed alert on the way home. If they felt they could go after Rob, he was a target for them too. But no footsteps trailed behind him, and the only figures moving were in his imagination.
The streets were empty, just the echo of his boots for company as he went through the lych gate at the Parish Church. The day had already been long; a few moments more would make little difference.
He stood by Mary’s grave, and for once he felt himself without words. The peace of her company would be enough. And Rose. He pictured her with her own child, then with Emily’s Mary.
He didn’t need daylight to find his way around the churchyard. A few steps and he was standing where John Sedgwick lay.
I could have used you tomorrow, he thought. Rob won’t be able to do much. That was always the way, wasn’t it, you and me together? Then we’d laugh about it later over a drink and count our wounds.
He’d stopped to see Lizzie early in the evening. But she’d been all apologies. No one knew anything, or they were too scared of something to open their mouths. He’d thanked her, given Isabell and James a farthing each, and left.
Worthy was buried on the other side of the church, not far from the wall by High Court. A small, simple stone. Sacred to the memory …
Why do they keep mentioning you, he thought? You’re dead. I saw your corpse, I was here when they put you in the ground and I shovelled the sod on to your coffin. Wasn’t that enough to be rid of you? Why do you keep coming back?
TWENTY-FIVE
He slept, waking often, then closing his eyes and falling back. But as he stood and ate a chunk of bread, he felt as if he hadn’t rested at all.
Nottingham drank the rest of the ale in his mug and stood for a moment, taking in the room. How many years had he lived in this house? His daughters had grown up here. His wife had died here. So much of him was in this place.
He turned at the sound. Rob edging awkwardly down the stairs, holding on to the wall with one hand, the stick in the other.
‘Boss …’
‘How well can you walk?’
Lister hobbled a few paces. He moved slowly, and Nottingham could see the strain on his face with each step.
‘Better than it was,’ Rob said. ‘The swelling is going down.’
‘Stay at home today.’
‘But—’
‘Come once it’s dark. If people see you in the daylight, tongues will start working. Tonight’s when I’m going to need you. Rest today.’
He could see the disappointment on the lad’s face, but he knew it made sense. There was no sense in fuelling gossip. And by evening he’d need every man who could help.
His boots rattled on Timble Bridge and he stopped to hear the soft sound of the beck. Then up Kirkgate, past the buildings he knew so well – Ibbotson’s house, Haxby, Pease, Cookson, every single one of them. This was his town. He’d seen it in so many different ways – from privilege, from poverty, as beggar and thief and constable. It ran through his blood.
Crandall was still at the jail, finishing the night report.
‘Anything worth telling me?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Some boys were out, trying to stir up some mischief.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose the apprentices will be saving themselves for later.’
‘We’ll have our hands full. Including you.’
‘I thought it would be best if I stayed here and sent people where they’re needed.’
The constable smiled. He’d expected something like that.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Everyone out there tonight.’
He saw Crandall’s face fall. If he was going to remain in his job, he needed to learn.
‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. Go home and sleep. I’m sure you need it.’
Alone, he put a little more coal on the fire, letting it burn until the room felt warm. The cold gnawed on him these days, and heat brought comfort to his bones and his joints. Today he’d go around once more and ask his questions. But he’d learned better than to hope for answers. Tonight would bring its reckoning and he’d have to be ready for it.
Slowly, he went through all the papers waiting on his desk. Outside, he could hear Leeds waking and beginning to move around. Voi
ces, the trundle of an early cart, then a steadier flow of people and goods coming and going.
He’d put the last document aside when the door opened and Mayor Brooke entered, sweeping his hat off his head and tucking it under his arm. He dropped a letter on to the desk.
‘This came yesterday. It’s for you. About the boy who killed poor Tom Williamson.’
The constable read it quickly. The trial would be held next month and he was expected to attend as a witness. He hadn’t given Nick a thought since they sent him to the Assizes in York. But it seemed he hadn’t heard the last of the boy yet. For a moment an image of Kate flickered through his mind and he wondered if she was still alive.
‘It should be Rob Lister giving testimony. He saw it happen.’
‘You know how they work, Richard. You’re the Constable; they want you. It’s just for show. They’ll hang him at the end of it.’
‘Yes.’ He remembered all those journeys on horseback to York. It always seemed to be winter when he had to travel there.
‘Are you prepared for tonight?’ Brooke asked.
For a moment, he thought the mayor was asking about the trouble ahead. But his face was open and hearty. The rumours and the sense of unease hadn’t reached him yet.
‘The day men will stay on and I’ll have all the night people. The same way we’ve done it for years.’
‘The talk is that the apprentices are planning something.’
‘They always do, and every time it comes to nothing.’
‘Don’t give them an inch.’ He grinned. ‘Folk want to know there’s law here.’
‘My men have their orders.’
‘That’s what I want to hear. Let people have their fun but make sure it doesn’t go too far.’
Tonight, Nottingham thought, that might be easier said than done.
‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘Good.’ He looked around the jail, appraising it – the stonework, the dirt, the untidiness of it all. ‘Are you settled in the job?’
‘Sometimes it’s as if I’d never left.’
‘The corporation is still casting around for a new constable. A few have applied. Between you and me, none of them seemed particularly impressive.’
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