Cold Cruel Winter

by Chris Nickson

  He shrugged himself deeper into his greatcoat and they left the house, the pistol in his pocket. He’d hoped this had been it, that he could have taken Wyatt quickly and simply.

  ‘How are the men around the judge?’

  ‘They’re staying close,’ Sedgwick answered. ‘But not so close he knows they’re there.’

  ‘Good.’

  Josh arrived at a run, his face anxious.

  ‘Boss?’ he asked.

  ‘Go on.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I know it wasn’t Wyatt, but he was dark. Just a sailor. But well done.’

  Josh beamed. ‘I was out earlier, and someone was following our men who were after the judge.’

  ‘What?’ Sedgwick asked. ‘Who?’

  ‘And did he go back to Worthy’s house?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Josh sounded deflated.

  ‘Don’t worry, lad. Worthy and his men want to find Wyatt. Worthy claims he owes Graves a debt and this is his way of paying it off.’

  ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ Sedgwick scoffed.

  The Constable made a dismissive gesture. ‘I know full well that Amos Worthy has never done anything without his own reasons. Still, it’s good to know we have another line of defence around the judge.’

  They were close to the jail, just the other side of Kirkgate. The light was waning, the bitterness in the air more acute.

  ‘Go home,’ he said. ‘Josh, I hope your girl is a little better.’

  The boy reddened. Nottingham waited until they’d turned the corner then started down the road. He needed his hearth, too.

  In the distance was the Parish Church. He knew he should stop and see Rose’s grave. It seemed like days since he’d talked to her and he was beginning to feel as if she was slowly slipping away, to become part of the past, not the present. In his head the line between the living and the dead was becoming firmer. She was growing less substantial, drifting into mist like a ghost.

  He could still feel her in his heart, the love as strong as when she’d been a little girl. But maybe Mary had been right, that work was who he really was, that only his job brought him truly alive.

  Nottingham stopped at the lych gate, running his hand along the wood, his nail idly chipping off a fragment of ice. For a moment he considered turning the handle and taking his apologies, his sorrows, to Rose. But maybe it was better for both of them for him to let her rest a while, to let her die.

  Slowly he walked on, looking ahead to the warmth of home.

  Twenty-Three

  It was simple enough to glide through the city unnoticed. Wrapped heavily against the weather he could be any one of the anonymous figures on the street. He’d seen the men placed so obviously around the judge and followed their movements.

  He’d even spotted the others surreptitiously watching the watchers. That gave him pause. He knew the judge’s routine by now and where all his guards would be, although Dobbs himself seemed unaware of their existence.

  Spiriting him away wouldn’t be easy, but with care he could manage it. He had ideas, a plan that would leave them all wondering what had happened. But that was for when he was ready.

  It amused him to walk past those meant to catch him. Bundled like this, with just his eyes showing, he was almost invisible. The weather had been his friend this winter, its cruelty matching his own. As long as he was careful – and he was always careful – he had the freedom of Leeds.

  He’d followed the Constable too, at a wary distance. He knew the man’s routines, he’d seen his family, discovered his loss. By watching and waiting, exercising the patience that had served him so well these last years, he’d been able to build up his picture, t o put all the pieces in place. Soon the time would be right again. Soon.

  Twenty-Four

  ‘How is she?’ Josh asked in an eager whisper. Frances was curled on a pallet, sleeping softly, two tattered blankets covering her thin body.

  ‘She’s been sleeping a lot,’ Lizzie told him kindly. ‘But she needs that. She lost a lot of blood and her body needs to get strong again. Poor little thing.’

  Josh sat on the floor by Frances and took her hand in his. She didn’t even stir as he touched her, and her skin felt cool in his fingers. For an urgent moment he looked across, watching her face carefully to check she was still breathing.

  ‘You stay with her.’ Lizzie put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. ‘Don’t worry, love, she’s doing well.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘We’re going to take the lad out for a while,’ she continued. ‘You just spend some time with her.’

  He nodded and stroked the pale hand.

  Sedgwick had James by the hand, pulling back with a smile as the boy tried to run from him. Lizzie watched them lovingly, and even in the cold the deputy felt happy.

  ‘How is she really?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s stronger than she looks,’ Lizzie told him. ‘I thought we were taking her in so she wouldn’t die on her own.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll live?’ He hoisted James up on to his shoulders then above his head, the boy squealing with pleasure.

  ‘She might,’ Lizzie answered cautiously. ‘Who really knows?’ The hem of her skirt shushed over the packed snow. ‘When’s it going to get warm?’ she asked.

  ‘Not bloody soon enough.’ He let the boy down, but kept a tight hold on his hand. ‘Be good to feel warm again. Do we have to stay out long? I’m tired.’

  ‘Give them a few minutes, love.’ She put her arm through his. ‘You remember what young love’s like. And who knows how long they might have?’

  He nodded grudgingly as they walked down to the Aire. The light had fallen away and twilight lingered on the horizon, a thin band of pale blue below the thick clouds.

  ‘I’ve told you we’re keeping men on Judge Dobbs,’ Sedgwick said thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes.’ She held his arm as they followed the path down to the river bank, James’s tiny legs pumping hard on the grass.

  ‘There’s a part of me that wishes Wyatt had got him first.’

  ‘John!’ She hit his chest lightly. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say about anyone.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it’s true. He’s no more interest in real justice than James here has. I’ve seen him transport men for next to nothing, and hung at least two I know of who weren’t guilty, just because the merchants wanted it.’

  ‘That’s the way. You should know that by now.’

  He kicked at the snow. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it.’ He paused, looked around, and turned to her. ‘He’s a bastard. Most of the justices are. They don’t care about the evidence. All they do is give the verdicts and sentences the Corporation wants. If one or two of them ended up dead, it’d be no loss for the law.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Lizzie warned him in a hiss. ‘Anyone hears you talk like that you’ll lose your job.’

  ‘I know that. You’re the only one I’ve ever told.’

  ‘What about Mr Nottingham? How does he feel?’

  Sedgwick shook his head. ‘It’s not something we’ve talked about.’

  ‘For the best, if you ask me.’

  ‘Aye, mebbe.’ He put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry, I like my work, I want to keep it.’

  She pulled him close for a swift kiss. ‘Then make sure you do. Come on, we can go back now, we’ve given the lovebirds some time alone. You look as if you’re perished.’

  ‘I’ve been outside all day.’

  He took James by the hand again, the three of them making their way back to the Bridge.

  ‘John?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Please, don’t ever say things like . . . you know . . . again. It’s dangerous.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He gave her a gentle smile. ‘I promise.’

  The fire burned high, the crackle of coal soft in the room. Nottingham felt the heat all through his body, soaking his flesh and caressing him inside. Mary sat close by, sewing a new dress for Emily;
the girl was across the room, bending to write in the notebook he had bought her for Christmas, a candle flickering dangerously low next to her.

  For the first time in months, since the grip of winter on the city’s throat, he felt real contentment. All the problems remained, but for tonight at least he’d been able to leave them behind.

  He reached out and lazily stroked Mary’s wrist, watch her lips curl into a small smile as her hands worked. Apart from small domestic noises, the room was quiet. He felt as if he could happily let sleep take him.

  Mary pushed the needle into the fabric and set it down on a stool. ‘It’s late,’ she announced. ‘Time we were all in bed.’

  She stood, and slowly he followed her, stretching as he rose. Emily finished her sentence, blowing on the ink to dry it before she closed the book. A normal night, he thought as he banked the fire for the night, the way things used to be. Maybe they could slowly find their way back to some kind of happiness, to a new normality. It would be different, changed, smaller, but at least it seemed possible.

  The bedroom was cold, with frost already on the window glass, the scratchy fabric of the sheet chilly as he pulled it back. But not for too much longer, Nottingham thought. No matter how cruel this winter had been, it would pass.

  In his shirt he could feel the air nipping hard at his skin, and he held Mary as she came into the bed, her hair loose and brushed. She curled into his arms, shivering slightly. He could feel her breath against his cheek.

  Slowly, shyly, they kissed. He was sure that with every move, every gesture, she’d pull back, scared. But she stayed, her touch welcoming, her hands chilly on his skin. Tenderly, still cautious, he began to explore her. It wasn’t with eagerness, but softly, almost breathlessly, a homecoming after so long away.

  He looked into her face, seeing her eyes warm, happy, finally alive again. Relief and joy surged in his blood and he pulled her close. After, he could feel his heartbeat gradually slowing, her hair soft and ticklish against his face.

  Rolling on to his back, he put his arm around Mary, her head resting on his shoulder. They lay together in silence, and he listened as her breathing quieted before letting himself fall into the darkness.

  Waking came too soon. The night was still full. Mary had her back to him and he moved without disturbing her. He dressed rapidly, while the heat of the bed still clung to his body. In the kitchen he washed his face and hands in a bowl, the cold water sharp.

  Nottingham took bread, stuffing it into the large pocket of the old draped waistcoat, and a swig of small beer from the jug on the table. Outside, as he pulled the greatcoat tight around his waist, the air seemed a fraction warmer. The snow was softer, squeezing down under his feet. That made the short journey longer and harder, his boots sliding over the surface as he tried to walk.

  By the time he reached the jail he was exhausted, legs aching from the effort. But even that couldn’t take away his feeling of contentment.

  Sedgwick was already there, feeding coals to the fire. His coat lay over the chair and he turned and stood as Nottingham entered.

  ‘Morning, boss.’

  ‘John.’ He slipped off his coat and hung it from the nail in the wall. ‘How’s Josh’s girl?’

  ‘Still sleeping when I left.’ He poked at the blaze to send it roaring. ‘You know, he spent the whole evening sitting by her, stroking her hand, making sure she drank some water. Didn’t say a word, either of them.’ He shook his head in astonishment and respect.

  ‘What does Lizzie think?’

  The deputy shrugged. ‘She says Frances might survive. The lass has no strength. Looks like she lost the baby early, but there’s nothing to her. She’s like a twig, wrists as thin as bobbins.’

  Nottingham nodded. ‘What if she dies? What do you think Josh would do? He seems to trust you.’

  Sedgwick shook his head again slowly. ‘No idea. He keeps everything inside. I like him but it’s impossible to guess what he’s thinking.’

  ‘He’s been doing some excellent work.’

  ‘You mean that tip yesterday?’

  ‘Yes. And noticing one of Worthy’s men following ours. People have come to know him. I don’t want to risk losing him.’ Nottingham settled into the chair and began looking at the papers on his desk. There was only one urgent item, the remainder just the workings of a growing city that needed more and more things written down and signed.

  Sedgwick was putting his coat back on, ready to go and check the men.

  ‘Don’t tell them they have people watching them,’ the Constable warned. ‘See if any of them notice for themselves.’

  The deputy grinned. ‘Right, boss.’

  Left to himself, Nottingham sat back, took the bread from his pocket and began to chew slowly. There was a deep joy in his soul now, a sense that he and Mary would come through this. They’d be poorer at heart, there was no avoiding that, but they’d also be stronger.

  On top of that, the other worries had returned, cascading on him like water. Wyatt. The Henderson brothers. And now Josh and his girl. According to the letter he’d received, Alderman Henderson intended to apply for their release until they went on trial, and was offering a surety for their behaviour. Did the Constable have any objections?

  Objections, fears . . . how many could he list? More to the point, would anything he said make any difference at all? Henderson had wielded power on the Corporation for years. He knew who he could manipulate, and more importantly, how to do it. The judges dined at his house and listened intently when he spoke.

  Nottingham had no doubt about what would happen if Peter and Paul were let out. Within a day there’d be many souls all too happy to confirm they’d been drinking with them until late, and any witnesses would be intimidated or simply disappear.

  But he dared not state that blatantly. It would be a slur on the Alderman. He needed to be circumspect with his words, to express his concern at how grave the crime had been, that justice demanded they remain in jail. He added that Isaac the Jew had been known and respected, and that his friends might seek revenge; the Constable and his men couldn’t be everywhere to protect them.

  It didn’t sound convincing, even to him. Unless there was a rare judge in Leeds who’d begun to respect the law, they’d be home very soon – and Henderson would make sure the judge was one of his cronies.

  Nottingham would keep the evidence close, where the Hendersons and their friends couldn’t find it, and he’d need to find the old woman a new room, somewhere safer, where the brothers wouldn’t find her. That would be a job for Josh. At least they’d be able to make a good case when it all came to trial.

  He finished writing, sanded the document dry and rolled it up. Eating the remainder of the bread, he prepared for the day. First to the Moot Hall, then it would be time to talk to Worthy again. It seemed impossible that between them they couldn’t find Wyatt in a city the size of Leeds. In London, Norwich, or even in York he could understand it. In those places humanity roared like a flood. Here, he’d once been told, there were only around seven thousand people. Every day he saw familiar faces, he could give names to many of them. How could one person, or even two, hide so well?

  The question vexed him as he walked over to the Moot Hall. More people were out, their progress along the street slow as the ice gradually oozed into slush around their feet. But the air had certainly turned, with the faintest hint of spring in the breeze. Pray God it wasn’t another false hope.

  The clerk took his paper and yawned as he glanced over the writing. It was just one more document in an endless series that he’d read today.

  ‘The judge has already been appointed to the case,’ he said in a bored tone.

  ‘Who is it?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘Judge Dobbs.’

  The Constable smiled wryly as he walked away. Of course, who else could it be? This was God’s little irony. Dobbs and Henderson had been friends for years, and Dobbs had never been celebrated for his impartiality. Justice would stand a greater ch
ance in a crooked gaming palace. The Henderson brothers were as good as home.

  He walked down Briggate, water squeezing out under the soles of his boots. The surfaces were slick, and several times he had to catch his balance against the wall. He watched others fall; one of them didn’t get up again but rolled around and bellowed in pain, clutching his ankle.

  By the time he reached Worthy’s house he was aching and tired. Nottingham couldn’t remember the city streets ever being this treacherous. There was nothing he could do about it, except hope the temperature would keep rising so this would pass quickly. Two women had tumbled with great embarrassment; their skirts flew up and the boys and apprentices roared their comments.

  The kitchen was hot. The heavy faces of the pimp’s men were shiny and patches of sweat stank under their arms. They left eagerly when Worthy dismissed them. The Constable waited until the two of them were alone, drawing off his greatcoat and standing by the long table.

  ‘Heard you almost had someone,’ Worthy said.

  ‘The wrong man.’

  The procurer shrugged. ‘Did he know owt?’

  ‘Just someone passing through.’

  ‘So we’re no closer to Wyatt.’

  ‘No.’

  Worthy began to pace around the kitchen, the heels of his shoes clicking sharply against the old flagstones. ‘What do we do, laddie?’

  Nottingham watched the pimp as he moved. He was a large man; his protruding belly pushed the dirty waistcoat out in front of him. It was all firm, though; Worthy was a strong man, with voracious appetites for everything.

  ‘I still don’t understand your interest in all this, Amos.’

  Worthy turned to look at him, his scarred hands resting flat on the tabletop and speaking firmly. ‘I told you once, I owe Sam Graves a debt. This is the only way I can repay it now. You understand?’

  There was a dark intensity in his eyes that Nottingham finally believed.

  ‘Judge Dobbs has been given the Henderson case,’ the Constable said.