‘Do you think you’d like to live that way?’
‘No.’ She didn’t even hesitate. ‘I’d always feel afraid to touch things, like I’d make a mess.’
‘I’m sure they have maids to clean everything up.’
‘Oh, they do,’ she assured him with a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘As soon as I put a glass down, one of them was there.’
There was no one outside the school, but he knew the women had kept their husbands out during the night; he’d seen them as he passed, searching for King Davy. Even so he went in with her, a hand on his knife, ready. Nothing. Everything was as it should be. He smiled and kissed her.
‘I’ll be back this afternoon.’
Rob made his way to the bottom of Briggate and turned on to the small path below the bridge to wait for Granger. The man emerged from the water engine exactly as the clock struck eight. He patted a tricorn hat on to his head, glanced up at the sky with an approving nod and walked over to Rob.
‘Tha’s come, then.’
‘I promised I would, Mr Granger. You said you had something to tell us.’
‘Aye, well, happen it’s summat and happen it’s nowt.’ He brought a clay pipe from his pocket and lit it, puffing until he was satisfied with the smoke. ‘It’s like I told you last night.’
‘Someone who seemed to be dragging another man?’
‘That’s reet,’ Granger agreed. ‘Big lads, the pair of them. Looked like they’d had a long night on t’ ale.’
‘What time was this?’ Lister asked. He was desperate to be back on the hunt for King but Granger was going to talk at his own pace. This might be the longest conversation he’d enjoyed in a week.
‘Two,’ Granger answered with slow certainty. ‘I allus take a break then. Come out for a pipe if it’s dry.’
‘So this all happened by the water engine?’
‘Nay.’
‘Where, then?’ he asked with an indulgent smile.
‘I took a turn up Briggate there.’ He pointed with the stem of the pipe. ‘They were ’bout halfway up.’
That would fit with Megson Court, Rob thought, feeling a surge of hope.
‘How well could you see them?’
‘Moon came out while I were looking. T’ one who looked in his cups, he had fair hair. I saw it shine, like. T’ other were dark.’
‘Did you know either of them?’
‘I’ve seen the dark ’un before.’
‘Where?’ he asked urgently.
‘Nay, lad, I can’t remember,’ Granger said mildly, as if it had no importance. ‘Here or there.’
Rob tried to rub away the grittiness from his eyes and wondered if the man had anything more to offer. ‘How long did you watch them?’
‘Na more ’n a minute. I had to get back to my work. Any road, it weren’t none of my business.’
The phrase caught Rob’s ear. ‘What do you mean, it wasn’t any of your business?’
‘Looked like they’d been fighting, that’s all. Best to keep out o’ t’ way when it’s like that.’
Rob took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing wildly. ‘You said one of them was helping the other. Why would you think they’d been fighting?’
‘When moon shone on ’em I could see blood on fair ’un’s face.’ He smiled with satisfaction.
‘Was there anything else you noticed?’
‘Tha’s had it all now, lad.’
‘If you remember where you’ve seen the man before, come and tell us, Mr Granger.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that. But you should see Matthew Wilson.’
‘Why?’ He knew Wilson, one of the figures who came alive during the night, walking the streets like a ghost and vanishing with the light.
‘He were out walking, too. Din’t I say that?’ The man gave a brief nod and walked up the road. Rob stared after him for a moment, shook his head and strode back to the jail.
It was still early when the Constable entered the Moot Hall, before any of the clerks arrived to begin their day. The building smelt clean, of soap and wax, the windows sparkling in the early light. He left the report on Cobb’s desk, the brief catalogue of injury and death and failure.
He knew he should be out at the woods by the tannery, leading the search for any sign of King. Instead he turned the other way, to Lands Lane, to see the deputy and hope for something, anything.
Why had Davy attacked him? What had happened? The King was violent but he wasn’t stupid. He’d never go for a Constable’s man without a reason.
He’d barely turned the corner when he saw the door open and Lizzie step out, looking around as if she’d never seen any of it before, as if the whole world was strange. He opened his mouth to speak, and then he saw her face.
TWENTY-ONE
Slowly she trudged towards him, as if placing one foot in front of the other took all her strength. When she was close enough he put his arms around her, and she began to shudder and shake, clinging tightly to him. The tears would come soon enough, he knew that, and it would be a long time before they stopped. Tenderly he stroked her back, the way he had with his daughters when they were young.
He had no comfort to give her. She’d loved John, she’d given him every piece, each moment of herself. Now there’d just be emptiness for the rest of her life. Folk started to come from their houses, leaving for work, glancing curiously as they passed. Let them look, he thought. It didn’t matter. She needed this.
‘Come on,’ he said finally, and escorted her gently back to the house. The shutters were closed. He could hear Lucy upstairs, talking to James and Isabell. The deputy was on the pallet, covered with a sheet.
Nottingham poured two mugs of ale and handed one to Lizzie. She shook her head at first then took it, draining it quickly.
‘He squeezed my hand,’ she said. ‘He squeezed it before …’ Her voice was raw, and fragile as air. She gazed up at him, her eyes full of pain and hopelessness. ‘What am I going to do, Mr Nottingham?’
‘I’ll take care of everything,’ he promised her. It wasn’t an answer to her question but it was all he could offer her. ‘Lucy will look after things here.’ He waited as she nodded. ‘John was a good man.’
‘He was the best I’ll ever know.’ She pushed her knuckles against her eyes.
He remembered the things John had done, his loyalty, his belief, the way he’d ensured that the men who killed Mary had vanished when Nottingham was lost in the law. Soon he’d feel his own pain. But that could wait.
He returned to the Moot Hall, striding angrily down the street. Cobb was at his desk, head bowed over the papers.
‘The mayor wants to see you, sir,’ he said.
‘In an hour or two,’ Nottingham said briskly. ‘Tell me, what’s Mayor Fenton involved in that he doesn’t want anyone to know about?’
‘Sir?’ the clerk asked, confused.
‘You heard me, Mr Cobb. What?’
The man bit his lip. ‘He’s bought an interest in a sawmill across the river and they’ve received a contract for work from the city.’
‘That’ll do well for a start.’ The Constable gave a dark grin. ‘I’ll see Mr Fenton a little later. For now, I haven’t been here, you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Rob was dozing in the chair at the jail. He woke with a start as the door opened.
‘John’s dead,’ Nottingham told him flatly.
‘Fuck.’ He opened his mouth but no more words would come.
‘Go out to the woods, see what you can find there. I’m going to arrange the funeral.’
‘Yes boss.’
The Constable went to the church and made his demands of the curate, then to the undertaker, and across to ask Joe Buck to pass the word. Tom Williamson was already at his warehouse. He listened carefully to everything Nottingham suggested, and gave his agreement without reservation. Out on Briggate Four-Finger Jane cried when he told her; she’d let the other whores know. For the next hour he moved around the
town, talking to those who could spread the news. Only when he’d finished did he go back to the Moot Hall.
‘Go through, sir,’ Cobb said.
Mayor Fenton looked sleeker than before: a little weight gone, the clothes more expensive, his shave closer and shinier. An empty coffee dish stood on the edge of his desk and the air was perfumed by the tobacco from his pipe.
‘You made mistakes, Nottingham,’ he said, his eyes hard and heartless.
‘Mr Sedgwick just died,’ the Constable told him.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He picked up the report and tossed it in front of the Constable. ‘You made a pig’s ear of it.’
‘I did.’ The responsibility was his; he’d admit it. ‘And we’ll have King for two murders. But two of my men have lost their lives. They were doing their duty. They deserve something.’
Fenton stared at him. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘A pension for their widows. The city to pay the rent of Mr Sedgwick’s house.’
‘No,’ the mayor answered simply.
‘The aldermen will vote for it. If you object, the Mercury will publish all the details about that sawmill you’ve invested in and the contract you gave it.’
‘Don’t threaten me, Nottingham.’
‘I’m not threatening, Your Worship.’ He didn’t need to raise his voice. ‘I’m promising.’
For long seconds the room was quiet, just the faint sounds of Briggate outside the windows. Finally the mayor gave a short nod.
‘I’ll draw up the papers,’ he said. As the Constable turned away, he added, ‘Don’t ever believe you’ve won, Nottingham.’
Outside the air seemed cleaner. People came up to offer their condolences, and he told them about the service the next morning.
Rob walked through the woods, eyes on the ground where men had trodden down the grass and the bracken. He wasn’t going to find anything useful here. He felt stunned, scarcely able to believe it. Only yesterday morning he’d talked to John, joked with him the way they always did. Now he was gone. The man who’d taught him everything in this job.
When they found King the man wouldn’t last until trial, let alone survive to see the hangman. He’d make sure of that. Rob had seen death often enough in this job; he’d killed men himself. But this was the first time he knew he’d be happy to murder without care or remorse. His soul would sing as he did it.
He’d spread the men around Leeds, fanning them out through the city. Once word of the deputy’s death spread no one would shelter King. They’d find him. The boss would want him alive, to face justice and the rope. But he knew what the man deserved.
Rob reached the jail to find the Constable pacing, his hands bunched into fists, his body tight and tense.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Do you still have the pistol?’ Lister nodded. ‘Someone’s seen King.’
‘Where?’
‘Down in the Ley Lands, near Sheepscar Beck.’
‘Do you want me to fetch some of the men?’
Nottingham shook his head. ‘Not this time. Just the two of us.’
As they marched out along Vicar Lane, past the grand houses and the tumbledown, he told the boss what he’d learned from Granger. But they were simply sounds to fill the silence. There’d be time for Jem Carter when all this was done. For now, nothing else was important.
They stopped close to a small copse by the water, a stand of oak and ash and willow, thick enough to hide a man.
‘He’s in there,’ the Constable said.
‘What do you want to do, boss?’
‘I’m going in. You stay here. If King comes out, shoot him.’ He kept his eyes on the wood.
‘Boss,’ Lister objected, but Nottingham simply shook his head.
‘Be ready, that’s all.’ He walked slowly ahead and vanished between the trees.
Rob waited. The gun was cocked and heavy in his hand. The sun beat down, burning his neck, but the sweat that ran along his spine felt cold. He could barely breathe, and strained to peer into the woods but saw nothing. Each moment seemed to stretch out. His heart was pounding. For the third time he checked the sword and knife in their sheaths.
Finally the crack of a pistol echoed through the valley, a report that sent birds scattering and squawking into the sky. Rob raised the gun, his arm steady. The seconds passed. He heard footsteps in the undergrowth and tensed his finger on the trigger.
The Constable emerged, the gun down by his side, his shoulders slumped.
‘Fetch the coroner.’ Nottingham stared at Rob, his eyes empty.
TWENTY-TWO
The Constable walked across the field to Lady Lane, wearier than he’d ever been in his life. It had only taken a moment to spot King as the man tried to hide behind a fallen tree trunk. From there, he’d only needed to wait, silent and unmoving, until he stood, ready to run. They’d looked at each other and the man began to raise his hands. Nottingham fired, watching the shot tear Davy’s chest open. No mercy. Not this time.
The street was dusty and his throat was dry. People tried to talk to him but he brushed by. Soon enough they’d all know what had happened. Not that it mattered, not with John dead. An eye for an eye might be the old way but there was precious little satisfaction in it.
He paused at the top of the hill. Men were carrying rubbish out of the workhouse and piling it in front of the building. He could hear hammers and sawing inside. Two labourers stood in a patch of shade by the ale barrel while someone else pored over a drawing stretched out on a piece of wood.
‘I didn’t even know the plans had gone through yet,’ Nottingham said and the man turned.
‘Don’t ask me,’ he said with a tired shake of his head. ‘I just do as I’m told. It’s a reet bloody mess in there, too. Going to take the rest of the week to clean it all out properly. They didn’t bother to tell me that before I hired this lot.’ He spat on the dry ground.
‘When do they want it finished?’
‘End of the month. They’ll be lucky. I doubt any of them’s ever taken a look inside. Half of the rooms have rats’ nests in them. We’ve been killing the buggers all morning.’ The man glanced at Nottingham. ‘You look like you could do a full day’s work, you need a job?’
‘Already have one,’ the Constable answered, seeing the corners of the man’s mouth turn down. ‘For now, anyway. Good luck.’
‘Luck? It’s going to take bloody prayer, lad.’
All he wanted was to go home, to close his eyes and try to forget. He hadn’t paid a debt; he never could. Instead he’d done the last thing he could manage for a friend who’d done everything for him.
He forced his feet along the street, not looking at anything, just concentrating on moving.
At the warehouse, Williamson was directing two men who were shifting lengths of cloth from the shelves to the large open doors that overlooked the Aire. He turned when Nottingham entered, said something to the workers and came over to him.
‘What is it, Richard? We’re busy here,’ he said, annoyance in his voice until he saw the Constable’s face. ‘What’s happened? You found him?’
‘He’s dead,’ Nottingham answered shortly. Each word felt as heavy as a hundredweight. The merchant was staring at him curiously. ‘Have you given your recommendation on the workhouse?’ he asked.
‘This morning,’ Williamson answered in surprise. ‘We’re debating it at the meeting on Wednesday.’
‘Come with me,’ he said.
‘Now?’ Williamson asked in exasperation. ‘I have a shipment to prepare.’
‘Please.’
The merchant wavered for a moment, then nodded, passing the paper to a clerk and picking up his coat from the desk before following the Constable.
‘It’d better be important, Richard,’ he warned as they walked along Vicar Lane and out to the Ley Lands.
‘It is.’
‘What happened with …?’
The Constable shook his head and stayed silent until they reached the site. �
�There.’
The Constable saw the amazement on Williamson’s face. The merchant waved the foreman over.
‘When did you start here?’ he asked.
‘This morning, sir,’ the man answered.
‘And when do you have to be finished?’
‘I was told to have it all done by the end of the month.’ He wiped some dust from his mouth. ‘Won’t be easy, either. There’s more needed than anyone told me.’
‘Who’s paying you?’
‘The Corporation of course,’ the foreman replied, as if it was obvious.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Richard,’ Williamson said once the man had returned to his work. He was still staring at the building. ‘We haven’t …’ He shook his head. They began to walk back slowly.
‘I didn’t know,’ Williamson said finally. ‘Truly, I didn’t.’
Nottingham didn’t respond.
‘I feel like a fool.’
‘Don’t,’ the Constable told him. ‘Finer’s probably been planning this since the moment he came back to Leeds.’
‘But his figures make sense.’
‘I’m sure they do. They were meant to.’ His voice turned hard. ‘I’ll wager a week’s pay that in a year they’ll look very different and the Corporation won’t even care. The poor will be off the streets. That’s all that matters to them.’
‘It’s not what’s important to me. I hope you believe that.’
‘I do. They used you,’ he explained gently.
‘You warned me. I’m sorry, Richard.’
‘It’s not your fault. You were given a document and you went through it properly.’
‘I’ll still bring it up at the meeting.’
‘It won’t make a damn bit of difference. It’s started now and they’re not going to stop.’
Williamson nodded. He seemed bowed, betrayed, and there were lines on his face that Nottingham had never noticed before.
‘We still need to send that order out today. I’ll be at the service tomorrow. And that other matter’s in hand.’
The Constable watched him go. He was tired to his bones, his eyes bulging from lack of sleep and pain starting to tighten around his heart. As he walked along Briggate he could hear Sedgwick’s voice in his ear, suggesting a brief stop for a drink or a pie, talking about how well James was doing at the charity school or suggesting another way of looking at a case that troubled them.
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