Come the Fear (19 page)

Mrs Morrison was there, standing as tall as she could, shouting out the boy's name, the words lost in the tumult of the market.

‘I haven't found him yet,' he told her, seeing the terror grow in her eyes. ‘Don't worry. All the sellers know by now, they'll be watching for him.' She reached for his hand and he took it, patting it gently. ‘We'll find him. You stay here.'

He plunged back into the crowd, glancing at the stallholders who all shook their heads. Nothing. He could feel the first twinge of fear, the sense that something was wrong, creeping up his spine.

Someone should have spotted the boy by now. He kept looking, checking all the nooks and hidden areas he knew so well, hoping against hope that he'd see the flash of a blue coat or the wail of a tiny voice.

Around him people were beginning to drift away, their baskets full, the sellers slowly packing up their wares. Soon the bell would ring noon and the market would end. He walked back to the cross, where Mrs Morrison stood twisting a kerchief in her hands, still yelling her son's name, her voice growing hoarse and desperate.

‘I'm sorry,' he told her. ‘I can't see him.'

The tears brimmed from her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks.

‘I'll get the men out and searching,' he told her. ‘We'll find him. Go home. You have other children, don't you?'

She nodded dumbly.

‘You go and look after them,' the Constable said; it would give her something to do. ‘I'll come as soon as I know anything.' He waited. ‘Please. We'll look everywhere.'

Finally she gave another nod and set off slowly down Briggate, walking as if she was in a dream, head darting hopefully from side to side.

He strode into the Rose and Crown, shouting to be heard over the crowd there.

‘There's a boy missing. He's small and fair, in a blue coat and breeches. His name's Mark. Who can help?'

Several of the men drained their mugs and came to him. He divided them up, telling them where to look, then moved down the street to the Ship. More men volunteered. It was the same all along Briggate, until a small army was out looking for the lad.

He returned to the jail, thinking quickly. The boy must have wandered off somewhere. There were enough men to find him in a few more minutes, an hour or two at most.

Sedgwick was sitting at the desk, eating bread and cheese, a full mug of ale at his side.

‘We've got a missing lad, John.'

‘How old?'

‘Six.'

He could see the deputy thinking of his own son as he stood and pushed the food away.

‘Who's out there?'

‘Some men from the inns, about thirty of them. I sent his mother home. She's Morrison's wife, the chandler. Get everyone organized. I want him found quickly.'

‘Yes, boss.'

‘Come and tell me as soon as you know anything.'

‘I will.'

Alone, behind his desk, Nottingham remembered the last time a child had vanished and not been found. It had been eight years before, a girl who hadn't arrived home from the charity school. Men had searched through the evening, into the night and all the next day. They'd found her body, cold and long dead, in the orchard by the old manor house. Her mother drowned herself in the river a week later, weighted down by the heaviness of her heart, leaving a husband and two babies. He couldn't allow that to happen again.

Anxiously he heard the bell ring each quarter hour, and with each minute that passed he understood that the chances of finding the boy were growing bleaker. Twice he took up his hat to go and join the search, then put it down again. He needed to be here, where people could find him.

The time passed slowly as he sat, measuring it in heartbeats. Outside he could hear the clamour of Kirkgate, people busily passing, the clop of hooves and the squeak of a carter's wheel as it turned the corner on to Briggate.

It was late afternoon when the deputy returned, his clothes dusty and his face drawn.

‘Well?' Nottingham asked.

Sedgwick shook his head. ‘Nothing. There's about fifty of them out there now, and we've looked everywhere. We've already been through all the yards, out in the fields, down by the river . . .' He sighed, poured himself some ale and drank it down quickly.

‘What about the other side of the Head Row?' the Constable asked. ‘He could have wandered over there.'

‘We've searched there, boss,' he answered with a tone of resignation. ‘We went out past the grammar school, walked the fields. Most of them are willing to keep looking, and there should be more to join them later.' The deputy sat and stretched out his legs. ‘It's as if he's vanished.'

‘Or someone's snatched him,' Nottingham said darkly. He steepled his fingers under his chin.

‘No one would do that,' Sedgwick said. ‘Not a little boy.'

‘Let's hope not, John, for everyone's sake. Unless you want to see real panic in Leeds.' He sat forward. ‘I still want to take Walton tonight.'

‘Do you think he'll go with everyone around?'

‘I don't know,' Nottingham admitted, ‘but we need to be ready. Be at Trill's before sunset. Keep yourself out of sight in the other room. I'll bring Holden with me and we'll cut off the yard. Then we'll have him.'

‘Who's going to lead the search for the boy?'

‘It'll have to be Rob. I'll give him instructions. Once we've got the thief taker in a cell we can go out and help. You'd better send word to Lizzie that you might be late tonight.'

Sedgwick gave a small, sad smile. ‘Already done it. I told her why.'

‘Good. Now go and get yourself something to eat and pray it doesn't turn into a long night.'

‘What about you?'

‘I'm not hungry,' the Constable said.

At five he was in the mayor's office with no good news to tell. Douglas looked a month past weary. His eyes were hard and he needed a shave, the dark bristles on his face shadowing his skin.

‘How many are out looking?' he asked.

‘Scores,' the Constable answered. ‘Everyone wants to find him.'

The mayor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Tell me what you think, Richard,' he said, and before Nottingham could reply, he held up his hand. ‘I don't want it sweetened or hopeful. I want the truth.'

‘I believe someone's taken him.'

‘Why? Morrison's a chandler, for God's sake,' Douglas said angrily. ‘He's not rich, he doesn't have any power in the city.'

‘I don't know,' Nottingham told him with an exhausted sigh. ‘Probably because the boy was off by himself and he was easy prey.'

‘So what do we do?'

The Constable raised his eyes and stared at the mayor. ‘The only thing we can do is keep looking and hope we find him. I'll have men out all night. We look and look and hope he's alive.'

‘Do you think . . .?' Douglas began, but couldn't voice the thought.

‘It's happened before. You know that.'

The silence in the room was full of memories. Nottingham stood.

‘I need to get back,' he explained. ‘We're arresting the thief taker tonight.'

The mayor raised his eyebrows. ‘With all this?'

‘With all this,' Nottingham confirmed.

‘Do you want me to go and see the lad's parents?' Douglas asked.

The Constable gave a brief smile. ‘That would be a kindness. I'm sure they'd appreciate it. Just tell them we're doing everything we can.'

By the time Lister arrived, news of the missing boy had spread throughout the city. Close to a hundred men were out looking as dusk fell. The Constable had sent most of the night men to join them, keeping only two back to help him.

‘Have you heard?' Nottingham asked.

‘The boy?' Lister answered. ‘Yes.'

‘I need you to lead the search for him. Mr Sedgwick and I are going to arrest the thief taker.'

‘Yes, boss.'

‘Keep them going as long as they'll stay out or until the lad's found. Have people walk both banks of the river and look south of the Aire. Keep combing the places where we've already been.' He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the fringe off his forehead. ‘Find some lanterns somewhere, that'll help.'

‘My father thinks someone's taken him.'

Nottingham stopped. ‘What makes him think that?'

‘He says we'd have found him otherwise.'

‘Has he said that to anyone else?'

‘Only to me. He's at home.'

‘And has he been out searching?'

Lister shook his head.

‘Then go and tell him he'd be a lot more bloody use outside than airing his opinions in the parlour,' the Constable said sharply, then paused. ‘I'm sorry, it's not your fault.'

‘He's right, though, isn't he?'

Nottingham sat on the corner of the desk, his mouth tight, hands pressing on his thighs.

‘He might be, but I don't want you breathing a word of it. Once people start to believe that they'll be looking for a culprit, and that's when innocent men can die. Get out there, Rob, keep them going. And see if you can get your father off his arse to do something useful.'

Lister grinned. ‘Yes, boss.'

Nottingham took the sword from the cupboard, tested its edge against his thumb and buckled the weapon around his waist. Evening was closing around the city. The deputy would be in place, watchful and quiet. Walton would probably make his move once darkness fell; with so many folk around he'd probably imagine no one would notice him.

Tom Holden, the Constable's man watching the thief taker, had found a small space that offered a view of Walton's window and the yard at the Talbot.

‘Anything yet?' Nottingham asked.

‘Just pacing a few times. He'll not be out while it's full black.' He paused. ‘Have they found that lad yet?'

‘Not yet.'

The man clicked his tongue softly. ‘I know them, the Morrisons. Used to drink wi' him sometimes. She's a good woman, always looked after that boy well. Poor lad.'

‘Plenty of people are looking for him.'

‘Aye, I'll be on it myself later.'

They waited, letting the night slowly slip around them. In the distance the sounds of the search retreated, moving out from the heart of the city. Finally the man stirred, his voice a husky whisper.

‘He's coming out of his window now.'

They stayed deep in the shadows as Walton emerged from the yard. The man began to follow, but the Constable held him back.

‘Wait. I don't want him hearing us.' A few heartbeats later he released his grip. ‘Quietly now.'

The thief taker walked without any fear, striding out, never glancing back. He vanished into the court off Currie Entry.

‘We'll go in there,' Nottingham ordered. ‘Stay off to the side, over where he can't see you. We'll take him as soon as he comes out.'

It wouldn't take long, he knew that. His palm was damp where he held the hilt of the sword and he flexed the hand slowly, eyes firm on the door.

Finally it opened with a sharp creak and a thin sliver of light and the thief taker stepped out, a sack in one hand. He was part way across the court when the Constable said,

‘Stand there, Mr Walton. Drop what you're holding.'

The man turned as if to start back to the house, but Sedgwick stood behind him, his weapon drawn.

‘Mr Nottingham said drop it.'

The thief taker let go of the sack. It fell in a brief clatter of metal.

‘Stolen goods, Mr Walton, some of the things Mr Collins reported missing. Items that can make a man dance from the noose.' He advanced, taking out his weapon. ‘Search him, John, make sure he's not armed. Look in his boot for a dagger.'

Walton stayed silent, his body tense, his breathing low. He stared at the Constable, fury black in his eyes.

‘Two knives, boss.'

‘Nothing to say?' Nottingham asked. ‘No clever London words for the provinces?' He knew he was waiting for an answer that would never come. ‘You shouldn't have thought we were fools,' he said, shaking his head.

Walton spat and the Constable moved slightly aside, letting the spittle land on the ground.

‘Holden,' he said, ‘take him to the jail. Watch him carefully. If he tries to escape, you know what to do.'

He moved between the groups of searchers, asking what they'd found and encouraging them. It was hard going in the night; the men were growing disheartened and tired, ready for their beds.

The Constable rubbed at his eyes, feeling them gritty with exhaustion. He should have felt satisfaction in taking Walton, but instead it seemed like a small thing, insignificant when held against a missing boy and a dead girl.

Lanterns were burning all over and men moved through the night, sticks pushing through the undergrowth, the cry of voices in the distance. It was close to midnight and they'd still found no trace of the lad. If there was nothing by dawn they'd have to admit he'd been snatched. Then everything would change.

The only way he knew the time was from the church bell. At two o'clock plenty were still out, going over everywhere again. Lights burned in some of the houses, and wives came out with ale and bread for the searchers, aware that it could easily be their child that was missing.

By three, deep in the heart of the dark, there were fewer of them. He understood. They'd searched hard, they were tired, they'd need a few hours' sleep before working. He ached with tiredness, but he knew he'd have no real rest until the boy had been found. Lucy was dead; pray God the lad was still alive.

He'd just turned on to Boar Lane when he heard the noise. There were shouts of joy and laughter. He turned and without thinking began to run. It was coming from the bridge. When he arrived, a group of men was standing by the parapet, others coming quickly. He pushed through, his heart beating fast. A man was holding the lad. It was definitely him, with fair hair and blue coat and breeches that looked almost black in the torchlight. The boy looked dazed, as if he'd just woken. Nottingham let out a long, silent breath of relief.