Come the Fear (31 page)

The boy eyed his sister thoughtfully. ‘Will she really look up to me? What will she do?'

‘Oh, she'll probably follow you everywhere and want to do all the things you do,' Lizzie told him.

‘But she can't do that if you run away,' the deputy pointed out.

‘No, Papa.'

‘The nights are long when you're out there, aren't they?'

‘Yes.'

‘And there's no table and no food.'

James shook his head.

‘It's better to stay here, you know. You know you have a bed, you have meals. And we love you.'

‘I know you do.'

‘Even Isabell loves you. She just doesn't know it yet,' Lizzie said, watching as his small face creased into a laugh.

‘You go and play upstairs,' Sedgwick told him.

‘Yes, Papa.'

‘What do you think?' Lizzie asked when they were alone. Isabell whimpered, on the verge of crying, and she took her breast from the dress and put the child's head to her nipple.

‘I hope everything will be good again.' He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, then sighed. ‘For a little while, at least.' He rubbed the back of her hand. ‘He's a good boy. He'll start school very soon. That'll help.'

‘I'll try and do more with him.'

‘Once he's used to her . . .'

She squeezed his fingers lightly. ‘Just give him a little time. You were probably just like him at that age, John Sedgwick.'

‘Aye, probably.' He grinned. ‘Worse, mebbe. I'll go and put him to bed. He'll still need his sleep.'

‘He's growing up very quickly.'

‘Sometimes I think it's only the rich who can afford a childhood.'

‘He'll grow up to be a fine man,' she assured him. ‘Just like his father.'

‘But richer,' he told her seriously. ‘That's what'll save him in this city.'

The sun had risen, the dawn chorus long past, when they gathered at the jail. The deputy seemed calm and rested, smiling with his mouth and his eyes. Rob was haggard, the strain and the long hours of work telling on his face, his hair flying all over and his clothes unkempt. The Constable looked at the two of them.

‘Anything from last night?' he asked.

‘Just the usual,' Lister said. ‘A few drunks, a couple of scraps. And that letter.' He indicated the unopened note on the desk. ‘Someone put it under the door. It's addressed to you.'

Nottingham slid his finger under the seal. It was good, thick paper, the words scribbled quickly on it in dark ink.

‘For the lass in a blue dress try a court off Simpson Fold.' There was no signature, but he knew who'd sent it. Joe Buck had paid the price he believed he owed for the thief taker. This would cancel any debt.

‘John,' he said, ‘go back across the river and ask about our girl in the blue dress over by Simpson Fold. Just do it quietly, I don't want her knowing. She's around there somewhere. When you find out where she is, come and get me.'

‘Yes, boss.'

Sedgwick left, the door closing heavily behind him.

‘Mary says you're welcome to have your supper with us every night,' Nottingham told Rob.

‘I can look after myself, boss,' Lister said.

‘I know you can, lad.' He smiled. ‘It's an offer, not a demand. And Emily said she'd be glad to have you there, too.'

Rob brightened. ‘Thank you.'

‘You go and get yourself used to your bed at Widow Foster's. She'll look after you. Any word from your father?'

Lister shook his head.

‘Maybe he'll come around in time.'

‘I doubt it. He doesn't change his mind easily.'

‘Even stubborn men can relent when it comes to family,' the Constable said. ‘Keep that in your mind.'

Calmly, he wrote up the report and walked over to the Moot Hall. A cart had lost a wheel on Briggate, tipping its load into the road. The horse stood dumbly in its traces as two men tried to repair the damage, a line of wagons behind stretching down towards the Bridge.

He moved past the carters yelling at each other, the sense of violence rising, and into the building, leaving the sounds behind him, his heels clattering on the polished boards of the stairs.

The mayor had pushed his work away, sitting back in his chair and smoking a pipe of tobacco.

‘We should have the child snatcher today,' Nottingham told him.

Douglas nodded. ‘And the rest?'

‘Lucy Wendell's brother has confessed to killing her. I'll have him taken to the prison today.'

‘Why did he do it?' the mayor asked. ‘Who'd kill his own sister?'

‘That baby she was carrying was his.'

Douglas grimaced sadly. ‘Dear God, Richard.'

He walked up past the bloody butchers' shops the Shambles to the Market Cross, then took the long way down the Head Row and along Vicar Lane back to the jail. The sun kept trying to push through high white clouds and the day was gathering warmth. Another summer was coming, the days becoming longer and longer, the flowers blooming, the crops growing in the fields.

At his desk he sorted through papers, keeping some, discarding others. He heard the clock at the Parish Church striking the quarter hours. Patience, he told himself. Soon Sedgwick would return with the information and they'd be able to finish this business.

Finally he sat back to wait. He could hear Wendell moving around in his cell. His mother had taken the news without a change in her expression, the only reaction one hand gripping the other so tightly that the skin turned white. She'd said nothing when he finished, and flinched when he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Eventually he'd turned away and left, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her, that words would only weigh like lead on her soul.

He'd brought pottage, bread and ale from the White Swan and finished them by the time the deputy arrived, smiling and rubbing his hands in anticipation.

‘There are three courts off the Fold,' he said.

‘Have you found her?'

‘She's there with another lass and a man. From what folk told me it has to be Davidson and his whores.'

‘Then let's go over there and see them.' He unlocked the cupboard and took out a pair of swords.

‘Do you think we'll need them, boss?'

‘I hope not,' Nottingham answered. ‘But we'll take them anyway. Go and find two of the men to come with us.'

They set off in a quiet group, taking their time to stroll down Briggate and across Leeds Bridge. Barges were lined along the bank by the warehouses, loading bales of cloth to take on to Hull and then on across the globe, to Europe and America.

‘Do you know exactly where they are?' the Constable asked.

‘A room at the top of a house,' Sedgwick said. ‘It's right at the back of the court, out of the way. Only one entrance. The place is nigh on falling down, from what I could see. Half the windows are broken.'

‘We'll have the men wait below and you and I will go up.'

‘Kick down the door?'

Nottingham nodded. ‘Take them by surprise.'

‘The window up there looks out on the court. They might be able to see us coming.'

‘It won't do them much good, John.'

‘Treat them harsh?'

‘These are the ones who took Morrison's lad. They could have had James.'

‘Yes, boss.' He saw the deputy rest his hand on the hilt of the weapon.

Simpson Fold ran off Hunslet Lane, a small street that seemed too quiet and still in the early afternoon. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the urgent call of a magpie and the bleating of sheep.

He let Sedgwick guide them, going into a small ginnel that led through to the court. They stayed in the shadows, looking at the houses that were lost in their decline, slates gone from roofs, the brown runnels of damp on the old limewash of the walls.

‘That one over there.'

The Constable looked. The building was in even worse condition than the rest, lintels sagging, the door jammed open.

‘A good place to hide,' he speculated.

‘Only a few living back here. Can't afford anywhere better.'

‘Right,' Nottingham said. ‘I'm not expecting any trouble, but I want everyone prepared.' He waited for their acknowledgements, then told the men, ‘You stay down here in case they try to run. If they give you any trouble, you know what to do.'

He advanced across the open ground of the court, hearing Sedgwick just behind him. He glanced up at the window, but saw nothing through the years of dirt accumulated there. Inside the main door he drew the sword from its scabbard.

‘Ready?' he asked quietly.

‘Yes, boss.'

They climbed the stairs slowly, testing each tread before putting weight on it. He noticed the footprints in the dust, some small, one set larger. There were three flights to the top, the door in front of them tightly closed. The Constable braced himself against the wall with one hand, feeling the plaster damp and crumbling under his fingers. He raised his leg and brought his boot crashing down on the lock. The door flew open and he dashed in, the sword out and ready.

Fanny and Sarah were huddled together, screaming, still in their shifts, a blanket thrown on the floor. Nottingham looked at them.

‘Where is he?'

Sarah pointed to the other room, its door still closed.

‘Get them dressed and out of here,' he ordered. He looked around the room. It was almost bare, just a chair and a table with a jug of wine and a small bottle. He pulled out the stopper and sniffed it.

‘Yes, boss.' The deputy picked up two dresses, one a tired, weak yellow, the other faded blue, and threw them to the women. ‘Put them on,' he said brusquely, ‘and hurry up.'

The Constable leaned quietly against the wall and stared at the door.

‘I'll let the men take them once they're outside,' Sedgwick whispered in his ear, ‘then I'll come back up.'

The footsteps were sharp in the air, then fading. He waited until he could hear the muffled sound of voices outside, then said, ‘You can come out now, Mr Davidson. It's just you and me.'

He knew the man had heard him, knew he'd come out soon, unable to resist the chance to talk. He waited, breathing slowly and quietly, giving a smile of satisfaction as the knob turned and Davidson emerged, limping slowly into the room.

His face still wore the brash confidence he'd had before but everything else was changed. His skin was sallow, cheeks hollow from a lack of food, fingernails rimed with dirt. His coat and breeches had dark patches of grease on the fabric and he stank of stale sweat and piss.

‘All this because we didn't leave Leeds?' he asked.

‘All this because you snatched a child.'

‘And why would we do that, Mr Nottingham? We're just trying to live, I told you that before.' He gestured around the room. ‘But it's harder and harder.'

‘Revenge. That's what you wrote, wasn't it?'

‘We wouldn't do something like that.'

‘I don't believe you, Mr Davidson.'

The man shifted his weight to take it off his bad leg. ‘I've no reason to lie,' he said simply.

‘I doubt you need any reason to start lying,' the Constable told him. ‘And your sisters, if that's what they are, they're just the same.'

‘You think you can prove anything?' Davidson asked mockingly. ‘There's nothing you'll find here.'

‘No?' Nottingham asked. ‘That poppy juice over there will make anyone sleep.'

‘I take it when my leg's bad,' the man answered smoothly.

‘Then there's the lad Fanny took. He remembers more than you might think.' He watched the man's eyes flicker for a moment. ‘Whose idea was it, anyway? Yours?'

‘We haven't done anything.'

‘Then the three of you are going to hang for nothing,' Nottingham said. He kept all the expression from his voice and looked at Davidson flatly. ‘And you are going to hang. All of you.'

‘We can leave Leeds.'

‘It's too late for that now,' he said.

‘We've done nowt.'

The Constable shook his head slowly. ‘You've done too much, Mr Davidson. You should have gone when I told you.'

The man smiled slyly. ‘Do you think you're going to get me to confess to something I haven't done?'

Nottingham shrugged. ‘I don't care if you confess or not. The truth will come out in court, and then it'll be a short dance on the gallows.'

‘You're making a mistake,' Davidson said. His voice seemed calm enough, but the Constable could see small beads of sweat shining on his brow.

‘The only mistake I made was trusting you. You're good, I'll give you that, you must have taken in a few in your time.'

The man slapped his bad leg. ‘I'd still be a working man if it wasn't for this.'

Nottingham studied him coldly. ‘Maybe you would. Maybe not. As far as I can see, there's something died in you.'

‘We've done nothing wrong!' Davidson shouted.

‘I told you before, I don't believe you.'

‘If you hang me you'll be hanging an innocent man.'

‘No, I won't,' Nottingham told him. ‘Now it's time to go.' He raised the sword and gestured towards the door. Down below he could hear the deputy's footsteps. ‘Go.'

The man limped resignedly towards the top of the stairs. From the sound, Sedgwick was just one flight below. Without warning, Davidson's leg seemed to give way and he reached out to the Constable to steady himself. Too late, Nottingham saw the knife in his hand and watched as the blade sliced through his waistcoat into his belly.

He felt the burn in his gut and moved his hand to cover it as he cried out and fell. The blood was warm on his fingers, pouring over them like water.

He saw Sedgwick's face and heard Davidson's scream as the sword cut into him and he tumbled down the stairs. He tried to speak but no words would come from his mouth. His ears roared with noise as the deputy leaned over him, and he closed his eyes.