Fair and Tender Ladies (19 page)

‘Is it him?' he asked.

‘It's Will Daley,' he heard a man answer. ‘Davy knifed him.'

‘Then get after him,' Nottingham yelled. ‘He's not gone far. Find him.'

He put his hand against Daley's neck. Nothing. He turned to see Rob standing on the other side of the body.

‘It's Will. You'd better get Mr Brogden down here,' the Constable said quietly. ‘And the stretcher.'

‘King?'

He nodded towards the trees in the distance. ‘He's over there somewhere. The others are after him.'

They sat in the jail sipping ale as the candles threw large shadows around the room.

‘I sent the day men home for some rest,' Rob said. ‘They'll be back at six.'

The Constable nodded. Daley's body lay in the cold cell, ready for his widow to claim it in the morning. As they'd waited for Brogden the coroner to come and officially pronounce the man dead, Nottingham had gone over everything again and again in his mind. Had he done right to flush King from the building? Yes, he had. King worked at the tannery, he knew every corner, each place to hide. The only way to catch him was outside.

He'd heard the men searching the wood at the top of the hill. But it was so dark there that Davy could have hidden six feet away and they'd never have seen him. When it was light they'd start looking once more.

He pushed the fringe off his forehead and sipped a little more of the drink. They'd said little since returning; conversation seemed pointless. Another man was dead and they still didn't have Davy. And all the responsibility lay with him. He'd been in charge, he'd made the decisions. More guilt to add to the weight on his shoulders. Off in the distance the church bell rang six. Rob stood and opened the shutters, letting in the clear early daylight.

‘I'll do the rounds, then take Emily to school,' he said.

‘Take the pistol. If you run into King Davy you're going to need it. Then go and see Granger at eight.'

‘Yes, boss.'

Alone, Nottingham returned to the cold cell and looked down at the body. Another good man gone, he thought, and prayed that the deputy would recover.

‘How's Mr Sedgwick?' Emily asked.

‘The same,' Rob answered sadly. ‘I went last night.'

‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

He shook his head. All they could do was wait and pray.

‘What about the man who did it?'

‘We haven't caught him yet.' He didn't want to say more. After the day and the night he needed talk that was light and amusing, anything to push the pictures of hurt and death out of his head. ‘What's it like at the Williamsons'?'

‘It's very grand,' she replied, but there was no awe or jealousy in her voice. ‘Everything's so …' She searched for the word. ‘Rich. The girls are lovely, though. So smart.'

‘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.

S
lowly 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.