At the Dying of the Year (23 page)

‘If.'

‘There'll be something, boss. There always is.'

‘Let's hope so.' He stared at the deputy. ‘I want him soon.'

‘We'll have him,' the deputy promised.

After Sedgwick had gone he walked over to the Moot Hall. Out in the open, a threat of rain in the heavy clouds, he felt the pain of missing Mary so intensely that he had to stop and breathe deeply. He looked around, realizing she'd never see any of this again. That she wouldn't be waiting when he returned in the evening.

Finally, he gathered himself, opened the heavy doors and climbed the stairs, treading gently on the Turkey carpet. Martin Cobb sat at his desk, his young face blushing as he saw the Constable.

‘Mr Nottingham. I'm so sorry . . .'

‘The daily report for the mayor.' He laid the paper between them.

‘It must be terrible.'

He knew the man meant well, but he couldn't feel charitable. ‘Then pray God it never happens to you.'

‘The mayor didn't know when you'd return. He wants to see you.'

He knocked on the door and entered when he heard a voice inside. Fenton was hard at work, reading through a pile of papers on his desk. He was fresh-shaved, his cheeks pink and shiny, his expression pinched and irritable, as if he resented the intrusion.

‘My condolences on your loss.'

The Constable nodded his acknowledgement.

‘I'm sorry I couldn't come to the funeral. I had other obligations. I hear there were plenty there.'

‘Yes.' He took a tighter grip on the head of the stick.

‘Do you have any idea who killed your wife? And don't say Mr Darden and his factor.'

Nottingham stayed silent.

‘I daresay you've made many enemies over the years,' the mayor continued. ‘Maybe you'd do well to cast your net over some of them.'

‘Is that an order?'

Fenton threw down his quill in frustration. ‘If it needs to be. What you're doing is beginning to look like an obsession.'

‘And if they're guilty? What then?'

‘I've known Mr Darden for years. No one's more respected in Leeds.'

‘Tell me, your Worship, when the city borrowed money from Mr Darden, was it ever repaid?'

The mayor brought his head up sharply. ‘A long time ago. What he did then was a civic gesture.'

‘Enough to buy gratitude and protection.'

‘I'll put that statement down to your grief,' the mayor said coldly. He picked up the quill.

It was impossible not to look at the house as the deputy walked along Marsh Lane. The image of Mary Nottingham's blood was clear in his mind, and the loneliness and pain on the Constable's face. There was a sense of all the love gone from the place.

As he knocked at the first house beyond Timble Bridge he could hear the clack of a loom inside. The noise continued as a young girl opened the door.

‘Hello, love,' he said with a smile. ‘I need to talk to your mam or dad.'

The woman who appeared looked haggard. She was young enough but streaks of grey hair peeked from her cap.

‘Help you, mister?' she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

‘I'm the deputy constable. We're trying to find who killed Mrs Nottingham.'

‘Come in,' the woman told him without hesitation. Four children were working hard preparing the wool and a spinning wheel sat in the corner, yarn hanging from it. Along the wall stood a collection of painstakingly carved wooden animals – a cow, horse, sheep and more. ‘Stop that,' she said to her husband, her voice loud over the incessant noise of the loom. ‘Sit thisen down.'

She poured him ale and settled on her stool. ‘She were a lovely woman. Always had time for a word, and to ask after the bairns.' She nodded at the children. ‘Who'd do summat like that?' she asked.

‘Aye, and why?' The man took a clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket and lit it.

‘What we want to know is whether you saw anyone along here on Tuesday morning.'

‘There's allus folk on the road going in and out of Leeds,' the man pointed out.

‘Maybe you noticed someone in particular.'

The woman looked worried, pulling a small girl close and placing the child on her lap.

‘We're working from daylight until dark, mister. Same as all the folk round here.'

‘Give over.' The man blew out a plume of smoke. ‘You're up and down and in and out and mithering round half the day.'

‘Aye, and we'd never eat or have clean clothes if I wasn't.' She turned back to Sedgwick and blushed. ‘I'm sorry, love. But he's right, people pass by all the time. Mostly we just hear them, there's no reason to look.'

It was the same wherever he asked. People had to scrape a living and work hard. At a few of the homes no one answered, off at their labours; he'd send Rob there after dark. With a falling heart he kept going. Finally, about fifty yards beyond the Nottingham house a young woman said, ‘Aye, I saw a man at their door.' She held a sleeping baby close to her chest, gently stroking the back of its head and rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Over her shoulder he could see all the signs of poverty within, the room almost bare of furniture.

‘What did he look like? Do you remember?' His throat was dry and he could feel the blood throbbing in his veins.

‘I didn't pay him no mind.' Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘Why? Was it him?'

‘Most likely.'

‘Really?' She frowned and hugged the child a little tighter. ‘This one had been poorly. I was late emptying the chamber pot. That's the only reason I saw anyone.' She tilted her head towards the road. ‘Mrs Nottingham had only been up the day before. She gave me some herbs she thought might help Anna here.'

‘Did you know her well?'

‘We've only been here a few month. But she had a good word and she was kind. Folk round about liked her.'

‘What can you remember about the man you saw?' he asked urgently.

She thought for a long time, absently rubbing the baby's back. ‘He had a dark coat and breeches,' she answered finally, her voice halting. ‘And a wig.'

‘What colour was his coat?'

‘I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry.'

‘Did you see his face?'

She looked down the road to the Nottingham house. It stood too far away to see any detail. ‘No. I'm sorry.'

‘Was there anything else? Anything at all that you can recall?'

‘I saw him knock and go in the house.'

‘Did he come out again?' the deputy asked urgently.

‘I'd emptied the pot so I went back in.' The girl hefted the baby higher on her shoulder. ‘This one started crying again.'

‘You didn't hear anything?'

‘Mister, when our Anna starts crying you can't hear owt else.'

‘Was there something else you might have seen?' he asked desperately. ‘It's very important. It could help us find whoever killed her.'

‘I did think I saw someone else . . .' she began.

‘Where?'

She pointed at a tree in the distance. ‘There.' She shook her head helplessly. ‘I'm not sure. It was just something moving. It could have been a man. I'm sorry.' She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘He'll not be back, will he?'

‘No,' he assured her. ‘He won't.'

She had nothing more to give. He thanked her and moved on. The description only made him believe it was Howard, dressed as Gabriel. But the girl hadn't seen his face; she'd never be able to identify him. Why had Mary Nottingham let him in the house, he wondered? Had he forced his way in?

The deputy doubted they'd ever know the answers. And maybe they didn't matter. The important thing was finding the evidence to convict him.

He asked at the other houses but no one else had seen a man by the house. He even stopped carters and people walking along but there was nothing to aid him. One or two might have seen someone but they didn't remember who it could have been or how he was dressed.

All too often, that was the tale. There'd be something helpful but it wouldn't be enough. If he had his way, the merchant and his factor would simply disappear and no one would ever see them again.

Instead of returning to the jail he went to the Talbot. Only a few drinkers huddled over their ale on benches far from the windows. Bell the landlord was checking the barrels, a new cask standing by, ready to be changed. He stood quickly when Sedgwick rapped on the counter.

‘Good to see you at the funeral yesterday,' the deputy said brightly.

‘Aye, well . . .' The man shrugged his large shoulders.

‘Show willing, eh?'

Bell said nothing, ready to turn back to his work.

‘I want a word.'

‘What about?' The landlord bunched his fists then opened them again.

‘In the back,' Sedgwick told him.

‘I need to keep an eye on that lot.' He gestured at the customers. ‘They'll drink me dry otherwise.'

‘Call one of the girls to do it.'

Bell stared at him for a moment, then yelled, ‘Essie!' He pulled at a ring of keys on the belt under his leather apron and unlocked the door to the cock pit. Faint light came through the high windows. The room smelt strongly of blood and death. The landlord settled himself on a bench, crossing his arms over his belly.

‘Right,' he said. ‘We're alone now, Mr Sedgwick. What did you want to talk about?'

‘Truth and lies.'

‘Oh aye?' Bell smirked. ‘And what about them?'

‘As long as I've known you, you've been very good at the lies.'

‘Why would you think that?'

‘Funny how you remembered that Mr Darden had been at the cockfight not long after you said he hadn't.'

‘I'd forgotten he was here,' the landlord answered blandly.

‘The jingle of money's always good for the memory, eh?' The deputy smiled.

‘You think what you like.'

‘Oh, I will. And would you like to know what I think, Mr Bell?'

‘If you like.'

‘I think I've had enough lies from you.'

The landlord shook his head slowly. ‘I've been threatened by better men than you.'

‘Happen you have,' the deputy told him. ‘But I daresay it won't be too good for trade to have a Constable's man standing outside all the time, will it, or if we keep taking in your girls for whoring?' Bell sat quietly, sucking on his teeth. ‘You ought to know by now that I don't threaten,' Sedgwick continued. ‘Consider that a promise, Mr Bell.' He paused for a moment. ‘And it'll be the first of many.' He slapped his palm against the wood surround of the pit. ‘I'd give it three months before you're out of business. Maybe you want to think on that.' He began to walk away. ‘I'll be back to see about some truth.'

Nottingham opened the desk drawer and took out the silk pouch, feeling it slide between his fingers. He closed his fist around it, the sorrow rising in his chest. If he hadn't been so arrogant . . .

He breathed deeply and put the pouch away. The design, the texture, were fixed in his mind. He stood, took hold of the stick and left the jail, walking down Briggate towards the bridge. People stopped him to offer their condolences. They were kindly meant, but each time it only brought Mary's face into his head and he had to turn away in case they saw his tears ready to fall.

Tom Williamson's warehouse lay on the riverbank, downstream from the bridge. It was still new, the stonework clean and sharp, not yet worn down by weather and winters. In the clerks' office the brazier burned and beyond men worked busily, preparing a shipment for somewhere.

The Constable spotted Williamson, an apron over his coat and breeches, pulling at a heavy cloth on the shelf. The man next to him said something and the merchant turned, then came forward, his hand extended.

‘Richard,' he said, his voice filled with sadness. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Thank you.' Nottingham shook his hand. ‘And for yesterday, too, for coming forward to carry the coffin.'

‘I was honoured,' Williamson said, and the Constable believed him. ‘Come on, let's go outside. I need some fresh air after all the dust in this place.'

The cold wind swept down along the river and the men walked with their backs to it.

‘You didn't come here just to thank me.'

‘No,' Nottingham admitted. ‘You told one of my men something interesting.'

‘Lister's boy, you mean? He seems sharp enough.'

‘He is. You talked about Mr Darden lending money to the city.'

Williamson sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I said it was a long time ago. I was just a boy then. All I really know is that it angered my father.'

‘He thought it put Darden in a special position.'

The merchant nodded then gave a wry grin. ‘He believed a lot of strange things. To be honest, I think he just wished he'd had the money himself, so he could have lent it.'

‘Who'd know more about it?'

Williamson stopped and looked at the Constable. ‘You'd better tell me what's going on, Richard. I heard that the mayor had warned you away from Darden. Then your man was asking about him and his factor.'

‘Fenton did warn me, yes. And Howard brought his lawyer to see me.'

‘Then why?' His eyes were curious.

‘I'm as sure as I can be that Solomon Howard murdered Mary, and that Darden has been in it with him. I believe they killed those children. Eleven of them.'

Williamson stayed silent for a long time.

‘If you know all that . . .'

‘My proof won't stand in court,' Nottingham said flatly. ‘I'm looking for something that will. That's the reason I'm looking at everything. It doesn't matter how small it is or how long ago it happened. I want anything I might be able to use.'

‘Charles Trueman,' the merchant said. ‘Go and talk to him. He was privy to things for decades. If anyone knows the full story, he will.'