‘They won’t be able to find any fault with that, boss.’ Rob patted the neat pile of paper. ‘Everything tallies, all the money’s accounted for.’
‘Thank you.’ He was grateful; he knew he couldn’t have faced the task himself. Now the accounts were ready, prepared in a neat hand, for when he met the treasurer. In the end it would probably make no difference. The mayor was determined to dismiss him, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to find some other pretext. The aldermen would do whatever Fenton demanded. But he was damned if he’d go quietly. If it was there, he’d find the evidence against Howard and Darden. He’d have his revenge for Mary.
‘Boss?’ Rob asked.
‘What is it?’ The word had dragged him back from his thoughts.
‘Emily told me what you said to her,’ he began nervously. ‘Did you mean it? About lodging with you, I mean.’
‘I meant every word, lad,’ he answered with a smile. ‘Life’s too short. If you don’t grab it, it’ll be over before it begins. I don’t want that for her. Or for you. But it’s up to the pair of you, if that’s what you both want.’
Rob nodded, unconvinced. He’d learn, the Constable thought.
‘You get yourself on home, lad. You’ve earned your sleep.’
‘I’ll work on, boss. Maybe I can help with the merchants,’ he said hopefully.
Nottingham nodded. The lad would be able to talk to them, and he could use the help.
‘Come along and talk to Tom Williamson with me, then. If he can come up with some names, we’ll divide them.’
The deputy had already been and gone, quiet and preoccupied. He was off looking for anything, for anyone, useful. He’d be worried about the future, the Constable imagined. If Nottingham lost his job the mayor would get rid of Sedgwick, and Rob, too. Out with the old and the tainted, in with the new. Lister was educated, he knew folk in the city, he’d find good work whatever happened. The deputy, though . . .
‘Right,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s go.’
Williamson was at the warehouse, examining the invoices and making notes on a piece of paper.
‘Richard,’ he said in surprise, putting down the quill and flexing his fingers. ‘And Mr Lister again.’ He smiled. ‘More business about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?’
‘Very serious business,’ Nottingham said.
The merchant cocked his head curiously. ‘You’d better sit down, then.’ He gestured to a pair of battered chairs and poured three mugs of ale. ‘Now, what is it?’
‘Do you know anyone who doesn’t like Jeremiah Darden?’
Williamson leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. His long waistcoat was pale blue silk, the shape of flowers – forget-me-nots, cornflowers and others – skilfully picked out in darker colours.
‘I can think of three,’ he replied after a while. As the Constable sat forward expectantly, he added, ‘But I don’t see how they’ll be able to help you. They’ll only know about his business, not his life.’
Nottingham shook his head. ‘I’m clutching at anything, Tom.’ The image of Mary lying on the kitchen floor flickered in his head. ‘I know what Darden and Howard have done and I want them for it. All of it. I’ll talk to anyone who might be able to help.’
‘Then you’d better see George Lamb. There’s no love lost between him and Darden. Nicholas Dunsley and Harold Hammond have never cared much for him, either, but Lamb truly hates him.’
‘Thank you, Tom.’
The merchant stood and extended his hand. ‘Good luck to you, Richard. Remember, you still have some friends on the Corporation.’
‘Give them my gratitude.’
‘Do you know any of them?’ he asked Rob when they were back outside in the cold. A chilly, misting rain had begun to fall, the clouds thick and low.
‘I know Dunsley’s son. He works with his father.’
‘You go there, then. We’ll meet at the Swan later.’
‘Yes, boss.’
He trudged up Briggate, stopping at a house close to the Moot Hall, just below the Shambles. Lamb still conducted business in the old way, from his home; he wouldn’t be spending his money on building a warehouse by the river, Nottingham knew. The gates through to a cobbled yard were open, the gap just wide enough for a cart. The warehouse stood at the back, made from thick stone, with no windows. Lamb was there, inspecting cloth and giving orders.
He was sixty if he was a day, dressed in good, plain clothes, his stock neatly tied at the throat, a covering of white bristles on his cheeks, most of the hair gone from his head, leaving just a few grey wisps over his ears.
‘I’d not expected to see you here,’ he said after a clerk had shown the Constable through. He smiled. ‘Have I broken the law?’
‘I’m hoping you can help me.’
Lamb raised his eyebrows. ‘Help you?’
‘About Jeremiah Darden and his factor.’
The man frowned. ‘Let’s go somewhere more private.’
The house was old, opening directly on to the street, its timbers twisted and black, the limewash in need of a fresh coat. Inside the wood was dark and carefully polished. Small windows let thin light into the parlour.
Lamb settled into a worn chair, crossed his legs and poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter on a side table. He picked up a clay pipe and lit it, the acrid fug of tobacco filling the room.
‘What do you want to know about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?’
‘I believe they’re responsible for the murder of my wife and of at least eleven children.’
The merchant sipped slowly from the glass. ‘Those are very dangerous accusations, Mr Nottingham. But I’m sure you’ve already been told that.’
‘Several times.’
‘I was saddened to hear about your wife.’
The Constable said nothing.
‘I assume you’re here because you know that Mr Darden and I don’t enjoy . . . good relations,’ Lamb continued.
‘That’s right.’
‘However, that’s in business,’ he said carefully. ‘I don’t like the way the man deals with people, but that doesn’t make him a murderer and a . . .’ He didn’t need to speak the word.
‘I understand that. And I’m sure you know that if I could prove it they’d already be in the cells.’
The merchant nodded. ‘So what do you want from me?’
‘Anything you have. Anything you can offer,’ Nottingham answered candidly. The room was warm, a fire burning high in the grate. He could feel dampness on the palms of his hands.
‘I wish I could help you,’ Lamb said with a restless sigh. ‘As I said, my dealings with the two of them are business. Nothing more than that. You’re aware of Mr Darden’s past, that cloud over him?’
‘I am.’
‘You might not know that I was the one who pressed for his resignation back then. But no one was going to let him end up in court over a servant.’ He looked up. ‘Not when it would affect the reputation of the city. I have no idea if he’s guilty of anything in all this you’re talking about, but even if he is it’ll be exactly the same thing. He’ll never see the gallows over it. He won’t even see the inside of a courtroom.’
‘Not if I have my way.’
‘You won’t,’ Lamb told him firmly. ‘They might let you have the factor as a sop, but never Darden. Not when it can hurt the reputation of Leeds.’
‘What about you?’ Nottingham asked. ‘Do you want him in court?’
‘I’d like him bankrupt and begging,’ the merchant answered with a wolfish grin. ‘But that’s business, and wishing it certainly doesn’t mean it’ll happen. Whatever you’ve come here for, I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry.’
‘What about justice?’
‘How long has justice ever mattered?’ Lamb dismissed the idea. ‘You’ve been Constable here long enough to know better than that.’
‘That doesn’t mean I have to accept it.’
Lamb stood. He was as tall as Nottingham, and his gaze was even and bemused. ‘I’m not sure you’ll have a choice.’
The warehouse for Dunsley and Sons lay a little way along the riverbank from Williamson’s. They’d been one of the first to build, with a prime spot, part of the creeping growth of Leeds. Although it was no more than a few years old, the stone of the building was already blackening from the soot in the air.
Inside, things were bustling. Labourers were shifting lengths of cloth to be loaded on to a barge bound for Hull. A pair of clerks wrote quickly, hunched over their desks. He spotted Luke, standing to the side and supervising, giving brisk orders.
They’d gone to the Grammar School up in Town End together for a while, until Dunsley had withdrawn his son to start him on his apprenticeship in the business. The two of them met from time to time, sharing some ale or a dinner in one of the inns. Luke had seen the Low Countries and Spain, Rob knew that much; quite probably other places by now. He seemed to be someone with a purpose in life, wearing fine clothes, moving with the confidence and grace of money.
‘Luke,’ he said.
The young man turned, frowning as his concentration was broken, then his expression bloomed into a smile. ‘Rob. What brings you here?’ He laughed. ‘Looking for another job already?’
‘I’m looking for your father.’
‘Try out on the dock. He’ll be making sure nothing goes wrong with the shipment.’ He indicated an open double door that let in bitter air. ‘He’ll be finished in a few minutes. Are you still courting?’
‘I am.’
Luke grinned. ‘God help her. If you’re the best she can do, the girl must be out of her senses, that’s all I can say.’
‘How’s business?’
‘We’re making money,’ he said cautiously. ‘A few more orders from America. If that keeps on it could be a good market for us.’ He stopped to yell an instruction to one of the men. ‘What do you want with my father?’
‘It’s to do with Mr Darden.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘You’ll have his attention, then. He can’t stand the man.’ He watched a length of cloth being carried out. ‘That’s the last one. Go on out, if you want, he’ll have time.’
Nicholas Dunsley was a small man with dark, questioning eyes and a hooked nose too big for his face. The thick woollen coat seemed to overwhelm him; it was beautifully cut but he almost disappeared inside it; a tricorn hat covered his thinning hair. He turned at the sound of footsteps on the flagstones.
‘Robert Lister,’ he said, then glanced back to check that the final bale was loaded properly. ‘I’d not have thought to see you here. Your father well?’
‘Same as ever, the last time I saw him.’
‘Good, good.’ He continued to watch as the hatch was lowered and secured. ‘Now, what is it?’
‘Jeremiah Darden.’
Dunsley, hawked, turned his head and spat in the river. ‘If you’re out to find him guilty of something, good luck to you.’
‘What do you know about him?’ Rob asked.
‘Other than the fact he’s a conniving bastard? He’s cheated me out of three good accounts over the years.’
‘What about his factor?’
‘Howard?’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a strange one. Does his master’s bidding. But there’s always been something dark about him.’
‘We believe he murdered those children and the Constable’s wife.’
‘Howard did?’ he asked in astonishment. ‘I don’t like the man but I’d never seen him as a killer. What about Darden?’
‘Both of them,’ Rob answered.
‘And you’re looking for evidence against them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’ll not get it from me, lad. If I knew anything, I’d gladly tell you, just to see the two of them done down. But I don’t. I’m sorry.’
Rob bobbed his head in acknowledgement and began to leave.
‘I’ll tell you something,’ Dunsley said quietly. ‘It won’t matter if you find all the proof you need. Darden will never hang in Leeds.’
‘We’ll see.’
The Constable had only met Hammond a few times, but he’d heard plenty of rumours about the man. He had a good brain for business, people said, but he kept himself to himself. His warehouse, a cramped place in the yard behind his house near the bottom of Briggate, was full, every shelf packed with cloth.
The merchant had skin as wrinkled as last year’s apples and blue eyes that seemed filmed by rheum. He was likely close to seventy, Nottingham imagined, old enough to have seen the wool trade here grow until it was the biggest in the kingdom.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had the Constable in here before,’ Hammond said with a grin that made his face look youthful. ‘I suppose there’s a good reason for it.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was so sorry about your wife. I lost mine a while back. It leaves a house empty and loveless.’
‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘I’m told you don’t care for Jeremiah Darden.’ This place was his last hope to find something; he had nothing to lose by being blunt.
‘You heard right,’ the man answered carefully. ‘Why does it matter?’
‘Do you know his factor?’
Hammond nodded. ‘Little worm of a man.’
‘I think he murdered my wife, and the children who were found. He and Darden were in it together.’
The merchant rubbed his chin, the scratching of bristles loud in the room. ‘From the sound of it you don’t have the evidence, do you?’
‘Not evidence that I can use, no,’ Nottingham admitted.
‘So you’re wondering who knows what.’ He turned his cloudy eyes on the Constable. ‘That right?’
‘More or less.’
‘I know what Darden did to that boy. Years ago, now. Perverted. And I know what his punishment was. I daresay you do, too. A man can’t change what’s in his heart, and his is as black as the devil. I can well believe he did what you say.’
‘But?’
‘But I don’t know anything that can help you.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Even if I did it wouldn’t make a jot of difference. You know the Corporation’s not going to accept a scandal, not with a merchant like him. Business is too important to be tainted.’
‘And you’ll understand it’s my job to try.’ He tried to keep his voice under control.
‘I’d think less of you if you didn’t. But you’ll have no joy from it. From what I hear, Mayor Fenton’s against you now, too.’
He smiled. There were few secrets in Leeds.
‘You’ve heard the truth.’
‘Then you’ll have another battle there. He’ll have the aldermen lined up behind him. He’s a canny sod. I wish you well.’
‘I just want to see some justice before I go,’ the Constable told him.
‘You won’t,’ Hammond said simply.
‘I will if I can.’
‘Then good luck to you, Constable.’ Hammond turned his back and began counting the lengths of cloth on one of the shelves, pointing with a white, bony finger. Nottingham left, pushing the door to lightly, his heels sharp on the cobbles of the yard.
The cold, misty rain was still falling as he made his way to the White Swan. Rob was already there, halfway through a large piece of pie, crumbs scattered on the table.
‘What did Dunsley have to say?’ He signalled to the pot boy for ale and food.
‘That the Corporation would never allow Darden to be convicted.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes. Do you?’
‘I do. It’s the same thing I’ve just been told twice.’
The deputy slid on to the bench next to Rob.
‘Did you find anything, John?’
‘Bugger all.’ The mug of ale arrived and he poured himself a cup. ‘No luck with the merchants?’
‘No.’ Nottingham looked down at the scratched wood.
‘So what do we do, boss?’
The Constable sighed. He felt that he’d failed her. They’d won, and her death had been for nothing at all. But they were always going to win in a place like this.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered.
‘You can’t give up,’ Sedgwick protested.
‘We’re never going to put them in the dock.’
‘Then fuck the law,’ the deputy hissed. ‘They’ve killed too many already. They killed your Mary.’
Nottingham’s eyes were glistening when he looked up.
‘I remember that every single minute, John.’
‘I’m sorry, boss.’
‘But as long as I’m the Constable I’m going to do things legally.’ He stared at the pair of them. ‘We all are. That’s why we’re in this job.’
‘What about the ones who don’t care?’ Sedgwick asked. ‘Them as run this place?’
‘We keep to the law,’ he insisted. ‘If we don’t, who will?’
‘Boss . . .’ Rob began.
‘What?’
‘I don’t understand how you can say that when you know Solomon Howard killed Mrs Nottingham.’
‘Because it’s the only thing I can say while I’m Constable. And I’m that until tomorrow, at least.’ He drained the ale. ‘If you’re done with that pie, you’d better show me what I need to know about the accounts. I don’t want to look like a fool tomorrow.’ He looked at the deputy. ‘Anything you can find, John. Anything at all.’
During the afternoon a messenger came from the Moot Hall; the mayor wanted to see the Constable. He’d been expecting the summons. It would give Fenton one more chance to harangue him before he had to present the figures.
He walked over slowly, happy to take his time, to make his Worship wait a few minutes. A few folk came to offer their condolences. Then he climbed the steps and walked along the corridor with the thick Turkey carpet, past Martin Cobb, and knocked on the door.
‘Come in.’
Fenton was leaning back in his chair, smoking a clay pipe with a long stem. ‘Sit down.’
He perched carefully on the chair, his hands folded over the silver head of the stick.
‘You don’t like the wealthy, do you, Nottingham?’
‘Don’t I?’
‘You’ve got it in your head that Mr Darden and Mr Howard are responsible for crimes they’d never have committed. I’ve heard about you over the years, going after men with money.’
‘The law’s for everyone,’ the Constable replied calmly. ‘There’s not one for the rich and another for everyone else. And I’m paid to make sure people keep to the law.’
‘For now. It’ll be different after tomorrow.’
He shrugged. ‘If it is, it is.’ He’d discovered that he didn’t really care any more. The person that kept him going more than any other had gone. Emily had the money Worthy had left her; she wouldn’t want for a roof over her head, or for something to eat. What happened to him was no longer important. ‘But the truth will come out sooner or later. And if you back those two you’re going to look like a bloody fool.’
‘Get them out of your head,’ Fenton shouted, slapping the desk. ‘They’re not guilty. I’ve been talking to the aldermen and enough of them will back me to replace you.’
‘Do what you will.’
‘I intend to,’ they mayor told him with a wolfish grin. ‘You think your power is greater than anyone’s here, that you’re the only one who cares about justice. You went too far, Nottingham. Your comeuppance is long overdue.’
The Constable just smiled, letting the words wash over him and away again.
‘I’ll be interested to hear what your accounts show. I daresay there’ll be enough discrepancies to warrant your dismissal.’
Nottingham stood. ‘Was that all, Mr Fenton? I have pressing work to do. If there’s nothing more I’ll take my leave.’
‘Go. This might be your last time here as Constable.’
He returned to the jail to go through the rest of the figures with Rob. By the time they finished it was close to full dark. Emily would have walked home alone. Nottingham pushed the papers into a neat pile.
‘You’ve done a good job there.’
‘Thank you, boss.’ In the candlelight he could see the lad flush with pride.
‘Come on home and have some supper before you start for the night. She’ll be happy to see you.’
The thin, bitter mist of rain was still falling as they went down Kirkgate. As they passed the Crown and Fleece the door opened and the landlord came bustling out.
‘Mr Nottingham,’ he said loudly, his face beaming, his words starting to slur. ‘Mr Lister. I was hoping to see you.’
The Constable gave him a gentle smile. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘There’s something I want to show you.’ His mouth closed suddenly. ‘I’m sorry, I should have remembered. My condolences to you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But please, I’d like you to look at this.’
Nottingham glanced at Rob and raised his eyebrows. Lister shrugged. They followed the man into the yard, where a torch lit everything.
‘There,’ he said proudly and pointed. One of the stones in the stable wall had been removed and replaced with another, artfully cut so a pair of skulls protruded. ‘They kept coming to me, they wouldn’t leave me alone, dying like that with no one to care. So I talked to the mason and had him do that. Cost a pretty penny, too. We put it in place this morning. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a fine tribute,’ the Constable told him. ‘People will remember them.’
‘They can rest now,’ Rob said.
‘Aye, they can,’ the landlord agreed. ‘Will you come in and drink a mug? We’ve been celebrating.’
‘Not tonight, thank you. Perhaps we can toast them another time.’
‘Whenever you want,’ the man offered. ‘Whenever you want.’
They walked on. At the churchyard he glanced over, seeing the dark earth of Mary’s grave and the small memorial to Rose next to it, feeling sorrow like a weight around his heart.
‘You know, lad, Mary and I used to talk about the things we were going to do together. All hopes for the future. Now we won’t have the chance to do them. You and Emily, though, you have time.’
‘But—’
‘There isn’t a but,’ he answered quickly. ‘You’re happy together. Make the most of it. I mean it.’
‘What about the money? She was going to refuse it.’
‘I know. I was the one who suggested it. But there’s no point, really, is there?’
‘Isn’t there, boss? What do you mean?’
‘If she turns it down, it’ll just end up in some lawyer’s pocket. Emily might as well use it. She can do whatever she wants. Open a school. She can be a writer – she used to want to do that.’
‘She still does.’
Nottingham nodded. ‘You’re young enough to have plenty of dreams. When Amos Worthy left her that money he told me he was giving her freedom.’
‘Was he? It seems more like a burden.’
‘When he said it I didn’t believe him, either. I thought it was bad money, made on the backs of his whores. Now I wonder if he wasn’t right.’
‘Why did he leave it to her? I still don’t really understand it.’
They crossed Timble Bridge, boot heels muted on the soaked wood.
‘It’s a long story, lad.’ His mother’s face came into his head, the woman Worthy loved for so long and lost. ‘I used to think he did it to spite me. Maybe he saw more than I did.’
The house was warm. Emily was seated close to the fire, a small pile of books on the floor beside her, the smell of damp wool filling the air. He could hear Lucy moving around in the kitchen, humming softly to herself, a tune he didn’t recognize that drifted in and out of hearing.
Nottingham walked through, leaving the lovers alone for a few minutes. He kept his gaze level, unable to look down, scared of what might remain on the floor, and of the pictures in his head. Lucy stood by the fire, stirring the pottage as it simmered over the flame. She turned and smiled at him, her face guileless, hair hanging over her shoulders.
‘Another half hour and it’ll be ready.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. When he didn’t say anything or move, she asked, ‘Is owt wrong?’
‘No,’ he answered slowly. ‘Just thinking. Remembering.’
‘She loved you, you know.’ Lucy gave a small grin.
‘I know.’
‘You had a long time together.’
‘Never enough.’
‘When she was showing me what to do, she asked me about mesen. She was the first one to do that. Like she really cared. Like it mattered.’
‘It did,’ he told her. ‘It does.’
She took him by surprise. ‘If you ever want me to leave, just tell me.’
‘Why would I want that? I need someone to look after the house.’
‘But how much longer will you be here?’ He began to reply but she continued, ‘I’ve got ears and a brain. I’ve heard you talking.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But wherever we go, you’ll have a job. I promised you that.’
‘I’ve had promises off men before. I can look after meself.’ Her face hardened for a second and he could see the strong woman she’d become in time.
‘I know that.’
She nodded, willing to accept his word, not needing to say anything more. He left her to finish cooking, and saw Rob and Emily by the window, looking out into the night. He had his arm lightly around her waist and she leaned into him. The little girl who’d once told her father that she wanted to marry him when she grew up had given her heart completely to someone else now.
He ate the meal approvingly; Lucy had seasoned the pottage well enough to give it taste, and he wiped up the last of it from the bowl with a heel of bread.
‘That was excellent,’ he said truthfully, and the girl smiled wide as if he’d given her the greatest praise in the world.
As she cleared the bowls away, Rob stood. ‘I should go to work.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning, lad.’
The door closed on Emily and her young man. She’d be out there for five minutes, saying her loving goodbye, then watching him walk away, picking his shape out of the darkness until he reached Timble Bridge.
She came back in, sat in the chair and picked up the books she’d been studying earlier.
‘Rob tells me you still write.’
‘Yes,’ Emily said, puzzlement crossing her face.
‘Did you show it to Mama?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Would you be willing to let me see it?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Are you sure, Papa? I know you don’t really like to read.’
‘I’m certain.’
‘Then yes, of course I will.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you.’
They sat in silence. She worked and Nottingham gazed into the fire. He closed his eyes and for a few minutes he could imagine it was Mary next to him, turning the pages as she read. Always The Pilgrim’s Progress before winter put its cold breath on the world, and poetry to welcome spring. He could tell the passing of the seasons by the book in her hand. For a fleeting moment he felt her in the room, as if she’d come to warm her cold bones at the fire.
The bed was large as a country, the other side too far to reach. He felt empty of God’s grace, lost, tired and alone. Sleep hadn’t been a willing visitor since Mary had died. He stared at the darkness, the sheets cold against his body.
Tomorrow . . . He’d gambled that he could find the evidence against Darden and Howard and he’d lost. The accounts were in order but that wouldn’t matter to the mayor. He’d find some reason to appoint a new Constable.
It was humiliation, disgrace, and some day he’d feel it deeply. For now there was too much pain in his heart to absorb more. It was as if it was happening to someone else and he was no more than a spectator, watching it all play out.
He’d failed Mary and now he’d failed Sedgwick and Rob. They’d believed him, trusted him to discover the proof. He had no doubt that Fenton would dismiss them, too. The man likely already had other candidates prepared for the post, pliable men more eager to please than serve justice. Darden and his factor would continue to walk free.
He drifted in and out of rest, buffeted by dreams that dragged him back to wakefulness, a clammy sweat on his skin. Before dawn he was up, dressed and locking the door behind him. The drizzle had stopped, the stars were clear in the sky, the ground hard under his boots, a sheen of frost on the grass.
Smoke was beginning to climb from a few chimneys as he walked up Kirkgate; servants were already at work, preparing food, cleaning the house before their masters and mistresses rose. The warmth of the fire at the jail was welcoming; Rob was preparing the nightly report, exhaustion showing on his face.
‘Anything?’ Nottingham asked.
‘A burglary up on the Head Row. Took two pieces of plate and some lace.’
‘We had one like that last week in Turk’s Head Yard,’ the Constable said thoughtfully. ‘How did they get in?’
‘A window left unlocked.’
‘Mr Sedgwick can look into it. You take yourself off home. You’ve put in too many hours lately.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Rob didn’t put up any argument, just gave a weak smile as he stood.
Alone, he prepared the daily report for the mayor, keeping it curt, a summation of events. He placed the paper on top of the accounts and poured a mug of ale. The door opened and the deputy entered, shrugging off his greatcoat and standing close to the hearth.
‘Another burglary,’ Nottingham said.
‘Where?’
‘Up on the Head Row. Someone left a window open.’
‘Very similar to that other one, isn’t it?’ Sedgwick said thoughtfully.
‘I’ll leave it with you.’ He gathered up the report and the accounts, brushed off his coat and straightened his stock. His stick clicked hard on the cobbles as he made his way to the Moot Hall. Martin Cobb took the report without a word. The Constable took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the treasurer’s office. In the distance he heard the bell signalling the start of the cloth market.
Rob felt the ache of tiredness all through his body. He’d eaten some bread and cheese and washed it down with a few gulps of ale. He knew he should go and escort Emily to school, to grab at a few more minutes with her, but he needed sleep. He’d stripped down to his shirt when the knocking came at his door.
‘Get your coat, lad,’ the deputy told him. ‘And bring your knife. We have work to do.’
‘What?’
‘Some justice. For those little ones and for Mrs Nottingham.’
He stared at Sedgwick, his mouth open.
‘Well, are you in or do I have to do it myself? This is the best chance we’ll ever have. The boss is with the treasurer, I’m with Joe Buck and you’re sleeping.’
‘Mr Nottingham will know.’
‘Aye. And however much it might go against the grain he’ll never say a word. There’s too much honour in him to do it himself, but inside he’ll thank us.’
‘Do you think we can get away with it?’
‘I know we can, lad. I’ve been planning this.’ The deputy grinned. ‘Trust me. Now, are you coming? We don’t have much time.’
It was late afternoon when the Constable returned to the jail. The treasurer had queried every item in the accounts, wanting justification for each expenditure, asking questions about every tiny detail. But in the end he’d been able to find no fault; Rob had done his work thoroughly. Nottingham felt some small satisfaction in that.
It was the start of the end, he knew that, and the rest would come quickly. A note from the mayor in the morning. If he was lucky he might keep the job for another few days. More likely it would all be over in a few hours.
Sedgwick was pacing the floor, a piece of paper in his hand. He stopped as the Constable entered.
‘They’ve gone. Darden and Howard.’
‘Gone? Where?’ He felt as if he’d walked into a dream. The deputy held out the paper.
‘A boy brought this an hour or so back.’
It was no more than a few words. We have left. Ask the Constable why. He knows the truth. Jeremiah Darden. Solomon Howard.
He looked again. The signatures seemed real enough, shaky and nervous. For the rest, even disguised, he could make out Rob’s hand.
‘What have you done, John?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Sedgwick asked blandly. ‘I went to that burglary, then I’ve spent the rest of the day with Joe Buck. I thought it was time to put a little pressure on him. Ask him if you like.’
‘And Rob?’
The deputy shrugged. ‘Sleeping, I expect.’ He stared at the Constable. ‘I thought you’d be happy, boss. This just proves you were right all along. Who knows, maybe the guilt was too much for them.’
‘How did you get them to sign?’
‘Sign?’ Sedgwick asked innocently. ‘All I know is what’s on that paper.’
‘And a boy brought it?’
‘That’s right. Come on, boss, this is the best news we could have had.’
‘I know. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘What about the note?’
He looked into the deputy’s eyes, seeing the hope there. ‘I’ll take it over to the mayor’s office, and then I’m going home.’ As he passed he put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, then halted at the door, looking out at the street. ‘Thank you, John,’ he said quietly.
At the Moot Hall he handed the paper to Martin Cobb.
‘You best see that the mayor reads this as soon as possible,’ he announced, then added, ‘I daresay it’ll all be in the next edition of the Mercury.’