Leeds, Autumn, 1736
Sometimes he felt like a ghost in his own life. The past had become his country, so familiar that its lanes and its byways were imprinted on his heart. He remembered a time when he’d been too busy to consider all the things that had gone before. But he was young then, eager and reckless and dashing headlong towards the future. Now the years had found him. His body ached in the mornings, he moved more slowly; he was scarred inside and out. His hair was wispy and grey and whenever he noticed his face in the glass it was full of creases and folds, like the lines on a map. Sometimes he woke, not quite sure who he was now, or why. There was comfort in the past. There was love.
Richard Nottingham crossed Timble Bridge and started up Kirkgate, the cobbles slippery under his shoes. At the Parish Church he turned, following the path through the yard to the graves. Rose Waters, his older daughter, married and dead of fever before she could give birth. And next to her, Mary Nottingham, his wife, murdered because of his own arrogance; every day he missed her, missed both of them. He stooped and picked a leaf from the grass by her headstone. October already. Soon there would be a flood of dead leaves as the year tumbled to a close.
Most of the people he cared about lay here. John Sedgwick, who’d been his deputy and his friend. Even Amos Worthy. The man had been a panderer, a killer, but they’d shared a curious relationship of hatred and friendship until cancer turned him into a husk and finally claimed him.
And now there were just two left alive. Richard and Emily Nottingham. Himself and his younger daughter. She ran a school for poor young girls and she had her man, Rob Lister, the deputy constable of Leeds these days. They were both young enough for life to wind out endlessly into the distance, its possibilities broad and open.
He stood for a minute then sighed as he straightened the clean stock around his neck and left the dead to their peace. As he passed the jail he glanced through the window. Empty, but that was no surprise. Lister and the men he commanded would be out, working. Rob had been in charge of everything since Simon Kirkstall, the constable, died a fortnight before. Fallen down stone dead in the White Swan as his heart suddenly stopped beating, the tankard still in his hand.
Nottingham turned on to Briggate. People nodded and said their hellos as he went by. The street was busy, clattering and booming with the sound of voices and the rumble of carts, the harsh mixture of smells – the iron tang of blood in the Shambles, horse dung, night soil left on the cobbles, a press of unwashed bodies.
At the steps to the Moot Hall, he glanced up at the statue of Queen Anne, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. At the top of the stairs the corridor had rich, dark panelling and a thick Turkey carpet. A different, grander world from the one below.
The mayor’s office stood at the far end. Nottingham brushed some faint dust from the shoulder of his good coat and glanced down at the polished metal buckles of his shoes. He knocked and waited until a weary voice said, ‘Enter.’
John Brooke had become Mayor of Leeds only three weeks before, taking his year in office. He was a wool merchant, a man who’d been a member of the corporation for more than a decade. Successful, wealthy, busy, and now he was burdened with this position for the next twelve months.
‘Richard,’ he said with a welcoming smile as he rose, a curling grey wig falling onto his shoulders. He had his hand extended, two gold rings twinkling on his thick fingers. ‘Thank you for coming. Sit down.’
Nottingham eased himself into the chair, feeling the creak in his knees.
‘I wondered why you sent a message.’ It had arrived the afternoon before, just an invitation with no reason or detail. A mystery he’d mentioned to no one.
Brooke took a breath.
‘I’ll get right to the point: of course, you know what happened to poor Simon. You must, everyone’s heard by now.’ He filled his clay pipe, lit a taper from the candle on his desk and brought it to the bowl. ‘Leeds needs a new constable.’
It did, Nottingham knew that, and a better one than Kirkstall had been. He’d heard about the man every night from Rob. The way he always grasped the credit and did none of the work, rarely even dirtied his hands. The town deserved much more than that. Brooke knew it too, he could see it in his eyes.
‘Yes, but what do you want from me?’ Nottingham began. ‘My opinion? Rob Lister knows the job. He has plenty of experience. He’d be a credit to us all.’
Brooke pushed his lips together. ‘I’ve no doubt he would. He’s an impressive lad, very quick, and he’s clever.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s only one problem.’
‘What?’ He didn’t understand. He knew Rob. He shared his house with the lad and Emily, he saw him each day. There was nothing wrong with his character or his work. And Lister wanted the position.
‘He’s too young,’ Brooke answered slowly. ‘I’ve talked to the other aldermen. We’re all agreed: we need someone older. Someone with more authority.’
Nottingham frowned. If the man didn’t want his advice, why bother inviting him here? ‘You should give him the chance. I know he’d do well.’
The mayor shook his head. ‘No. We’ve decided against that.’
‘Then make him constable until you find someone older for the job. Give him that, at least. The men respect him.’
Brooke sighed. ‘Believe me, Richard, I don’t doubt him. But the aldermen were unanimous. What we want is to find someone who can live up to everything you did as constable.’
‘Then why are you asking me? You don’t want Rob and there’s nobody else I can think of.’
‘Yes, there is.’ The mayor looked straight into his face. ‘We want you to come back as Constable of Leeds – until we find someone.’
For a moment he was certain that his ears had deceived him, that he’d slipped into a ridiculous dream.
‘Me?’
‘You,’ Brooke told him again. ‘Until we find the right man for the job. You were the best we’ve ever had, Richard.’
Nottingham had to smile. It was unbelievable. How many enemies had he made among the corporation over the years? How many times had he sat in this office and argued with different mayors? Half the aldermen in town had rubbed their hands with glee when he retired, he knew that. And now they claimed he was the finest constable Leeds had ever known.
‘It’s been a long time,’ he said.
‘Not that long. Only two years.’
But it felt like a lifetime.
Along with Tom Williamson the merchant, Brooke had been one of his few true supporters among the aldermen. This was probably his idea, one he’d bullied through.
‘And you all agreed?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘All of us,’ Brooke confirmed.
‘I’m older now.’
‘Wiser, too, I hope.’ The mayor smiled.
Maybe it would be a good thing, Nottingham thought. Something to stir him. He knew he needed to stop hiding in the past. This would give him purpose, it would keep him solid. If he accepted the job he’d be forced to live in the here and now, to always be aware and alert. He remembered when he was young and without a home, sleeping behind bushes, living on what little he could earn or steal. Each morning had brought the task of surviving until night fell. The only thing that mattered was today. No future, only now.
He took a deep breath.
‘I’ll do it.’
Brooke was on his feet, beaming and shaking hands again.
‘I hoped you’d agree. Thank you, Richard. I know you’ll do an excellent job.’
‘Only until you appoint someone, though,’ he said. ‘And you agree to consider Rob for the job.’
‘Of course.’ But Brooke’s assurance was just gloss. The man would say anything at the moment. He’d make sure to hold the mayor to that promise when the time came.
The whole thing seemed impossible. He’d never imagined returning to the job, never dreamed of it. He’d been happy to walk away from it. Even now, after he’d agreed, a part of him wasn’t certain this was the right thing to do. But it had happened, he’d made his decision. He was the Constable of Leeds once again.
The mayor reached into a drawer, brought out a bunch of keys on a heavy ring and pushed them across the desk.
‘You’ll be needing these.’
Nottingham weighed them in his hand, the metal cold against his palm. So familiar that he might never have put them down.
‘I believe I will.’