He’d never had a hope of catching the girl. As soon as she saw his face she was darting away, surefooted through the trees. Nottingham had started to give chase but gave up quickly. She was too fast for him, she knew these woods too well. He’d often slept out here when he was young, but that was years before. The young man he’d been back then had long since vanished.
The boy was going to kill. It felt inevitable. As they walked into town, Rob had described his expression. No feeling, no fear. He’d had a taste of blood and he liked it. How were they going to stop him?
He paced around the jail, trying to find a plan.
‘They’re going to be even more careful now,’ the constable said.
Evening now, sitting at home with hot food in their bellies. The day had sparked no new schemes, just thoughts that trickled nowhere.
‘At least we know who they are,’ Rob said.
‘That’s not worth much.’
Nick and Kate. Those were the names Annie had given when Lucy talked to her. They’d arrived just a fortnight before, she said, the two of them together, and taken over the group of homeless children.
‘From what she says, they’re a right evil pair,’ Lucy told him. ‘He beats anyone who steps out of line or questions him. Keeps all the money they steal for themselves.’
‘How’s Annie?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Asleep in my bed. It’s probably the first warm night she’s had in an age. Her mam died a year back and she’s never had a da that she’s ever seen. Doesn’t know what happened to her little brother.’
It was no different from so many histories the constable had heard through the years. Life was rarely soft and gentle. ‘What about her wound?’
‘She won’t even have a scar,’ Lucy replied. ‘It’s just a scratch. Bled a bit, but that’s the worst of it. A week and you won’t know it was ever there.’
‘I’ll need to talk to her.’
‘When she wakes, Papa,’ Emily said quietly. ‘Let her rest.’
He nodded. The girl deserved her sleep, at the very least.
‘What are we going to do with her?’ Rob asked.
Nottingham could feel their eyes on him. He didn’t know the answer; he hadn’t even thought that far ahead when he told Rob to bring her here. Find a family to take Annie in? Let her stay? But where would she sleep? What would she do?
‘I could ask the Williamsons,’ Emily suggested. ‘They might know of someone. Oh.’ She frowned, annoyed at herself. ‘With everything else, I forgot: Mr Williamson stopped at the school this afternoon. They’re holding the dance to benefit the school on November the fifth at the Cloth Hall. Isn’t that wonderful?’
Nottingham glanced at Lister. Any other day in the year and that would be excellent news. But November the fifth was Gunpowder Treason Night. Bonfires burning all over Leeds and men shooting off their guns to celebrate. The apprentices would be out drinking and ready to riot. There’d be no rest for the constable and his men until the early hours.
‘That’s very good, indeed,’ he told her. From the head of the table he could see Rob and Emily exchanging looks. No matter; if there was something they wanted him to know, they’d tell him in time. ‘I’m off to my bed.’
‘Annie was still asleep when I left,’ Nottingham said. He’d put fresh coal on the fire in the jail to take off the dawn chill. ‘Lucy’s going to try and find out more about this Nick and Kate from her.’
‘They’ll have their eyes open for us now.’ Rob poured a mug of ale.
‘Good. I want them looking over their shoulder the whole time. That way they’ll make mistakes. Keep the men out around town again.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He hesitated. ‘You know that Emily will expect us to go to that dance.’
‘I daresay she will,’ the constable agreed with a smile. ‘Women always do. You can go, I’ll take care of everything. I’m not sure who’ll have the more troublesome job.’
The note had been pushed under the door of the jail during the night. John Wood had taken the threats seriously. Talk to Oliver Nelson, it said.
The constable had a hazy recollection of the man. Lanky, too thin for his clothes, the type who nibbled at the edge of the law but was scared to go too far on the other side. Someone who would once have spent his evenings at the Talbot. But where would he drink now?
Nottingham walked with no sense of where he was wandering. Nelson had worked, he seemed to remember that, but for the life of him, he didn’t know at what. He stood at the top of Briggate, gazing back down the street towards the river. His breath bloomed in the air. At least the sun was shining to hearten everyone. And it was only the shank end of October; the cold had come too early this year.
Off in the distance he heard a fiddle begin to play a lively tune, the sounds rising above the rumble of cartwheels on the cobbles. Warm music for a frosty morning. He followed the sound down to Vicar Lane.
Blind Con was standing with his back against the wall, lost in the melody and keeping time with his foot. He’d cut the fingers off a pair of gloves, and his left hand danced swiftly over the strings. Nottingham watched the people who passed, seeing them start to smile, one or two of them dropping small coins in the hat. He waited until the final note then dropped in a farthing of his own.
‘Well met, Mr Nottingham. I heard you arrive.’ He always knew.
‘Keep playing like that and you’ll have spring here before we know it.’
‘People like something cheerful on a day like this. And it stops my fingers from freezing. This weather’s too bitter for an old man.’
‘Tell me, Con, do you know someone called Oliver Nelson?’
‘Tall fellow, a very light tread,’ Con replied after a moment. ‘Likes to talk when he’s had a few drinks.’
That sounded like Nelson. ‘Do you know where I’d find him?’
‘Last I heard, he was working for Cooper the wheelwright.’ He stared at the constable as if his blind eyes could see. ‘What’s he done?’
‘Nothing that I know of. Why?’
‘He’s always kept low company, that’s all.’ He shrugged and raised the fiddle to his shoulder, drawing the bow over the strings slowly, as if deciding on a melody before starting on another lively piece.
Cooper had his business in a cramped yard off Swinegate, making the wheels for carts and carriages. Two apprentices sweated to join the curved pieces as he supervised, cursing them until he was satisfied with their work. He wore a heavy leather apron that hid a big, broad chest, long hair tied back in a sailor’s queue.
‘Help you, sir?’
‘I’m Richard Nottingham—’
‘I know who you are,’ Cooper cut him off. ‘What do you want?’
‘Oliver Nelson.’
‘Steaming shed.’ He gestured to the rear of the yard, then barked out, ‘Olly!’
A few heartbeats later a door opened in a wreath of steam and Nelson emerged, wiping the damp from his face with a dirty rag. As soon as he saw the constable, he stopped, panic rising.
Nottingham took a step, but the other man was faster. In one quick movement he hauled himself on to the roof of the shed and was away over the wall behind, gone from sight in two blinks of an eye.
‘Where does he live?’ the constable asked. But Cooper was still staring, not believing what he’d seen. ‘I said where?’
‘Queen’s Court,’ one of the apprentices answered.
He pushed past the people on the street. A herder was driving his cattle up Briggate. Nottingham dodged between the animals, hearing them low and smelling their sweet breath, then ran through the tiny entrance to the court.
Houses were jammed one against the other, only a thin path threading through to another ginnel at the end that led through to Call Lane. Nottingham could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as he looked around for the smallest sign of movement.
Finally he caught something from the corner of his eye, there and gone as fast as a kingfisher. A shadow behind a dirty window, three houses along, up on the second storey. He pulled the loop of his cudgel around his wrist.
The front door gave easily as soon as he pushed against it. The stairs groaned as he climbed. His mouth was dry, the taste of metal on his tongue. The constable took each step carefully, watching and listening.
Nobody was waiting upstairs. There was only a single door in front of him, warped in its frame. He could hear a child whimpering on the other side. Nottingham turned the knob and forced his shoulder against the wood.
Nelson was there, standing in the middle of the room with a knife in his hand and terror on his face. A woman cowered in the corner, her shawl pulled over the infant in her arms.
The constable didn’t hesitate. As Nelson raised his weapon, arm shaking, he brought the tip of the cudgel down on his wrist. The man’s fingers opened and the blade clattered to the boards.
This was the time: bustle him out of there before the shock wore off. Nelson came easily, not even turning to look back at his family as Nottingham led him away.
‘You’ve broken my wrist.’ He had his teeth gritted against the pain.
‘You shouldn’t have been holding a knife.’
Nelson sat placidly in the cell, head bowed, gently rocking to and fro. A few hours of cold and pain would soften him up, Nottingham thought as he turned the key in the lock.
Lister marched out along Boar Lane, then over the tenter fields that ran down to the river. In the distance, the woods were silent, only the caw of a single crow breaking the stillness.
The camp had gone. Just a few branches strewn on the ground and the cold remains of a fire hinted it had ever existed. The children had moved on. He hadn’t hoped for much, but he needed to check.
None of the men had spotted the cutpurses. But it was easy enough to stay out of sight in Leeds. Still, if they’d only been here a fortnight, Nick and Kate wouldn’t really know the town yet. Yet that didn’t seem to help catch the little bastards. Angrily, he kicked at a stone and watched it skitter across the grass.
Emily had visited the baby again after school, she told him as they lay in bed the night before; that was why she’d been late coming home. She’d held the girl, changed her, watched as she fed. He heard the wonder in her voice, the pleasure of it all. Mrs Webb was happy to suckle the child, especially if Emily gave her a few pennies every week. When the time was right they’d bring Mary home to Marsh Lane.
He hadn’t said a word. He knew how much she wanted this. A part of him felt the same way, filled with the idea of a child that was theirs. But then he thought again and the whole thing terrified him, being responsible for something so tiny and fragile. He’d be scared to touch her, let alone hold her in his arms. How could he look after someone so small? How could he teach her? How could he love her the way a father should when she wasn’t his own flesh and blood?
And there was Annie. What were they going to do with her? The boss didn’t appear worried, and Lucy was happy to have someone else around the house. But she couldn’t say there forever. They’d have to find someone to take her in.
Back on Boar Lane, among the press of unwashed bodies, the thoughts fled. Nick and Kate, that was his business.
The apothecary set the wrist. A sharp tug made Nelson cry out, then the man held on to the splints and wrapped them with a grubby bandage. Richard Nottingham stood and watched, sipping from a mug of ale. Finally they were alone.
‘I ent done nowt wrong.’
But his defiance was as thin as air.
‘No?’ The constable leaned against the wall. ‘Of course you haven’t. Innocent men always run from the law then pull knives.’ He sighed. ‘This time you can tell me the truth.’
‘I were feart.’
‘Maybe you were. After all, you know about a murder or two.’
Nelson brought his head up sharply, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
‘I dun’t know owt,’ he said finally.
‘Yes, you do,’ Nottingham said. ‘And you’re going to tell me.’
Five minutes of prying and threats and he had it. Nelson had been walking back late from Hunslet, caught in the foggy night. He’d stopped as soon as he saw the figures on the bridge. Two men, struggling.
‘Then I saw one mek a slash, like, and heave t’ other over the parapet. Felt like forever afore I heard t’ splash in watter. Then the man on the bridge, he picked summat up and tossed it over t’ side ’fore he walked off.’
‘Which direction did he take?’
‘Into town. He’d have seen me elsewise.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I stayed there.’ His eyes glared. Good, a little of the man’s spark was returning. ‘What do you think? I’m not daft.’
‘What did the man look like?’
‘Nobbut a shape in the fog. Big lad, mebbe. Strong, too, by t’ look of him.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t rightly know. Don’t want to, neither.’
‘Did you see his face?’
Nelson shook his head. Silence filled the cell. It had been foggy the night Smith was killed, Nottingham thought, and always thickest by the river.
‘What else?’
‘Nowt.’ He spat the answer. But it came too quickly and he looked away as he spoke.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
Still he said nothing. Then, ‘I’ve heard what’s been going on. Them killings. The way he just turned and walked off like it were nowt … if he knew I’d seen it I reckon he’d do for me, too.’ There was a plea under his words.
The chase, the broken wrist. Nelson was terrified for his life.
‘Go home,’ he said.
‘You won’t say owt?’
‘No.’ People would hear that the man had been in the jail, but they wouldn’t know why. He hadn’t even had much to say, just an image as ghostly as the one the constable had seen. Big and broad. It could have been the same man. Or one of many in Leeds.
He was still sitting at the desk when Lister returned.
‘Not a peep out of the cutpurses.’ He sat with a long, weary sigh and stretched out his legs. ‘Maybe yesterday made them decide to leave. I feel like I’ve been round the town ten times today hunting for them.’
‘We’ll find out in time if they’ve gone.’ Nottingham raised an eyebrow. ‘I want the men on the same duty for the moment. Let’s keep the mayor happy.’
‘Yes, boss.’
The constable smiled. ‘Do you think you’ve got the strength to walk home?’
It was dark, but the chill of the day had eased. Thin cloud covered the sky, hiding the stars.
‘What about this dance at the Cloth Hall?’ Nottingham asked after he’d told Lister about Oliver Nelson. ‘Looking forward to it?’
Rob grinned and laughed. ‘You’ve never seen me dance, have you?’
‘I’ll wager you can’t be any worse than me. Mary used to love going to the balls,’ he began, then closed his mouth into a tight line and went quiet.
Annie was waiting in the house, wearing an old house dress of Emily’s that Lucy had cut down. The girl was bathed and clean, hair shining from the brush, but still nervous as she gazed up at all the adult eyes. Still, she was warm, she was fed. The cut on her neck was still a harsh red line, but it would heal well.
She helped to serve the meal, balancing each plate very carefully and walking slowly from the kitchen.
‘I talked to her after I came home,’ Emily said after she’d gone. ‘Annie’s a bright girl, Papa. Very sweet.’
‘You sound like you have something in mind.’ Nottingham’s eyes were twinkling.
‘Well,’ she began slowly, ‘I talked to Mrs Williamson today. They’ve just taken on a girl. But Lucy could use some help. And she could come to the school every morning.’
‘She lasted out there for a year,’ he reminded his daughter. ‘That’s a hard life. She might be a handful.’
‘Lucy did that, too,’ Emily reminded him. ‘And you wouldn’t want to be rid of her now.’
Was that what life was going to be like in the years ahead, he wondered? Taking in strays and giving them a home? Still, the girl needed somewhere, that was true enough.
‘She can stay until we find her a place somewhere else,’ he agreed. As Emily began to speak, he held up a finger. ‘But she goes to school part of each day.’
‘Yes, Papa,’ she agreed, but she was smiling. He noticed her glance uncertainly at Rob. He gave a small nod. ‘There’s something else.’
‘Go on.’
‘The baby that was left at St John’s.’ He watched as she reached across and took Lister’s hand and everything tumbled into place. ‘We’d like to give her a home, too.’
‘What about your teaching?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Lucy will look after her during the day. I’ve talked to her about it.’ She blushed. ‘That’s why another servant here might help.’
‘You’re sure about this?’ He looked from one of them to the other. Emily was glowing, Rob uncertain; but he’d do whatever she wanted.
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I am. As soon as she doesn’t need the breast any more. It’s your house, though, Papa.’
Maybe it was, but she’d outmanoeuvred him and sprung her small ambush perfectly. He knew what his wife would have said. She had had a generous heart. And perhaps it was time to hear a baby crying here again, to bring some new life into the place and wake it up.
‘You don’t need to ask. She’ll be welcome here.’
Emily beamed, her eyes brimming, on the edge of tears.
‘There’s one more thing, Papa: if you’re willing, we’d like to call her Mary.’
Rob listened as the constable questioned Annie about the cutpurses, amazed by the soft way he approached her. Nottingham settled himself awkwardly on a low stool, looking her in the eye, smiled and started by telling the girl she had a home here if she wanted it.
He was used to seeing the boss question men, but here he was entirely different, gently nudging the girl in one direction or another with his words. The young children quickly learned to keep their distance from the older ones, she told him. But she’d kept her eyes open and remembered a few things. Nick was quick to anger and use his fists. He seemed to relish his temper and his violence. Kate looked as if she adored him for it.
‘Why?’ Annie asked. ‘Why would she do that, sir?’
‘Some people are made that way,’ the constable told her quietly. ‘They think power is important.’
He never talked down to the girl, he answered her questions seriously and thoughtfully. More than that, Rob thought, he made her feel welcome, a part of the family. Lucy hovered close the whole time like a mother hen, but she kept her mouth closed. Finally he thanked Annie and stood, pushing himself upright with a frown of pain.
‘What do you make of that?’ Nottingham said as they sat by the fire.
‘I think we’d better hope they’ve left Leeds.’
‘We can hope, but I doubt they have,’ he said after a moment. ‘Too much opportunity for them here. And it’s easy to hide.’
‘Then I don’t think this Nick will let himself be taken.’
‘No.’ The constable sighed. ‘Neither do I.’