Kate made a good show of struggling, taking her time over each pace, head bowed, body looking like it was weighed down. People stopped to stare as they passed, the girl in front with the constable, Lister and three of the men behind her.
Let her make a meal of it, Nottingham thought. As long as he found Nick, he didn’t care. The cutlass slapped lightly against his leg.
Kate led the way past Town End, beyond a few straggling cottages, then stopped.
‘Along there.’ She tried to raise a hand to show the track.
‘You lead,’ the constable told her. ‘And no shouting to warn him.’ He nodded at the men; they drew their weapons.
It was a good half mile, from one path to another and a third, until they were deep in the woods.
‘There’s a clearing a little way on. That’s what we called the den. We’d go there sometimes.’
It was definitely out of the way, Nottingham thought. No one would be likely to find it.
‘Stay with her,’ he said to Dyer. ‘Make sure she doesn’t shout.’
‘What if she tries, boss?’
He stared at the girl. ‘Then stop her.’
The constable walked ahead of the men. The grey day was dying, the air damp against his face. He listened for any sound, but all he could hear were soft footsteps behind him.
It was exactly as she said. He made out the small open space ahead and a shelter of branches. Safe enough, all the way out here. He gestured for the men to spread out. If Nick was here, he wasn’t going to give the boy a chance to escape.
He stepped into the open. A twig snapped under his boot, the sound loud and sharp. Another step, then a third. Still no movement in the shelter. The sword felt heavy in his hand; he gripped it tighter. Nottingham waited, ready. He began to count, one, two, going all the way to twenty before he kicked at the branches.
They fell apart, toppling one on the other. No one inside.
He picked the pieces away. In the back corner the found a small pile of empty purses, strings dangling and a reticule. Nothing to indicate when Nick had been here last. No traces of a recent fire.
‘No luck,’ he told the men. ‘I want all of you searching round here for him.’
‘What about the girl?’ Rob asked.
‘Put her back in the cells.’
They marched away, muttering and grumbling as they moved. The constable stayed, standing and listening. The boy could be close and he’d never know. Finally he followed the thin track back towards the Newcastle road. He’d gambled; this time he’d lost. But it wasn’t over yet.
‘What do we do now, boss?’ Rob asked. He’d waited at the end of the track, leaving Dyer to return Kate to the jail.
‘I’m open to suggestions,’ Nottingham said. He slid the cutlass back into its scabbard. ‘We’re chasing him.’
‘What else is there?’
‘That’s the problem. He has the upper hand. But I don’t know a way around that yet.’
Leeds was filled with people. As he approached the market cross he could hear the lowing and screams from down in the Shambles, cattle brought for the slaughter, the squeal of a pig as its throat was cut. Blood would be flowing down Briggate and the packs of dogs would be gathering.
Old Jem sat by the cross, resting on his pack. He looked up and grinned.
‘That’s why I moved up here. Can’t hear yourself think down by there. Too noisy to draw a crowd.’ He gave a small, soft laugh. ‘Not that I’m having better luck up here.’
‘One of those days. For both of us.’ He explained, Jem nodding as he listened.
‘I saw them taking that lass back in chains. I’ve seen the pair of them a few times. That boy, he has the look of the devil about him. His eyes are empty.’
‘He killed Alderman Williamson. If you spot him again, I need to know.’
‘Aye, I’ll do that, right enough. He needs putting down, that one. Some people are just born bad to the soul, Mr Nottingham.’
‘Thankfully only a few.’ He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and walked away. He smiled as Jem raised his voice and began a tale in his usual way:
‘It weren’t in my time, or your time, or the time of anyone alive today or yesterday …’
Rob was waiting on the Calls as Emily locked the door of the school and slipped the key into the pocket of her dress.
‘Ready?’ she asked and he nodded.
The baby was squalling and fractious, hitting out at him with tiny limbs as he tried to pick her up. How could anything so small be so loud, he wondered.
‘She’s not hungry,’ Mrs Webb told him. ‘She’s not long off the teat, and I winded her. Does she need changing?’
He looked helplessly at Emily, who took the girl and checked her clout.
‘Yes.’
She was clumsy at first, but surer than he’d ever be, he was certain of that, and soon the girl was happy again. Mary; he had to start thinking of her as Mary. He stared at the baby, the round, pudgy face and curious eyes, and tried to imagine how she’d look as she grew.
Rob stayed for a few minutes, holding the girl again and feeling her warmth as he cradled her. She fell asleep and he passed her to Emily, then left. There was too much work to take more than a few minutes away.
Kate was in her cell, sitting with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up.
‘You must know where he is.’
‘I don’t,’ she replied. Her voice was as dull and empty as her face.
‘Help us and it’ll go better for you,’ Rob told her.
‘That’s what the other man said.’ She raised her manacled wrists. ‘But I’m still here and I’m still wearing these, aren’t I?’
‘You’ll keep them on until we find him. Where else might he be?’
She shrugged. ‘He might have left.’ Kate turned her head and looked at him. ‘He’s smart, Nick is. If he’s moved on, no one will ever catch him.’
‘Sooner or later, someone will.’
‘Not him.’
‘He tried to kill you,’ Rob said. ‘Or have you forgotten that?’
‘I remember.’
‘Then where will we find him?’
‘I don’t know!’ she shouted.
The pounding on the door roused him. Barefoot, carrying the cudgel, Nottingham went downstairs and opened the door to a freezing wind. One of the night men, wrapped in bundles of clothes like rags and holding his lantern high.
‘What is it?’
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ he said with an awkward lisp. ‘But Mr Crandall said you and Mr Lister need to know. We found a body. Josh Bartlett.’
‘Bartlett?’ Rob hurried down the stairs, tucking his shirt into a pair of breeches. ‘How?’
‘Looks like someone stabbed him.’
‘Where is he?’ the constable asked.
‘The tenter fields below Boar Lane. Already sent for the coroner, sir.’
‘We’ll be there as soon as we can.’
‘He was certain he could beat anyone,’ Lister said as they hurried into town.
‘Apparently he was wrong.’
‘There won’t be too many who’ll mourn him. Definitely not his girls. He was a nasty bastard, even for a pimp. Big, brutal.’
‘And dead now,’ Nottingham said. ‘Three pimps gone, two murdered. Two moneylenders dead.’
‘Or maybe someone just saw the chance of revenge on Bartlett,’ Rob told him. ‘He’s dealt out enough punishment.’
‘Maybe,’ the constable said quietly. ‘Maybe.’
Hoggart the coroner had already been and gone. The body lay face up. Even in the dark shadows from the lanterns it was easy enough to see the blood all across Bartlett’s chest. Nottingham put a hand against the man’s neck. Still a little warmth in his flesh; he hadn’t been dead long.
‘He told me no one had been threatening him.’ Rob gazed down at the corpse.
‘From the look of this, it took quite a lot to kill him. I can see six wounds. There might be more once we get him in the cold cell.’
‘He liked to fight.’
‘This time he lost.’ Nottingham pushed himself upright, feeling the ache in his knees. He nodded at the two men waiting to carry the body to the jail. ‘Where did he live?’
‘Mill Hill,’ Rob replied.
‘See what you can find there. And hunt down the girls who worked for him. They should be able to tell us something.’
In the darkness the house felt strange, full of bitter, rancid smells. He’d brought a lantern and lit it with his tinder, waiting until the flame flared bright before moving around. The place was empty; Rob could sense it as soon as he entered.
He began upstairs, where he’d heard the woman sobbing the last time he’d been here. A bed with a dirty sheet, blankets tossed on to the floor. A jacket hung on a nail. No dresses, no sign of any female clothing.
The parlour was just as he remembered it, almost bare, a half-empty mug of ale sitting on the floor by a chair. All he found in the kitchen was a jumble of unwashed plates and the strong stink of rotten food. How could Bartlett have lived with that?
But it didn’t matter now. He’d never be coming back here. And it looked as if his whores had already fled.
Nottingham cut away the man’s waistcoat and shirt. Six wounds, from shoulder to belly; impossible to judge which one had killed him. Bartlett’s hands were ingrained with dirt, the nails bitten down to the quick.
He’d been powerful, well-muscled. But there were no fresh grazes or marks on his knuckles. It didn’t look as if he’d fought back. That was curious. From what Rob said, the man loved violence. He lived by it.
And died by it, too.
He was still studying the body when Lister arrived.
‘Nothing at the house, boss. His women have gone.’
The constable nodded and said, ‘Take a look at him. Tell me what seems wrong.’
He waited, giving Rob time to examine the body.
‘No recent bruises. Only some old marks on his hands. And those cuts are big. A sword, not a knife.’
‘He didn’t defend himself. He might not have had a chance.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘What was he doing down in the tenter fields, anyway? He was too big to drag there after he was dead.’
‘Whoever killed him must have taken him by surprise. Probably the first cut put him on the ground and the rest were to make sure he was dead. I know him; he’d have been lashing out otherwise.’
‘Search the area properly once it’s light. I want men out looking for his whores, too. We need to talk to them.’ He glanced down at Bartlett’s corpse again. ‘Do you still think there’s nothing happening here?’
‘He had plenty of enemies.’
‘Ones he’d meet in a dark field?’
Lister sighed. ‘I don’t know, boss. But if there’s something, who’s behind it? Tell me that.’
‘I wish I could.’
Nottingham sat at the desk and rubbed his eyes. He had the sour dregs of ale in his cup and too many things filling his mind. Another few hours and he’d be attending Tom Williamson’s funeral, once the cloth market was over.
Outside, a thin drizzle was bringing in the day.
He didn’t understand what was going on in Leeds. He couldn’t make head or tail of it. But it was there. He could feel it Someone was working, eliminating the moneylenders and the pimps one by one, and he had no idea who it could be. This didn’t have the hallmark of anyone he knew. Not Tom Finer; these days the man cherished his respectability. But Rob was right about one thing: the town had changed in the last two years. More than he’d ever imagined.
He patrolled up and down Briggate twice, making sure everything was in order, then strode away as the bell announced the opening of the market. Earth was mounded in the graveyard of the Parish Church, ready for the burial.
At home, Lucy put food in front of him and stood by the table as he ate. Nottingham could hear Annie in the kitchen, finishing her work before going off to the school.
‘What is it?’ he asked as he swallowed the last of the bread.
‘I’ve sponged and brushed your good coat and breeches,’ she said. ‘And I darned the hole in your best hose.’
Nottingham nodded. There was more to come, he could tell.
‘It’s her. Annie.’ She inclined her head towards the other room. ‘Is she staying?’
‘I thought that was already settled.’
‘It’s your house.’
In name, perhaps, but most of the time it never felt that way.
‘Then she’s staying. Emily said you’ll need help once the baby comes to live here.’ He couldn’t bring himself to call the child Mary. Not yet.
‘I will.’ Lucy folded her heavy arms. ‘But with two more people we’re going to need more room.’
He’d never given it any thought. The house was simply the house. Home. But she was right.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘I talked about it with someone.’
‘One of your admirers?’ He smiled as she began to blush.
‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ she told him, but the flush rose further up her face. ‘He says we can easily add two more rooms.’
‘And did he say how much it would cost?’
‘I wanted to talk to you first.’
Nottingham didn’t believe her. He knew Lucy; she’d want everything in detail, down to the last penny. But he didn’t have time to think about it now. He needed to be dressed and on his way to the service.
The Parish Church was full. Hannah Williamson and her children sat alone on the front pew. Behind her, all the members of the corporation, looking grand in their robes. Then the merchants and every worthy in the town. He saw John Reynolds from the Rose and Crown, the landlords of the Old King’s Arms and the New King’s Arms and the other inns around Leeds; even Harry Meadows from the Talbot, dressed in a dark, sober coat. At the back were the men who’d worked at Williamson’s warehouse and others from the trade, the masters of the dyeing and finishing shops. He’d been a well-liked man. A respected man.
And his killer was still somewhere close. Whatever the girl claimed, the constable felt sure that Nick wouldn’t run. Not yet.
The mayor spoke, then Alderman Atkinson. The vicar took this service himself, two of the curates beside him. The sermon lasted until people became restive, and finally the coffin was carried outside into a damp, biting wind.
Emily was waiting there. Nottingham buttoned his greatcoat and joined her.
‘I left one of the older girls teaching the class,’ she said. ‘I wanted to come for this.’
There could never be any joy in a burial. He’d attended too many in his time. Nottingham waited until the first sod hit the coffin, squeezed his daughter’s arm and walked away. A moment with Mary and Rose, then to see John Sedgwick. Lizzie and James kept the grave neat.
You’d have loved to be deputy now, he thought. You’d have enjoyed all this. Chasing down Nick. But would you have believed me if I said that one person could be behind so many of these crimes? He could hear the man’s voice, arguing with him over a drink.
The constable shook his head and walked away. He was right. Even if he didn’t have the evidence yet, he knew.
Rob searched all across the tenter field. They’d found Bartlett near one of the hooks used for stretching cloth. The earth was darker there, tinged with something dark and sticky when he touched it. The man had been killed here.
It was easy to imagine. The pimp was cocky, he’d have had no qualms about meeting someone, no matter where. His girls must have known before anyone else; they’d scattered like birds, not a trace of them left. The men were keeping an eye out for them as they hunted Nick, but he doubted they’d ever be seen again. Too frightened.
There were too many with reason to kill Josh Bartlett. He’d gone out of his way to make enemies, picked fights everywhere, and beaten anyone who crossed him. There might even be a few happy to claim the brief glory of the murder. Folk were strange.
There was nothing out here to give him a hint, only a chill on his hands. He thrust them into his pockets and walked back to town.
Could the boss be right? He hadn’t believed it. But the longer this went on, the more he was forced to wonder. God knew they should have found one of the killers by now, at least had some sort of word. But everywhere he turned there was silence.
But wouldn’t he have seen it building? Surely he would have spotted it … that was what he didn’t understand. If someone wanted to move in, to try to take over the moneylending, the prostitution and God knew what else, why wouldn’t he announce himself? To show he had the power.
He stopped at the baker and bought himself a pie, his first food of the day. He loved the job, but it was rare to have time to eat regularly. At the jail he glanced through the night report in case it offered anything on Bartlett’s death.
He was still there, licking the last crumbs from his fingers, when Nottingham arrived in his good clothes. Of course: Tom Williamson’s funeral. He’d heard the bell tolling then forgotten all about it.
‘Anything?’
Lister shook his head. ‘I’m going to see a man who might know something. But no one’s been banging down the door to confess.’ He sighed. ‘Back to the beginning. How was the service?’
‘Full. Emily came for the burial.’
‘I don’t imagine there’ll be a dance now.’
‘No. I think Hannah Williamson has more pressing things in front of her.’
After Rob left, Nottingham poured some ale and wandered back to the cells. Kate looked up as he stared at her through the door.
‘You’re dressed smart today.’
‘We buried the man your Nick killed.’
She stayed silent, breathing in and out a few times, then asked: ‘What’s going to happen to me?’
‘I already told you, it’s for the court to decide. There’s a prison under the Moot Hall. We’ll be taking you there soon.’
‘Will you kill Nick when you find him?’
‘I told you that, too: not unless I have to. I’ll arrest him and let the jury make up their mind.’
‘He won’t let himself be taken.’
‘Tell me where I can find him,’ the constable said.
‘I took you there.’ She banged her wrists against her thighs, a little gesture of frustration. The manacles rattled.
‘You must have had other places.’
‘What if I tell you and you catch him?’ He heard the note in her voice. Hopeful, cunning. This was why the constable had kept her here. After all, she’d come to him out of fear. The longer she spent in a cell, she more she craved a favour.
‘We might be able to agree on something.’
Dusk was falling. The air felt frozen as he breathed. Mist rose over the fields in the distance. Nottingham walked with Lister at his side, Waterhouse and Dyer behind. The fog muffled all the sounds, killing them before they could echo. They all had their cutlasses drawn, ready.
Kate had given them directions. In return, if they took Nick, he’d agreed to let her go. No one would notice, and no one would care. People wanted the murderer, the rest didn’t matter. The mayor had sent for him after the funeral, demanding to know what progress they’d made.
She’d sworn that this was their only other secret place. Now he had to hope that she was desperate enough to tell the truth.