He slept, waking often, then closing his eyes and falling back. But as he stood and ate a chunk of bread, he felt as if he hadn’t rested at all.
Nottingham drank the rest of the ale in his mug and stood for a moment, taking in the room. How many years had he lived in this house? His daughters had grown up here. His wife had died here. So much of him was in this place.
He turned at the sound. Rob edging awkwardly down the stairs, holding on to the wall with one hand, the stick in the other.
‘Boss …’
‘How well can you walk?’
Lister hobbled a few paces. He moved slowly, and Nottingham could see the strain on his face with each step.
‘Better than it was,’ Rob said. ‘The swelling is going down.’
‘Stay at home today.’
‘But—’
‘Come once it’s dark. If people see you in the daylight, tongues will start working. Tonight’s when I’m going to need you. Rest today.’
He could see the disappointment on the lad’s face, but he knew it made sense. There was no sense in fuelling gossip. And by evening he’d need every man who could help.
His boots rattled on Timble Bridge and he stopped to hear the soft sound of the beck. Then up Kirkgate, past the buildings he knew so well – Ibbotson’s house, Haxby, Pease, Cookson, every single one of them. This was his town. He’d seen it in so many different ways – from privilege, from poverty, as beggar and thief and constable. It ran through his blood.
Crandall was still at the jail, finishing the night report.
‘Anything worth telling me?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Some boys were out, trying to stir up some mischief.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose the apprentices will be saving themselves for later.’
‘We’ll have our hands full. Including you.’
‘I thought it would be best if I stayed here and sent people where they’re needed.’
The constable smiled. He’d expected something like that.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Everyone out there tonight.’
He saw Crandall’s face fall. If he was going to remain in his job, he needed to learn.
‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. Go home and sleep. I’m sure you need it.’
Alone, he put a little more coal on the fire, letting it burn until the room felt warm. The cold gnawed on him these days, and heat brought comfort to his bones and his joints. Today he’d go around once more and ask his questions. But he’d learned better than to hope for answers. Tonight would bring its reckoning and he’d have to be ready for it.
Slowly, he went through all the papers waiting on his desk. Outside, he could hear Leeds waking and beginning to move around. Voices, the trundle of an early cart, then a steadier flow of people and goods coming and going.
He’d put the last document aside when the door opened and Mayor Brooke entered, sweeping his hat off his head and tucking it under his arm. He dropped a letter on to the desk.
‘This came yesterday. It’s for you. About the boy who killed poor Tom Williamson.’
The constable read it quickly. The trial would be held next month and he was expected to attend as a witness. He hadn’t given Nick a thought since they sent him to the Assizes in York. But it seemed he hadn’t heard the last of the boy yet. For a moment an image of Kate flickered through his mind and he wondered if she was still alive.
‘It should be Rob Lister giving testimony. He saw it happen.’
‘You know how they work, Richard. You’re the Constable; they want you. It’s just for show. They’ll hang him at the end of it.’
‘Yes.’ He remembered all those journeys on horseback to York. It always seemed to be winter when he had to travel there.
‘Are you prepared for tonight?’ Brooke asked.
For a moment, he thought the mayor was asking about the trouble ahead. But his face was open and hearty. The rumours and the sense of unease hadn’t reached him yet.
‘The day men will stay on and I’ll have all the night people. The same way we’ve done it for years.’
‘The talk is that the apprentices are planning something.’
‘They always do, and every time it comes to nothing.’
‘Don’t give them an inch.’ He grinned. ‘Folk want to know there’s law here.’
‘My men have their orders.’
‘That’s what I want to hear. Let people have their fun but make sure it doesn’t go too far.’
Tonight, Nottingham thought, that might be easier said than done.
‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘Good.’ He looked around the jail, appraising it – the stonework, the dirt, the untidiness of it all. ‘Are you settled in the job?’
‘Sometimes it’s as if I’d never left.’
‘The corporation is still casting around for a new constable. A few have applied. Between you and me, none of them seemed particularly impressive.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find the right man.’
‘I hope so.’ He sighed. ‘Until then, this is yours.’
Perhaps he’d take those words back soon. It would depend what the night brought.
‘I’m flattered.’ It was what Brooke would want to hear.
The mayor rubbed his hands together.
‘I’d better get to work. They’re building a fire by the bridge. I’ll be there. So will most of the members of the corporation. I trust you’ll stop by when you have the chance.’
‘If I have the time. It’ll be busy.’ He understood what the man was saying: make sure it’s well guarded. He’d keep Waterhouse and Dyer there to stand watch on everything and stamp out any trouble.
Garroway’s was quiet, only a few customers sitting and reading the London papers. Finer was at his usual table by the window, an empty coffee dish in front of him. It was impossible to read anything on his face. Maybe that was why he’d been so successful; he never gave away what he was thinking.
‘There’s a cold snap coming,’ Finer said. ‘I can feel it. My wrists ache.’
‘We had a frost, that’s all. And it looks set to be fair.’
‘It’ll change. You mark my words. A day or two and our teeth will be chattering.’
‘What else do you know?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Nothing to help me find those ledgers. Have you learned anything?’
The constable shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Are you ready, then?’
For what? That was the question. While the fires blazed, something was going to happen. Something unknown. How could he be ready? All he could do was act once it started.
‘As much as I’ll ever be.’
‘You were never one for planning, even when you started out as a constable’s man. You let things happen and then you plunged in.’
‘That’s what I was paid to do.’
‘A little thought and you could have nipped things in the bud. Stopped them before they began.’
‘And what could I have done about this?’ Nottingham said mildly. ‘Tell me that.’
‘Maybe more than you did. You ran from killing to killing. You never even thought there could be much more to it until I pointed it out.’
That was true. But he’d been out of this for two years. He’d lost his touch, his sharpness.
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘You’re on the back foot. When it comes, you’d better be ruthless. No talking, no arrests.’ He stared, eyes cold. ‘Kill them. All of them. The way you did when someone killed that deputy of yours.’
‘John Sedgwick.’
Finer waved the name away as if it meant nothing. ‘Treat them that way. You don’t have any choice. Anything less and they’ll murder you.’
Bitter words, he thought as he walked back down the Head Row. Con was by the Market Cross, playing a lulling air as the constable passed and greeted him with a nod. By the Moot Hall, Jem had drawn a small crowd, gathered close and caught up in his tale.
Leeds. Home.
Down by the bridge men piled up heavy branches for the fire, bundled faggots of wood ready to be added later. The town seemed to be hushed, full of anticipation and excitement. For most people, tonight would be a great celebration.
He’d loved this night when he was small, moving from one fire to the other with his parents, seeing how the blazes cast shadows that looked like devils to his eyes. Later, on his own and sleeping anywhere he could find, they gave the chance of a few hours’ warmth. Some sweet bonfire toffee, if he could steal it, or food that a family had left to roast in the embers. He’d taken his own girls, watching the same wonder on their faces that he’d once possessed. Young Mary’s turn would come, then her children and all the ones that followed. Long after he was dead and forgotten.
The day seemed to crawl past, as if someone had weighed down the hands of the church clock so that they barely moved. By dinner Nottingham felt as if he’d spoken to half of Leeds. He’d gone to all the fires, making sure none was too close to houses; the last thing the town needed was sparks drifting and causing a fire.
The White Swan was doing a sullen trade as men kept money back for the night’s drinking. No press of people as he sat and ate, wondering what else he could do during the afternoon. He needed to feel he was making some progress, that he had some small hope of stopping everything that was coming towards him.
But by the middle of the afternoon, what little faith he possessed in that was slipping away. Another two hours and it would grow dark. Later, people would finish their work and the bonfires would be lit.
He walked, looking in vain for a man with a coat pocket missing. The day had stayed mild; there would be plenty of folk out tonight, and enough of them would end up drunk and rowdy to cause trouble.
Con had gone from the market cross, but Jem was still sitting by the Moot Hall. His voice sounded dry as old leather now, cracking and rasping as he spoke. He had an empty mug at his side. Nottingham slipped into the Rose and Crown, bought another, and took it to him. With a grin, he said, ‘Bless you, sir,’ and barely broke the pace of his tale. Small kindnesses, the constable thought. Maybe someone would have a favour for him.
But as dusk slipped in, there was nothing. The men assembled at the jail, everyone reporting for their duty. Those who worked nights looked resentful at starting so early, trying to hide their yawns. The day people seemed brighter, harder. At least they’d have extra pay this week, although they’d probably earn it in cuts and bruises tonight.
Nottingham gave them their assignments. Two men at each of the big fires, ready to deal with any incident before it could blow out of hand. The rest would cover the town. That should be enough to control the apprentices.
‘I’m sure the cells will be full in the morning,’ he said. ‘But make sure you’re not the ones with sore heads. Dyson, Waterhouse, I need to talk to you before you go.’
‘What about me?’ Crandall asked.
‘Take charge of the men who are roving around. Make sure that if anything starts to happen, you send word to me immediately.’
He issued cutlasses to the pair watching the bonfire that Brooke and the corporation would attend.
‘Use them only if you have to,’ he ordered. ‘With luck, the sight of weapons should be enough to deter any trouble.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Dyer answered. They were clever enough to restrain themselves.
After they’d gone, another sword lay on the desk, waiting for him. Nottingham unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out three pistols, powder and bullets.
Rob arrived after darkness had fallen. He was breathing hard, sweating and leaning heavily on the stick as he moved, but he looked ready.
‘Any word?’
‘Nothing,’ Nottingham replied, and saw the man’s face fall. ‘How’s your knee? No lies. I need the truth.’
‘It still hurts,’ Lister answered after a moment, then raised his head. ‘I can walk.’
‘You’ll be no use with a sword. Take these.’ He pushed two of the pistols across the desk. ‘Make sure they’re loaded and primed.’
Rob looked up as he worked. ‘What about you, boss? Are you armed?’
The constable patted the pocket of his greatcoat. ‘Already done. And I’ll have the cutlass.’
As the constable locked the door of the jail, he could sense the eagerness in the air. The streets were full, people already starting to gather although the fires wouldn’t be lit until the Parish Church clock struck the hour.
He could feel his heart beating hard. But he felt certain it wouldn’t happen for a while yet. Not until the families had enjoyed the blazes and gone off to their homes, and the real drinking and merriment began. There was still time for some word to come, for him to be able to stop it before it began.
The fires were beautiful. Rob had loved them from the first year his father had taken him out to see them. It was magical to see Leeds alive and alight at night, as if the whole town was burning.
Emily had come home as he was preparing to leave. As she took off her cloak she’d watched him make his aching way from the kitchen and he thought he’d never seen such sadness in anyone’s eyes. But she didn’t try to stop him. How could she, with her father out there? Instead she held him close and told him to come home when it was done.
She wasn’t going to attend the bonfires. In the end he persuaded her to go with the Webbs and take Mary for a few minutes. The baby was a true Leeds girl; she should start as she’d carry on.
The constable moved at Rob’s slow pace down Briggate. The blaze already towered into the sky, light brighter than day reflecting off the buildings. The town smelt of wood smoke.
He waited as the constable exchanged a few words with the great, good men and their wives. Nods to Waterhouse and Dyer, who circulated with their eyes alert.
Then they were away, back up the street. It hurt to walk, each step still took effort, but he had to be here. He owed it to the boss. Time after time he’d been right on this when Rob had doubted him and even thought he wasn’t fit for the job any more.
His palm was clammy on the stick as he pushed it down to take his weight. It was close now. Whatever was going to happen would begin soon; an hour or two at most.
They didn’t talk. Nothing they said would have seemed adequate. There was enough noise all around. Somewhere in the distance a man fired off a musket and Rob felt a sudden shock. But it was nothing more than celebration.
The glow of the fire reached up Briggate, casting shadows around the whores standing in the passageways that led through to the yards. Some held fans coyly over their mouths. Others smiled and beckoned.
He wondered about the pimps. None of them had listened to his warnings. They’d probably all be drinking and waiting for the small hours to take the money off the girls.
It seemed to take an age to reach the market cross. He lumbered, he knew it, an ungainly beast. Rob stood next to Nottingham, looking back, their view blocked by the Moot Hall. The whole night crackled and sparked. Voices rose here and there, a harsh burst of laughter. Rob pushed a hand into the pocket of his greatcoat and curled around the handle of the pistol. He’d never been a good shot, but one hit was all it took. He could manage that.
At first he barely noticed the shout. It was part of the wash of sound. Then it came again, a strange wail that seemed to rise. Without even thinking, he began to move. But Nottingham was already ahead, pushing through the crowd, parting them with his shoulder.
It was no more than a few yards, just outside the Rose and Crown. People were pushing themselves back in horror to leave a space around the scene. Nottingham saw Jem on his knees, howling as he held Blind Con. The fiddler was on the ground, a trickle of blood seeping from the edge of his mouth. There were wounds on his chest and his stomach. He tried to paw at them, as if he could brush them away. The violin lay where it had fallen, body smashed and strings hanging loose.
‘What happened?’
‘Con came to visit me. He’d just gone and I saw he’d left his gloves.’ Jem held up his hand, something gripped between the finger. ‘I went after him. As soon as he stepped out on Briggate a man was waiting. Two blows and he run off.’
Nottingham look around. The people who’d gathered were silent.
‘What did he look like? Where did he go?’
‘Young, fair hair. He went into the Talbot.’
Rob had arrived, taking in the scene and hearing the last remark.
‘Get him inside,’ the constable said. He turned his head and saw John Reynolds, the landlord, watching. ‘Send someone for the doctor.’
Con wasn’t going to live; he knew the signs all too well. But at least he could be spared the indignity of dying on the street. Two men came forward to lift him and Jem picked up the broken fiddle. Nottingham looked at Lister and nodded.