Come the Fear

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Not everyone marries. Life isn’t always as simple as that.’ She turned, her eyes staring at his. ‘Are you happy with me?’

  ‘Of course I am. I said I love you.’

  ‘They’re not the same things,’ she said with a small shake of her head.

  ‘Then I love you and I’m happy with you,’ he corrected himself.

  ‘Good.’ She kissed him again, moving closer, her lips lingering against his. ‘Do you think everything is fine as it is, the way we meet like this, the courting?’

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned, tightening his grip around her waist. ‘I think it’s close to perfect.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you I’d never marry you?’ Her voice was quiet and wary.

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ He pulled back to watch her face, to see if this was a strange joke she was playing.

  ‘You know what marriage means,’ she told him. ‘You’d own everything I have. And you’d own me.’

  He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger over it to quiet him.

  ‘Please, Rob, hear me out. I’ve been thinking about this, it’s important to me. I can’t ever let anyone own me like that. I’m not a chattel or goods. However much I care about you, no matter how much I love you, I’ll never be your wife. Or anyone’s wife. But I don’t want to lose, you, either.’ She gave a small, wan smile. ‘So if it’s a wife you really want, maybe you should do what your father asks.’ She began to walk away across the bridge.

  Rob took a deep breath.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said, and she turned to wait for him. Her words had been a shock, a blow to his belly. What she said went against everything he’d known, strained against all his upbringing. But he knew he’d rather have her on any terms than not at all.

  ‘We don’t have to marry. We can stay as we are.’

  Her face glowed and she put her arms around him.

  ‘You know, Papa will say I’m a foolish girl,’ she said. ‘He won’t understand why I don’t want to marry anyone. Mama will weigh it carefully in her mind. But in time they’ll understand it’s me, it’s always been me.’ Emily looked at him. ‘What will your father say?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he told her, and realized he meant it.

  They stopped outside the house on Marsh Lane and she gave him another long kiss. ‘I’d best go inside,’ she said. ‘Mama will be waiting for me. Can you meet me in the morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed and watched as she walked away with small backward glances and smiles.

  The evening was gathering as the Constable walked home, his footsteps raising dust in the dirt along Marsh Lane. Glancing ahead he could see a light in the window of the parlour and another from Emily’s bedroom upstairs.

  The glow of the tallow candle gave enough light for Mary to read, the greasy scent filling the room. He hung his coat on the nail by the door then bent to kiss her.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said tenderly.

  ‘I feel like I’m a hundred.’ In the kitchen he poured ale and scraped the remains from a pan of pottage for his supper. ‘Some days I feel like I’ve been walking for miles and never arrived anywhere,’ he said as he sat down with a sigh. He inclined his head upwards. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Much better today.’ Mary put down the book. ‘They must have talked after school, she came home happy and smiling. All’s right with the world again.’

  ‘For now, anyway,’ he allowed darkly. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean they’re getting married.’

  Mary laughed. ‘I think we’re safe from that yet, Richard. She does have some sense, you know.’

  ‘Sense leaves by the window when it comes to love,’ he told her. ‘You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘If it had been a wedding she wouldn’t have stopped talking,’ Mary pointed out.

  ‘Maybe,’ he grunted and finished the drink. ‘I need my bed. A week’s sleep would be just about right.’

  ‘And you’ll still be up before the birds and off to work. I’ve known you too long, you can’t change now.’

  ‘True enough,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Sometimes I wish I could.’ He held out his hand. ‘Coming with me?’

  The morning was breezy, with clouds the dull colour of old lead scudding across the sky. Lister struggled to stay awake, Sedgwick tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as the Constable finished summing up.

  ‘There’s a market today,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Holden with me and watch for women with dark hair and blue gowns. She might come back and try it again, there are always plenty of children.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Sedgwick asked.

  ‘Back over the river, John. After we go and talk to Peter Wendell. Since he seems to like using his fists, it might be better if there’s two of us. And you,’ he said to Rob, ‘go on home and sleep so you’re fit for tonight.’

  ‘In a minute, boss.’

  Nottingham grinned at the deputy. ‘He must be back under Emily’s thumb.’

  ‘Young love, eh?’ the deputy said with a broad wink to Lister.

  ‘She’ll be along soon enough,’ the Constable said, ‘but you see you rest today.’

  The weavers were putting up their trestles and laying out cloth for the market as the Constable and Sedgwick strode down Briggate. The inns were busy with men eating their Brigg End shot breakfasts, plenty of beef and ale to fill their bellies for a couple of pennies.

  Carters filled the road, delivering their goods, eager to leave before the market bell closed the street. The first merchants were out, walking around and smiling in anticipation of the profits they’d make.

  Nottingham and the deputy turned on to Swinegate, the shops just opening as shutters were lifted. They moved to the side as a woman opened a window on a top floor and threw out the night’s piss to splash in the middle of the street.

  The smithy’s forge lay at the back of a cobbled yard, the doors wide open, heat already roaring from the fire. The blacksmith was busy working horseshoes on the anvil, bringing his hammer down expertly on the red hot metal in a fast, ringing rhythm to shape it.

  Wendell was feeding coal into the blaze, stripped to breeches and hose. His chest and thick arms were already shining with sweat and he wore a rag tied around his head to keep the moisture from his eyes.

  ‘That’s him?’ the Constable asked and Sedgwick nodded. ‘Let’s get him out where we can talk to him properly.’

  They entered the yard. The smith glanced up briefly, never breaking the stroke as he pounded against the anvil. Wendell stopped work, watching carefully as they came closer and picking up a hammer.

  ‘Mr Wendell,’ the Constable said, raising his voice above the noise, ‘can you spare us a moment?’

  Peter Wendell took a kerchief from the pocket of his breeches and wiped at his face.

  ‘This about Lucy?’ he asked.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You found who killed her yet?’ His tone was belligerent, anger boiling beneath the surface.

  ‘Not yet,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘You told me you were going to look.’

  Wendell shrugged his shoulders. ‘And I’ve not found anyone. It’s your job, anyway. Why are you coming to me at my work?’

  ‘I’m just wondering if you know anything more that can help us,’ Nottingham said genially.

  ‘Me? No.’

  ‘Are you sure, Peter?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody sure. What are you saying? You think I killed my sister?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ the Constable replied. ‘Why? Did you?’

  Without warning, Wendell turned and drove his large fist hard into the deputy’s belly, sending him to the floor, gasping for breath. Then he began to run.

  Nottingham was in front of him, standing firm with his legs apart. Wendell swung the hammer hard. The Constable moved aside, but it still caught him on the thigh, tumbling him as he grunted, the pain sharp as a knife. He could only watch as Wendell dropped the hammer and ran off along the street.

  Slowly
he raised himself, barely able to hobble, and went to help the deputy. Sedgwick was on his knees, hands clutching at his stomach, still struggling to draw a breath. The Constable rolled him on to his back and pulled him by the belt, forcing the breath into him.

  ‘Take your time, John, we won’t catch him right now.’

  He worked his leg slowly, feeling along the bone, but it was intact. He gestured for the smith to come over. ‘Has Peter been acting differently lately?’ he asked.

  The smith looked at them emptily, running a large, scarred hand over his beard.

  ‘Different how?’ he asked.

  ‘Quieter, maybe, more secretive.’

  The smith shrugged. ‘Long as he does his work I don’t give a bugger whether he talks all day or says nowt. So what’s he done to make him go for you like that? Why’s he run off?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Nottingham told him, then helped the deputy to his feet. ‘If he comes back, send someone for us.’

  The smith gazed at the gate. ‘Someone runs like that, he won’t be back.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll need a new lad now.’

  ‘Maybe you can find a more reliable one,’ the Constable said.

  They walked slowly back to the jail, Sedgwick still rubbing his belly and the Constable feeling the sharp ache where Wendell had hit against his leg.

  ‘Christ, the bastard packs a good punch,’ the deputy gasped finally, unable to keep a hint of admiration from his voice. ‘I’ll be feeling that for days.’

  ‘I think we just found our killer,’ Nottingham said thoughtfully. ‘I can’t see any other reason he’d run when I asked him that.’

  ‘He doesn’t like the law. He already told me that.’

  The Constable shook his head. ‘This was more than dislike. I was watching his eyes. When I asked if he’d killed her I could see the guilt in them. He did it.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Nottingham admitted. ‘The words just came into my head. I didn’t really believe it was him.’

  ‘But why would he murder his own flesh and blood and then set her on fire?’ Sedgwick wondered. It was beyond understanding, the work of someone who’d forsaken his soul.

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m going to find out once we catch him.’ The Constable’s voice was dark and urgent. ‘Take two of the men and go up to his room. I doubt he’ll be there, but you’d better check. If you find him, use your cudgels.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Talk to that girl of his and find out who his friends are and where he’d be likely to go.’

  ‘What about the child snatcher?’ the deputy asked.

  ‘I’ll watch for her at the market. I’ll have Holden with me. First, though, I’m going to see Peter’s mother.’

  He strode briskly over to the Calls, rapping on the door of the cellar room. He could hear the woman moving inside and the tap of her soles on the floor.

  ‘You’ve found summat?’ she asked. Her face had grown even more pinched. Her hose lay on the table with a needle and thread where she’d been darning under the thin light from the window.

  ‘I have,’ he told her. ‘I went to see your son this morning.’

  ‘Did he know something?’ she asked with a catch in her voice. ‘He’s said nothing to me.’

  ‘We wanted to talk to him about Lucy. But when I asked if he’d killed her he punched my deputy and ran off before we could stop him.’

  Alice Wendell looked him in the eye. ‘What’s tha’ saying?’

  ‘That he’s guilty, Mrs Wendell.’

  ‘Could be summat and nowt,’ she tried to tell him, but the fingers bunching her apron showed she realized the truth.

  ‘Maybe. But you don’t believe that, do you?’ he asked gently.

  ‘You really think he killed her? That he murdered my Lucy?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. I’m sorry.’

  There were tears clouding her eyes as she spoke. ‘I know my Peter’s never been good, but he loved her well enough. He looked after her, he protected her.’

  ‘What would he have thought about her having someone’s baby?’ he asked gently.

  ‘He’d have killed whoever did it,’ she answered simply. ‘There’s a bad streak in him.’

  ‘Maybe he killed her instead.’

  She shook her head again, more firmly this time. ‘Nay,’ she said, and raised her head, her words full of despair. ‘I’ll not believe my son would do that to his own blood.’

  ‘If he comes here, bring him to me.’

  ‘So you can hang him.’

  ‘All I want is the truth,’ he told her. ‘If it turns out he didn’t do it, if he had a good reason to run like that, I’ll let him go. But I’m going to find whoever murdered Lucy.’

  She took several breaths before nodding. She was still standing in the same place, fingers pressing down on the wood of the table, as he left.

  ‘Keep your eyes open for women in blue dresses with dark hair,’ the Constable instructed Holden. The cloth market had ended and traders were setting up their stalls at the top end of Briggate.

  ‘Blue?’

  ‘If you see someone like that, watch them carefully.’

  ‘There could be dozens of dark-haired women dressed in blue, boss,’ Holden complained.

  ‘I know,’ Nottingham agreed. Already people were drawn to the trestles, talking, gossiping, hunting through piles and clutter for the early bargains.

  ‘So why are we looking?’ Holden asked. ‘And what are we looking for?’

  The Constable stared at him. ‘You’d better keep this to yourself. And that means not telling it later when you’ve had a drink. The chandler’s boy was snatched by a woman in blue. You see anyone in blue reach for a child, follow them. You understand?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I’ll be looking, too. Move about and keep your wits clear.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Nottingham wandered around the market, idly inspecting items, his eyes alert. The crowd had grown thicker, thronging the street, filling the air with a din of noise. He stayed around the fringes, picking out the women dressed in blue. Some wore dresses so ragged and pale the colour could have been pulled from the dawn sky, others had rich, deep velvet and every shade in between. They were old and young, thin and rounded.

  He tried to spot Holden but the man was good, staying hidden from sight. Women were holding their children close, keeping tight grips on hands and wrists, giving quick smacks if the little ones tried to squirm away. But he knew it only took a moment for an infant to be gone.

  After an hour he spotted a face that seemed familiar. She was in blue, a gown whose best days were long past, ill-fitting on the bosom. He tried to place the girl, but her name danced just beyond the edge of memory. He watched her drift between people, scarcely paying attention to the displays and patter around her. He’d seen her before and talked to her, he knew that, but try as he might he couldn’t place her.

  The Constable kept his distance, careful not to be seen, staying behind her. Whatever her reason for being at the market, it wasn’t to buy anything. She moved around slowly for half an hour by the church bell, without pattern or purpose. Then she walked away, taking slow, idle steps back down Briggate.

  He found Holden in the shadow of the Moot Hall.

  ‘You saw the girl in blue who left the market a minute ago?’

  ‘The young one going down the street?’

  ‘That’s her. Follow her,’ Nottingham ordered. The man looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Has she done summat wrong?’

  The Constable shook his head. ‘Find out where she lives. And make sure she doesn’t see you.’

  Holden grinned. ‘The lass’ll never know there was anyone behind her, boss.’

  He slipped away, agile and anonymous and Nottingham made his way back to the jail. He’d just bought a slice of pie, the crust warm and crumbling between his fingers when he remembered the girl’s name.

  It was Fanny. And
the last time he’d seen her, she’d been working down by Leeds Bridge with her sister, the pair of them run by their brother, Joshua Davidson. He’d ordered them all out of Leeds days before. So what was she doing here?

  He waited anxiously for Sedgwick to return. He knew Wendell would be difficult to find; the man had lived his whole life in Leeds and he’d have friends to offer him comfort or shelter.

  But the Constable knew the city, too. Sometimes he believed he could feel its pulse in his blood. He loved it, he held it close to his heart. He knew where to hide, where to find food; long ago Leeds had seemed like both mother and father to him. Wendell might run, but in this place Nottingham would find him. He’d make Wendell think that the city had turned into a false friend, an enemy. He’d hunt him.

  ‘We missed him by five minutes,’ the deputy said when he arrived. He poured himself ale and sat down. ‘He took some clothes and all the money she had.’

  ‘We’ll catch him,’ the Constable said with certainty.

  ‘I left someone to watch the place but I doubt he’ll be back.’ He took a long drink. ‘I think that girl of his is glad in a way. I think she was surprised by him, though.’

  ‘Did she tell you where he might be?’

  ‘I don’t think she really knows his friends. But he spends most of his time and money at the Talbot.’

  Nottingham raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Have you been there yet?’

  ‘I thought we should both go.’

  He nodded. The law wasn’t popular there, and looking for a favoured regular could mean trouble. But even so they’d think twice before attacking the Constable. He took a cudgel from the drawer and looped the thong around his wrist.

  ‘Better to be safe,’ he said.

  As they moved down Briggate Nottingham asked, ‘Did you check that Davidson and his girl had gone?’

  ‘Yes, boss. The house was empty. Why?’

  ‘I saw one of the girls at the market. Holden’s following her. She was wearing a blue dress.’

  Only the afternoon drinkers were scattered around the Talbot when they entered. The door to the back room, with its pit for cock and dog fighting, was firmly closed and locked. Bell the landlord stood behind the trestle, his arms folded, a forbidding expression on his face.