He squatted and placed his palm on the grass that had grown over his older daughter.
‘We all miss you, love.’ He sighed softly. ‘I’m not sure God had a plan that let you die, but I’m not sure he looks over this life, either.’ He stroked the earth as if it was skin, tenderly and gently. ‘You’ll always be in our hearts, you know that.’
He stopped again at Timble Bridge, listening to the water burble over the rocks and pebbles, then walked up Marsh Lane, seeing a thin light shining through the shutters at home.
Mary sat in her chair, reading, and he bent over to kiss her. He could hear the footsteps as Emily moved around upstairs in her room.
‘I wondered if you’d be home tonight,’ she said.
‘Nothing more I could do,’ he explained, unable to stifle a yawn.
‘And more sleep won’t hurt you,’ she pointed out.
‘I know,’ he admitted, taking Mary’s hand and pulling her to her feet so he could hold her. ‘We could have an early night together, if you want.’
‘Maybe you should come home and rest in the daytime more often,’ she said with a twinkling smile.
‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
‘Then let the others do more. They’re younger than you.’
‘I’ll be at my best come the morning,’ he promised her.
‘I hope you’ll be at your best before then, Richard,’ she told him with a grin.
There’d been no sign or whisper of Peter Wendell during the night. Rob had been out with the men, checking the dark places where someone might hide. There were plenty of folk out there, sleeping in the spaces others ignored, their few belongings on their backs, faces hollow and eyes blank when they were roused, too cowed to complain.
The clock had hardly struck four, with the bare rise of dawn, when the door of the jail opened. Lister looked up from his report, one hand sliding to grab the cudgel. A woman entered, her face as sharp as if someone had planed down the flesh, eyes appraising him carefully.
‘Mr Nottingham in yet?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘You tell him Alice Wendell came by.’
‘Lucy’s mother?’
‘Aye,’ she said curtly. ‘He came, drunk as owt, needing somewhere to stay.’
Rob stood. ‘Is he still there?’
She nodded. ‘Sleeping as if God owed him the time.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Nay, there’s no rush, lad, he’ll not be waking soon, not the state he was in.’ She turned to leave, then added, ‘I’ll warn you, though, he won’t come easy, even in his cups.’
Rob sent men out to fetch Nottingham and the deputy, waiting anxiously for them to arrive. He could feel his heart beating faster with anticipation, flexing his fingers and looking at the cupboard where they kept the weapons.
Within half an hour all of them were there.
‘She said he’s sleeping?’ the Constable asked. He looked calm, his stock neatly tied, clean hose on his legs. Sedgwick seemed distracted, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.
‘But be careful of him.’
‘I think we’ve learned that,’ Nottingham said wryly. He drew three swords from the cupboard. ‘Don’t use these unless you have to. Take your cudgels, too. Rob, get the manacles. I want those on him as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘We’ll take two of the others. They’ll stay outside, just in case we need them. You ready, John?’
‘Yes, boss,’ the deputy answered.
‘How’s James?’
‘Still sleeping when I left.’
‘He’ll be fine.’
‘Aye, I hope so.’ His voice was flat and resigned, the pock marks on his face standing out red and livid in the early light.
‘Come on, then,’ the Constable said. ‘And remember, I want him fit to talk. I want to find out what happened to Lucy Wendell.’
They marched down Briggate, hearing the servants slowly starting their morning work, then along Call Lane. Nottingham was quiet, his jaw set, the deputy striding next to him, long legs covering the distance easily. Rob hung back slightly, walking with the other men, the scabbard banging against his leg as he moved.
At the house on the Calls Nottingham issued his orders.
‘The room’s in the cellar. Rob, John, you come with me. Alice Wendell will let us in. See if you can get the manacles on Peter before he wakes.’ He gestured at the others. ‘There’s only one door. You two stay out here in case he gets past us. If he comes out, hit him hard and bring him down.’
‘Can we trust her?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘Yes,’ the Constable answered without hesitation. Even though it would cost her a great deal, she wanted justice for Lucy. He led the way down the stairs, treading quietly, then tapped lightly on the door, Lister and the deputy so close behind that he could feel their breath on his neck.
She answered quickly, moving aside for them to enter. Peter Wendell lay on the pallet, his skin caked with dirt, the stubble grown heavy enough on his face to make him almost unrecognizable. He was sleeping deeply, the blanket pulled up around his neck.
Nottingham directed them with gestures. Once they were all in position he gave a nod and drew his weapon, holding it close to Wendell’s face. Rob threw back the cover and started to put the manacle on the man’s wrist.
Wendell sat up with a roar, pushing Lister backwards and slamming him hard into the wall. Nottingham put the point of the sword against the man’s neck.
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered, pushing just enough for the point to pierce the skin. Drops of blood trickled down Wendell’s skin as the man’s eyes burned fire. ‘Now hold your arms out.’
Slowly, reluctantly, the man complied.
‘Put them on,’ the Constable instructed Rob.
Metal clicked on metal, locking in place; Wendell’s thick arms didn’t sag under the heavy weight.
‘Stand up slowly.’
He rose from the bed, the men standing back slightly, three blades facing him.
‘Walk to the door. And don’t try to run, I have more men outside.’
‘I won’t,’ Wendell said, his voice husky. He glanced over at his mother. ‘You told them, didn’t you?’
She held her head high.
‘Aye, I did.’
‘Fucking old bitch.’ He spat at her. She let it run down her cheek. The Constable kicked him behind the knee, making the man sprawl on the ground.
‘Get up,’ Nottingham told him. ‘Out. Now.’
He let the others leave and turned to the woman. She was keeping her face hard, looking at nothing and breathing slowly.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
She shook her head, keeping back the tears he knew were there. ‘When you find out why, come and tell me.’
‘I will,’ he promised.
The Constable had put away his sword but kept the cudgel in his hand, the loop of leather around his wrist. He looked at Sedgwick, walking alongside Wendell, watching the prisoner intently, and knew the memory of the thief taker was uppermost in his mind.
At the jail they added ankle fetters, attaching them with a chain to a heavy staple driven into the flagstone of the cell. Nottingham locked the door, knowing the man was staring at him, but didn’t give him a glance. There’d be ample time to talk very soon.
‘Good work,’ he told the others. ‘Rob, you’ve put in plenty of hours, go home and sleep. John, I want you to take most of the men and look for this Fanny across the river.’
‘Yes, boss.’
The Constable smiled and rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve a good feeling about today, I think we’ll find her.’
‘What about Wendell?’ Lister asked.
‘As soon as he’s used to his new home I’m going to discover why he killed his sister.’
Rob unlocked the door of the house on Lower Briggate and entered. He could see his father at work, setting type slowly into blocks on the table, preparing the new edition of the Mercury. The man looked up briefly and beckoned wi
th an ink-stained finger.
‘Who was that you took to the jail?’ he asked.
‘Someone we’ve been looking for,’ Rob answered. He knew not to pass on information.
‘You were all armed.’
‘Always better to be safe.’
Lister dug into one of the boxes in front of him, pulling out a piece of type and examining it before adding it to the article then wiping his hand on his dirty apron.
‘I hope you’ve thought more about what I said?’ he asked
‘Marrying, you mean?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean, and you know it.’ He stopped and removed his spectacles. ‘Well, have you?’
‘I gave you my answer the last time,’ Rob told him bluntly.
‘I’m offering you the chance to reconsider.’ There was iron in his voice, his eyes flat and his mouth expressionless. ‘You’re my son; when you’re under my roof I expect you to obey my wishes.’
Bubbles of anger rose through Rob’s exhaustion. ‘And if I won’t?’
Lister regarded his son for a moment, then said, ‘Maybe your precious Constable can find you a bed in his house, because I won’t have you in mine.’ He put his glasses back on and returned to his work. ‘I warn you, though, if you choose to leave you’ll come to regret it.’
‘And if I stay I might regret it even more.’
Rob turned away to the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To collect my things and find a room. There are plenty available.’
‘Not on what the city pays you. And you’ll get nothing from me.’
‘I don’t need much . . . Father.’ He spat the word out viciously. ‘You’ve apparently made your decision, now it’s my turn to make mine.’
Twenty-One
The Constable brought two mugs of ale into the cell and offered one to Wendell.
‘I daresay you’ll be thirsty.’
The man watched him cautiously from under his brows then reached for the cup and drank greedily. Nottingham leaned against the wall.
‘I know you killed her,’ he said.
‘You do, do you?’ Something that was almost a smile flickered across Wendell’s lips. ‘And how do you know that?’
‘Why else would you have run when we came to ask you about her?’
The man shrugged. ‘Happen I just don’t get along with the law,’ he answered.
‘I’m sure you don’t. But in this case I don’t believe you.’
‘You can believe what you like. You’ve been telling everyone what you think I did.’
‘I know you did it, Peter. I’m just wondering why.’ The Constable took a sip of his ale. ‘That’s what I can’t see. Why would anyone kill his sister?’
‘You keep saying that. But there’s nowt to prove it.’
‘You might be surprised.’
Wendell’s eyes shone and his mouth twitched slyly. ‘Mebbe I would. And mebbe I never killed our Lucy at all.’
‘Oh, you did,’ Nottingham told him with certainty, watching the man’s face closely. ‘You did. What was it, you saw she was having a child?’
‘Why would I give a bugger if she was going to have a babby?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I was the one who looked after her. I was the one who loved her. Don’t believe what that old cow tells you, she couldn’t wait to have Lucy out the house.’ Wendell had found his voice now and the Constable wanted to keep him talking.
‘She wasn’t a bright lass, I heard.’
Wendell shrugged again. ‘She’d do owt for anyone, would Lucy. People didn’t want to know her because of her lip, but she were a lovely girl.’
‘She was scared of seeing you. That’s why she didn’t come to you or to her mother when she was dismissed.’
‘Me? Why’d she be scared of me?’ There was an edge of fury in his tone. ‘I told you, I looked after her.’
But Nottingham understood now, it had all come clear.
‘You looked after her very well, didn’t you, Peter?’
‘I made sure nowt bad happened to her.’
‘And you loved her like more than a sister.’ Wendell leapt upright, lunging forward as far as he could. The Constable didn’t move. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘You fucking bastard.’
‘That was why you killed her. The baby was yours, wasn’t it? And you thought that if she burned in that fire, no one would ever know.’ He could see Wendell’s face growing redder, his fists clenching and knew he was right. ‘You killed her, then you ripped the child out of her and you tried to burn them both.’
The man held up his wrists. ‘Take these off me and I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.’
‘What was it?’ Nottingham continued, pushing and probing. ‘Did you think she’d tell someone who the father was? Had you threatened her, is that why she tried to hide from you?’
The veins stood out on Wendell’s neck, the thick, heavy muscles of his arms straining.
‘She trusted you to look after her and that’s what you did. When you saw what had happened you threatened her and then you killed her.’
‘I loved her!’ Wendell shouted.
‘You loved her so you killed her. Is that the same love you show that girl of yours when you take your fists to her?’ Nottingham kept his voice contained and even. ‘Did she know about you and Lucy?’ The man was silent, breathing heavily, pulling on his chains. ‘No, I’m sure she didn’t, the same way your mother didn’t.’
He waited, letting the silence grow in the room until it became oppressive. He had time. He took another small sip of the ale, seeing the hatred and guilt on Wendell’s face.
‘She came to me,’ the man said finally.
‘Lucy?’
He nodded.
‘When?’
‘Two year back. Someone had said no man would ever love her.’
‘And you showed her he was wrong.’
‘I was holding her. She was warm, she needed someone to care about her.’ Wendell sat down again and looked at the ground.
‘But it never stopped.’
‘No,’ he admitted dully.
‘It all changed when she was dismissed, didn’t it?’ the Constable asked softly.
‘She didn’t even understand what was going on. She came to find me. I’d just left the Talbot.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I said if she told anyone, if she went to see our mam, I’d kill her. I hit her.’
‘So she ran.’
He nodded.
‘But you found her again, didn’t you?’
‘She was up near Town End. I’d been looking for her.’
‘What happened then, Peter?’
Wendell remained quiet for a long time. Outside, the Constable could hear voices and carts as they passed. In the cell it was as if time had come to a stop.
‘I told her I was sorry and that I’d look after her if she’d come with me.’
‘Where did you take her?’
‘There’s a house on Cripplegate. It’s fallen down but you can still get into the cellar. I told her to stay there and locked her in. I took food to her every day.’
‘How long did you keep her there?’ the Constable asked.
‘A while. I had to decide what to do. I thought we could leave together, go somewhere else. But she’d have said summat sooner or later.’
‘So you killed her.’
Wendell raised his head to look at Nottingham. His eyes were wet with tears.
‘There was nothing else I could do. I couldn’t trust her not to say anything. If she had, that would have been the end of us. It was for the best, for her, for me. It was the only way.’
‘And then you thought you’d burn her body.’
‘If there was nothing left, no one would know,’ the man said as if it was obvious. ‘They’d have thought she’d left Leeds, gone. Everything would have been all right.’
‘But why that house on the Calls? Why so close
to where your mother lived?’
‘Because those bastards round there had always made fun of her when we went to visit our mam,’ he said simply. ‘If a few of them died it would be no loss, it would be revenge. Let them fucking suffer.’
‘And you ripped the baby out of her.’
‘If it hadn’t been for the babby, everything would have been all right.’ He knitted his fingers together, pushing and squeezing. ‘It could all have gone on like it did before. I hated it.’
At his desk, Nottingham sat in silent contemplation. He’d spent weeks imagining the reasons for Lucy Wendell’s death, but he’d never suspected the truth of it. It proved to be so much bigger, and so much smaller, than he could have thought.
It made sense to Peter Wendell, as if he’d had no other choice. Everything he did had followed a straight path and he could never have turned from it. In his own mind it all seemed completely logical, so plain and straightforward. He’d never understand how twisted and warped it appeared from the outside.
The Constable pushed the fringe back off his forehead. The man would hang, there was no doubt of it. He’d confessed; everyone would be repulsed by what he’d done. And he deserved it. He’d loved her, but it was love that had grown into a sick, sad thing, one that pulled and ripped at Lucy’s innocence, then made her pay the price for his sin.
It would destroy Alice Wendell when she learned it all. But he knew he had to tell her. He’d given his word, and it was better for her to learn it from him before it became public property. She’d blame herself, not the son whose fault it really was.
He poured more ale and drank, barely tasting it as it slipped down his throat. He thought he’d seen every type of inhumanity, more evil than any lifetime should contain. But nothing like this, and all of it in the name of what Wendell deemed love.
The man was mad, not a madness of mind but one that had clawed deep in his soul. It was beyond cure, beyond any help. Only his death on the gallows could end it. He swirled the drink around in the mug, watching the liquid move.
The door opened and Rob walked in and sat down.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Nottingham asked.
‘I thought I should tell you, I’ve taken a room with Widow Foster.’
‘Over on the Lower Head Row?’
Come the Fear Page 23
