It was impossible not to brood and worry. There were places he needed to go, but Nottingham couldn’t stir until he heard the decision. Instead he tried to busy himself with small things, tasks he could finish easily and quickly, without too much concentration. He looked up, starting at every sound, in the end fidgeting between jobs, unable to concentrate on any of them.
Williamson returned when he was finally engrossed in a report. By the time he raised his head, Tom was already standing by the desk, hat in his hand. Nottingham tried to read the expression on his face.
“Well?” he asked. The word came out in a dry, nervous croak. He realised he didn’t want to leave this job.
Williamson smiled broadly. “We won.”
The Constable drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” Tom said merrily. “It was an embarrassment, really. The Mayor tabled his motion to dismiss you, and asked for the ayes. His was the only vote.” He slapped his thigh and laughed. “He was almost purple with fury after the nays had been recorded. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so humiliated. It was glorious, Richard. I wish you could have seen it.”
“So do I,” Nottingham agreed with conviction. He could imagine the colour rising from Kenion’s neck, and his frustration at being thwarted. But from here the Mayor would be keeping a close watch on everything the Constable did, though, and trying to apply a tight rein. Still, there were ways around that, and after so many years he knew them all.
“The aldermen all believe in you, Richard,” Williamson continued. “If ever a man had a vote of confidence, I’d say this was it.”
“Please give the gentlemen my gratitude,” Nottingham said formally, lost for words to express the relief and joy inside.
“I’ll do that.” The merchant grinned. “Now you can go on and find your killer.”
“Oh, I will.” He was really beginning to believe it. Things were moving. They’d find this bastard.
22
“What do you think?” Sedgwick asked in the White Swan, washing down the last of his stew with a long swig of ale. There was still the heel of a loaf on the table and he eyed it hungrily.
Nottingham filled their cups from the jug and leaned back against the wall. He’d related everything to his deputy.
“I think we’re going to have to keep looking over our shoulders for Worthy’s lot.”
“Worried, boss?”
He shrugged. He was still feeling a surge of confidence after the decision of the aldermen. “Just be careful, and don’t tell anyone anything.”
“There’s not a lot to tell,” Sedgwick pointed out. He reached for the bread and took a large bite.
“We’ll get there,” the Constable reassured him, “and we’ll do it first.”
“Right, so what do you want me to do now?” Sedgwick asked, his mouth full.
“Question the whores again, see if they’ve seen anyone strange,” Nottingham told him. “I doubt you’ll get anything from Worthy’s girls, but there are plenty more out there. Tell them what you remember about him and see if it rings any bells. Maybe someone’s seen him.”
“It sounds like a long shot, boss.”
“Long shots have to pay off sometimes, John.” He poured a little more ale and drank.
Sedgwick cradled his left hand around the mug, staring into the liquid.
“Why?” Nottingham wondered aloud suddenly, gazing intently at the deputy. “Why did he start this week? Why’s he killing prostitutes and their men?”
“Does it really matter? The fact is that’s what he’s doing.”
“Yes, but…” The Constable’s words tailed off. Ultimately, he supposed, Sedgwick was right. The reasons were irrelevant. It was the act that mattered, the taking of lives, and trying to prevent him taking more. “So what do you suggest?” he asked.
“So far it’s been every other night, right?” Sedgwick pointed out, and Nottingham nodded.
“Then tomorrow night we flood the streets,” he continued eagerly. “Get twenty or thirty men out there. Stop everyone who looks suspicious.”
The Constable listened carefully. “Go on,” he said. “You’ve obviously been thinking about this.”
“It puts the odds in our favour,” Sedgwick said fervently, his eyes bright. “If he’s out there, and we have twenty people around, then we have a much better chance of catching him. And even if we don’t, it should scare him and stop him killing.”
“For one night,” Nottingham pointed out.
“Then we do it every night!”
The Constable smiled briefly, watching Sedgwick carried away by his enthusiasm.
“I think it could work,” he agreed, before asking, “but where do we get the money to pay everyone?”
“Go to the Mayor and ask!” Sedgwick said heatedly. “It’s his city. He doesn’t want people killed.”
“I can tell you right now that his Worship won’t give me another penny,” Nottingham said flatly. “After what happened with the aldermen this morning, he’ll want nothing more than for me to fail. It would prove his point. So he’s not going to do a bloody thing to help me succeed.”
“Even at the cost of more lives?” the deputy asked in disbelief.
Nottingham ran a hand through his hair. “It’s politics, John. Right now I think the Mayor would spend lives to make me look a fool.”
Sedgwick spat on the floor in disgust. “So we’re stuck?”
“Not necessarily,” the Constable answered slowly. The kernel of an idea was growing in his mind. “How many people do you think owe us favours?”
Sedgwick glanced at him quizzically, uncertain of his meaning.
“People we’ve let off when we could have arrested them, little things we’ve let go,” Nottingham explained.
“I don’t know,” the deputy assessed. “There must be quite a few.”
“I think this might be a good time to start calling in some of those debts, don’t you?” He grinned wickedly.
“They won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a toss if they scream and cry like babies.” The Constable’s voice was firm and hard, the thought fixed in his mind now. “It won’t hurt them to show a little public spirit for once.”
“You think it can work, boss?” Sedgwick asked doubtfully. “Bringing in people like this?”
The Constable shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m certain it’s the only way we’ll be able to get anything like this done. We’re not going to get the money to pay them, I know that.” He grinned. “So we’ll be creative instead.”
“Maybe the Mayor will be impressed,” Sedgwick laughed.
“I doubt it,” Nottingham said. “I hope not. I’d much rather he was upset.”
He could hear laughter as he approached the house, and picked out the voices of Mary, Rose and David, the young man who’d been courting Rose for months. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a wave of warmth. The fire glowed welcomingly, and the faces were happy. Nottingham could see Rose basking in the attention David was giving her. He wasn’t a bad lad, a draper’s apprentice who’d almost completed his time. Unlike most of the apprentices he didn’t run wild, but was sober and serious with plans for the future. And Nottingham knew his daughter liked him.
“Richard,” Mary said merrily, “come and sit down.” She patted a space on the settle. “Have you eaten?”
He nodded, making himself comfortable as Rose went to fetch him a cup of ale. He sensed anticipation in the room and wondered what had happened before he arrived. Once he was comfortable, sipping his drink, he saw Mary nod at David.
“Sir,” the young man began hesitantly, “I’d like… that is…” Nottingham could sense him struggling for words and began to understand, although he kept his silence. He’d suffered this once himself, and now the boy could do the same.
“I’d like your permission to marry Rose,” the youth blurted out.
He put the cup down and rubbed his thighs slowly, turnin
g to Mary, who was beaming. His daughter was blushing, her face flushed deep red as she held the boy’s hand tightly.
“Then you’d better do right by the lass when she’s your wife,” he announced.
Suddenly Mary was hugging him, her eyes brimming with tears, as the young couple embraced tentatively. He pulled his wife close, savouring her smell and feeling her joy.
Rose was no longer his girl. Looking at her, seeing the adoration she had in her eyes for the man who’d be her husband, he knew that in the last few minutes she’d slipped away and given her allegiance to someone else. To his surprise, he found he didn’t mind. It was the way of women to move from one home to another. He leaned across and shook David’s hand, the lad grasping his firmly and looking him in the eye. He was reminded of himself at that age, when he’d wanted to marry Mary but had taken weeks to find the courage to ask her father.
“Where’s Emily?” he asked his wife quietly.
“I sent her next door,” she explained. “I didn’t think Rose should have to share this with her sister.”
“And how did you know I’d be home?” Nottingham wondered. She raised her eyebrow.
“If you hadn’t come soon I was going to send a boy with a message. Some things are more important than work.” She gave him a sly, womanly smile. “Rose and I have been trying to get him to do this for weeks. Neither of you stood a chance, Richard.”
“What did you think, I’d have said no?” He gestured at the young couple. “Look at them. They think the moon’s risen just for them.”
“It has.” Mary paused as the happy pair left for a walk. “You didn’t come and tell me what you’d said to Emily,” she resumed when they were alone.
“I had to get back to work. She has a young man too, it seems.”
“What?” She raised her head quickly. “Who?”
“I don’t know yet,” Nottingham told her calmly, putting his hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry, I’ll find out. I didn’t want to push her too much when she was willing to talk.”
She looked up at him worriedly. “Promise me you will.”
“I promise,” he assured her.
“She’s sixteen, Richard. She can’t be going out at night on her own. I know she thinks she’s clever, but she’s still only a girl.” Concern flickered in Mary’s eyes.
“I know, and I’ve told her what can happen to girls,” he answered. “I’ll go and get her now and we’ll talk more. I’ll find out about this boy and have her bring him here so we can meet him.”
He rose wearily, feeling his tired muscles protest as he walked out into the darkness. There was light showing through the shutters next door and he tapped on the door.
Norman Earnshaw was a bluff man with a warm face. His weaving business kept his family busy, and Nottingham knew he employed others, too, working in their own cottages to turn out cloth. He’d come down to Leeds fifteen years before from a village outside Bradford and worked hard to build a fair, honest living. He and the Constable had been friends of a sort for over a decade now; their wives went to market together, and Rose often looked after Earnshaw’s younger children.
“Eh up, Richard,” he greeted him broadly, the smell of ale rising off his breath. “What can I do for tha?”
“I’ve come round for Emily,” Nottingham replied easily. Sudden worry arrived when a frown creased the weaver’s forehead.
“Isn’t she back at your house? She left half an hour since, mebbe a bit less.”
“Left? What do you mean?” He spun his head, looking up and down the empty street and feeling sharp pricks of fear on the back of his neck.
“Said she’d only popped round for a visit, and that she had to go home. What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing,” Nottingham said reflexively, immediately thinking too many things at once as he walked away: she’d done it again, gone off without a word while someone out there was killing girls; wondering what he could tell Mary; and most of all how he was going to find her.
He could feel the fear rising up his spine and a cold, panicked sweat on his forehead. His hands were shaking. Where could he begin to look for her? Unless he called out his men, he realised, he had as much chance as a cow in the Shambles. There were so many places she could have gone – in the city, into the country – that it was hopeless. He’d go and look, scouring the usual dark haunts of young lovers, but he wasn’t hopeful. She had imagination, and a desire not to be found.
For a brief moment he considered going home and telling Mary, but stopped after a couple of paces. She’d be terrified, out of her mind with fear, and tonight, of all nights, she deserved her joy. He’d tell her later if he had to, and face the consequences then. But he prayed to God it wouldn’t be necessary.
Nottingham had just crossed Timble Bridge, his mind racing as images came unbidden, when he spotted a pair of figures coming the other way. He paid them no real attention, just forms in the night. His thoughts were focused on finding Emily; where should he look first? How long before he called out the men to search for her?
It wasn’t until the couple were upon him that he could make out his daughter, a sullen, bitter expression on her face. One of Worthy’s guards was urging her along, a hand placed possessively against the small of her back. Emily moved reluctantly, almost staggering, but she was unable to resist the force propelling her.
“Mr Nottingham,” the man said with a dip of his head that was acknowledgement rather than deference. “Mr Worthy’s compliments. He didn’t think you wanted your lass wandering round alone at night. I was ordered to return her to your house.”
The Constable glanced at her, but all she did was stare back defiantly. Relief flooded through him, tempered by a cold fury.
“Thank you,” he said civilly, his gratitude genuine. For the second time that day he was absurdly, stupidly grateful. “I’ll take her from here.” The man nodded curtly, removed his hand, and faded back into the gloom of the city. Emily tossed her head, saying nothing.
“Do you want to tell me what the bloody hell you were doing?” Nottingham rounded on her, satisfied to see her cower. “Well?”
“I wanted a walk.” She tried to sound haughty, but her voice was tiny, a little girl’s.
Nottingham took her by the shoulders and began to shake her. He was gentle at first, rocking her, then faster and harder until her head swayed wildly, long hair whipping across her face. Emily didn’t complain and made no move to stop him.
“I should beat you,” he said in a cold voice that made her look up at him fearfully. “I should beat you here and now until people come out to hear your cries. Maybe that would drive some bloody sense in you.” He waited for her reaction, but she remained deliberately mute, although her eyes were wide. His fingers tightened on her skin until he knew he must be hurting her. “But I’m not going to,” he told her finally. “The way I feel right now, it would be too easy.” And it was true. If he hit her now, he might not be able to stop. She shuddered slightly under his hands, and he saw the moisture glistening in her eyes as she blinked to fight back tears. “Where were you? Were you going to meet him?”
Emily nodded, lowering her head.
“Who is he?”
“I told you, I met him at the market.”
“And what does he do?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. But the words came too readily. He knew she was lying.
“He didn’t tell you? You didn’t even think to ask?” He asked the questions harshly, as if she was a suspect at the jail.
“It didn’t matter.” She raised her face to his. “You’ve always told us to judge people by who they are, not what they do.”
“So you went to meet Robert.” Nottingham ignored her statement and rolled the words around slowly, like a pair of dice before a throw. “Did he arrive?”
“No,” she answered quietly, with a trace of disappointed sadness. “I waited and waited, but he didn’t come. Then that man grabbed me and said I shouldn’t be out on my own at night
and that he was going to take me home. He scared me the way he touched me.” She paused a second. “Was he one of your men?”
“No,” he said, and stopped. In all likelihood Worthy had men in the shadows behind Rose and David, too. Returning Emily like that, bringing her home, was a quiet, powerful statement. Tonight Nottingham thanked God it had happened. Tomorrow he’d be filled with an icy rage towards the pimp.
“Come on,” he said brusquely, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along so hard she almost fell. “We’re going home. And as soon as we get in the door you’re going to bed. Don’t even think of answering me back or disobeying or I’ll clout you into next week.”
She followed meekly, her silence a tacit, frightened agreement.
Nottingham sat in the dark. The fire had died and the room was cold, but a nip in the air had never bothered him. Mary and the girls were all asleep. Emily had scuttled off to her room like a mouse, not saying more than two words while he deflected Mary’s questions with vague, noncommittal answers. When he’d checked on her later, she had the blanket pulled up against her chin, her breathing even, as if the incident had never happened. He’d managed a couple of hours of broken sleep. In bed blankness had come, but it was quickly tormented by dreams until he was sick of the tossing and constant waking. He rose and dressed, ran cold water round his mouth to flush away the night, and sat down to think.
Now, in the silence, he had time to reflect. He wasn’t surprised Worthy had men behind himself and Sedgwick, but it scared him, too, to know his family was being followed. Tonight he’d been glad, but the menace in the message was eloquent. He sighed softly. These murders had brought work into his home. Violated it.
Elbows on knees, he put his hands together and rested his chin on them. He needed a shave. He needed rest, a wash. He needed this to be over. When it was done, he’d deal with Amos Worthy in his own way. He’d also find this Robert, whoever he might be, and teach him a lesson.
The hours passed slowly, but there was no chance of more sleep. His mind was crowded, thoughts pressing on his skull.
The Broken Token Page 16
