‘Yes, boss.’
‘We’re going to make sure he has nowhere to hide.’ He looked up as the deputy stood. ‘I want everyone in Leeds to know by tomorrow. Let’s make the bastard sweat.’
Sedgwick grinned, jammed the old tricorn hat on his head and left. Alone, the Constable pushed himself out of the chair, feeling the pain across his belly and the dull ache in his hips. They’d pass soon enough, and in the meantime there was work to be done.
He started at the Rose and Crown, wandering past the inn and through to the yard and stables. Hercules was there, grooming one of the horses and softly whispering to the animal. It was what he did during the day, his real joy, and in the evenings he’d collect the mugs and clean up around the drinkers. In return he had a bed in one of the stalls and his food, all the scraps the others left. As long as Nottingham could recall Hercules had been around, a small, slight man, his head growing balder each year. Few paid him attention, but his ears were sharp and his eyes still saw things most folk missed.
The man turned at the sound of footsteps and nodded his welcome.
‘Does the name Gabriel mean anything?’
Hercules kept stroking the animal’s mane. ‘Not to me. Should it?’
‘How about a man who dresses in grey and wears a wig?’
‘Plenty of them around,’ he replied shortly.
‘Whoever killed those little ones calls himself Gabriel and dresses that way.’ He saw Hercules give a small nod. That was all he needed. The Constable pulled two coins from his breeches and put them on the shelf in the stall.
The river roared loud as he crossed the bridge, white water tumbling and roiling around the stone, in full spate down from the hills. The sound faded as he walked out along the London Road. As he passed Simpson Fold, where he’d been knifed, a chill rushed through him and he turned his head away.
The house he wanted was one of many hidden among a warren of streets. Unlike its neighbours it was kept with care and pride, the glass of the windows sparkling, the front step scrubbed free of the smallest speck of dirt. He knocked on the door and waited until it opened and the space was filled by a large black man with a small wig on his head.
‘Constable!’ he said with a wide grin. ‘I heard tha’ was back.’
‘Hello, Henry. Mr Buck around?’
‘Aye, he’s in’t back. Come on in.’ He moved aside, leaving just enough space for Nottingham to squeeze past. ‘Go through. He’ll be that pleased to see thee.’
The parlour was warm, the fire crackling brightly in the hearth. Joe Buck sat at his desk, immaculately dressed as ever in a coat and breeches of burgundy velvet, the stock and shirt some expensive shade between cream and white. The room smelled of beeswax; Henry would have been up early, starting the blaze then polishing every piece of furniture, the way he did each day.
Buck turned and a warm smile spread across his face. ‘Mr Nottingham,’ he said and stood, extending his hand. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
Joe Buck made a good living fencing stolen goods. But he was careful; he kept all his business at a long arm’s length; no matter how he tried, the Constable had never managed to charge him with anything.
‘Come and sit where it’s warm, man. Can I pour you a glass of wine? Ale?’
‘Nothing for me,’ Nottingham answered, settling gently on the delicate chair.
‘You’re looking well,’ Buck told him.
The Constable laughed. ‘I’m not and we both know it, Joe. But thank you. At least I’m back.’
‘And you’ve come to see me? I’m flattered.’ Buck spread his hands wide, the skin scrubbed clean and respectable, nails clipped short.
‘Don’t be. I’m here because you’re going to help me.’
‘Oh?’ The fence asked with interest.
‘The children we found yesterday.’
‘That was awful,’ Buck said sadly. ‘There’s no hell bad enough for whoever did it. What do you want from me, Constable?’
‘I’m not going to bugger around, Joe. I want you to tell all those thieves you deal with to watch for someone in a grey suit and wig who calls himself Gabriel. And have them tell others.’
‘Gabriel?’
‘That’s the name he uses.’
Buck studied him shrewdly then nodded his assent. ‘I’ll let everyone know,’ he promised. ‘We need to kill scum like that.’
‘He’ll have his trial, Joe, the same as everyone else.’ The Constable gave a slow smile. ‘Just like you will some day.’
‘You’ll have to catch me breaking the law first,’ Buck grinned.
‘Of course.’ Nottingham stood slowly, leaning on the stick and wincing.
‘Not fully healed?’ the other man asked with concern.
‘Enough to do my job. Don’t worry about that.’
The deputy knew folk all over the city, and he went from one to another passing on the message. The morning passed quickly and hunger rumbled in his belly as he walked up Briggate, lost in his thoughts.
‘Spare a farthing, Mr Sedgwick?’
He stopped and looked down to see soldier Sam grinning up at him through a set of broken teeth. He begged on the streets, pushing himself around on a small wooden cart someone had made for him years before. He’d left his legs on a battlefield and now he displayed the stumps, daring people to pass him by without handing him a coin. Summer and winter he was out, and the deputy knew he made good money, enough to keep a room all to himself in one of the courts.
‘Got a family to feed, Sam.’
‘Aye, you do,’ he agreed. ‘How’s that little babby of yours?’
He grinned. ‘She’s grand. Nine months now and prettier than her mam.’
‘You’d better hope your Lizzie doesn’t hear you say that,’ he warned.
‘She’d be the first to say it.’
‘What about your lad? Haven’t seen much of him lately.’
‘He’s at the charity school now and doing well,’ the deputy told him with pride.
‘You watch, he’ll end up on the corporation.’
‘As long as he does better than his father, I’ll be happy.’ A thought struck him. ‘You heard about those little ones?’
‘Course I did, Mr Sedgwick. Terrible that someone could do that to them. You know what I’d do if I found him?’
‘Same as half of Leeds, Sam. You ever heard of anyone named Gabriel?’
The beggar thought for a moment. ‘No, I haven’t. Why?’
‘We think he’s the one who killed those children. Dresses in a grey coat and breeches and wears a wig.’
‘There’s too many dress plain round here, you know that.’
‘Keep your eyes open,’ he said. ‘If you see anything, let us know.’
‘I hear Mr Nottingham’s back.’
‘He is that.’
‘That’ll be a change for you after being top dog these few months.’
The deputy smiled. ‘Aye, and a welcome one. As far as I’m concerned he can keep all that responsibility. Look out for Gabriel, will you? And tell everyone else, too.’
He left, knowing that Sam would pass the word, and walked up to the White Swan at the corner of Kirkgate. The Constable was already seated at a bench, cradling a mug of ale, a bowl of stew in front of him.
‘Found anything yet?’ he asked as Sedgwick slid in across from him.
‘No one knows him.’ He ordered a pie and ale from the potboy, then said, ‘I talked to soldier Sam. He’ll talk to all the other beggars.’
Nottingham nodded his approval. ‘Joe Buck’s going to let all the thieves know, too. Gabriel’s not going to be able to fly far without someone spotting him.’
‘Still too late for five of them, though.’
‘And however many have gone before,’ the Constable said, letting the meaning hang in the air. He sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Think about it, John. I know Caleb said he’s only been coming around since summer, but I doubt this is the first instance. It mig
ht have been going on for years. He could have just been very careful.’
‘How do you mean, boss?’
‘I don’t expect he let the ones in the past go. He just hid the bodies well, the way he did with Jane and David.’
SEVEN
The deputy pushed the food away, his appetite gone.
‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered.
‘If they hadn’t been working on the bell pits we might never have known.’ Nottingham’s voice was tight in his throat. ‘I don’t think he’s growing careless. We were just lucky – if you can call it that.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘At least now we know he’s out there and we can catch him.’ His fists clenched tight under the table, nails digging hard into the palms. ‘Right, let’s go back to work. By tonight I want everyone in Leeds to know about Gabriel.’ The Constable rose and took hold of the silver-topped stick.
‘Did that belong to Amos?’ Sedgwick asked. Amos Worthy had been the city’s biggest pimp, never convicted of anything as half the Corporation used his girls. He and Nottingham had enjoyed a strange relationship, part hatred, part friendship, until Worthy had died of cancer the year before.
‘The old bugger left it to me in his will. I never thought I’d use it.’ The Constable laughed. ‘I’m never going to be rid of him.’
They both worked through the afternoon, talking to more people, hoping for any indication of who Gabriel might be, and finding nothing. Towards evening a low, cruel wind blew out of the north, cutting like knives against the skin, and the deputy pulled his coat tighter about him as he finished his rounds.
The house on Lands Lane was warm, filled with the smell of cooking, a pot suspended over the fire in the kitchen. Isabell was awake, sitting on the floor, her eyes widening to see her papa come in on a wave of cold air.
‘Shut that door,’ Lizzie told him sharply, but with a welcoming smile on her face. He pulled her close, rubbing his chilled face against hers. She laughed and shrieked, ‘Give over, John Sedgwick, you’re perished.’ The baby joined the laughter, throwing her head back and giggling. He scooped her up and danced round the room holding her in his arms.
‘Where’s James?’ he asked and Lizzie raised her head towards the ceiling. Still holding Isabell he climbed the stairs to the bedroom they all shared and found the boy at his school work. He settled on the small pallet, tickling the girl lightly on the chest. ‘What is it tonight?’
‘Spelling.’ He looked up, frowning. ‘The master said he’d beat anyone who didn’t do well.’
The deputy raised his eyebrows. ‘Aye, I suppose that would make you study. You know it all yet?’ He glanced at the long list of words.
‘I hope so, Da,’ James replied in a heartfelt voice. ‘Can you test me?’
They ran through ten of the words together. Sedgwick was impressed by his son’s confidence; he reeled the letters off quickly, right each time.
‘Very good,’ he said finally. ‘You’ll make him happy.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I’m proud of you. And so is she,’ he added with a laugh as the baby gurgled. ‘You like school, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Da.’ He slid the slate into his bag. ‘I like to know things.’
‘You’ll do well.’ He smiled. ‘But you’d better get yourself to bed or your mam won’t be happy.’
Rob made his way along the Calls before turning up High Back Lane and coming out on Kirkgate by the White Cloth Hall. The pale stone of the building shone eerily in the moonlight, standing broad and tall, as intimidating as a cathedral.
The Crown and Fleece was quiet. He opened the door to see a few drinkers gathered close to the fire, the landlord leaning on the trestle bar to talk to a customer. He straightened as Rob entered.
‘The sergeant moved on?’
The landlord shook his head. ‘Upstairs asleep. Didn’t find any more recruits so he started drinking. He’ll be on his way tomorrow.’
‘What about those two lads who signed up?’
‘Locked them in the stable. They’ll be warm enough in there while morning.’
He accepted the ale he was offered, grateful to have a few minutes out of the chill, edging closer to the hearth until he felt the heat on his face and hands.
Back on the street he could have sworn it was even colder than before. His breath clouded as he walked, the only sound the clatter of his boots on the cobbles. Everyone was indoors and he wished he was among them. It was still only November.
As he made his rounds he thought about Emily. He could understand that she didn’t want to marry, didn’t want to be the property of any man. Over the months he’d even come to accept it after a fashion. But deep inside he held tight to a knot of hope that she’d change as she grew older. There was plenty of time yet; she’d just turned seventeen over the summer.
The curse was that he loved her. Contrary as she could be, Emily was the only girl he’d ever cared about. But James Lister desired something different for his son, a suitable wife, someone with the right standing and a handsome dowry, not a girl who was the granddaughter of a prostitute. That had caused the rift between them; it was the reason he lived in lodgings now. He hadn’t spoken a word to his father since he left, fully six months before. The lights were all out in the house on Briggate when he passed, his parents tucked under the blankets for the night, shutters closed over the offices of the Leeds Mercury, the newspaper his father published.
He made his way down to the riverbank, picking out the small fires flickering in the distance. As he came closer, Bessie emerged from the darkness, coming to meet him before he reached the camp.
‘Getting brisk out here, Mr Lister.’
‘If it keeps on like this we’ll have another hard winter,’ he agreed. ‘Do you have anything for me?’
In the moonlight he saw her shake her head. ‘One of the lasses took ill and I was looking after her all night. I didn’t have time for owt else.’
‘How is she?’
There was a pause, a fill of silence, before she answered.
‘She died.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She tried to smile but there was no heart in it. ‘Aye, well, it happens. There wasn’t anything we could do. And there was someone else to look after her little girl.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll ask them tonight, I promise.’
‘I know a little more now.’ He told her about Gabriel, seeing the anger rise in her eyes.
‘Leave it with me,’ Bessie said. ‘If anyone knows anything I’ll tell you tomorrow.’
The hours passed slowly. By the time the clock struck five he was glad to return to the jail, put more coal on the fire and start writing his report. He could still feel the cold in his bones, as if he might never be completely warm again.
There was a strong blaze in the grate by the time the deputy arrived, hands pushed deep in the pockets of his ancient greatcoat, closing the door swiftly to keep out the bitter dawn air.
‘At least you’ve made it cosy in here,’ he said with a grin. ‘I knew there was a reason we took you on.’
‘Planning on staying here most of the day?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. The boss will have me hither and yon. That recruiting sergeant still at the Crown and Fleece?’
‘Leaving today. And he was in his bed early as a Christian last night. No trouble at all.’
‘Many take the King’s shilling?’ Sedgwick asked idly.
Lister shrugged. ‘Just two, from what the landlord said. They’re locked in the stables.’
‘Daft buggers.’
The Constable arrived a few minutes later, breathing deep and warming his hands in front of the blaze before he shrugged off his coat.
‘Anything much during the night?’
‘All quiet, boss,’ Rob told him.
‘Were Bessie’s people able to help with Gabriel?’
‘She’s going to ask them. Someone died there, she didn’t have the chance.’
Nottingham sat at the desk and glanced at the night report. ‘Somebody knows
him,’ he said firmly.
‘We’ve already talked to everyone,’ the deputy observed.
‘Then we’ll go back and talk to them again. People have passed the word. I don’t care if it’s a rumour or a whisper, we need something.’ He looked at the others. ‘John, just speak to everyone you can.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘If you walk down to Timble Bridge you’ll have more time with Emily,’ he advised Lister. ‘I daresay she’ll need some warming up.’ He winked and saw Rob blush as Sedgwick laughed.
He finished his daily report and walked up to the Moot Hall. People were tightly wrapped against the weather, hats jammed down hard on heads so only their eyes were visible. A few cattle lowed plaintively at the Shambles, as if they knew what awaited them.
It was all different upstairs, among the Turkey carpets and the polish of the wood panelling. Servants had come in early to lay the fires, then disappeared as if it had all happened by God’s will.
Martin Cobb sat at his desk, sorting through a pile of papers. He smiled broadly to see the Constable.
‘Mr Nottingham, your timing’s excellent,’ he said genially. ‘The mayor just asked to see you. Go on in.’
‘Sit yourself down.’ The mayor nodded at the expensive chair, its legs so spindly and delicate they looked as though they’d never hold a man’s weight. The Constable lowered himself carefully.
Fenton was dressed in rich wool, a merchant who spent money on his tailoring, wearing his suit easily. The coat and waistcoat were cut to flatter, and his face was smooth and pink from a recent shave, but the skin under his eyes dark and puffy.
He was thumbing through the newest edition of the Mercury. On the desk there was a dish of coffee, carried down hot from Garroway’s on the Head Row, the aroma rich in the air of the office.
‘Have you found him yet?’ he asked, barely raising his eyes.
Nottingham placed his report on the pile of papers awaiting the mayor’s attention. ‘Not yet, your Worship.’
‘I heard you turned down the offer of a reward from the merchants.’ He folded the newspaper slowly and sat back. ‘Why?’
At the Dying of the Year Page 5
