Constant Lovers rn-3 Read online

  At the jail he put her in a cell, and brought her a mildewed dress from the chest of old clothes they kept, along with a mug of ale. When he returned, she’d changed her clothes and sat on the pallet, drinking.

  ‘Are they here, too?’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe. They can’t get you. Were they the ones who killed your brother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you were there when it happened, weren’t you?’

  She closed her eyes for a few moments, squeezing them tight to try and keep out the memories and gave a short nod.

  ‘They found us. We’d been in an inn to have something to eat and they grabbed us when we left. Four of them.’

  ‘Where did they take you?’

  ‘I don’t know — a cellar.’

  ‘Was Worthy there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who else was with him?’

  ‘The men who’d found us.’

  She turned pale and put her head forward. He waited silently for her to continue.

  ‘They made me sit on a chair in the corner. Tied my hands behind me. Then they started to hit Tom. Over and over.’

  The tears began to roll down her cheeks. Nottingham wasn’t even sure she was aware of them as she relived what had happened.

  ‘What about Worthy? Did he hit him?’

  ‘He used a stick, not his fists. Kicked him, too.’

  ‘How did you get away?’

  She snorted. ‘The one who tied me couldn’t make a knot to save his life. As soon as they were busy, I ran as fast as I could. I knew I couldn’t do anything to save Tom, he was. .’ Her voice trailed away. Nottingham let quiet fill the room.

  ‘And you’ve been running since,’ he said eventually. She nodded slightly. ‘You could admit to theft, you know. It might save you from the hangman.’

  ‘Aye, and it might not.’

  ‘If you don’t it’ll be the noose for sure,’ he told her. ‘Think on that.’

  He closed the cell door behind her. The men were being held separately; they both stared at him defiantly through the barred doors.

  ‘Did they say anything?’ he asked in the office where Sedgwick and Lister were sitting.

  ‘Not a word, boss,’ the deputy replied with a deep, frustrated sigh. ‘Mention Amos Worthy and they ask who he is. He must have paid them well.’

  ‘He won’t pay unless they bring him the girl,’ Nottingham told him. ‘They’re just scared of what he might do if they peach on him.’

  ‘You broke the wrist of the one you hit,’ Rob said.

  ‘He’ll live.’ He turned to Sedgwick. ‘It’s Nan.’

  ‘I thought it must be.’

  ‘She had to watch her brother beaten to death. Said Worthy was there.’

  Lister grimaced at the thought. ‘Would she say that in court?’ he asked.

  ‘No point,’ the deputy told him. ‘Worthy has the Corporation in his pocket.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘They use his girls, borrow money from him, and in return he gets away with murder. Literally.’

  ‘So what are we going to do with them?’ Rob asked.

  ‘Keep them a while and then turn them out. Meanwhile I’ll go and have a word with their boss. I’ll tell them before I release them and we’ll see how fast they run.’

  Sedgwick smiled. ‘What about Nan?’ he wondered.

  ‘She’ll be for the Quarter Sessions. You’d better take her over to the prison at the Moot Hall. And tell the turnkey I want her watched.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ He tousled Lister’s hair. ‘Come on you, escort duty for us.’

  He waited until they’d marched her out, each holding one of her arms, and then he locked the jail and strode down Briggate.

  In the heat the street was rank from the piles of horse turds and the waste that had dried in the central runnel or on the road. Worthy would be at the Old King’s Arms, down at the corner with Currie Entry; it was where he always ate a late dinner. He might have owned the place for all the Constable knew.

  He was sharing a bench with two of his men, his fingers greasy from the chicken leg he held, its flesh mostly gnawed away. Nottingham stood by the table until the pimp glanced up.

  ‘You can leave,’ he told the others. ‘Don’t go too far, mind, we’ll take a walk after.’ He put down the bird and wiped his fingers on his waistcoat, the stains joining hundreds of others on the fabric.

  ‘Drink, laddie?’ he asked, pouring himself a fresh mug of ale.

  ‘I hear you were there when Tom got killed, Amos.’

  Worthy looked at him guilelessly. ‘Tom? Who’s that, Constable?’

  ‘Nan’s brother.’

  He nodded as if he’d just added an interesting new fact to the store in his mind.

  ‘I heard you used your stick on him, too.’

  ‘Did I?’ He took a long drink. ‘People have been telling you things, haven’t they? Shame they’re all lies.’

  Nottingham stared firmly at him. ‘Nan got away, though,’ he continued. ‘Whoever you hired to find her almost got her. Except we got them. And she’s safe in prison now.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Worthy raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Going to press charges against her, Amos?’

  ‘No need. She’ll hang without anything I say.’

  ‘Gall you a bit, does it? That you didn’t get to make an example of her?’

  Worthy shrugged. ‘I’m just glad to see you doing your job and catching thieves.’

  ‘I’ll be letting the two men who were after her go. Funny, they don’t seem to have heard of you.’

  ‘Strangers, mebbe, then. I’m sure if they stay here long they’ll know my name.’

  ‘I’ll tell them that, shall I?’ the Constable asked.

  ‘Up to you, laddie. Doesn’t matter either way to me.’

  He appeared completely unconcerned, but Nottingham knew that inside the pimp was seething. He’d caught Tom and made him pay, but he needed the girl, too, needed her more than her brother to show that no one could cross him in this city.

  ‘I doubt if the lass has your money any more.’

  Worthy smiled, showing the meat stuck between his teeth. ‘There’s always more to be made, Mr Nottingham. In my business, at least.’ He stood, pushing himself away from the bench, and with a mocking bow swept out of the inn. The Constable followed, watching from the doorway as Worthy and his men strolled down Briggate.

  Thoughtfully he ambled back to the jail, enjoying the afternoon sun on his back, not too hot, just enough to feel comforting. Inside he unlocked the cells of both men, told them they were free to go and relayed Worthy’s none too cryptic message. He let them scurry away, one still clutching his broken wrist, then went over to the Moot Hall.

  The prison was in the cellar, a frozen pit in the winter but pleasantly cool in this weather, well shaded, the walls solid and thick. The heavy stones of the floor resounded to his boots.

  The prisoners there were waiting for the Quarter Sessions, when their fates would be decided. A few might go free, but most knew they’d end up dancing in the air, transported, or serving their sentences elsewhere. As the court date neared the cells would fill up. At least they were treated better in Leeds than in other cities. Weatherspoon, the turnkey, was a fair man. He saw his charges fed, there was straw to sleep on, sometimes even clean, and the slop buckets were emptied every few days to cut down on the chances of jail fever.

  Even so, Nottingham held a handkerchief to his nose as he entered. The temperature might have been pleasurable, but the smell of unwashed bodies and slops was acrid.

  ‘Afternoon, Constable.’ Weatherspoon was at his desk, oblivious to the odours after so many years. He was at least sixty, a small and wizened man with cramped, arthritic fingers and a shiny, hairless skull. He’d been here since Nottingham was a boy, looking after his underground kingdom with meticulous care. His clothes were old but well cared for, his suit of light wool sponged clean, shoes polished so their metal buc
kles shone, hose always the same spotless white.

  ‘Mr Weatherspoon.’ He gave a smile. ‘The girl they brought over a little while ago. I need to talk to her.’

  The man hefted a large, heavy ring of keys from the desk and made his way down the corridor. Nottingham waited. He could hear Weatherspoon fetching Nan — ‘You! Not you, you stupid baggage, her in the corner. Yes, you, someone to see you.’ — then the shuffle of feet as he returned with the lass.

  She’d been in the place less than an hour but she looked older, careworn, as if she’d begun to fully understand the depth of her fate. There were fresh stains on the worn dress and already the stench of the prison was clinging to her skin and her hair.

  ‘Hello, Nan,’ he said. She smiled tightly in return but said nothing. ‘Not the loveliest place to stay, is it?’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Not been in worse than this before.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ he told her truthfully. ‘Another city and this might seem like luxury.’

  She looked at him in sullen disbelief.

  ‘You’re going to be here a month or more until the Quarter Sessions. You’d better get used to it.’

  ‘And then the noose?’

  ‘Maybe not.’ He dangled the idea before her and this time her gaze sharpened with his words, hope flickering behind her eyes. He waited until he had her complete attention, then continued, ‘Amos Worthy won’t be pressing charges. If you admit the others, you might be able to escape hanging.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You managed to get away from Worthy. That’s reason enough for me by itself.’

  She kept looking at him. He knew she didn’t believe him, but he held her gaze and said no more.

  ‘So what do you want?’ she asked finally.

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her, ‘except to know how you and your brother started on all this.’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Have you ever been hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She snorted. ‘You’ve been late for a meal?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Nottingham said soberly, ‘and I’ve been hungry.’

  Nan eyed him for a moment, then continued. ‘You live like that for a while and you’ll do what you need to do. Me and Tom, we were on our own after me dad died. Me mam died when I was born.’

  ‘Not everyone does what you did.’

  ‘We’re not all saints,’ she said wearily. ‘Tom had fast hands. I’d distract them, he’d take the things.’

  ‘Picking pockets. That’s still a long way from what you’ve been doing.’

  She paced around the floor, measuring out the space.

  ‘That all started with me,’ she explained with a brief smile. ‘I just wanted to live somewhere I wasn’t cold all the time.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Money, plate, lace. .’ She smiled wanly. ‘I saw all that and thought I could live well from it.’

  ‘So you took it and left.’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I gave it to Tom to sell. Bought us three months off the street, that did.’

  ‘And you thought you could do it again.’

  ‘We did. Again and again. I persuaded Tom to do some servant work, too. It was worth it for a few days, especially if we kept moving around and didn’t get too greedy.’

  ‘You should have moved on from here sooner,’ the Constable told her.

  ‘Too late for should haves,’ she answered with resignation.

  ‘Maybe not. You might not get your neck stretched.’

  She stood still. ‘Can you promise that?’ she asked finally.

  ‘No,’ he told her truthfully, ‘I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll put it all in a report. That will help. You’ll still be transported. Seven years, maybe more. But you’ll be alive.’

  Nan smiled grimly. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  She turned to walk back to her cell, and Weatherspoon rose from his chair to escort her. When he returned, the Constable had a soft word with the man. He wanted the girl kept alone. Worthy’s reach could go below stairs as well as above in the Moot Hall. Better safe than sorry.

  ‘You’ve got a strange look on your face,’ Mary said cautiously as he sat down in his chair with a mug of ale. ‘I’m not sure if you’re pleased or not.’

  He smiled at her and gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m not sure myself, really.’ He watched her hands move rapidly and gracefully with the needle and thread. ‘How’s the dress coming along?’

  ‘It’ll be finished in time,’ she assured him. ‘Emily’s upstairs practising how to be a teacher.’

  ‘What?’ he asked in surprise. ‘How do you practise that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Mary said tiredly. ‘But our daughter seems certain she can. From what I’ve seen it mostly seems to be how to stand and look at people.’

  He chuckled. ‘The only teacher I remember seemed to enjoy beating people.’

  ‘I don’t see her doing that,’ she said and he grinned.

  ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘not unless all that power turns her head.’

  ‘Better watch out — give her a month and it might. She might turn into a right little miss.’

  ‘She’ll learn fast enough.’ He finished the drink. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

  ‘I’ve-’ she began, then stopped and pushed the needle into the fabric. ‘Yes,’ she said decisively. ‘I need a change from this; I feel like I’ve been sewing all day.’

  ‘Knowing you, you probably have been,’ he teased as she flexed her fingers slowly. The knuckles were swollen, the skin red. Tenderly he took her hand and kissed it, watching her blush like a girl, the colour rising up her throat and face.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, but her grin was wide and happy. Laughing, they left the house together, hand in hand up Marsh Lane and into the country.

  ‘The fresh air feels good,’ Mary said, breathing deeply. ‘Do you know, I haven’t even been outside today?’

  ‘Then it’s time you were. We were walking out most evenings until Emily came home,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I know, but everything’s been a whirl since then. And you’re as much to blame, you’ve been working until late, too.’

  ‘I know.’ He frowned. ‘It’s not been easy.’ Nottingham wasn’t going to say more that that; he’d always kept his work distant from home, as much as he could.

  ‘That job’ll be the death of you.’ She pulled at him, bringing him close, and gave him a quick kiss. ‘They work you too hard. You’re not twenty any more.’

  ‘I’m not thirty, either.’

  ‘I know, Richard, it shows,’ she told him teasingly, then put out her tongue, and for a second he saw the young girl he’d married in her face.

  He watched her as they walked, thinking how good it was to have this Mary back, playful and full of spirit. After the winter he’d wondered if there could ever be lightness in their lives again, or if the ghost of Rose would always drift too close by them.

  But she was right, he wasn’t a young man any more. All too often he felt every single day of his forty-one years. He couldn’t be like Arkwright, the old Constable, and do this job for another two decades. The hours were too long, the demands on his body too high. He could see the day, not too far ahead, when he’d let Sedgwick take over and find something else to do. A job to eke out the small pension the city would grant when he left.

  They walked on in a comfortable, companionable silence born from years together. Occasionally Mary would point something out, a flower or a bird, and they’d exchange a few words before returning to the quiet and the warmth of the time together.

  Nottingham felt contentment seep through him, all the nagging cares and annoyances of the day vanishing. He’d needed this as much as Mary had, some small time away that they could share where none of life’s realities could intrude. Even the ache in his thighs from riding was fading, althou
gh God knew it would return tomorrow after another trip to Horsforth.

  An hour or more later they slowly made their way home. He put his arm around her as they walked, a small gesture of his feelings, the way he’d always relished the contact, the texture of her skin, and valued it now all the more.

  He was awake with the earliest light, when the sky was hollow with dawn and the stars were still bright above. He moved quietly, dressing in yesterday’s clothes. He’d save his good suit and shirt for church tomorrow.

  There was a small chill in the dawn air, the stir of a breeze, welcome and refreshing after so many days of heat, and he breathed it in deeply as he walked towards Timble Bridge. He’d show Rob what to do at the morning cloth market then leave with Sedgwick to see Godlove.

  It was going to be another long day, that was almost certain, but he felt rested and ready to tackle it. As he crossed the bridge a boy careered towards him down Kirkgate, small legs pumping and kicking up plumes of dust behind him.

  He stopped and waited, one hand on the railing, knowing inside that the lad was carrying a message for him.

  ‘You’re looking for the Constable?’ he called when the boy was a few yards away. Panting hard, the boy stopped and tried to catch his breath.

  ‘There’s a girl dead at the Moot Hall,’ he said.

  Nottingham was running himself before the sentence was over.

  Nineteen

  Sedgwick was waiting at the jail, pacing fretfully, his mouth set hard, hair wild and uncombed.

  ‘It’s Nan?’ Nottingham asked and the deputy nodded slowly. ‘How?’

  ‘Hung with her own dress. It was torn into strips. Looks like she killed herself but I’m damned sure she didn’t.’ His voice was flat, his eyes showing nothing. ‘Weatherspoon found her when he arrived this morning. The night man had vanished.’

  The Constable ran the back of his hand across his mouth, his mind working furiously.