At the Dying of the Year (29 page)

‘Yes, boss,' Rob said.

The inns were closed, but the dram shops and alehouses kept their doors quietly open. Everyone knew, a few complained, and business carried on as usual. Men always needed somewhere to drink and blunt the pain of living. Sunday saw them busy, small rooms crowded, the serving girls rushing from table to packed table, slapping at groping hands.

The Constable and Rob slipped from place to place, talking to men hunched over the benches. Most knew nothing and simply shook their heads. Others had a few words, enough to make them press on somewhere else, searching for another face.

Sedgwick bantered with the whores, out on Briggate in all weathers, goose flesh on their cleavage, faces always hopeful of making a few coins. They sheltered in the small openings to courts and yards, trying to duck away from the frigid wind. He found two who'd been with Solomon Howard and shuddered at the memory. Another claimed Darden had used her so hard when she was young that it had taken a week for the bruises to heal, and showed off a small scar on her back.

The stars were brilliant up in the clear sky and frost was already forming on the grass when they returned to the jail. The deputy's face was set grimly as he drained a mug of ale.

‘Any luck, boss?'

Nottingham shook his head. ‘Rob?'

‘Nothing. But we're talking to ordinary folk. If we want to find out about Darden and Howard we should be talking to the merchants again. They're the ones who'd know.'

‘Those ordinary folk see plenty,' Sedgwick told him. ‘And half the time the rich don't even notice them.'

‘The merchants and the Corporation aren't going to give up their own,' the Constable said. ‘Not when the mayor's on their side.'

‘Do we have anything to lose?' Rob asked.

‘No,' Nottingham admitted. ‘We'll do it tomorrow. There might be one or two who have no love for Darden; I'll ask Tom Williamson.'

The church bells began to ring for evening service. The Constable stood. ‘We can't do anything more today. Are you coming for your supper, Rob? Emily would like to see you.'

‘Yes, boss.'

‘Thank you both for your work today. I appreciate it.'

‘Long day?' Lizzie asked as Sedgwick stretched before sitting at the table. He pulled Isabell on to his lap, tickling under her arms to watch her giggle.

‘They all are lately.'

‘Was your head as bad as mine this morning?'

‘Worse, mebbe. I spent most of the morning suffering. What did you three do today?'

‘Mama took us out,' James said excitedly. ‘She showed me what different plants are for.'

‘Did she?' He smiled at his son. ‘And do you remember what they do?'

‘Dock leaves take away nettle stings,' he began, ‘and she showed me the trees where you shouldn't eat berries.'

Isabell wriggled on his lap and he let her down slowly. For a moment she stood, before collapsing on to all fours.

‘She'll be walking soon.'

‘And then she'll be trouble,' Lizzie said with a grin.

‘Just like her mam.'

‘Better be careful, John Sedgwick.' Her eyes were lively. ‘At least if you want to keep eating here.'

He held up his hands in surrender.

‘Have you found anything yet?' Lizzie's voice became serious.

‘No.'

‘I still say you should just kill the bastards.'

‘The boss wouldn't allow it.'

‘You know they're guilty.'

‘That's true.' He thought of the silk pouch and the locks of hair.

‘And you're sure he killed Mary Nottingham.'

‘As sure as we can be. But—'

‘No buts, John,' she said, staring at him with hard eyes. ‘Or I'll bloody do it meself.'

‘T
hey won't be able to find any fault with that, boss.' Rob patted the neat pile of paper. ‘Everything tallies, all the money's accounted for.'

‘Thank you.' He was grateful; he knew he couldn't have faced the task himself. Now the accounts were ready, prepared in a neat hand, for when he met the treasurer. In the end it would probably make no difference. The mayor was determined to dismiss him, and it wouldn't be hard for him to find some other pretext. The aldermen would do whatever Fenton demanded. But he was damned if he'd go quietly. If it was there, he'd find the evidence against Howard and Darden. He'd have his revenge for Mary.

‘Boss?' Rob asked.

‘What is it?' The word had dragged him back from his thoughts.

‘Emily told me what you said to her,' he began nervously. ‘Did you mean it? About lodging with you, I mean.'

‘I meant every word, lad,' he answered with a smile. ‘Life's too short. If you don't grab it, it'll be over before it begins. I don't want that for her. Or for you. But it's up to the pair of you, if that's what you both want.'

Rob nodded, unconvinced. He'd learn, the Constable thought.

‘You get yourself on home, lad. You've earned your sleep.'

‘I'll work on, boss. Maybe I can help with the merchants,' he said hopefully.

Nottingham nodded. The lad would be able to talk to them, and he could use the help.

‘Come along and talk to Tom Williamson with me, then. If he can come up with some names, we'll divide them.'

The deputy had already been and gone, quiet and preoccupied. He was off looking for anything, for anyone, useful. He'd be worried about the future, the Constable imagined. If Nottingham lost his job the mayor would get rid of Sedgwick, and Rob, too. Out with the old and the tainted, in with the new. Lister was educated, he knew folk in the city, he'd find good work whatever happened. The deputy, though . . .

‘Right,' he said finally. ‘Let's go.'

Williamson was at the warehouse, examining the invoices and making notes on a piece of paper.

‘Richard,' he said in surprise, putting down the quill and flexing his fingers. ‘And Mr Lister again.' He smiled. ‘More business about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?'

‘Very serious business,' Nottingham said.

The merchant cocked his head curiously. ‘You'd better sit down, then.' He gestured to a pair of battered chairs and poured three mugs of ale. ‘Now, what is it?'

‘Do you know anyone who doesn't like Jeremiah Darden?'

Williamson leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. His long waistcoat was pale blue silk, the shape of flowers – forget-me-nots, cornflowers and others – skilfully picked out in darker colours.

‘I can think of three,' he replied after a while. As the Constable sat forward expectantly, he added, ‘But I don't see how they'll be able to help you. They'll only know about his business, not his life.'

Nottingham shook his head. ‘I'm clutching at anything, Tom.' The image of Mary lying on the kitchen floor flickered in his head. ‘I know what Darden and Howard have done and I want them for it. All of it. I'll talk to anyone who might be able to help.'

‘Then you'd better see George Lamb. There's no love lost between him and Darden. Nicholas Dunsley and Harold Hammond have never cared much for him, either, but Lamb truly hates him.'

‘Thank you, Tom.'

The merchant stood and extended his hand. ‘Good luck to you, Richard. Remember, you still have some friends on the Corporation.'

‘Give them my gratitude.'

‘Do you know any of them?' he asked Rob when they were back outside in the cold. A chilly, misting rain had begun to fall, the clouds thick and low.

‘I know Dunsley's son. He works with his father.'

‘You go there, then. We'll meet at the Swan later.'

‘Yes, boss.'

He trudged up Briggate, stopping at a house close to the Moot Hall, just below the Shambles. Lamb still conducted business in the old way, from his home; he wouldn't be spending his money on building a warehouse by the river, Nottingham knew. The gates through to a cobbled yard were open, the gap just wide enough for a cart. The warehouse stood at the back, made from thick stone, with no windows. Lamb was there, inspecting cloth and giving orders.

He was sixty if he was a day, dressed in good, plain clothes, his stock neatly tied at the throat, a covering of white bristles on his cheeks, most of the hair gone from his head, leaving just a few grey wisps over his ears.

‘I'd not expected to see you here,' he said after a clerk had shown the Constable through. He smiled. ‘Have I broken the law?'

‘I'm hoping you can help me.'

Lamb raised his eyebrows. ‘Help you?'

‘About Jeremiah Darden and his factor.'

The man frowned. ‘Let's go somewhere more private.'

The house was old, opening directly on to the street, its timbers twisted and black, the limewash in need of a fresh coat. Inside the wood was dark and carefully polished. Small windows let thin light into the parlour.

Lamb settled into a worn chair, crossed his legs and poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter on a side table. He picked up a clay pipe and lit it, the acrid fug of tobacco filling the room.

‘What do you want to know about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?'

‘I believe they're responsible for the murder of my wife and of at least eleven children.'

The merchant sipped slowly from the glass. ‘Those are very dangerous accusations, Mr Nottingham. But I'm sure you've already been told that.'

‘Several times.'

‘I was saddened to hear about your wife.'

The Constable said nothing.

‘I assume you're here because you know that Mr Darden and I don't enjoy . . . good relations,' Lamb continued.

‘That's right.'

‘However, that's in business,' he said carefully. ‘I don't like the way the man deals with people, but that doesn't make him a murderer and a . . .' He didn't need to speak the word.

‘I understand that. And I'm sure you know that if I could prove it they'd already be in the cells.'

The merchant nodded. ‘So what do you want from me?'

‘Anything you have. Anything you can offer,' Nottingham answered candidly. The room was warm, a fire burning high in the grate. He could feel dampness on the palms of his hands.

‘I wish I could help you,' Lamb said with a restless sigh. ‘As I said, my dealings with the two of them are business. Nothing more than that. You're aware of Mr Darden's past, that cloud over him?'

‘I am.'

‘You might not know that I was the one who pressed for his resignation back then. But no one was going to let him end up in court over a servant.' He looked up. ‘Not when it would affect the reputation of the city. I have no idea if he's guilty of anything in all this you're talking about, but even if he is it'll be exactly the same thing. He'll never see the gallows over it. He won't even see the inside of a courtroom.'

‘Not if I have my way.'

‘You won't,' Lamb told him firmly. ‘They might let you have the factor as a sop, but never Darden. Not when it can hurt the reputation of Leeds.'

‘What about you?' Nottingham asked. ‘Do you want him in court?'

‘I'd like him bankrupt and begging,' the merchant answered with a wolfish grin. ‘But that's business, and wishing it certainly doesn't mean it'll happen. Whatever you've come here for, I can't give it to you. I'm sorry.'

‘What about justice?'

‘How long has justice ever mattered?' Lamb dismissed the idea. ‘You've been Constable here long enough to know better than that.'

‘That doesn't mean I have to accept it.'

Lamb stood. He was as tall as Nottingham, and his gaze was even and bemused. ‘I'm not sure you'll have a choice.'

The warehouse for Dunsley and Sons lay a little way along the riverbank from Williamson's. They'd been one of the first to build, with a prime spot, part of the creeping growth of Leeds. Although it was no more than a few years old, the stone of the building was already blackening from the soot in the air.

Inside, things were bustling. Labourers were shifting lengths of cloth to be loaded on to a barge bound for Hull. A pair of clerks wrote quickly, hunched over their desks. He spotted Luke, standing to the side and supervising, giving brisk orders.

They'd gone to the Grammar School up in Town End together for a while, until Dunsley had withdrawn his son to start him on his apprenticeship in the business. The two of them met from time to time, sharing some ale or a dinner in one of the inns. Luke had seen the Low Countries and Spain, Rob knew that much; quite probably other places by now. He seemed to be someone with a purpose in life, wearing fine clothes, moving with the confidence and grace of money.

‘Luke,' he said.

The young man turned, frowning as his concentration was broken, then his expression bloomed into a smile. ‘Rob. What brings you here?' He laughed. ‘Looking for another job already?'

‘I'm looking for your father.'

‘Try out on the dock. He'll be making sure nothing goes wrong with the shipment.' He indicated an open double door that let in bitter air. ‘He'll be finished in a few minutes. Are you still courting?'

‘I am.'

Luke grinned. ‘God help her. If you're the best she can do, the girl must be out of her senses, that's all I can say.'

‘How's business?'

‘We're making money,' he said cautiously. ‘A few more orders from America. If that keeps on it could be a good market for us.' He stopped to yell an instruction to one of the men. ‘What do you want with my father?'

‘It's to do with Mr Darden.'

Luke rolled his eyes. ‘You'll have his attention, then. He can't stand the man.' He watched a length of cloth being carried out. ‘That's the last one. Go on out, if you want, he'll have time.'

Nicholas Dunsley was a small man with dark, questioning eyes and a hooked nose too big for his face. The thick woollen coat seemed to overwhelm him; it was beautifully cut but he almost disappeared inside it; a tricorn hat covered his thinning hair. He turned at the sound of footsteps on the flagstones.