Constant Lovers (29 page)

He gazed up at the man's face for a moment. He was in his twenties, eyes showing nothing, his mouth just a straight line. His clothes were old, the nap of the jacket worn, seams fraying, collar worn smooth, the elbow of his sword arm threadbare.

Rob watched helplessly as the other two took the cell keys from the hook and disappeared down the corridor. He heard the rattle of iron while the third man kept the sword pointing at him. He waited, breathing slowly, trying to memorize everything he saw. If they'd wanted to kill him, he reasoned, they'd have done it immediately. As long as he stayed still and quiet he was probably safe. The man facing him appeared completely calm, his concentration easy and absolute. He was a professional, unafraid.

Had they come to kill Hughes or to free him, he wondered? That was the only question. There was no noise from the cell. He listened carefully for a voice, then caught the scrape of boots.

They came back, the two invaders and Hughes, grinning broadly. He paused, pushing the man's sword arm away, then hawked and spat in Lister's face before laughing.

As silently as they came, the men unlocked the door and left.

He sat for a full five minutes before moving. His heart was thumping and sweat trickled cold down his spine. He couldn't have done anything, he told himself over and over, hoping against hope that the Constable would believe him when he returned.

He walked down the corridor, a prickle of fear on his neck. The keys were still in the lock, the door to the cell gaping open.

It seemed impossible that anyone would have dared do this, to walk into the jail and free one of the prisoners. He sat in the chair again, each moment sharp and fixed in his mind. Only now, as it all played through again in his head, did the terror really begin to rise.

The boss wouldn't keep him on after this. He'd think that he'd helped them take Hughes, that he couldn't be trusted. But if he'd tried to stop them, he'd have died; he knew that. They'd have killed him without a second thought. He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking violently. The tremor began to move through his body, beyond his control, unstoppable.

It had only just passed by the time the Constable and Sedgwick came in. He'd drunk a mug of ale, spilling part of it on the desk, and was beginning to feel a little calmer.

‘By God, you look pale, lad,' the deputy said jokingly. ‘That blow the other night must have been worse than I thought.'

‘Hughes,' Lister began, then hung his head. He could feel shameful tears beginning to form in his eyes and he tried to blink them away.

‘Rob?' Nottingham asked with concern. ‘What's happened?'

Sedgwick dashed down the corridor, and he looked up to see him return, shaking his head.

Slowly he recounted it all, every detail, feeling ashamed, the image of the big, cold man with the sword growing larger in his mind and Hughes's spittle still burning on his cheek so that he tried to paw it away.

‘I couldn't stop them, boss,' he explained desperately.

‘You did exactly the right thing,' the Constable assured him. ‘There's a difference between bravery and stupidity. John?'

‘Yes, boss?'

‘Go and get as many of the men as you can find and bring them back here. Make sure they're armed.'

After the deputy had left, Nottingham put a hand on Lister's shoulder.

‘I meant it, Rob. They were going to take him either way, and you're a lot more use to me alive than dead. If you want some revenge, you'll have it in a little while.' He pulled a pistol from the drawer, checked, loaded and primed the piece before sliding it into his coat pocket. ‘Have you ever used a weapon?'

‘I had a fencing master for a few months when I was younger.'

The Constable raised his eyebrows.

‘I wasn't very good,' Rob admitted wryly. ‘My father decided it wasn't worth the cost.'

Nottingham chuckled. ‘That's a real Yorkshireman for you, always after value for money. Never mind, at least you know how to handle one of these.' He brought an old sword and scabbard from the cupboard. ‘Just a word of advice. With this lot you won't gain anything by just wounding them. You understand?'

‘Yes, boss.'

He strapped the blade on to his belt, its weight and shape awkward against his body, and saw Nottingham use a whetstone to hone the blade of his knife. He felt strangely serene; all the dread that had left him quaking just a few minutes before had passed. He brought his hand down to rest on the hilt of the sword, wrapping his fingers around the grip.

‘You remember what he looked like?'

‘Yes.' He was certain he'd never forget the man's face.

‘Watch out for him. Don't get your blood up and go looking for him. He sounds like he knows what he's doing.' Nottingham primed another pistol and sharpened a second dagger, leaving them lying on the desktop.

They had a few minutes to wait before Sedgwick came back, a clamour of voices behind him outside the door. The Constable gestured at the weapons and the deputy took them.

The men spilled into the road on Kirkgate, looking to him for instructions. He heard the deputy and Lister follow him out and the sound of the door closing. The afternoon sun was high and hot, making him squint awkwardly. He thought how ridiculous it was to have to do this on a summer's day when everything should have been peaceful and placid.

But he had no choice. Hughes believed he could flout the law in Leeds, and Nottingham had to show him he was wrong. Hughes had challenged; the Constable's reply would be swift and absolute. He glanced at the men. Some of them had bright eyes, eager for the fight. Others kept their faces blank, hands dug into their coat pockets. He waited until they were all quiet and expectant.

‘Right,' he shouted. ‘This is what we're going to do. Half of you will go with Mr Sedgwick. You'll be at the back of the house. The rest of you are coming with me to the front. When I give the signal we'll go in. Smash the windows and the doors. Create confusion. I don't know how many there are there, probably seven or eight. They'll be expecting us, so it's going to be nasty.'

‘What's the signal?' someone asked, and Nottingham gave a shrill, two-note whistle.

‘Any questions?'

‘Do we get extra pay for this?' another man yelled from the back, accompanied by laughter that grew louder when the Constable answered.

‘We'll pay for your funeral if they kill you. How about that?'

They marched down Briggate and turned on to the Calls, a loose, ragtag group of men, looking dangerous enough for folk to keep out of their way. A couple of the men laughed and joked, but Nottingham remained quiet and alert. He was certain that Hughes would have someone looking out for them, giving him warning.

Why had they broken the man out of jail? It was a reckless, pointless thing to do. They'd invited this. The Constable rarely picked a fight, only when there was no other way, but when he did, it was always to win.

Sedgwick took five of the men and vanished into one of the courts. He'd need a few minutes to find the house and set everyone in position. Nottingham looked around his men, all of them silent and tense now. Lister rubbed nervously at his chin with the back of his hand.

Nottingham felt the dampness of sweat under his arms and down his spine. The knife was in one hand, the pistol in the other. Finally he raised a hand and nodded. The men gathered around the front of the house, clustered behind him. He gave the whistle and his boot crashed hard against the door. The wood splintered but the lock just held.

The Constable quickly brought his foot quickly down a second time, then a third, and the door finally gave, flying back against the wall in the hallway.

‘In there,' he yelled, gesturing at the parlour. ‘Rob, with me.' He started to climb the stairs, glancing upwards. Hughes would be there, he thought, where he'd be safer.

The man guarding the door at the top had no chance. Nottingham pulled the trigger, the sound of the gun deafening with the walls so close, the smoke dense and choking. The body fell with a short cry.

Nottingham kicked the door open, held back for a moment, then dashed in. There was one room, with a pallet in the corner. Hughes and two of his men stood together in the middle of the room, all of them with swords drawn.

He heard Rob behind him, the sliding metallic scrape as he drew his weapon.

‘Think you can take me?' Hughes asked. The Constable said nothing, his gaze flickering between three sets of eyes, trying to anticipate how they might move. ‘Think you're better than me?'

Lister circled to his left, alert, watching. The man closest to him made a feint and he drew back slightly. The other guard slashed at Nottingham. The Constable moved aside, slicing his blade down swiftly on the back of the man's hand, cutting deep across the skin. He dropped the sword with a scream. Nottingham moved in quickly, his boot connecting with the man's balls, already looking at Hughes as the bodyguard fell.

Lister and the other man were exchanging blows, the sound ringing through the room. The lad seemed to be holding his own, from what the Constable could judge. In front of him, Hughes held his blade in both hands like an amateur. His eyes were manic, a wide rictus grin on his face.

Somewhere in his head Nottingham heard footsteps running up the stairs. Then there was the violent thump of a pistol and Hughes crumpled to the floor, his gaze blank now, red spreading across his colourful waistcoat. The deputy loomed in the doorway, smiling.

‘Give it up,' Nottingham ordered the last man, his voice hoarse, holding his breath until he dropped his sword and raised his arms, a cut above his wrist dripping blood. ‘Take him downstairs,' he said. He'd done almost nothing, but he was panting hard, his throat dry, the fury surging through him. ‘Did we lose anyone?' he asked.

Sedgwick shook his head. ‘A couple of them cut, nothing serious. Three of theirs dead, two more to go off and hang. Not even a good fight in them.' He spat.

The Constable nodded. It was better than he'd hoped. He realized he was still holding the pistol and knife and put them away. He left, easing his way around the body on the stairs.

How long had it taken? Two minutes? Three? No longer than that, he was certain. The men had gathered outside, forming a tight ring around their prisoners. The two in the middle lowered their heads, knowing they'd be doing the hangman's dance up on Chapeltown Moor soon enough.

‘Good job, lads,' he told them. ‘There's a mug of ale for each of you at the Ship.' He waited until the last of the defeated had been brought down and thrown in with his companions. ‘Take them to the jail,' he ordered.

Lister was standing, still looking dazed, the dull sword hanging by his side, his fist clenched so tight on the hilt that the colour had left his knuckles.

‘You can put it away now, lad,' Sedgwick said with a grin, tousling his hair. Blushing, suddenly aware, Rob sheathed the weapon.

‘You did a good job there, you even wounded him,' Nottingham praised him. ‘Was that the one who held you earlier?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'd say the fencing master was worth his money, then. I've seen that one before. He's a nasty piece of work.'

‘Honestly, boss?'

Nottingham nodded, and it was no less than the truth. The man had been around the city for a year or more, working for whoever offered enough. He was one of the hard men, good with his fists, good with a blade, fearless if the price was right. Leeds would be better with him on the gallows.

He glanced up at the sky, scarcely believing it was still only afternoon. Between this and the encounter in Roundhay the day seemed to have lasted a lifetime.

‘What about Worthy?' the deputy asked, and Nottingham sighed wearily.

‘Tomorrow, John,' he said. ‘He'll keep until then. Let him feel that the competition's gone before I bring him crashing down. All I want now is a drink and to go home.'

He led them to the White Swan and settled a pitcher of the landlord's best brew on the table with three mugs.

‘To Rob,' he said, offering a toast. ‘You're a real Constable's man now. You've drawn first blood.'

They drank deep, throats parched from the brief fight. Lister was smiling as broadly as a lunatic and Nottingham understood exactly how he felt. He remembered the first time the old Constable had taken him out and bought him a drink. It was as if he'd grown up, blossomed into a man after so long as a child.

Part of him could happily have stayed here drinking until the late evening, enjoying the company and the banter. But the tiredness was catching him up. He felt it deep in his bones as the thrill and shock of the violence drained out of his body.

He stood up, arching his back to stretch it, and wished them good night. Let the young stay carousing, he'd done it often enough himself when he was their age. Outside the air was still. As he walked past the Parish Church the shadows loomed longer in the shank of the evening. A few birds still sang and the smell of flowers from the woods by the beck was strong.

He stopped and inhaled deeply, hearing the languid burble of the water and feeling the quiet settle around him. He rested a few minutes, drinking in the air as he'd drunk in the ale and letting it fill his soul. Then, smiling, he strolled on home.

Emily was waiting, sitting upright and alert, her face eager, unable to hide the joy in her eyes.

‘It must have gone well,' he said to her. Had it really just been that morning that he'd seen her off for her first day of teaching?

‘Oh, papa,' she replied contentedly, ‘it was perfect. This is what I should always have been doing.'

He hugged her close before holding her at arm's length. ‘I'm glad.'

Mary was in the kitchen and he went through. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pushing his face against her hair.

‘She sounds happy.'

‘She is. I think she must have relived every minute a hundred times since she came back.'