‘Even then.’
Caleb thought about the words. How many promises had he heard in his life, the Constable wondered, and how many of them had been broken?
‘Aye. I’ll do it.’
‘I have a man watching him. I’ll take you to him.’ He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the stick.
‘You won’t be there?’
‘I trust my men,’ Nottingham told him.
They threaded through the crowds at the market. ‘How long have you been Constable, then?’ Caleb asked. The boy’s eyes darted from side to side trying to take in everything, judging, assessing.
‘Since before you were born. Too long, some people think.’
The boy eyed him curiously. ‘Why do they say that?’
‘This isn’t a job for making friends, lad.’
‘Are you good at it?’
‘I try,’ he replied as they turned on to the Head Row. ‘How did you end up out here?’
Caleb shrugged. There was pain inside the boy’s head, the Constable knew that, but he’d never let anyone see it. To do that would be weakness.
‘There was only me mam. She looked after us, but she took ill and died. Then it was me and me sister and me little brother. The cold got them both one winter.’
Them and many others. The ground froze so hard that the city had stored the corpses in every place it could find until the thaw began.
On Vicar Lane he paused, and Caleb stood still. Finally Nottingham saw Holden, half-hidden from view in the dark entrance to a court, his eyes firmly on Darden’s house.
‘Boss,’ Holden said as they eased in past him.
‘Has he been out today?’
‘Not yet. Darden’s usually inside while dinner time. Howard came after the cloth market, left a few minutes back. Darden will likely go down to the warehouse this afternoon. Who’s this?’ he asked, looking at the boy.
‘This is Caleb. He’s seen Gabriel. I want him to take a look at Darden to be sure it’s the same man.’
The man nodded.
‘Stay with Mr Holden,’ the Constable instructed. He pulled some coins from his pocket and put them in the lad’s hand. ‘If you’re working, it’s only right you get paid for your time.’
Caleb said nothing, but curled his fingers tightly around the money.
‘Just be honest. If you know the face, say so. But don’t lie about it to please me,’ Nottingham warned. ‘I just want the truth, you understand that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Holden will look after you.’
On the way back to the jail he stopped at the Crown and Fleece. The place was empty, with the close, stale morning smell of taverns. A fire burned in the grate and the light through the window showed the dust motes in the air. All the tables and benches had been cleaned, the floor neatly swept.
The landlord was tasting a fresh batch of ale, sipping slowly and looking thoughtful.
‘Constable,’ he said with a brief nod. ‘Care for a mug? It’s turned out well. Just ready this morning.’
Nottingham drank gratefully and smiled. ‘You’re right, there’s a good taste to it. Thank you.’ He took a little more and placed the cup on the trestle. ‘I was wondering if there’d been any more word on those missing soldiers.’
‘Nothing.’ He paused, scratched his head and lowered his voice. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m buggered if I know what happened. The lasses who work here have been wondering if that sergeant was right and there’s devils about.’
‘You know better than that.’
‘Aye, but. .’ He shrugged. ‘You tell me what happened to them, then.’
‘I don’t know. But there’ll be an answer somewhere.’ The Constable swallowed the rest of the ale. ‘I might come back later for more of that.’
Sedgwick had managed to sleep for an hour. Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed, wringing out the cloth over a bowl of cold water then placing it on Isabell’s forehead. The baby slept on, burned to exhaustion with fever.
James had gone to school reluctantly, but the deputy knew he was better off there with his mind on other things. He pushed off the blanket, laid a hand lightly on Lizzie’s shoulder and padded down the stairs. The bread was old and hard but he tore off a chunk anyway, then trimmed mould from the edge of a piece of cheese, eating without tasting, for something to do, just to fill his belly. Then Lizzie called, ‘John, come here! Now!’
He ran back up to the bedroom. Lizzie was smiling and crying.
‘It’s broken. She’s getting cooler. Feel her.’
He put his hand on the baby’s cheek. He rested his fingers on her chest and her arm. Isabell’s face was peaceful, her breathing easier. He pulled Lizzie close, stroking her hair as she buried her face against him.
‘She’s going to be fine now,’ he whispered. ‘Fine.’ He kept his arms around her as her tears fell in relief and he thanked the God he didn’t believe in for saving his daughter.
‘I don’t know what I’d have done. .’ she began.
He smiled at her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he told her, his mouth against her ear. Not this time, he thought grimly. But Isabell was still a baby. How many died before they had a chance to grow? There might yet be a day when they were crying together.
He opened the shutters. The November light was grey and dreary, but at least it felt like life.
‘You sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet James from school and give him the news.’
Lizzie squeezed his hand. ‘How did I get such a good man, John Sedgwick?’
‘You were lucky,’ he answered with a grin and tousled her hair. ‘You rest now. She probably won’t wake up for a while yet.’
Downstairs he placed his hands on the table, feeling out the scars in the wood. They’d been lucky. But how much luck could any family have? He stretched, easing the tension out of his neck then scooped up the crumbs of bread and the tiny pieces of cheese he’d left and ate them.
Nottingham waited. Soon, he told himself. Soon Holden would arrive and tell him. Once he had his evidence even the mayor and the Corporation wouldn’t be able to defend Darden. They’d have to give him up, to sacrifice him.
He stirred at every loud footstep out on Kirkgate, a small knot of pain that wouldn’t go away nagging around the scar in his belly. He tried to concentrate on other things but his mind kept drifting, seeing the faces of dead children.
The bell at the Parish Church rang four. Outside the afternoon had become twilight. Another hour or two and folk would be going home from work, a new urgency in their stride. And he waited.
He picked up the report on the missing recruits, scanning through it quickly in case he’d missed something before. There was nothing he could see; they’d simply disappeared somehow. It was a good trick, a way to escape the army and leave everyone guessing. They’d probably never know the truth of what really happened.
Finally the door opened and Holden walked in alone.
‘Well?’ the Constable asked. ‘Did you see him?’
‘He came out a short while back. That lad was perished after standing so long.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I’m sorry, boss. He said Darden isn’t Gabriel.’
TWELVE
‘What?’ He’d been so certain.
‘We saw him walk out of the door and down Vicar Lane. I was watching the lad’s face. He wasn’t lying, boss, I’m sure of that.’
‘What did Caleb say?’ The Constable asked urgently.
‘After Darden had gone, I asked him, and he shook his head. He told me he’d never seen the man before and that Gabriel was taller and not as old as Darden.’
‘What else?’
‘That was all, boss. He ran off after that.’
Nottingham sighed. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do you want me to keep following Darden?’
‘No, let it lie.’
He made the final round of the day, walking out along Low Holland where the new warehouses blossomed, small ships and barges tied up beside them to carry cloth down to Hull. Smoke rose from the chimney of the dyeworks in the distance, and the rank stink of the place hung in the air.