‘Mr Nottingham. I’m so sorry. .’
‘The daily report for the mayor.’ He laid the paper between them.
‘It must be terrible.’
He knew the man meant well, but he couldn’t feel charitable. ‘Then pray God it never happens to you.’
‘The mayor didn’t know when you’d return. He wants to see you.’
He knocked on the door and entered when he heard a voice inside. Fenton was hard at work, reading through a pile of papers on his desk. He was fresh-shaved, his cheeks pink and shiny, his expression pinched and irritable, as if he resented the intrusion.
‘My condolences on your loss.’
The Constable nodded his acknowledgement.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the funeral. I had other obligations. I hear there were plenty there.’
‘Yes.’ He took a tighter grip on the head of the stick.
‘Do you have any idea who killed your wife? And don’t say Mr Darden and his factor.’
Nottingham stayed silent.
‘I daresay you’ve made many enemies over the years,’ the mayor continued. ‘Maybe you’d do well to cast your net over some of them.’
‘Is that an order?’
Fenton threw down his quill in frustration. ‘If it needs to be. What you’re doing is beginning to look like an obsession.’
‘And if they’re guilty? What then?’
‘I’ve known Mr Darden for years. No one’s more respected in Leeds.’
‘Tell me, your Worship, when the city borrowed money from Mr Darden, was it ever repaid?’
The mayor brought his head up sharply. ‘A long time ago. What he did then was a civic gesture.’
‘Enough to buy gratitude and protection.’
‘I’ll put that statement down to your grief,’ the mayor said coldly. He picked up the quill.
It was impossible not to look at the house as the deputy walked along Marsh Lane. The image of Mary Nottingham’s blood was clear in his mind, and the loneliness and pain on the Constable’s face. There was a sense of all the love gone from the place.
As he knocked at the first house beyond Timble Bridge he could hear the clack of a loom inside. The noise continued as a young girl opened the door.
‘Hello, love,’ he said with a smile. ‘I need to talk to your mam or dad.’
The woman who appeared looked haggard. She was young enough but streaks of grey hair peeked from her cap.
‘Help you, mister?’ she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘I’m the deputy constable. We’re trying to find who killed Mrs Nottingham.’
‘Come in,’ the woman told him without hesitation. Four children were working hard preparing the wool and a spinning wheel sat in the corner, yarn hanging from it. Along the wall stood a collection of painstakingly carved wooden animals — a cow, horse, sheep and more. ‘Stop that,’ she said to her husband, her voice loud over the incessant noise of the loom. ‘Sit thisen down.’
She poured him ale and settled on her stool. ‘She were a lovely woman. Always had time for a word, and to ask after the bairns.’ She nodded at the children. ‘Who’d do summat like that?’ she asked.
‘Aye, and why?’ The man took a clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket and lit it.
‘What we want to know is whether you saw anyone along here on Tuesday morning.’
‘There’s allus folk on the road going in and out of Leeds,’ the man pointed out.
‘Maybe you noticed someone in particular.’
The woman looked worried, pulling a small girl close and placing the child on her lap.
‘We’re working from daylight until dark, mister. Same as all the folk round here.’
‘Give over.’ The man blew out a plume of smoke. ‘You’re up and down and in and out and mithering round half the day.’
‘Aye, and we’d never eat or have clean clothes if I wasn’t.’ She turned back to Sedgwick and blushed. ‘I’m sorry, love. But he’s right, people pass by all the time. Mostly we just hear them, there’s no reason to look.’
It was the same wherever he asked. People had to scrape a living and work hard. At a few of the homes no one answered, off at their labours; he’d send Rob there after dark. With a falling heart he kept going. Finally, about fifty yards beyond the Nottingham house a young woman said, ‘Aye, I saw a man at their door.’ She held a sleeping baby close to her chest, gently stroking the back of its head and rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Over her shoulder he could see all the signs of poverty within, the room almost bare of furniture.
‘What did he look like? Do you remember?’ His throat was dry and he could feel the blood throbbing in his veins.
‘I didn’t pay him no mind.’ Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘Why? Was it him?’
‘Most likely.’
‘Really?’ She frowned and hugged the child a little tighter. ‘This one had been poorly. I was late emptying the chamber pot. That’s the only reason I saw anyone.’ She tilted her head towards the road. ‘Mrs Nottingham had only been up the day before. She gave me some herbs she thought might help Anna here.’
‘Did you know her well?’
‘We’ve only been here a few month. But she had a good word and she was kind. Folk round about liked her.’
‘What can you remember about the man you saw?’ he asked urgently.
She thought for a long time, absently rubbing the baby’s back. ‘He had a dark coat and breeches,’ she answered finally, her voice halting. ‘And a wig.’
‘What colour was his coat?’
‘I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.’
‘Did you see his face?’
She looked down the road to the Nottingham house. It stood too far away to see any detail. ‘No. I’m sorry.’
‘Was there anything else? Anything at all that you can recall?’
‘I saw him knock and go in the house.’
‘Did he come out again?’ the deputy asked urgently.
‘I’d emptied the pot so I went back in.’ The girl hefted the baby higher on her shoulder. ‘This one started crying again.’
‘You didn’t hear anything?’
‘Mister, when our Anna starts crying you can’t hear owt else.’
‘Was there something else you might have seen?’ he asked desperately. ‘It’s very important. It could help us find whoever killed her.’
‘I did think I saw someone else. .’ she began.
‘Where?’
She pointed at a tree in the distance. ‘There.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I’m not sure. It was just something moving. It could have been a man. I’m sorry.’ She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘He’ll not be back, will he?’
‘No,’ he assured her. ‘He won’t.’
She had nothing more to give. He thanked her and moved on. The description only made him believe it was Howard, dressed as Gabriel. But the girl hadn’t seen his face; she’d never be able to identify him. Why had Mary Nottingham let him in the house, he wondered? Had he forced his way in?
The deputy doubted they’d ever know the answers. And maybe they didn’t matter. The important thing was finding the evidence to convict him.
He asked at the other houses but no one else had seen a man by the house. He even stopped carters and people walking along but there was nothing to aid him. One or two might have seen someone but they didn’t remember who it could have been or how he was dressed.
All too often, that was the tale. There’d be something helpful but it wouldn’t be enough. If he had his way, the merchant and his factor would simply disappear and no one would ever see them again.
Instead of returning to the jail he went to the Talbot. Only a few drinkers huddled over their ale on benches far from the windows. Bell the landlord was checking the barrels, a new cask standing by, ready to be changed. He stood quickly when Sedgwick rapped on the counter.
‘Good to see you at the funeral yesterday,’ the deputy said brightly.
‘Aye, well. .’ The man shrugged his large shoulders.