The Constable walked down Marsh Lane, Emily’s arm threaded through his, Lucy on the other side. He’d slept badly, dreams tugging darkly at him and waking him several times. His leg ached and the knife wound on his belly felt hot.
At the churchyard they stood by the graves for a few minutes, saying nothing, lost in their own thoughts. He saw Emily wipe away tears, and put his arm around her shoulders. There was space beyond Mary where he’d lie when his own time came.
The service was as long as ever, the vicar’s voice droning through his sermon. He closed his eyes, hoping to rest a little, but all that came to him were pictures of Mary decaying in her coffin, jerking his eyes back open and leaving his heart pounding in his chest. Eventually it was over, the final blessing given, and they made their way outside, taking condolences and making greetings. Mayor Fenton passed with a curt nod, glowering at him.
A few raindrops began to fall as they walked back over Timble Bridge. Last Sunday he’d enjoyed an afternoon with his wife. This week she was under the soil and he didn’t know how long he had left to find evidence against the man who killed her. If the mayor had his way, Tuesday could be the end of his time as Constable.
At home he changed into his old coat and breeches, the warm hose that had been darned so many times over the years, and his good, thick boots. He cut bread and cheese, put the food in his pockets, then headed back to the jail.
‘Did you see the cook?’ he asked Sedgwick.
‘She gave me a good slap for my trouble,’ the deputy answered ruefully.
‘Not the first you’ve had, anyway.’
‘Aye, probably not the last, either.’ The smile left his face. ‘So what now, boss?’
‘I don’t know, John. Is there anywhere we haven’t looked?’
‘Joe Buck gave you the nod towards that coat. He might know more.’
The Constable shook his head. ‘If he did he’d have said something.’ He sighed. ‘Just go around the people you know. See if there’s something they’ve forgotten. Ask if any of them have seen Smithson. I’ll do the same. If we don’t have them by Tuesday. .’
The deputy understood perfectly. If the mayor brought in a new man as Constable he’d likely lose his job too. And then what would he do? He didn’t have an education like Rob; finding work would be difficult, and he’d made any number of enemies, men who’d love to take advantage of his misfortune. He wanted to see the men who killed the children and Mary Nottingham swing, and he also wanted to keep this position.
The door opened and both men turned their heads.
‘What are you doing here, lad?’ Nottingham asked.
‘I’ve come to help,’ Rob said. ‘There must be something more I can do.’
The Constable weighed his words before answering. The boy could be with Emily where he was needed. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll finish the accounts tonight. They’ll be in order for you.’ Nottingham dipped his head in appreciation. ‘But I want to do some real work this afternoon.’
‘Then get back out there and talk to everyone you know,’ the Constable advised. ‘It’s what we’re all going to do. We’ve run out of other choices.’ He saw the looks of determination on their faces. ‘Someone out there knows something. We just have to find them. We still have a day and a half.’
‘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.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘They 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.’