‘They’re filling them in. It’s going to be a big bloody job and all. But that new mayor thinks the city should look better, especially around the Cloth Hall. We’re so important that we have to impress visitors these days,’ he said in disgust. ‘Those pits have been open since Adam was a lad. You know people still go down there looking for coal in the winter? When it’s bitter out there’ll be folk scavenging in the pits.’ He paused, but before he could say more, the sharp clatter of a drum made him turn his head.
‘What’s that?’ Rob asked.
‘I don’t know.’ They began to walk briskly along the Calls in the direction of the sound. A small, curious crowd had gathered close to the bridge, drawn in by the crisp, urgent beats, eager for any brief excitement in their day.
‘Gather round, lads,’ boomed a deep voice. ‘Aye, and you lasses, too, we like a pretty face.’
Sedgwick relaxed and started to laugh. ‘You know who that is?’
‘No.’
‘It’s the recruiting sergeant.’ He winked and nudged Lister in the ribs. ‘If you’ve an urge to escape that Emily, now’s your chance, lad. Plenty of adventure. You can come back with a fortune, if you believe what they say.’
Rob snorted. ‘I think I’ll stay here. More chance of staying alive.’
‘There’ll be some who’ll fall for it,’ the deputy told him. ‘He’ll march off in a day or two with a few in tow, you can wager on that. There’s no shortage of fools in the world. I was halfway tempted myself once till I came to my senses.’
The audience had quickly thinned. He looked at the soldier with his worn, smiling face, scarlet coat neatly sponged clean and bright, breeches mostly white, boots worn and travel dusty. Next to him the drummer boy, a lad maybe ten years old, had put up his sticks and was glancing idly around. ‘Come on,’ the deputy continued, ‘we’re right by the Old King’s Head. I don’t know about you, but I need to drink the taste of this morning away.’
The Constable watched Tom and his apprentice wrap the bodies in their winding sheets. They’d carry them away once the streets were quiet and few would see, and take them to the pauper’s grave out beyond Sheepscar Beck. The children would lie as forgotten in death as they’d been in life.
The murderer had taken his time with them. He’d relished every pain he’d inflicted, drawn it out to make them hurt even more. And they’d be no match for a grown man.
All over Leeds, people would know that three children had been killed. Now he just had to hope no details came out about the way the bodies had been broken, battered and used. If that happened there’d be fury all over the city. That had been the mayor’s fear, Leeds out of control. Not that he’d needed to say anything. The Constable had already seen the resolve and the hatred on Sedgwick’s face, the hurt in Rob’s eyes, and he knew what was in his own heart. They all wanted this man.
He’d hoped for time to ease back into the job, not working so hard or so long at first, but it wasn’t going to be that way.
FOUR
Rob leaned against the wall vainly trying to rub the weariness from his eyes. Evening was drawing in, the weather turning colder. He pulled up his collar, wishing he’d worn his greatcoat. The bell rang exactly on the half hour and the girls trooped meekly out of the dame school, each in her blue dress, carrying a bag. Mrs Rains stood in the doorway, making sure they behaved as they walked down the street.
Five more minutes passed before Emily emerged, the old cloak fastened at the neck, her cap slightly askew, letting a few strands of hair fall to her cheek. He smiled and moved forward as he saw her, reaching out to take the basket she was holding.
‘How were they?’ he asked.
‘The same as ever.’ She laughed. ‘Lovely. Tiring. Frustrating.’ Her hand lingered on his, her eyes merry until she noticed his expression. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked quickly, panic flashing across her face. ‘Has something happened to Papa?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ he assured her swiftly. ‘It’s what we found this morning.’
‘What? What was it?’
He explained as they walked, seeing the horror grow on her face. She clutched at his arm, glancing up at him when he went silent, lost in the dark country of his thoughts. ‘They were so helpless,’ he said finally, seeing them once again in his mind. ‘So small.’
‘You’ll find whoever did it,’ Emily averred. ‘I know you will. You and Papa and Mr Sedgwick.’
But what if we don’t? he wondered. He’d spent the last three hours talking to everyone he could think of, anyone who might be able to help. From Mark the cobbler to the whores on Briggate, no one had known anything useful. He sighed.
They crossed Timble Bridge, strolling up Marsh Lane and into the house.
‘Mama?’ Emily called, hanging her cloak on a peg by the door then pulling off the cap and shaking her hair free. When there was no reply she went and looked through to the kitchen. ‘That’s strange. She’s not here.’ Her expression brightened and she opened her arms. ‘But it means we have the house to ourselves for a while.’
Nottingham didn’t even know how long he’d been sitting there thinking, the ghosts of the dead lingering in the cells as darkness started to fall. He could feel them there, pushing against him for attention, tugging at the memories he’d kept locked away in the corners of his mind. The faces he’d known back when he slept in the woods outside the city, wrapping himself in a stolen blanket for any kind of warmth, the hunger in his belly always there, as natural as breathing. Alice, her blue eyes so big and sad she could charm a coin from the women without saying a word. Peter and Martin, a pair of brothers a year or so older than him, who left one night and were never seen again. Or sickly little Thomas, coughing himself to sleep every night, growing thinner and thinner until he seemed fade into death before their eyes. They all came back to visit him, and he heard their voices as if they’d just spoken soft, broken words in his ear.
The door to the jail opened and roused him. Mary was there, gently smiling. The sight took him aback and he wondered if he was dreaming it. She never visited him at the jail.
‘I had to come and buy some things,’ she explained, lifting the basket on her arm. ‘I was worried about you.’
He stood slowly, his face softening as he put his arms around her. The feel of her, solid under his hands, her hair tickling his neck, banished the phantoms from his head.
‘You heard?’
He felt the nod of her head against his chest.
‘Three of them,’ he told her.
Mary pulled back and studied his face. She didn’t need to say anything; he knew the question in her eyes.
‘I’m weary and heartsick,’ he said eventually and gave a small smile. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’
‘Emily and Rob will be in the house by themselves if he met her after school,’ she warned.
‘He will have done.’ The lad met her every afternoon when she’d finished teaching. ‘We’d better make sure we’re noisy and slow as we go in.’ He winked at her, picked up the stick and they left together, arm in arm.
‘How have you managed today?’ she asked as they walked down Kirkgate.
‘I’ve been careful,’ he promised her. ‘The most I’ve done is walk to the Moot Hall and back.’
‘Was the mayor glad to see you?’
‘Not as you’d notice,’ he replied quietly. ‘When I took the daily report I had to give it to the new clerk he has. And when I told him about the children his only concern was how it might affect the city.’ He paused. ‘Do you mind if we stop by the churchyard?’
He could have found his way to the grave with his eyes closed. As soon as he’d been able to walk far enough it had been the first place he’d visited. Rose, their older daughter. Soon it would be two years since she’d died, taken in that awful, killing winter. He stood, threading his fingers through Mary’s. The grass had grown tall, the inscription on the headstone still clear but starting to wear, the edges of the letters no longer so sharp as lichen grew around the words.