‘I meant every word, lad,’ he answered with a smile. ‘Life’s too short. If you don’t grab it, it’ll be over before it begins. I don’t want that for her. Or for you. But it’s up to the pair of you, if that’s what you both want.’
Rob nodded, unconvinced. He’d learn, the Constable thought.
‘You get yourself on home, lad. You’ve earned your sleep.’
‘I’ll work on, boss. Maybe I can help with the merchants,’ he said hopefully.
Nottingham nodded. The lad would be able to talk to them, and he could use the help.
‘Come along and talk to Tom Williamson with me, then. If he can come up with some names, we’ll divide them.’
The deputy had already been and gone, quiet and preoccupied. He was off looking for anything, for anyone, useful. He’d be worried about the future, the Constable imagined. If Nottingham lost his job the mayor would get rid of Sedgwick, and Rob, too. Out with the old and the tainted, in with the new. Lister was educated, he knew folk in the city, he’d find good work whatever happened. The deputy, though. .
‘Right,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s go.’
Williamson was at the warehouse, examining the invoices and making notes on a piece of paper.
‘Richard,’ he said in surprise, putting down the quill and flexing his fingers. ‘And Mr Lister again.’ He smiled. ‘More business about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?’
‘Very serious business,’ Nottingham said.
The merchant cocked his head curiously. ‘You’d better sit down, then.’ He gestured to a pair of battered chairs and poured three mugs of ale. ‘Now, what is it?’
‘Do you know anyone who doesn’t like Jeremiah Darden?’
Williamson leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. His long waistcoat was pale blue silk, the shape of flowers — forget-me-nots, cornflowers and others — skilfully picked out in darker colours.
‘I can think of three,’ he replied after a while. As the Constable sat forward expectantly, he added, ‘But I don’t see how they’ll be able to help you. They’ll only know about his business, not his life.’
Nottingham shook his head. ‘I’m clutching at anything, Tom.’ The image of Mary lying on the kitchen floor flickered in his head. ‘I know what Darden and Howard have done and I want them for it. All of it. I’ll talk to anyone who might be able to help.’
‘Then you’d better see George Lamb. There’s no love lost between him and Darden. Nicholas Dunsley and Harold Hammond have never cared much for him, either, but Lamb truly hates him.’
‘Thank you, Tom.’
The merchant stood and extended his hand. ‘Good luck to you, Richard. Remember, you still have some friends on the Corporation.’
‘Give them my gratitude.’
‘Do you know any of them?’ he asked Rob when they were back outside in the cold. A chilly, misting rain had begun to fall, the clouds thick and low.
‘I know Dunsley’s son. He works with his father.’
‘You go there, then. We’ll meet at the Swan later.’
‘Yes, boss.’
He trudged up Briggate, stopping at a house close to the Moot Hall, just below the Shambles. Lamb still conducted business in the old way, from his home; he wouldn’t be spending his money on building a warehouse by the river, Nottingham knew. The gates through to a cobbled yard were open, the gap just wide enough for a cart. The warehouse stood at the back, made from thick stone, with no windows. Lamb was there, inspecting cloth and giving orders.
He was sixty if he was a day, dressed in good, plain clothes, his stock neatly tied at the throat, a covering of white bristles on his cheeks, most of the hair gone from his head, leaving just a few grey wisps over his ears.
‘I’d not expected to see you here,’ he said after a clerk had shown the Constable through. He smiled. ‘Have I broken the law?’
‘I’m hoping you can help me.’
Lamb raised his eyebrows. ‘Help you?’
‘About Jeremiah Darden and his factor.’
The man frowned. ‘Let’s go somewhere more private.’
The house was old, opening directly on to the street, its timbers twisted and black, the limewash in need of a fresh coat. Inside the wood was dark and carefully polished. Small windows let thin light into the parlour.
Lamb settled into a worn chair, crossed his legs and poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter on a side table. He picked up a clay pipe and lit it, the acrid fug of tobacco filling the room.
‘What do you want to know about Mr Darden and Mr Howard?’
‘I believe they’re responsible for the murder of my wife and of at least eleven children.’
The merchant sipped slowly from the glass. ‘Those are very dangerous accusations, Mr Nottingham. But I’m sure you’ve already been told that.’
‘Several times.’
‘I was saddened to hear about your wife.’
The Constable said nothing.
‘I assume you’re here because you know that Mr Darden and I don’t enjoy. . good relations,’ Lamb continued.
‘That’s right.’
‘However, that’s in business,’ he said carefully. ‘I don’t like the way the man deals with people, but that doesn’t make him a murderer and a. .’ He didn’t need to speak the word.
‘I understand that. And I’m sure you know that if I could prove it they’d already be in the cells.’
The merchant nodded. ‘So what do you want from me?’
‘Anything you have. Anything you can offer,’ Nottingham answered candidly. The room was warm, a fire burning high in the grate. He could feel dampness on the palms of his hands.
‘I wish I could help you,’ Lamb said with a restless sigh. ‘As I said, my dealings with the two of them are business. Nothing more than that. You’re aware of Mr Darden’s past, that cloud over him?’
‘I am.’
‘You might not know that I was the one who pressed for his resignation back then. But no one was going to let him end up in court over a servant.’ He looked up. ‘Not when it would affect the reputation of the city. I have no idea if he’s guilty of anything in all this you’re talking about, but even if he is it’ll be exactly the same thing. He’ll never see the gallows over it. He won’t even see the inside of a courtroom.’
‘Not if I have my way.’
‘You won’t,’ Lamb told him firmly. ‘They might let you have the factor as a sop, but never Darden. Not when it can hurt the reputation of Leeds.’
‘What about you?’ Nottingham asked. ‘Do you want him in court?’
‘I’d like him bankrupt and begging,’ the merchant answered with a wolfish grin. ‘But that’s business, and wishing it certainly doesn’t mean it’ll happen. Whatever you’ve come here for, I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry.’
‘What about justice?’
‘How long has justice ever mattered?’ Lamb dismissed the idea. ‘You’ve been Constable here long enough to know better than that.’
‘That doesn’t mean I have to accept it.’
Lamb stood. He was as tall as Nottingham, and his gaze was even and bemused. ‘I’m not sure you’ll have a choice.’
The warehouse for Dunsley and Sons lay a little way along the riverbank from Williamson’s. They’d been one of the first to build, with a prime spot, part of the creeping growth of Leeds. Although it was no more than a few years old, the stone of the building was already blackening from the soot in the air.
Inside, things were bustling. Labourers were shifting lengths of cloth to be loaded on to a barge bound for Hull. A pair of clerks wrote quickly, hunched over their desks. He spotted Luke, standing to the side and supervising, giving brisk orders.
They’d gone to the Grammar School up in Town End together for a while, until Dunsley had withdrawn his son to start him on his apprenticeship in the business. The two of them met from time to time, sharing some ale or a dinner in one of the inns. Luke had seen the Low Countries and Spain, Rob knew that much; quite probably other places by now. He seemed to be someone with a purpose in life, wearing fine clothes, moving with the confidence and grace of money.