He ate the meal approvingly; Lucy had seasoned the pottage well enough to give it taste, and he wiped up the last of it from the bowl with a heel of bread.
‘That was excellent,’ he said truthfully, and the girl smiled wide as if he’d given her the greatest praise in the world.
As she cleared the bowls away, Rob stood. ‘I should go to work.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning, lad.’
The door closed on Emily and her young man. She’d be out there for five minutes, saying her loving goodbye, then watching him walk away, picking his shape out of the darkness until he reached Timble Bridge.
She came back in, sat in the chair and picked up the books she’d been studying earlier.
‘Rob tells me you still write.’
‘Yes,’ Emily said, puzzlement crossing her face.
‘Did you show it to Mama?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Would you be willing to let me see it?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Are you sure, Papa? I know you don’t really like to read.’
‘I’m certain.’
‘Then yes, of course I will.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you.’
They sat in silence. She worked and Nottingham gazed into the fire. He closed his eyes and for a few minutes he could imagine it was Mary next to him, turning the pages as she read. Always The Pilgrim’s Progress before winter put its cold breath on the world, and poetry to welcome spring. He could tell the passing of the seasons by the book in her hand. For a fleeting moment he felt her in the room, as if she’d come to warm her cold bones at the fire.
The bed was large as a country, the other side too far to reach. He felt empty of God’s grace, lost, tired and alone. Sleep hadn’t been a willing visitor since Mary had died. He stared at the darkness, the sheets cold against his body.
Tomorrow. . He’d gambled that he could find the evidence against Darden and Howard and he’d lost. The accounts were in order but that wouldn’t matter to the mayor. He’d find some reason to appoint a new Constable.
It was humiliation, disgrace, and some day he’d feel it deeply. For now there was too much pain in his heart to absorb more. It was as if it was happening to someone else and he was no more than a spectator, watching it all play out.
He’d failed Mary and now he’d failed Sedgwick and Rob. They’d believed him, trusted him to discover the proof. He had no doubt that Fenton would dismiss them, too. The man likely already had other candidates prepared for the post, pliable men more eager to please than serve justice. Darden and his factor would continue to walk free.
He drifted in and out of rest, buffeted by dreams that dragged him back to wakefulness, a clammy sweat on his skin. Before dawn he was up, dressed and locking the door behind him. The drizzle had stopped, the stars were clear in the sky, the ground hard under his boots, a sheen of frost on the grass.
Smoke was beginning to climb from a few chimneys as he walked up Kirkgate; servants were already at work, preparing food, cleaning the house before their masters and mistresses rose. The warmth of the fire at the jail was welcoming; Rob was preparing the nightly report, exhaustion showing on his face.
‘Anything?’ Nottingham asked.
‘A burglary up on the Head Row. Took two pieces of plate and some lace.’
‘We had one like that last week in Turk’s Head Yard,’ the Constable said thoughtfully. ‘How did they get in?’
‘A window left unlocked.’
‘Mr Sedgwick can look into it. You take yourself off home. You’ve put in too many hours lately.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Rob didn’t put up any argument, just gave a weak smile as he stood.
Alone, he prepared the daily report for the mayor, keeping it curt, a summation of events. He placed the paper on top of the accounts and poured a mug of ale. The door opened and the deputy entered, shrugging off his greatcoat and standing close to the hearth.
‘Another burglary,’ Nottingham said.
‘Where?’
‘Up on the Head Row. Someone left a window open.’
‘Very similar to that other one, isn’t it?’ Sedgwick said thoughtfully.
‘I’ll leave it with you.’ He gathered up the report and the accounts, brushed off his coat and straightened his stock. His stick clicked hard on the cobbles as he made his way to the Moot Hall. Martin Cobb took the report without a word. The Constable took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the treasurer’s office. In the distance he heard the bell signalling the start of the cloth market.
Rob felt the ache of tiredness all through his body. He’d eaten some bread and cheese and washed it down with a few gulps of ale. He knew he should go and escort Emily to school, to grab at a few more minutes with her, but he needed sleep. He’d stripped down to his shirt when the knocking came at his door.
‘Get your coat, lad,’ the deputy told him. ‘And bring your knife. We have work to do.’
‘What?’
‘Some justice. For those little ones and for Mrs Nottingham.’
He stared at Sedgwick, his mouth open.
‘Well, are you in or do I have to do it myself? This is the best chance we’ll ever have. The boss is with the treasurer, I’m with Joe Buck and you’re sleeping.’
‘Mr Nottingham will know.’
‘Aye. And however much it might go against the grain he’ll never say a word. There’s too much honour in him to do it himself, but inside he’ll thank us.’
‘Do you think we can get away with it?’
‘I know we can, lad. I’ve been planning this.’ The deputy grinned. ‘Trust me. Now, are you coming? We don’t have much time.’
It was late afternoon when the Constable returned to the jail. The treasurer had queried every item in the accounts, wanting justification for each expenditure, asking questions about every tiny detail. But in the end he’d been able to find no fault; Rob had done his work thoroughly. Nottingham felt some small satisfaction in that.
It was the start of the end, he knew that, and the rest would come quickly. A note from the mayor in the morning. If he was lucky he might keep the job for another few days. More likely it would all be over in a few hours.
Sedgwick was pacing the floor, a piece of paper in his hand. He stopped as the Constable entered.
‘They’ve gone. Darden and Howard.’
‘Gone? Where?’ He felt as if he’d walked into a dream. The deputy held out the paper.
‘A boy brought this an hour or so back.’
It was no more than a few words. We have left. Ask the Constable why. He knows the truth. Jeremiah Darden. Solomon Howard.
He looked again. The signatures seemed real enough, shaky and nervous. For the rest, even disguised, he could make out Rob’s hand.
‘What have you done, John?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Sedgwick asked blandly. ‘I went to that burglary, then I’ve spent the rest of the day with Joe Buck. I thought it was time to put a little pressure on him. Ask him if you like.’
‘And Rob?’
The deputy shrugged. ‘Sleeping, I expect.’ He stared at the Constable. ‘I thought you’d be happy, boss. This just proves you were right all along. Who knows, maybe the guilt was too much for them.’
‘How did you get them to sign?’
‘Sign?’ Sedgwick asked innocently. ‘All I know is what’s on that paper.’
‘And a boy brought it?’
‘That’s right. Come on, boss, this is the best news we could have had.’
‘I know. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘What about the note?’
He looked into the deputy’s eyes, seeing the hope there. ‘I’ll take it over to the mayor’s office, and then I’m going home.’ As he passed he put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, then halted at the door, looking out at the street. ‘Thank you, John,’ he said quietly.
At the Moot Hall he handed the paper to Martin Cobb.