‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she asked, and he saw her hand tremble before she clutched her dress. ‘I thought he must be when he didn’t come home. He always came home. And I knew it when the others came.’
‘The others?’
She answered his question with one of her own. ‘Did they kill him?’
‘I suspect they did,’ he told her.
‘There were two of them. I live under here. I heard their footsteps and their voices during the night. They woke me. By the time I could dress and get up here, they’d gone. Was he murdered?’
‘Yes,’ Nottingham told her. ‘I’m sorry.’ That was why he’d never heard her. She was intimate with this place and moved silently, knowing each inch.
‘They were looking for his gold. Not that there was any to find. Isaac was as poor as me. Look around, you can see that, can’t you?’
‘I can,’ he agreed.
‘But people think, he’s a Jew, he must have a fortune hidden away.’ He could hear her bitterness. ‘We ate together. He cooked for me, he gave me clothes.’
‘He was a good man,’ was all Nottingham could say. ‘Did you hear anything these men said?’
She stayed perfectly still. Only fury and sorrow were stopping her vanishing before his eyes, he thought.
‘Not the words.’
‘But?’ He could sense there was more.
‘The tone. They were young. There was money in their voices.’
‘I see.’ He walked across the room, careful to avoid what was left of the things here, the detritus of Isaac’s life. Gently he took her hand, her skin like aged vellum under his fingertips. The texture reminded him of Wyatt’s book and he let go quickly.
‘What was he like?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Like?’ She turned into his words, and he was disconcerted to see blind eyes looking up at him. ‘He was a good man, just as you said.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘He kept his faith when most would have given up. Do you know, ten years ago he walked to London and back because they have a synagogue there — that’s where the Jews pray. When he returned he seemed to sparkle for a while.’
‘How old was he?’ Nottingham asked her. She shrugged briefly.
‘He thought he might be seventy, but he didn’t really know. He always said he was a man who walked across the world. He was a boy when he saw his family killed. He never even knew why it had happened. After that he just began walking.’
‘And ended up here.’
‘Eventually.’ She smiled wanly. ‘It took him many years. He had plenty of stories to pass the evenings.’
‘How long did you know him?’
‘Longer than I’ve known anyone.’ Her hand clutched his, her fingers surprisingly strong. ‘It wasn’t long enough. He should have lived for a long time yet.’
‘Yes,’ Nottingham agreed soberly, ‘he should. What’s your name? In case I need to talk to you again.’
‘Hannah. Hannah MacIntosh. My family came down from Scotland when I was small.’ She allowed herself a small, quavering smile. ‘So I know about wandering, too. I was born blind, just in case you were wondering. But I’ve learned to see in other ways.’
‘Can I do anything to help you?’
She shook her head. ‘No need for that. I’ll manage. But thank you, Constable.’
He left her standing at the entrance to the room and made his way gingerly down the stairs, not daring to look back lest he’d imagined her.
Josh waited in the court, idling against the wall.
‘His room’s been ransacked. I saw the woman who lives in the room below. She heard two young men.’ He decided not to mention the idea of a wealthy family. ‘I couldn’t find his pack there or near the body, so someone has that. They’ll probably try to sell the clothes.’
Josh nodded his understanding.
‘Get out there, start looking, talk to people. They’ll help. Isaac was well-liked.’
The boy hesitated and Nottingham took him by the arm.
‘I know John told you to look after me, but we have work to do.’ His face softened. ‘Don’t worry, I can look after myself if Wyatt comes for me. Now go on, let’s find whoever killed Isaac.’
Josh took off at a run, with all the energy of youth. Nottingham pulled up his coat collar against the cold and made his way through the ice and snow.
At the jail, Sedgwick was sitting behind the desk, his face dark and sober. As the Constable entered, he stood, the chair scraping back loudly on the flagstones.
‘Boss-’
‘You saw Isaac’s body?’
‘Boss.’ There was foreboding, warning, in his voice.‘Rushworth,’ he said.
Nottingham closed his eyes and felt the world explode. He’d become distracted; for a few hours he’d forgotten about the clerk.
‘Is he here yet?’
‘In the cold cell with Isaac.’
He walked through slowly, knowing what he’d find but hoping to put off the moment, to make it wait forever. The deputy followed, a lit candle in his hand.
‘Where was he?’
‘Down by the river. Close to where I found Graves.’
So this was Ralph Rushworth, he thought. He made a small corpse, with a bare, concave chest. His white breeches were dusty and dirty, stained with piss at the crotch. Nottingham stared down into the face. The features were tight, compact, the mouth drawn back over yellowed teeth, the nose long and bulbous at the tip. He lifted the right hand, light, almost weightless in death. The fingers were deep-stained with ink, calloused from years of holding a quill, nails bitten down roughly and rimmed with dirt. Just another clerk, with nothing to distinguish him from hundreds of others besides a few words spoken years ago in court.
He pushed the corpse on to its side. The skin had been neatly taken off the back, removed in a single sheet. What remained was livid and bloody, the body within no longer contained. Like Samuel Graves. This is the way they’ll find me in time, Nottingham thought, if Wyatt has his way. He lowered Rushworth again.
‘Anything by the body?’
‘There was a set of scuffed footprints down from the bridge,’ Sedgwick answered with a shrug. ‘For what that’s worth. No blood, nothing else.’
‘Just one set? No sign he’d dragged Rushworth?’
‘Only one,’ the deputy confirmed. ‘I’d just left home when a lad came and grabbed me. They’d gone down there for a snowball fight and seen him.’
‘None of the night men saw anything?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Sorry, boss.’
Nottingham turned to look at the deputy.
‘Two corpses in one night,’ he said sardonically. ‘Spring must be here.’
‘Isaac. . any idea who killed him yet?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘Two of them, by the sound of it. He was up on Lands Lane, by the orchard. They ransacked his room, too.’
‘So they’d been watching him.’
‘Seems like it.’
And we failed him. We failed both of them, he thought. We can’t keep people alive. If the weather doesn’t claim them, sickness does. If not that, then it’s a knife or a blow. They all die, and we can’t stop it. He felt as if the cold was seeping through his flesh and deep into his heart.
‘We can’t do anything more here. Let’s go into the warmth.’
He put more coal on the fire, thinking as the blaze began to take hold.
‘Get the men out and question people as they cross the bridge later. Someone will remember one man carrying another in this weather.’
‘I’ve already got two of them asking around,’ Sedgwick told him.
Nottingham smiled. ‘I’m sorry. You know what to do. But get down there yourself. You’re smarter than they are. You know what to ask, and how to listen. Even a good description of Wyatt would be something.’ The Constable continued, ‘Josh is looking into Isaac’s murder.’
‘We’ll get Wyatt, boss.’
‘Will we get him in time, though?’ He sat down and ran a hand through his hair. ‘You’d better put a closer watch on the judge, too.’
‘And what about you? Who’s going to watch you?’
Nottingham smiled slightly.
‘You tried that with Josh. We don’t have the men for it. I’m ready for Wyatt if he comes.’ He paused and corrected himself. ‘When he comes.’