‘James!’ he yelled, and waited for a reply that never came. He was running along the path, out towards the New Mill, then into the trees, hearing his breath come hard and feeling the sweat on his face and palms. Every few seconds he’d stop, gazing around desperately for any movement, any sign of his son, the fear growing large in his belly.
Finally, after covering the ground four times and shouting himself hoarse, he had to admit that the boy wasn’t here. He pulled his hands through his hair, wondering where the lad could have gone, where else he could look.
He couldn’t allow himself to think that the child snatcher had the boy. James had gone off before and been fine. He’d wander home this evening as if nothing had happened.
The deputy knew that James resented his baby sister. She received so much of the attention that had once been all his. He knew it hurt him, and he’d tried to explain, but there was so much that didn’t make sense to a boy. James couldn’t see why Lizzie gave most of her time to Isabell, or that she loved him as much as she had before, and was just as much his mam. Slowly he made his way back, hoping over hope that someone would have found the lad, but knowing in his soul that no one had.
Eighteen
The night birds had begun their songs when they sat down in the jail. The deputy looked haunted, wild-eyed, distracted by every small noise, unable to sit still. Nottingham sat back thoughtfully, his coat hanging from a nail, the long waistcoat unbuttoned and his stock untied. Lister, fresh-faced from sleep, was alert and anxious.
‘Have you been home, John?’ Nottingham asked.
Sedgwick nodded absently.
‘How’s Lizzie?’
He shook his head, lacking words to describe the feelings.
‘Rob, you take over the search. We’ve had plenty of volunteers, just like with the Morrison boy. Organize them, get them into the fields beyond Town End.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘You should go home and sleep, John.’
‘I can’t,’ he answered simply. ‘Not while James is out there.’
‘Then help the others,’ the Constable said softly. ‘Don’t go haring off on your own. If you have any ideas where James might be, tell them so they can search properly.’
Sedgwick nodded again. Nottingham knew he needed to be back out looking for his son, that each moment away was rubbing his heart raw.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I’ll join you soon. And John,’ he added, ‘we’ll find him.’
There were torches in the night, small points of fire that touched the darkness, spread across Town End, out beyond Burley Bar, along the side of the Aire and even past Timble Bridge.
Lister had volunteers spread across the fields towards the Grammar School, its shape a silhouette picked out by the faint light of a quarter moon. He’d heard about the boy being gone when he went to meet Emily after school, the talk slipping around the streets, folk wondering how it could have happened again, rumours beginning to spread.
But they’d still come out to help, dozens of men giving their time, women bringing stoups of ale and bread. With luck they’d find the lad. But if the child snatcher had him. . It was a thought that stayed at the back of his mind as they worked, and he knew that each passing hour must be leaving the deputy in terror.
He paused as someone’s wife handed him a full mug, and he drank deep. At least the night wasn’t too cold; if James was out here he wouldn’t freeze. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth he thought about the whore the Constable had mentioned. Maybe she was the child snatcher, maybe not. If she was, and if she had the boy. . he remembered the words No Mercy from the note left with the Morrison lad. They’d just have to hope she didn’t have James.
The Constable had charge of people searching around the Parish Church and beyond. The mayor and two of the aldermen had come out to help, working as hard as anyone. They’d looked at Sheepscar Beck, some men even wading into the water, but they’d found no body.
Nottingham had managed to slip home for a few minutes, putting bread and cheese in the deep pockets of his coat. Mary had been in bed, and came downstairs in her shift as she heard him move around.
‘John Sedgwick’s lad is missing,’ he told her.
‘James? Oh, dear God. Emily said she’d heard another boy was gone.’
‘There are plenty of us out searching.’
‘What about Lizzie?’ Mary asked, her voice urgent. ‘Who’s looking after her? She has the baby, too.’
‘I don’t know, love.’ He sighed; he hadn’t had time to give it any thought.
‘I’ll go over and sit with her,’ she offered.
‘What about Emily?’
‘She’ll be fine here for the night.’
‘Take her with you,’ he suggested; he didn’t want the girl in the house alone. ‘She can go to school from there in the morning. I’ll have one of the men escort you.’
He held her, glad of the comfort of her warmth. It was what he needed, the sense of being loved. In a moment he’d be back out there, each hour growing more desperate. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the deputy must be feeling, or how he could keep from screaming.
‘I’ll have someone here in just a few minutes,’ he said finally. ‘I need to go.’
She kissed him. ‘I hope you find him soon.’
‘So do I,’ he answered wearily. ‘There’s too much of this.’
Back outside, owls hooted as they hunted. He could hear the men moving and see the torches flaring. The night took him and he walked back to them. Mary’s idea was good and generous. Lizzie would welcome someone else around, a woman to talk to, and help her with Isabell. And for Emily it would be a good lesson. She’d learn what it was like to be around a baby, and the darker, sadder side of loving someone.
Another hour passed and his faith in finding the boy faded. Over half the men had left, going to their rest before work in the morning, and the rest were struggling to stay alert after so long. Soon, he knew, he’d have to send them home. In the morning, once it was light enough, they’d begin again.
The deputy and his volunteers had begun on Boar Lane, searching the ground around Holy Trinity Church, then moving out and along, down Mill Hill, past Shaw’s Well and through Swinegate. They’d hammered on the smith’s gate until he opened up and let them in, examined the stables at the ostler’s, moving slowly back towards the river. The tenters’ grounds were open, with no place to hide, but the woods took them two hours.
They moved in a line, sticks out to sweep over the grass and into the bushes. Sedgwick had been in front of them, his throat so dry that all his words came out as nothing more than whispers. He tried to tell himself that they weren’t searching for James, but just another missing lad. For a minute it would work, then the fears would flood back into his mind.
The weight pressed down on his chest so hard that it hurt to breathe. His legs ached from walking, and every step made his head pound with ringing pain. There were fewer men around him, some leaving quietly, others coming to explain that they’d need to work in a few hours.
He paid it no mind. Only one thing filled his thoughts: an image of James, the boy he loved more than the world, the boy he had to find. He knew the sweet beauty of the lad, the gentleness and kindness that would return. He was determined that James would become more than his father had ever been. He had to concentrate on finding the lad.
The deputy knew he should go and comfort Lizzie. He’d spent five minutes there, holding her, wiping away her tears, quieting her apologies. He didn’t blame her for this. She’d been a mother to James, one he’d loved until Isabell was born. And he loved the baby, so helpless, so beautiful. They’d done all they could for the boy. Maybe the wildness that had grown in him was a sign of something, some madness. But he’d want to thrash the lad when they found him.