He advanced across the open ground of the court, hearing Sedgwick just behind him. He glanced up at the window, but saw nothing through the years of dirt accumulated there. Inside the main door he drew the sword from its scabbard.
‘Ready?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes, boss.’
They climbed the stairs slowly, testing each tread before putting weight on it. He noticed the footprints in the dust, some small, one set larger. There were three flights to the top, the door in front of them tightly closed. The Constable braced himself against the wall with one hand, feeling the plaster damp and crumbling under his fingers. He raised his leg and brought his boot crashing down on the lock. The door flew open and he dashed in, the sword out and ready.
Fanny and Sarah were huddled together, screaming, still in their shifts, a blanket thrown on the floor. Nottingham looked at them.
‘Where is he?’
Sarah pointed to the other room, its door still closed.
‘Get them dressed and out of here,’ he ordered. He looked around the room. It was almost bare, just a chair and a table with a jug of wine and a small bottle. He pulled out the stopper and sniffed it.
‘Yes, boss.’ The deputy picked up two dresses, one a tired, weak yellow, the other faded blue, and threw them to the women. ‘Put them on,’ he said brusquely, ‘and hurry up.’
The Constable leaned quietly against the wall and stared at the door.
‘I’ll let the men take them once they’re outside,’ Sedgwick whispered in his ear, ‘then I’ll come back up.’
The footsteps were sharp in the air, then fading. He waited until he could hear the muffled sound of voices outside, then said, ‘You can come out now, Mr Davidson. It’s just you and me.’
He knew the man had heard him, knew he’d come out soon, unable to resist the chance to talk. He waited, breathing slowly and quietly, giving a smile of satisfaction as the knob turned and Davidson emerged, limping slowly into the room.
His face still wore the brash confidence he’d had before but everything else was changed. His skin was sallow, cheeks hollow from a lack of food, fingernails rimed with dirt. His coat and breeches had dark patches of grease on the fabric and he stank of stale sweat and piss.
‘All this because we didn’t leave Leeds?’ he asked.
‘All this because you snatched a child.’
‘And why would we do that, Mr Nottingham? We’re just trying to live, I told you that before.’ He gestured around the room. ‘But it’s harder and harder.’
‘Revenge. That’s what you wrote, wasn’t it?’
‘We wouldn’t do something like that.’
‘I don’t believe you, Mr Davidson.’
The man shifted his weight to take it off his bad leg. ‘I’ve no reason to lie,’ he said simply.
‘I doubt you need any reason to start lying,’ the Constable told him. ‘And your sisters, if that’s what they are, they’re just the same.’
‘You think you can prove anything?’ Davidson asked mockingly. ‘There’s nothing you’ll find here.’
‘No?’ Nottingham asked. ‘That poppy juice over there will make anyone sleep.’
‘I take it when my leg’s bad,’ the man answered smoothly.
‘Then there’s the lad Fanny took. He remembers more than you might think.’ He watched the man’s eyes flicker for a moment. ‘Whose idea was it, anyway? Yours?’
‘We haven’t done anything.’
‘Then the three of you are going to hang for nothing,’ Nottingham said. He kept all the expression from his voice and looked at Davidson flatly. ‘And you are going to hang. All of you.’
‘We can leave Leeds.’
‘It’s too late for that now,’ he said.
‘We’ve done nowt.’
The Constable shook his head slowly. ‘You’ve done too much, Mr Davidson. You should have gone when I told you.’
The man smiled slyly. ‘Do you think you’re going to get me to confess to something I haven’t done?’
Nottingham shrugged. ‘I don’t care if you confess or not. The truth will come out in court, and then it’ll be a short dance on the gallows.’
‘You’re making a mistake,’ Davidson said. His voice seemed calm enough, but the Constable could see small beads of sweat shining on his brow.
‘The only mistake I made was trusting you. You’re good, I’ll give you that, you must have taken in a few in your time.’
The man slapped his bad leg. ‘I’d still be a working man if it wasn’t for this.’
Nottingham studied him coldly. ‘Maybe you would. Maybe not. As far as I can see, there’s something died in you.’
‘We’ve done nothing wrong!’ Davidson shouted.
‘I told you before, I don’t believe you.’
‘If you hang me you’ll be hanging an innocent man.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Nottingham told him. ‘Now it’s time to go.’ He raised the sword and gestured towards the door. Down below he could hear the deputy’s footsteps. ‘Go.’
The man limped resignedly towards the top of the stairs. From the sound, Sedgwick was just one flight below. Without warning, Davidson’s leg seemed to give way and he reached out to the Constable to steady himself. Too late, Nottingham saw the knife in his hand and watched as the blade sliced through his waistcoat into his belly.
He felt the burn in his gut and moved his hand to cover it as he cried out and fell. The blood was warm on his fingers, pouring over them like water.
He saw Sedgwick’s face and heard Davidson’s scream as the sword cut into him and he tumbled down the stairs. He tried to speak but no words would come from his mouth. His ears roared with noise as the deputy leaned over him, and he closed his eyes.