At the Dying of the Year (30 page)

‘Robert Lister,' he said, then glanced back to check that the final bale was loaded properly. ‘I'd not have thought to see you here. Your father well?'

‘Same as ever, the last time I saw him.'

‘Good, good.' He continued to watch as the hatch was lowered and secured. ‘Now, what is it?'

‘Jeremiah Darden.'

Dunsley, hawked, turned his head and spat in the river. ‘If you're out to find him guilty of something, good luck to you.'

‘What do you know about him?' Rob asked.

‘Other than the fact he's a conniving bastard? He's cheated me out of three good accounts over the years.'

‘What about his factor?'

‘Howard?' He shook his head. ‘He's a strange one. Does his master's bidding. But there's always been something dark about him.'

‘We believe he murdered those children and the Constable's wife.'

‘Howard did?' he asked in astonishment. ‘I don't like the man but I'd never seen him as a killer. What about Darden?'

‘Both of them,' Rob answered.

‘And you're looking for evidence against them?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, you'll not get it from me, lad. If I knew anything, I'd gladly tell you, just to see the two of them done down. But I don't. I'm sorry.'

Rob bobbed his head in acknowledgement and began to leave.

‘I'll tell you something,' Dunsley said quietly. ‘It won't matter if you find all the proof you need. Darden will never hang in Leeds.'

‘We'll see.'

The Constable had only met Hammond a few times, but he'd heard plenty of rumours about the man. He had a good brain for business, people said, but he kept himself to himself. His warehouse, a cramped place in the yard behind his house near the bottom of Briggate, was full, every shelf packed with cloth.

The merchant had skin as wrinkled as last year's apples and blue eyes that seemed filmed by rheum. He was likely close to seventy, Nottingham imagined, old enough to have seen the wool trade here grow until it was the biggest in the kingdom.

‘I don't think I've ever had the Constable in here before,' Hammond said with a grin that made his face look youthful. ‘I suppose there's a good reason for it.' He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was so sorry about your wife. I lost mine a while back. It leaves a house empty and loveless.'

‘Thank you.' He paused. ‘I'm told you don't care for Jeremiah Darden.' This place was his last hope to find something; he had nothing to lose by being blunt.

‘You heard right,' the man answered carefully. ‘Why does it matter?'

‘Do you know his factor?'

Hammond nodded. ‘Little worm of a man.'

‘I think he murdered my wife, and the children who were found. He and Darden were in it together.'

The merchant rubbed his chin, the scratching of bristles loud in the room. ‘From the sound of it you don't have the evidence, do you?'

‘Not evidence that I can use, no,' Nottingham admitted.

‘So you're wondering who knows what.' He turned his cloudy eyes on the Constable. ‘That right?'

‘More or less.'

‘I know what Darden did to that boy. Years ago, now. Perverted. And I know what his punishment was. I daresay you do, too. A man can't change what's in his heart, and his is as black as the devil. I can well believe he did what you say.'

‘But?'

‘But I don't know anything that can help you.' He smiled sadly. ‘Even if I did it wouldn't make a jot of difference. You know the Corporation's not going to accept a scandal, not with a merchant like him. Business is too important to be tainted.'

‘And you'll understand it's my job to try.' He tried to keep his voice under control.

‘I'd think less of you if you didn't. But you'll have no joy from it. From what I hear, Mayor Fenton's against you now, too.'

He smiled. There were few secrets in Leeds.

‘You've heard the truth.'

‘Then you'll have another battle there. He'll have the aldermen lined up behind him. He's a canny sod. I wish you well.'

‘I just want to see some justice before I go,' the Constable told him.

‘You won't,' Hammond said simply.

‘I will if I can.'

‘Then good luck to you, Constable.' Hammond turned his back and began counting the lengths of cloth on one of the shelves, pointing with a white, bony finger. Nottingham left, pushing the door to lightly, his heels sharp on the cobbles of the yard.

The cold, misty rain was still falling as he made his way to the White Swan. Rob was already there, halfway through a large piece of pie, crumbs scattered on the table.

‘What did Dunsley have to say?' He signalled to the pot boy for ale and food.

‘That the Corporation would never allow Darden to be convicted.'

‘Do you believe him?'

‘Yes. Do you?'

‘I do. It's the same thing I've just been told twice.'

The deputy slid on to the bench next to Rob.

‘Did you find anything, John?'

‘Bugger all.' The mug of ale arrived and he poured himself a cup. ‘No luck with the merchants?'

‘No.' Nottingham looked down at the scratched wood.

‘So what do we do, boss?'

The Constable sighed. He felt that he'd failed her. They'd won, and her death had been for nothing at all. But they were always going to win in a place like this.

‘I don't know,' he answered.

‘You can't give up,' Sedgwick protested.

‘We're never going to put them in the dock.'

‘Then fuck the law,' the deputy hissed. ‘They've killed too many already. They killed your Mary.'

Nottingham's eyes were glistening when he looked up.

‘I remember that every single minute, John.'

‘I'm sorry, boss.'

‘But as long as I'm the Constable I'm going to do things legally.' He stared at the pair of them. ‘We all are. That's why we're in this job.'

‘What about the ones who don't care?' Sedgwick asked. ‘Them as run this place?'

‘We keep to the law,' he insisted. ‘If we don't, who will?'

‘Boss . . .' Rob began.

‘What?'

‘I don't understand how you can say that when you know Solomon Howard killed Mrs Nottingham.'

‘Because it's the only thing I
can
say while I'm Constable. And I'm that until tomorrow, at least.' He drained the ale. ‘If you're done with that pie, you'd better show me what I need to know about the accounts. I don't want to look like a fool tomorrow.' He looked at the deputy. ‘Anything you can find, John. Anything at all.'

During the afternoon a messenger came from the Moot Hall; the mayor wanted to see the Constable. He'd been expecting the summons. It would give Fenton one more chance to harangue him before he had to present the figures.

He walked over slowly, happy to take his time, to make his Worship wait a few minutes. A few folk came to offer their condolences. Then he climbed the steps and walked along the corridor with the thick Turkey carpet, past Martin Cobb, and knocked on the door.

‘Come in.'

Fenton was leaning back in his chair, smoking a clay pipe with a long stem. ‘Sit down.'

He perched carefully on the chair, his hands folded over the silver head of the stick.

‘You don't like the wealthy, do you, Nottingham?'

‘Don't I?'

‘You've got it in your head that Mr Darden and Mr Howard are responsible for crimes they'd never have committed. I've heard about you over the years, going after men with money.'

‘The law's for everyone,' the Constable replied calmly. ‘There's not one for the rich and another for everyone else. And I'm paid to make sure people keep to the law.'

‘For now. It'll be different after tomorrow.'

He shrugged. ‘If it is, it is.' He'd discovered that he didn't really care any more. The person that kept him going more than any other had gone. Emily had the money Worthy had left her; she wouldn't want for a roof over her head, or for something to eat. What happened to him was no longer important. ‘But the truth will come out sooner or later. And if you back those two you're going to look like a bloody fool.'

‘Get them out of your head,' Fenton shouted, slapping the desk. ‘They're not guilty. I've been talking to the aldermen and enough of them will back me to replace you.'

‘Do what you will.'

‘I intend to,' they mayor told him with a wolfish grin. ‘You think your power is greater than anyone's here, that you're the only one who cares about justice. You went too far, Nottingham. Your comeuppance is long overdue.'

The Constable just smiled, letting the words wash over him and away again.

‘I'll be interested to hear what your accounts show. I daresay there'll be enough discrepancies to warrant your dismissal.'

Nottingham stood. ‘Was that all, Mr Fenton? I have pressing work to do. If there's nothing more I'll take my leave.'

‘Go. This might be your last time here as Constable.'

He returned to the jail to go through the rest of the figures with Rob. By the time they finished it was close to full dark. Emily would have walked home alone. Nottingham pushed the papers into a neat pile.

‘You've done a good job there.'

‘Thank you, boss.' In the candlelight he could see the lad flush with pride.

‘Come on home and have some supper before you start for the night. She'll be happy to see you.'

The thin, bitter mist of rain was still falling as they went down Kirkgate. As they passed the Crown and Fleece the door opened and the landlord came bustling out.

‘Mr Nottingham,' he said loudly, his face beaming, his words starting to slur. ‘Mr Lister. I was hoping to see you.'

The Constable gave him a gentle smile. ‘What can we do for you?'

‘There's something I want to show you.' His mouth closed suddenly. ‘I'm sorry, I should have remembered. My condolences to you.'

‘Thank you.'

‘But please, I'd like you to look at this.'

Nottingham glanced at Rob and raised his eyebrows. Lister shrugged. They followed the man into the yard, where a torch lit everything.

‘There,' he said proudly and pointed. One of the stones in the stable wall had been removed and replaced with another, artfully cut so a pair of skulls protruded. ‘They kept coming to me, they wouldn't leave me alone, dying like that with no one to care. So I talked to the mason and had him do that. Cost a pretty penny, too. We put it in place this morning. What do you think?'

‘I think it's a fine tribute,' the Constable told him. ‘People will remember them.'

‘They can rest now,' Rob said.

‘Aye, they can,' the landlord agreed. ‘Will you come in and drink a mug? We've been celebrating.'

‘Not tonight, thank you. Perhaps we can toast them another time.'

‘Whenever you want,' the man offered. ‘Whenever you want.'

They walked on. At the churchyard he glanced over, seeing the dark earth of Mary's grave and the small memorial to Rose next to it, feeling sorrow like a weight around his heart.

‘You know, lad, Mary and I used to talk about the things we were going to do together. All hopes for the future. Now we won't have the chance to do them. You and Emily, though, you have time.'

‘But—'

‘There isn't a but,' he answered quickly. ‘You're happy together. Make the most of it. I mean it.'

‘What about the money? She was going to refuse it.'

‘I know. I was the one who suggested it. But there's no point, really, is there?'

‘Isn't there, boss? What do you mean?'

‘If she turns it down, it'll just end up in some lawyer's pocket. Emily might as well use it. She can do whatever she wants. Open a school. She can be a writer – she used to want to do that.'

‘She still does.'

Nottingham nodded. ‘You're young enough to have plenty of dreams. When Amos Worthy left her that money he told me he was giving her freedom.'

‘Was he? It seems more like a burden.'

‘When he said it I didn't believe him, either. I thought it was bad money, made on the backs of his whores. Now I wonder if he wasn't right.'

‘Why did he leave it to her? I still don't really understand it.'

They crossed Timble Bridge, boot heels muted on the soaked wood.

‘It's a long story, lad.' His mother's face came into his head, the woman Worthy loved for so long and lost. ‘I used to think he did it to spite me. Maybe he saw more than I did.'

The house was warm. Emily was seated close to the fire, a small pile of books on the floor beside her, the smell of damp wool filling the air. He could hear Lucy moving around in the kitchen, humming softly to herself, a tune he didn't recognize that drifted in and out of hearing.

Nottingham walked through, leaving the lovers alone for a few minutes. He kept his gaze level, unable to look down, scared of what might remain on the floor, and of the pictures in his head. Lucy stood by the fire, stirring the pottage as it simmered over the flame. She turned and smiled at him, her face guileless, hair hanging over her shoulders.

‘Another half hour and it'll be ready.' She wiped her hands on her apron. When he didn't say anything or move, she asked, ‘Is owt wrong?'

‘No,' he answered slowly. ‘Just thinking. Remembering.'

‘She loved you, you know.' Lucy gave a small grin.

‘I know.'

‘You had a long time together.'

‘Never enough.'

‘When she was showing me what to do, she asked me about mesen. She was the first one to do that. Like she really cared. Like it mattered.'

‘It did,' he told her. ‘It does.'

She took him by surprise. ‘If you ever want me to leave, just tell me.'