Come the Fear (24 page)

‘Can you tell many people that way?'

‘Some,' Con admitted. ‘And I can tell plenty of things about people from hearing them move. And half of them seem to think that because I don't have my sight I must be deaf and dumb, too.' He laughed, a wheezing cackle in his chest. ‘They say all sorts in front of me.' He lifted the instrument and played a fast jig for a minute, smiling at the jingle of coins in the hat as a man passed.

‘You heard about that boy who disappeared on Saturday?' Sedgwick asked.

Con chuckled. ‘Show me someone in Leeds who didn't hear about it. Bad business, though. Very bad.'

‘If you hear anyone talking, let me know.'

‘And what might they be saying, Mr Sedgwick?' the fiddler asked shrewdly, turning his empty eyes to the deputy.

‘You'll know if you hear it, Con. There'd be some money in it, too.'

The man nodded. ‘I'll keep my ears open, then. A few more pennies never go amiss, now do they?'

‘Might be a bit more than that.'

‘Might it now?' he said thoughtfully. ‘That's interesting.'

‘Just remember, if you hear anything, tell me.'

‘I'll do that, Mr Sedgwick. And say hello to that lad of yours. He always has a kind word. You've got a good boy there.'

The deputy smiled. ‘I'll do that, Con.'

He made his rounds, circling the city to see all was well, and finished at the jail. The Constable was there, laboriously writing a letter.

‘Anything?' he asked.

‘No,' Sedgwick answered with a long shake of his head. ‘You didn't expect much, did you, boss?'

Nottingham put down the quill and the knife he used to keep it sharp.

‘I'm always hopeful, John. Ask enough questions and eventually you'll get some answers.'

‘Aye, but we need them fast before that bitch does it again.'

‘I know that well enough,' the Constable said seriously. ‘I'll go out myself tomorrow. I want you to talk to Peter Wendell.'

‘You talked to his girl?'

‘I did. He treats her badly.'

‘We'd seen that. Did she give you anything?'

‘Not really. But I think it wouldn't hurt to have another word with him. He might well know something.'

‘I'll go and see him in the morning.'

Nottingham nodded. ‘You go home,' he said. ‘And try to forget what happened on Sunday. The girl will be fine and Walton's no loss.'

‘Yes, boss.' Sedgwick gave a small, weak smile.

‘I mean it. Give it a few days and folk won't even remember it.'

Rob watched the girls file out from the school then run off in a swarm down the street, laughing and grabbing at their freedom. A few more minutes and Emily would come out of the building and look around the way she always did. He brushed dust off his coat and breeches with his palm, tightened his stock and licked his fingers to try to tame his hair.

Then he leaned against the stone wall and waited. The sun was trying to push through high white clouds and the air was spring warm, full of promise, but all he could feel was the heady anticipation of seeing her. He ached to talk to her, to make what suddenly seem fragile solid again. He straightened as she approached, warmed by the way her pace quickened as she saw him and the smile on her face.

‘I thought I'd come and walk you home.'

‘Good,' she said happily. ‘I'm glad you're here.' She slipped her hand into his and he held it lightly as they set off down the road. ‘I've hardly been able to work today,' she told him.

‘Why?'

‘I kept worrying that perhaps you wanted to break from me.'

‘Me? I've told you, I'm not going to do that,' he insisted.

‘I know, but those are words.' She paused and blushed slightly. ‘I'm sorry, that was wrong. I just couldn't concentrate. Mrs Rains wondered if I was ill.'

‘I won't let my father bully me,' he promised.

‘You haven't had to make that choice yet,' she pointed out.

‘I've already made it up here,' Rob answered and tapped his skull.

‘But are you sure?' she asked seriously.

‘Of course I am.'

‘A girl with money and position . . . it's what most men would want.'

‘I want you.'

‘I'm glad you do.' She squeezed his fingers.

‘You're everything I need.'

She smiled again, glanced around to be certain no one was watching and kissed him softly on the lips.

‘Just as I am?' she asked.

‘Exactly as you are.'

She stayed quiet as they turned on to Kirkgate. His eyes moved to the jail, the office empty. He felt content, as if they'd manage to settle everything with just a few words.

‘I love you,' he said as they approached Timble Bridge.

‘I love you, too,' she replied. ‘But what do you want us to do?'

‘What do you mean?' Her question confused him.

She leaned on the parapet and looked down at the water.

‘What do you expect?' she wondered. ‘Marriage and children?'

‘I suppose so, in time,' he told her warily. ‘That's what men and women do. They marry.'

‘Not all of them, Rob.'

‘What do you mean?' He could feel fear rising in his stomach.

‘Not everyone marries. Life isn't always as simple as that.' She turned, her eyes staring at his. ‘Are you happy with me?'

‘Of course I am. I said I love you.'

‘They're not the same things,' she said with a small shake of her head.

‘Then I love you and I'm happy with you,' he corrected himself.

‘Good.' She kissed him again, moving closer, her lips lingering against his. ‘Do you think everything is fine as it is, the way we meet like this, the courting?'

‘Yes,' he grinned, tightening his grip around her waist. ‘I think it's close to perfect.'

‘What would you say if I told you I'd never marry you?' Her voice was quiet and wary.

‘What? What do you mean?' He pulled back to watch her face, to see if this was a strange joke she was playing.

‘You know what marriage means,' she told him. ‘You'd own everything I have. And you'd own me.'

He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger over it to quiet him.

‘Please, Rob, hear me out. I've been thinking about this, it's important to me. I can't ever let anyone own me like that. I'm not a chattel or goods. However much I care about you, no matter how much I love you, I'll never be your wife. Or anyone's wife. But I don't want to lose, you, either.' She gave a small, wan smile. ‘So if it's a wife you really want, maybe you should do what your father asks.' She began to walk away across the bridge.

Rob took a deep breath.

‘Don't go,' he said, and she turned to wait for him. Her words had been a shock, a blow to his belly. What she said went against everything he'd known, strained against all his upbringing. But he knew he'd rather have her on any terms than not at all.

‘We don't have to marry. We can stay as we are.'

Her face glowed and she put her arms around him.

‘You know, Papa will say I'm a foolish girl,' she said. ‘He won't understand why I don't want to marry anyone. Mama will weigh it carefully in her mind. But in time they'll understand it's me, it's always been me.' Emily looked at him. ‘What will your father say?'

‘I don't care,' he told her, and realized he meant it.

They stopped outside the house on Marsh Lane and she gave him another long kiss. ‘I'd best go inside,' she said. ‘Mama will be waiting for me. Can you meet me in the morning?'

‘Yes,' he agreed and watched as she walked away with small backward glances and smiles.

The evening was gathering as the Constable walked home, his footsteps raising dust in the dirt along Marsh Lane. Glancing ahead he could see a light in the window of the parlour and another from Emily's bedroom upstairs.

The glow of the tallow candle gave enough light for Mary to read, the greasy scent filling the room. He hung his coat on the nail by the door then bent to kiss her.

‘You look tired,' she said tenderly.

‘I feel like I'm a hundred.' In the kitchen he poured ale and scraped the remains from a pan of pottage for his supper. ‘Some days I feel like I've been walking for miles and never arrived anywhere,' he said as he sat down with a sigh. He inclined his head upwards. ‘How is she?'

‘Much better today.' Mary put down the book. ‘They must have talked after school, she came home happy and smiling. All's right with the world again.'

‘For now, anyway,' he allowed darkly. ‘I hope this doesn't mean they're getting married.'

Mary laughed. ‘I think we're safe from that yet, Richard. She does have some sense, you know.'

‘Sense leaves by the window when it comes to love,' he told her. ‘You know that as well as I do.'

‘If it had been a wedding she wouldn't have stopped talking,' Mary pointed out.

‘Maybe,' he grunted and finished the drink. ‘I need my bed. A week's sleep would be just about right.'

‘And you'll still be up before the birds and off to work. I've known you too long, you can't change now.'

‘True enough,' he admitted ruefully. ‘Sometimes I wish I could.' He held out his hand. ‘Coming with me?'

The morning was breezy, with clouds the dull colour of old lead scudding across the sky. Lister struggled to stay awake, Sedgwick tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as the Constable finished summing up.

‘There's a market today,' he said. ‘I'll take Holden with me and watch for women with dark hair and blue gowns. She might come back and try it again, there are always plenty of children.'

‘What do you want me to do?' Sedgwick asked.

‘Back over the river, John. After we go and talk to Peter Wendell. Since he seems to like using his fists, it might be better if there's two of us. And you,' he said to Rob, ‘go on home and sleep so you're fit for tonight.'

‘In a minute, boss.'

Nottingham grinned at the deputy. ‘He must be back under Emily's thumb.'

‘Young love, eh?' the deputy said with a broad wink to Lister.

‘She'll be along soon enough,' the Constable said, ‘but you see you rest today.'

The weavers were putting up their trestles and laying out cloth for the market as the Constable and Sedgwick strode down Briggate. The inns were busy with men eating their Brigg End shot breakfasts, plenty of beef and ale to fill their bellies for a couple of pennies.

Carters filled the road, delivering their goods, eager to leave before the market bell closed the street. The first merchants were out, walking around and smiling in anticipation of the profits they'd make.

Nottingham and the deputy turned on to Swinegate, the shops just opening as shutters were lifted. They moved to the side as a woman opened a window on a top floor and threw out the night's piss to splash in the middle of the street.

The smithy's forge lay at the back of a cobbled yard, the doors wide open, heat already roaring from the fire. The blacksmith was busy working horseshoes on the anvil, bringing his hammer down expertly on the red hot metal in a fast, ringing rhythm to shape it.

Wendell was feeding coal into the blaze, stripped to breeches and hose. His chest and thick arms were already shining with sweat and he wore a rag tied around his head to keep the moisture from his eyes.

‘That's him?' the Constable asked and Sedgwick nodded. ‘Let's get him out where we can talk to him properly.'

They entered the yard. The smith glanced up briefly, never breaking the stroke as he pounded against the anvil. Wendell stopped work, watching carefully as they came closer and picking up a hammer.

‘Mr Wendell,' the Constable said, raising his voice above the noise, ‘can you spare us a moment?'

Peter Wendell took a kerchief from the pocket of his breeches and wiped at his face.

‘This about Lucy?' he asked.

‘It is.'

‘You found who killed her yet?' His tone was belligerent, anger boiling beneath the surface.

‘Not yet,' Sedgwick told him. ‘You told me you were going to look.'

Wendell shrugged his shoulders. ‘And I've not found anyone. It's your job, anyway. Why are you coming to me at my work?'

‘I'm just wondering if you know anything more that can help us,' Nottingham said genially.

‘Me? No.'

‘Are you sure, Peter?'

‘Of course I'm bloody sure. What are you saying? You think I killed my sister?'

‘Nothing like that,' the Constable replied. ‘Why? Did you?'

Without warning, Wendell turned and drove his large fist hard into the deputy's belly, sending him to the floor, gasping for breath. Then he began to run.

Nottingham was in front of him, standing firm with his legs apart. Wendell swung the hammer hard. The Constable moved aside, but it still caught him on the thigh, tumbling him as he grunted, the pain sharp as a knife. He could only watch as Wendell dropped the hammer and ran off along the street.

Slowly he raised himself, barely able to hobble, and went to help the deputy. Sedgwick was on his knees, hands clutching at his stomach, still struggling to draw a breath. The Constable rolled him on to his back and pulled him by the belt, forcing the breath into him.

‘Take your time, John, we won't catch him right now.'

He worked his leg slowly, feeling along the bone, but it was intact. He gestured for the smith to come over. ‘Has Peter been acting differently lately?' he asked.

The smith looked at them emptily, running a large, scarred hand over his beard.

‘Different how?' he asked.

‘Quieter, maybe, more secretive.'

The smith shrugged. ‘Long as he does his work I don't give a bugger whether he talks all day or says nowt. So what's he done to make him go for you like that? Why's he run off?'