Fair and Tender Ladies (20 page)

They stopped close to a small copse by the water, a stand of oak and ash and willow, thick enough to hide a man.

‘He's in there,' the Constable said.

‘What do you want to do, boss?'

‘I'm going in. You stay here. If King comes out, shoot him.' He kept his eyes on the wood.

‘Boss,' Lister objected, but Nottingham simply shook his head.

‘Be ready, that's all.' He walked slowly ahead and vanished between the trees.

Rob waited. The gun was cocked and heavy in his hand. The sun beat down, burning his neck, but the sweat that ran along his spine felt cold. He could barely breathe, and strained to peer into the woods but saw nothing. Each moment seemed to stretch out. His heart was pounding. For the third time he checked the sword and knife in their sheaths.

Finally the crack of a pistol echoed through the valley, a report that sent birds scattering and squawking into the sky. Rob raised the gun, his arm steady. The seconds passed. He heard footsteps in the undergrowth and tensed his finger on the trigger.

The Constable emerged, the gun down by his side, his shoulders slumped.

‘Fetch the coroner.' Nottingham stared at Rob, his eyes empty.

T
he Constable walked across the field to Lady Lane, wearier than he'd ever been in his life. It had only taken a moment to spot King as the man tried to hide behind a fallen tree trunk. From there, he'd only needed to wait, silent and unmoving, until he stood, ready to run. They'd looked at each other and the man began to raise his hands. Nottingham fired, watching the shot tear Davy's chest open. No mercy. Not this time.

The street was dusty and his throat was dry. People tried to talk to him but he brushed by. Soon enough they'd all know what had happened. Not that it mattered, not with John dead. An eye for an eye might be the old way but there was precious little satisfaction in it.

He paused at the top of the hill. Men were carrying rubbish out of the workhouse and piling it in front of the building. He could hear hammers and sawing inside. Two labourers stood in a patch of shade by the ale barrel while someone else pored over a drawing stretched out on a piece of wood.

‘I didn't even know the plans had gone through yet,' Nottingham said and the man turned.

‘Don't ask me,' he said with a tired shake of his head. ‘I just do as I'm told. It's a reet bloody mess in there, too. Going to take the rest of the week to clean it all out properly. They didn't bother to tell me that before I hired this lot.' He spat on the dry ground.

‘When do they want it finished?'

‘End of the month. They'll be lucky. I doubt any of them's ever taken a look inside. Half of the rooms have rats' nests in them. We've been killing the buggers all morning.' The man glanced at Nottingham. ‘You look like you could do a full day's work, you need a job?'

‘Already have one,' the Constable answered, seeing the corners of the man's mouth turn down. ‘For now, anyway. Good luck.'

‘Luck? It's going to take bloody prayer, lad.'

All he wanted was to go home, to close his eyes and try to forget. He hadn't paid a debt; he never could. Instead he'd done the last thing he could manage for a friend who'd done everything for him.

He forced his feet along the street, not looking at anything, just concentrating on moving.

At the warehouse, Williamson was directing two men who were shifting lengths of cloth from the shelves to the large open doors that overlooked the Aire. He turned when Nottingham entered, said something to the workers and came over to him.

‘What is it, Richard? We're busy here,' he said, annoyance in his voice until he saw the Constable's face. ‘What's happened? You found him?'

‘He's dead,' Nottingham answered shortly. Each word felt as heavy as a hundredweight. The merchant was staring at him curiously. ‘Have you given your recommendation on the workhouse?' he asked.

‘This morning,' Williamson answered in surprise. ‘We're debating it at the meeting on Wednesday.'

‘Come with me,' he said.

‘Now?' Williamson asked in exasperation. ‘I have a shipment to prepare.'

‘Please.'

The merchant wavered for a moment, then nodded, passing the paper to a clerk and picking up his coat from the desk before following the Constable.

‘It'd better be important, Richard,' he warned as they walked along Vicar Lane and out to the Ley Lands.

‘It is.'

‘What happened with …?'

The Constable shook his head and stayed silent until they reached the site. ‘There.'

The Constable saw the amazement on Williamson's face. The merchant waved the foreman over.

‘When did you start here?' he asked.

‘This morning, sir,' the man answered.

‘And when do you have to be finished?'

‘I was told to have it all done by the end of the month.' He wiped some dust from his mouth. ‘Won't be easy, either. There's more needed than anyone told me.'

‘Who's paying you?'

‘The Corporation of course,' the foreman replied, as if it was obvious.

‘I don't know what to tell you, Richard,' Williamson said once the man had returned to his work. He was still staring at the building. ‘We haven't …' He shook his head. They began to walk back slowly.

‘I didn't know,' Williamson said finally. ‘Truly, I didn't.'

Nottingham didn't respond.

‘I feel like a fool.'

‘Don't,' the Constable told him. ‘Finer's probably been planning this since the moment he came back to Leeds.'

‘But his figures make sense.'

‘I'm sure they do. They were meant to.' His voice turned hard. ‘I'll wager a week's pay that in a year they'll look very different and the Corporation won't even care. The poor will be off the streets. That's all that matters to them.'

‘It's not what's important to me. I hope you believe that.'

‘I do. They used you,' he explained gently.

‘You warned me. I'm sorry, Richard.'

‘It's not your fault. You were given a document and you went through it properly.'

‘I'll still bring it up at the meeting.'

‘It won't make a damn bit of difference. It's started now and they're not going to stop.'

Williamson nodded. He seemed bowed, betrayed, and there were lines on his face that Nottingham had never noticed before.

‘We still need to send that order out today. I'll be at the service tomorrow. And that other matter's in hand.'

The Constable watched him go. He was tired to his bones, his eyes bulging from lack of sleep and pain starting to tighten around his heart. As he walked along Briggate he could hear Sedgwick's voice in his ear, suggesting a brief stop for a drink or a pie, talking about how well James was doing at the charity school or suggesting another way of looking at a case that troubled them.

Nottingham loosened his stock and wiped the sweat off his neck. He wanted his bed, to sleep without dreaming, but it would have to wait a while yet.

Lucy answered the door at the house on Lands Lane. Her eyes were still red where she'd been crying and she held a small piece of linen tight in her first. She looked up into his face and asked, ‘Have you done it?'

He nodded. ‘Where's Lizzie?' The body had gone, he saw; the pallet was cleared and all the straw swept away.

‘She's upstairs with the children.'

The Constable felt as if he'd never reach the top, that his legs wouldn't carry him all that way. But finally he was there. She was feeding Isabell, spooning something into the girl's mouth while James played on the floor with a wooden animal.

‘It's done,' he told her.

‘Dead?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Good.' She spat out the word. ‘I hope he goes to hell.'

‘Does that mean my da can come home now?' James stood up, his long face so much the image of his father.

‘No.' Nottingham sighed, not even sure how to answer the question. ‘I'm sorry, James. I wish it did.' He turned to Lizzie. ‘I've arranged the funeral for eleven tomorrow.' She nodded, her eyes lost. ‘I'll come for you and the children.'

‘Thank you.' She tried to smile but couldn't.

He sat in the jail for hours; he didn't know how many had passed. Maybe he'd slept, he didn't know that either. Finally he roused himself and trudged down Briggate, then out along the riverbank to the camp. People were beginning to gather, to build their fires from branches and twigs they'd scavenged, ready to cook whatever scraps they might have. There was no hint of a breeze to stir the warm air. Bessie was sitting with one of the groups, talking with a woman who had a baby at her breast. Someone pointed and she turned, rising slowly to approach him, the way she did with everyone, keeping strangers away from her folk. She folded her arms under her bosom.

‘I heard about Mr Sedgwick,' she said. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘So am I, Bessie. So am I.'

‘I heard what you did, too. Good riddance to filth like that.'

He looked around the camp. ‘Not so many here today.'

‘There'll be more later. But some have gone off to look for work on the farms. It's that time of year.'

‘And the others?'

‘Trying their luck elsewhere rather than risk the workhouse,' she answered, looking him in the eye. ‘Do you blame them?'

‘No, I don't. They started work on the place today. It's supposed to be done by the end of this month.'

Her eyes widened. ‘I didn't even know the Corporation had agreed yet.'

‘They haven't,' he told her, and saw her mouth harden into a thin line.

‘I see. Same as ever in this place, then,' she said with disgust. ‘I remember what it was like, the way they made the inmates wear those metal discs on their coats.'

He recalled that, too. ‘They're still cleaning the place out, all the rubbish is piled by the walls.'

‘There'll be plenty of it to cart off, I'm sure of that.'

‘There already is,' he said and glanced up at the cloudless sky. ‘And the weather's very dry. I've seen fires start when it's like this.'

‘You should have warned them, Mr Nottingham.'

‘Not my job. I just wanted you to know.'

Bessie pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Thank you.'

T
here could be no good day for a funeral, the Constable thought. The blue sky, the sun were a mockery. Lizzie was next to him in the church, cradling Isabell. He'd escorted her, Lucy holding James's hand as she walked behind from the house on Lands Lane. Emily had closed the school for the day, and sat on his other side with Rob, her face tight, hands clasped in her lap.

The air was hot and still; with so many filling the building, it hurt to breathe. He turned his head, glancing at the faces he knew, all here to pay their last respects. So many of them. But no more than John's due.

Later, outside, he held Isabell as Lizzie stooped to gather up a handful of dry earth and sprinkle it in the grave, her head bowed, shaking with the tears. Very gently Nottingham put his arm around her to help her back.

He waited until the others had filed past, each of them scooping up the dirt to tip it down on to the coffin, then added his own, saying farewell to the man he'd known so well. Molly the Mudlark threw in the earth from her small hand, reached into the pocket of her ragged dress and added a small lump of metal before she hurried on.

Then it was over, and the crowds moved away with a quiet word to Lizzie or a touch on her arm. Tom and Hannah Williamson remained standing in the church porch.

The merchant came over, sadness and embarrassment on his face, drawing a leather purse from the pocket of his expensive dark coat and holding it out to Lizzie. The Constable knew there was another, smaller one for Daley's woman. The alderman had done his men proud.

‘We arranged a subscription,' he said, pressing the money into Lizzie's hand. ‘It's not much, not for all Mr Sedgwick did.' He bowed briefly and returned to his wife. Nottingham drew out the two documents he'd collected from Cobb earlier that morning.

‘The city's going to pay you a pension and the rent on the house,' he told her, seeing her eyes widen and the tears start falling again. ‘You won't want for anything, I promise you that.'

She couldn't say anything, and he didn't need any words. She had a lifetime of loss ahead. That much he knew.

Finally he was alone in the churchyard. He walked over to stand by the graves, Rose and Mary, and the sun burned his neck as he stood, talking to his wife in his head.

Rob and Emily walked quietly along the Calls to the school, the sad, solemn air of the funeral hanging over them. She was ready to come home, he knew that; the Williamsons had been kind, but two nights there were enough for her.

First, though, she needed a few books to prepare the next day's lessons. He waited as she unlocked the door, knowing she was holding her breath and hoping no one had been in. He knew it was safe enough, at least for now. The women still had their husbands out, but there'd be fewer of them each night. Soon they'd need a night man front and back on the place again.

He threw back the shutters, letting light flood the room as she searched through a pile on the table.

‘Got them,' she said.

She was interrupted by a tap on the door. Rob raised his eyebrows and she shook her head, not expecting anyone. Carefully, one hand close to his knife, he opened up.

‘Mr Williamson,' he said in surprise. ‘Mrs Williamson. Come in, please. We were just about to leave.'

‘I hope it's not a bad time,' the merchant said. ‘A sad enough day.'

Lister nodded, standing aside as they entered.

‘I'm sorry, there's only the benches to sit on,' Emily apologized.