The man’s body had been heavily battered. Nottingham stared grimly at it on the slab in the cell they used as a morgue. He’d been young, the shape of his body and the thickness of his hair showed that, but his face had been so heavily pummelled, the bones all broken and the flesh swollen, that it was impossible to make out any features. He turned away. They’d found the corpse after a boy in threadbare breeches and a torn shirt had dashed into the jail, his features white with shock, eyes full of fear and excitement, and led them down to see his discovery in the woods by Sheepscar Beck.
Whoever he was, the man had put up an almighty struggle, his knuckles ripe and bloody, but he’d been overwhelmed. And then very carefully and coldly beaten to death. The Constable had examined him closely but hadn’t found any deep cuts and there were no signs of stab wounds.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Sedgwick.
‘It could be.’ As soon as they’d seen the body they’d both wondered if this was Tom, the brother of the false servant Nan. It was exactly the kind of punishment Worthy would dole out for what the girl had done. ‘He’d be about the right age, anyway. And killing him this way would fit. It would send a lesson.’
Gently, Nottingham pulled the sheet over the man. There was nothing more to see and no clues in the pockets, just a few small coins and a well-used handkerchief. The clothes gave nothing away, cheap and anonymous, once good perhaps, but he’d likely bought them from a stall at third or fourth hand. He could have been anyone from anywhere.
‘But if this is Tom it still leaves the girl,’ the deputy said.
‘I know,’ the Constable agreed slowly. ‘And if Amos has her she’ll get much worse than this.’
‘What can we do about it?’
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Inside, he was sure this was the lad called Tom, and that the pimp’s men had killed him. Worthy would have taken part; he wasn’t a man to leave the satisfaction of revenge to someone else.
‘I don’t even know how we can prove who this is,’ he said angrily, ‘let alone who’s responsible.’
‘That’s what he wants, isn’t it?’ Sedgwick said. ‘Everyone knows, but there’s no one can say or tie it to him. He’s shown no one can cross him but we can’t touch him. It’s clever, you have to give him that.’
‘And it’s his reminder that he can flout the law.’ Nottingham’s eyes were dark with fury. ‘I don’t care what that boy had done, he didn’t deserve to die like that.’ He took a deep breath and reached for his coat. ‘I’m going to see Amos.’
‘Boss-’ Sedgwick began, but the Constable had already left.
He pushed his way through the door and back into the kitchen. Worthy was standing there, leaning against the table and catching the sun through the dirty window. For once the fire wasn’t lit, but the summer heat trapped in the room left it unpleasantly warm.
There were no guards lounging by the back door or against the wall. Worthy was eating in silence, bread and cheese on his plate, a full cup of ale before him. He turned slowly and smiled as the Constable entered.
‘I wondered how long it would be before you showed your face,’ he said. ‘Do you want something to drink? Stop that thirst?’
‘You know why I’m here.’
‘Of course I do, laddie. You think I had something to do with the body you have in the jail.’
‘I know you did, Amos.’
Worthy’s eyes shone. ‘If you’re so certain, you’d better prove it, Mr Nottingham.’ He held up his hands, turning them to show both sides, the skin unbroken. ‘Does that look like I’ve been fighting?’
‘So for once you had someone else do the work for you.’
‘You want be careful, laddie.’ His voice turned colder and more serious. ‘Words like that could seem like slander.’
‘How did you know someone had died if you weren’t involved?’
‘Little birds are always telling me things.’ He broke off some of the bread and began to chew, letting crumbs spill carelessly down over his long waistcoat.
‘They told you fast.’
‘No point in knowing if you’re not the first. It’s old news by the time some other bugger has it.’
‘What about the girl?’ the Constable asked. ‘What have you done with her?’
Worthy put down the bread and stared straight at him.
‘I’ll spell this out to you so you don’t go making any mistakes. I don’t have the girl. But I’ll bloody well find her. And if you think I have summat to do with whoever you have on that slab, go ahead and prove it. I’ll lay odds you can’t do it, though. You want a wager on it?’
Nottingham didn’t react, holding the older man’s gaze for a long time.
‘Get out,’ the procurer said finally. ‘I want to eat.’
The sky was just taking on its evening colours when Sedgwick arrived home. He closed the door with a long, exhausted sigh.
‘Papa!’ James ran to him, clutching at his legs and gazing up with large blue eyes, silently demanding to be picked up. The deputy grabbed him round the waist, tossing him lightly into the air and catching him as the boy squealed with joy. He nuzzled his nose against James’s face, smelling the warm innocence of his hair then turning a circle with his son in his outstretched arms.
‘You be careful,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘He had summat to eat a little while back. If he’s sick you’re going to be the one cleaning it up.’
‘He’ll be fine, won’t you?’ He pulled the lad close and kissed him then let him slide back down his body to the floor. Lizzie came over, holding him and feeling the weariness in his bones.
‘Bad day?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ he answered, thinking again of the bloody, misshapen face on the slab and wanting to leave it all behind. ‘But I’m home now.’
‘Come on, get your coat off,’ she told him, pulling lightly at the sleeves. ‘You’re settling in for the evening. There’s some food on the table. You want some ale?’
He nodded and she filled his mug. The first long sip tasted good, the second even better. He sat down, moving his head around to try and ease the tension of work out of his neck.
‘One of those days when you wonder why you do it?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Aye,’ he said, taking her hand, and pulling her down so she sat on his lap with a happy squeal.
‘I’m getting heavier, you know,’ she told him and patted her belly. ‘And I’ll be bigger fast enough.’
‘You’ll be lovely.’
With a smile she punched him playfully on the shoulder. ‘You say that now, John Sedgwick. But when I’m waddling round big as one of them houses at Town End you’ll think different.’
‘I’ll love you if you’re as big as the bloody Moot Hall,’ he laughed along with her and buried his face in her hair. He relished his work but he knew that this was what really kept him going, the prospect of coming home to these two. Here he could be a different person, or at least a different shade of the same person, gentler and kinder.
She stroked his hair as they sat, combing through it absently with her fingers, watching James as he played. Gradually he could feel himself relax, enjoying the closeness of this woman who wanted to be with him.
‘We’ll have to get a larger room,’ she said.
‘What?’ he asked absently.
‘Drifting off??’ she asked with a sly sparkle in her eye. ‘I was saying we’ll need a bigger room when the baby’s born.’
‘We could start looking sooner, if you like.’
‘I’d love to have a real home sometime,’ she sighed. ‘Nothing fancy, just more than one room.’
‘Better dream on or find yourself a rich man, then. It won’t happen on my wages.’
‘One day when you’re Constable.’
‘If that ever happens, what with this new lad,’ he said with a sigh. ‘His father publishes the Mercury, so he’ll know people.’
‘Mr Nottingham said he’d speak up for you, didn’t he?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then go ahead and trust him. Look at you, John Sedgwick, you’re worried about someone who hasn’t even been in the job five minutes.’
‘I know,’ he admitted sheepishly.
‘You trust Mr Nottingham, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘He’ll do what he said, you know that. And maybe you’ll get me that house after all.’
‘Well, there’s a house with the job.’ He grinned. ‘Just don’t go holding your breath, though. The boss has a few years in him yet.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m just wishing. And you look like you’re dead on your feet.’
‘I’m fine for the moment,’ he told her and glanced out of the window. ‘It’s not even properly dark yet.’
‘I was thinking we could put James to bed and have an early night. You know.’
‘I suppose I could stay awake for that. Just.’
‘You’d better,’ she warned him with a smile. ‘Fall asleep in the middle and you’ll wake up missing some bits.’
He woke midway through the night, a sudden idea springing into his brain. Even as his eyes opened it began to fade and he struggled to keep it there. Slowly he untangled his arm from around Lizzie, and moved silently across the room, digging a scrap of paper and a pencil from his coat.
As he pulled the sheet back over himself she stirred against him, her breathing becoming soft snores for a few moments before subsiding. He smiled, feeling loved and satisfied.
The morning seemed a little cooler, the air easier to breathe as the deputy walked to work. He could hear the bright chatter of servants through the open windows and the rattle of pots on stoves as they started to make breakfasts.
He’d had some bread and a few sips of ale, enough to set him up for now. He was never hungry first thing, but ravenous by dinner when he usually had a pie from one of the shops or street sellers.
The Constable was already at the jail, his coat draped over the chair and sleeves rolled up to show the hair on his arms bleached pale by the sun.
‘There was a set-to overnight, boss. That’s what Morris the night man told me,’ Sedgwick said with a frown and Nottingham looked up, setting the quill aside.
‘Nothing new there, John. It can’t have been that bad, there’s no one in the cells.’
‘Bad enough.’ He sat down across from the Constable. ‘Seems like some of Worthy’s men were going at it with some others.’
Nottingham sat upright, attentive. ‘How many in all?’
‘About eight or so. Morris wasn’t sure.’
‘And who were these other men?’
‘He didn’t know, but my guess is they belonged to Hughes.’
‘Revenge for the whore who was cut.’
‘Aye. And it lets Worthy know Hughes won’t be leaving, too.’
‘How many were hurt?’
‘I don’t know. Morris was on his own so he stayed out of the way.’
‘Best thing,’ Nottingham agreed with an approving nod.
‘He did think one or two looked in bad shape.’
The Constable pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the throbbing he could feel building in his head.
‘He beats someone to death and now this. Amos must be feeling pressed if he needs to push hard.’
‘What did he say yesterday, boss?’
‘Just what you’d expect. He knew all about it, of course, and challenged me to prove he had anything to do with it.’
‘So what now?’
The Constable sighed. ‘The good news is that he claims he doesn’t have Nan.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes,’ he replied slowly. ‘If he knew where she was he wouldn’t have said a word.’ He sat and steepled his hands under his chin. ‘I think it’s time to go and meet Mr Hughes. Find out where he lives and we’ll pay him a visit.’
‘Yes, boss.’
Sedgwick slipped out, returning in less than ten minutes with a broad grin.
‘House on the Calls. When do you want to go and see him?’
Nottingham gave a dark smile, stood up and put on his coat.
‘No time like the present, John. Let’s see what our newest citizen is like.’
They walked down Kirkgate, then down Call Lane, taking their time, for all the world like two friends out enjoying the morning. Only the determined looks on their faces gave them away.
‘How do you want to do this, boss?’
‘I think we’ll just make the acquaintance of Mr Hughes and remind him that we have law in Leeds. See if that’s enough for him.’
Sedgwick pounded on the thin door with the flat of his hand, rattling it in its old, ill-fitting frame. The house was a cheap dwelling place, mortar slowly crumbling between the brickwork, the chimney pot sitting askew on the roof. They waited a minute and the deputy knocked again, banging until he heard the key turn inside.
‘What do you want?’
The man was young and shirtless, showing off a stocky physique with well-muscled arms. His face was sallow, with a recent cut above his right eye and a deep bruise flowering around his left. His head was shaved smooth, glistening in the sunlight.
Nottingham glanced at the man’s knuckles, cut and swollen, and knew without doubt he’d been part of the battle.
‘Well?’ the man asked, rubbing at his eyes, his voice still thick with sleep.
‘You’re Mr Hughes?’ the Constable asked.
The man put his hands on his hips and smiled comfortably. ‘I am. Who wants to know?’
‘I’m the Constable of Leeds. I want a word with you.’
‘Oh aye?’ Hughes raised his eyebrows.
‘Inside,’ Nottingham told him firmly. He locked eyes with the man, holding his gaze until Hughes moved aside.
The parlour was a jumble, with clothes and rubbish idly scattered across the floor. The sound of voices came from upstairs, men and women both, and footsteps clattered on the boards over their heads.
‘What do you want, Constable?’ Hughes asked. He picked up a dirty mug from the floor and took a swig from it.
‘In a fight, were you?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘Mebbe.’ He looked from one of them to the other.
‘Where are you from, Mr Hughes?’ the Constable wondered.
‘Why? Does it matter?’ His tone had become sullen.
Nottingham smiled graciously. ‘Just taking an interest. From the sound of you it’s not anywhere around Leeds.’
‘Doncaster,’ Hughes conceded.
‘How many of you are there?’
‘Eight. Four girls and the rest of us.’
‘One of your lasses was hurt recently,’ the deputy said.
‘Someone cut her, aye.’
‘That’s a crime. Why didn’t you report it?’
Hughes shrugged.
‘So you’re running four whores, Mr Hughes?’
‘Am I?’
‘You are.’ The Constable’s voice turned hard. ‘Your girl wouldn’t have been out and there wouldn’t have been a fight last night if you weren’t.’
‘Old man Worthy paying you, is he?’ Hughes sneered.
‘Only the city pays me, Mr Hughes. You’d do very well to remember that.’
Hughes looked doubtful, uncertain whether to believe what he was hearing.
‘And if I have some girls?’
‘It’s against the law,’ Nottingham began, ‘but men are always going to pay for girls. As long as there’s no trouble we pay it no mind.’
‘I didn’t start any trouble.’
‘But you kept it going last night,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘We don’t play fear or favour here.’
‘It stops, Mr Hughes,’ the Constable ordered. ‘And I’ll be telling Amos Worthy the same.’
‘The old bugger’s past it, anyway,’ Hughes said, ‘letting himself be taken in by a servant girl.’
Nottingham said nothing, allowing the silence in the room to build.
‘You know the rules now.’
‘And if I don’t obey them?’
‘Then you’ll pay the consequences,’ the Constable said simply, ‘and by Christ, you’ll wish you’d listened. Good day, Mr Hughes.’ He turned on his heel and left, followed by the deputy.
Outside, the pair walked in silence for a while.
‘You think he’ll listen?’ Sedgwick asked finally.
Nottingham shook his head. ‘No. He thinks with his pizzle and his fists, that one. He’s not going to listen to reason. Have some of the men keep an eye on him. He’s going to be trouble.’
‘What about Worthy?’
‘I’ll talk to him again. Keep looking for Nan.’
‘If we find her first Worthy’s going to look weak.’
‘That’s for him to deal with. He got one of them, and I’ll be damned if he gets the pair.’
They walked into the empty jail and Sedgwick looked around.
‘Did Rob come back this morning?’
‘He did. I sent him back to Jackson’s rooms to see if there’s anything more he can find. He’s probably still there. He did turn up some interesting stuff about Lady Gibton. Seems she really does have a touch of insanity. That backs up what her husband said to me.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know who killed Sarah Godlove, but every bit of this seems to stink of money and power,’ he said with distaste.
‘You’ll find that anywhere,’ the deputy commented.
‘Very likely,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘But it’s dirty stuff, wherever it happens. And it’s not in Leeds. I’d never heard of any of these people before this happened.’
‘Godlove didn’t seem too bad.’
‘Maybe not,’ he answered. ‘But I’m going to have to look at him again. The more this goes on, the more things seem to point towards him. If he knew about his wife and Will Jackson he certainly had a reason to kill her, in his own mind at least.’
‘I thought you’d decided he was innocent.’
The Constable sighed in frustration. ‘I know, that’s what I thought. It’s what I still feel. But the more I look at it, I just don’t know where else to turn.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘We shouldn’t have to take all this on. It’s not as if Leeds doesn’t have crime without looking outside the city.’
‘I wish we could arrest that bugger Worthy.’
‘So do I,’ Nottingham agreed, his eyes flickering towards the morgue. ‘If we did he’d be out in an hour, though. There’s no evidence. And even if we had something, his friends among the aldermen would have him gone soon enough.’
‘Nothing we can do?’
‘No,’ the Constable said vehemently. ‘Sod all.’
‘I had a thought about Jackson.’ He reached into his pocket and found the paper, squinting to make out his sleepy scrawl. ‘What if his business partner knew he was going to sell out his share of the business?’
Nottingham stopped moving the papers on his desk and looked at the deputy with curiosity.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Tunstall wouldn’t be happy if he found out, would he? He’d be getting a new partner, no say in the matter.’
‘Go on.’
‘It could be reason enough to commit murder.’
‘The only problem is that Jackson killed himself.’
‘But what if he didn’t?’
The Constable thought, then answered slowly.
‘I just don’t see it, John. Either way Tunstall would end up with a new partner. And the note indicates Jackson was a suicide. It was in his own writing. Do you think Tunstall’s that clever?’
‘Aye, maybe you’re right,’ Sedgwick conceded sadly. ‘It came to me while I was sleeping.’
‘Never ignore your hunches,’ Nottingham advised. ‘They’ll be right often enough.’
‘Just not in this case.’
‘No, John. Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘So what are we going to do about Nan? If Worthy really was telling me the truth then she’s still out there.’
‘After what happened to her brother, or whatever he was, she’ll have run as far from here as she can.’
‘I hope so. But if she hasn’t, we still need to find her. If we don’t, Worthy’s men will and we’ll be looking at another corpse.’
‘All the inns and alehouses must be sick of us asking about her by now.’
‘At least they’ll notice her if she walks in,’ Nottingham said. ‘Get the men out on a sweep of them again. And the places where she might sell what she’s stolen. She still needs to eat and drink.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He stood and prepared to leave.
‘How’s Lizzie?’
‘Strong as an ox.’
The Constable smiled. ‘Then let’s pray she remains free of any trouble.’
‘Aye, true enough.’ Sedgwick held up a pair of crossed fingers. He was smiling but inside he was wishing fervently that all would go well. To lose her would break him and devastate James. The boy had only just become used to a loving mother. He could learn to share her with someone else, but not to be without her entirely.
He’d never had to do so much riding when looking into a crime before. It wasn’t something he relished. Still, it could have been worse. The weather was set fair, the sun pleasant and not too hot, a faint breeze like whispers beyond hearing. If he really had to ride to out Godlove’s estate, this was a day for doing it.
The horse took the hill at a slow, easy pace that suited the Constable. He didn’t know what he could ask Godlove that he hadn’t already asked, or if there was anything that might trip him up. But at least by talking to the man he was doing something, trying to press matters forward.
As he rode along the long drive he could see workers out in the field, but no activity in the yard. At the stable a boy took his mount but told him that the master had left early for an appointment in Bradford.
So much for this journey, Nottingham thought wryly, and went to the kitchen in search of something to drink while the horse was watered and brushed. With the oven going the room was sweltering, the door wide open to try and release some of the heat, the cook red-faced and sweaty.
‘Mr Godlove’s gone, they said.’
‘Aye, away at the crack of dawn to Bradford. Didn’t even take time to eat owt first.’ She wiped her brow with a forearm and eyed him carefully. ‘I’ve seen you here before. Summat to do with the mistress,’ she said suspiciously.
‘I’m the Constable of Leeds,’ he told her, keeping close to the fresh air by the door.
‘Wasted your time coming out here today, then. I suppose you want some ale.’
‘I’d love some,’ he said with a grateful smile.
She gestured at the table. ‘It’s on there, help yourself. Have you found out who killed her, then?’
‘No,’ he admitted, pouring a tall mug and taking a long, welcome drink. ‘Not yet.’
‘The master’s been all inside himself and upside down since it happened. He doted on that lass, you know.’
‘What was she like?’
The cook crossed her arms, the pink flesh on her upper arms jiggling.
‘Not going to say ill of the dead,’ was all she offered.
‘Do you remember the day she left?’
‘Easier to remember the times she was here,’ the woman snorted. ‘Off out every week, then to see those parents of hers, sometimes out with the master. Couldn’t keep track of her. Didn’t think much of it when she left. Until she didn’t come back, of course,’ she added hastily.
He took another sip. They brewed well here, with a rich, deep taste. Better than he’d had in many inns.
‘Was Mr Godlove here that day?’
She shook her head.‘After the mistress left he decided to go off to Bradford. Don’t blame him, really. Saddled up his horse about an hour after she went, saw him through the window there. Stayed away overnight, and all. Dinner I made would have gone to nought if I hadn’t ended up giving it to the men. Not that they minded, of course.’
‘When did he come back on Friday?’ Nottingham tried to make the question one of friendly interest, a simple way of making conversation. She stopped for a moment, casting her mind back.
‘Late,’ she answered finally. ‘Gone dark, I remember that, because the stable lad had to get up to look after his horse.’
He drained the mug and decided not to press the cook further. She’d probably been here for years, with a strong sense of loyalty to Godlove. Better to let it rest. But it was interesting news and worth storing for later.
‘Do you know when he’ll be back today?’
She laughed. ‘He doesn’t tell me, love. He’ll be here when he’s here. But he didn’t say not to cook, so he’ll probably come back this afternoon.’
‘Could you tell him I was here looking for him and I’ll come back tomorrow?’
‘Aye, I’ll do that. You’re the Constable, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
She nodded sagely. ‘Important job, is it?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so. The title’s worth more than the pay.’
She looked him up and down. ‘Aye, love, I can tell.’
He was still smiling as he rode back down the hill. She’d put him in his place right enough. He glanced at his old coat, shiny at the elbows and collar, his white stock discoloured to ivory, the brilliant yellow of his long waistcoat faded with age. It was a tatterdemalion appearance, he understood that. It might be all well and good in the city, where people recognized his face and knew his position, but out here it just marked him as a poor man.
Still, the things she’d told him had been revealing. Sarah Godlove hadn’t managed to win the affection of the servants, it seemed, and she apparently hadn’t cared too much for being stuck on Godlove’s estate.
But it was the man’s absence when his wife vanished that was the most disturbing point. It meant that he could have killed her; he had the time and the chance. And if he knew about Jackson, he had a reason. Things seemed to be starting to point to Godlove and that worried him. He’d been so convinced of the man’s innocence, that he was a sincere, grieving widower. Was he losing his instinct? Or was the man really that good an actor? If so, he was even fooling his servants. Whichever it was, it gave the Constable pause. He prided himself on being able to pick out a falsehood quite easily. If he couldn’t he was worthless at his job.
He’d be back out to talk to Mr Godlove, and this time he’d be very much on his guard. He’d bring John along, too, and see what he thought. The problem was that they couldn’t arrest someone of that rank without very good cause, and finding evidence to convict might be nigh on impossible.
As he made his way slowly along the road back into Leeds, turning by Kirkstall Forge, the ruined tower of the abbey looming out to the west, Nottingham was forced to admit that it was quite possible he’d never know for certain who’d killed Sarah Godlove, or even the real reason why.
He hated failure. He hated to see a life taken and not being able to find the person responsible. It didn’t happen often. As he’d told Rob, most murders were simple to solve. But a few had eluded him and he remembered every single one of them, the faces, the dates, the way he’d been unable to bring them justice. He didn’t want to add this one to the list.
At the ostler’s he dismounted, thighs aching, knowing he’d have to do it again the next day. Still, at least he now had real questions to ask Godlove, and he’d need solid, believable answers.
The others were at the jail, the deputy wearing his frustration on his face and Lister sitting back thoughtfully, cradling a mug of ale in his hands, breadcrumbs scattered loosely across his waistcoat.
‘Doesn’t look like either of you has had a good morning,’ Nottingham said, perching on the corner of the desk. ‘John, I want you to come out to Horsforth with me tomorrow.’
‘Riding?’
‘Best way, unless you really prefer Shanks’s mare. Godlove wasn’t home. But the cook said he left the same day as Sarah. Went to Bradford and didn’t come back until late the following day.’
‘Still think he’s not guilty, boss?’
The Constable shrugged. ‘That’s why I want you there when I talk to him. You can tell me what you think.’
‘I will.’
‘What about you, Rob? You’re lost in thought.’
‘I’ve been going over Will’s papers again, boss. I can’t find anything else in his rooms.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing,’ he said with a long sigh. ‘There’s just nothing there that can help.’
‘So we’re stuck,’ Nottingham said. ‘Still, it was worth a try.’ He was about to say more when the door was pushed open hard. A young boy, maybe eight years old, wearing just a shirt and torn breeches, his feet bare, looked up at them with wide, terrified eyes.
‘Please sir, you’ve got to come now,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Some men are attacking a lady.’
Nottingham looked at the other two and reached into a desk drawer, taking out three heavy cudgels.
‘Ever used one?’ he asked Lister.
‘No.’
‘Sounds like you’ll get some practice,’ the deputy told him.
Moving at a run past the surprised people on the street, they followed the boy into the thicket of courts that ran off Lands Lane. The lad disappeared into the entrance of one, a space hardly wide enough to pass through in single file, to a yard where the broken-down houses stood around a small, bare patch of ground that hardly ever saw the sun.
‘In there. I heard them.’ The lad pointed at a building with its front door missing. Nottingham could hear grunts and shouts coming from inside. He turned and gestured at the others, took a deep breath and charged through the door with a shout, the other two close behind.
The two men trying to kick down the door turned together. They were both large, with battered, worn faces and thick hands, but they were unarmed, knowing their size and power could intimidate most people.
The Constable didn’t even need to think. He brought the cudgel down on one man’s forearm, hearing the hard wood break bone and the loud, agonized cry that followed. Sedgwick was already attacking the other man, then Lister started, flailing at the skull of the first. Nottingham moved aside to give them room.
It had only been the work of seconds, barely a skirmish, but he still found himself panting hard from it, energy and excitement jangling through his body. Sedgwick’s man was laid out on the dirty floorboards, while the other held his arm carefully, blood flowing freely from the wounds on his head.
‘Wake that one up,’ the Constable ordered, ‘and take them to the jail. See what you can get out of them.’
The deputy used his boot to rouse the unconscious man. He stirred slowly, moving gradually to his knees then vomiting loudly.
‘Get him out of here before he does that again,’ the Constable ordered. ‘The smell here’s bad enough as it is.’
There was no resistance in them. As hard men they had nothing to offer beyond their size. They were brutal enough against someone weak, but crumpled if anyone showed them some fight.
Once they’d gone and silence had returned to the stairwell, he knocked on the door. Two of the panels had been smashed, but the lock had held. Another good push or two and it would have given, though.
‘I’m the Constable of Leeds,’ he said, loud enough for whoever was inside to hear. ‘You’re safe now.’
There was no response. He tried the handle but it wouldn’t give.
‘Can you let me in? There’s no one here to hurt you.’
Again there was nothing and he waited. He needed to know who was beyond that door.
‘Please, let me in.’
When no one answered he knew he had no choice. Standing back he raised a leg and brought the sole of his boot down hard just below the lock. The door shuddered but held until he did it again and finally everything gave.
Gently, holding the cudgel loosely, he pushed the door open and walked in. A girl was crouched in the far corner, shivering uncontrollably and trying to make herself small, tears coursing down her face, small fingers attempting to hold the torn bodice of her dress together.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her softly, ‘I won’t hurt you. Those men have gone.’
She looked up at him. He squatted, looking into her eyes and giving an encouraging smile.
‘You’re Nan, aren’t you?’ he said.