By now Sedgwick knew what to do. With no inns open on the Sabbath, the best time to find villains of any kind on Sunday was early in the morning. They’d be sleeping after a night of thieving or drinking, and the thumps and kicks on the door would rattle them into scared consciousness. He’d used it often before. It served to remind them who wielded the power in the city.
So far it had worked perfectly. Two of them had still been addled on ale, ready to agree to anything as long as they could return to their beds. Martin Grover had looked so guilty that he’d have said yes to carrying the devil around on his shoulders if only the Constable’s man would leave. A couple had taken some persuasion, but reminders of the offences they’d committed, including the ones they thought no one knew about, had quickly convinced them.
He knew Nottingham was out too, using exactly the same methods, pressuring people to join him, with no refusals allowed. This was going to be the biggest thing they’d attempted, and he only hoped it happened. Extracting promises was one thing, getting the people out there tonight would be another matter. There’d be excuses and illnesses, sliding off from their posts and whatever else they could think of. He’d end up being a sheepdog as much as anything else.
But that was fine. Activity would keep the murderer away. He needed quiet places. The whores would grumble at the intrusion and loss of business, but it might keep another one of them alive. And the pimps would complain tomorrow, but they were the least of his worries.
Sedgwick saw Adam Suttler striding briskly up Briggate, a prayer book in his hand as he led his family to St John’s. The little forger was another candidate for tonight; they’d certainly helped him enough in the past. He moved faster, catching up with Suttler by the Moot Hall.
“Morning, Adam.” He nodded at the book. “Off to make amends for the week’s bad deeds?”
Suttler grinned, showing a crooked row of chipped and missing teeth.
“Now, Mr Sedgwick, why would you be thinking that?”
“Happen because I’ve known you far too long.”
“I’m keeping myself out of trouble,” the man insisted, clasping the prayer book against his chest like a talisman. He tilted his head at the spire in the distance. “I go to church every Sunday, and I keep the commandments.”
“Only because there’s not one that says thou shalt not forge, Adam.” He laughed at his own wit. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Suttler raised his eyebrows high into his receding hairline.
“You’re going to be patrolling Leeds tonight.”
He stopped and turned towards the deputy.
“What?” he asked, his voice rising in astonishment. His head barely reached Sedgwick’s shoulders and it would be generous to call his muscles puny.
“We’re putting a load of men out on the streets tonight. We’re trying to catch the man who’s been killing the whores and their johns.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked nervously.
“Just be out there for a few hours. After ten, until about two or three.” Sedgwick relaxed and let an easy smile slide across his face. “That’s it, Adam. Nothing much.” He put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Look, we’ve saved you twice, haven’t we?”
Suttler nodded warily.
“Well, think of this as your way of saying thank you.” He paused, hardening his voice a little. “And it’s not meant as a choice.”
The man’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“I’ll be there,” he said. “I promise, Mr Sedgwick. Can I go to service now?”
By mid-afternoon he’d collected promises from fifteen men to do their duty. He wandered home to sleep for a while before returning to work in the evening. The room was empty; Annie and James had gone somewhere, and the fire was burned down to nothing in the grate.
Sedgwick sighed. With the sling and his stiff arm he couldn’t take off his clothes. Instead he settled down, fully dressed, the scratchy blanket pulled up high. He’d wake in plenty of time.
Nottingham had assembled his force, too. He’d persuaded gently where he could, and insisted where he had to. He knew that, at best, only two-thirds of them would appear, but that would be adequate.
He settled back at his desk, eating a slice of cold, greasy game pie that he’d regret later, and supping from a mug of small beer. He brushed the crumbs off his coat as he swallowed the last mouthful.
He’d done all he could for now; tonight would be the test. In his bones he knew that the killer would be out again, hungry for death. What he was doing to thwart him was extreme, maybe even ridiculous, but what choice did he have? He didn’t have men enough to watch the whole city. So the volunteers were just performing their civic duty. That’s how he’d explain it to the Mayor, if he ever bothered to ask. If their luck was good, they’d catch the murderer and that would be an end to it. But he knew all too well that luck was a capricious bitch.
He drank a little more, then sat back and let his thoughts wander. What was he going to do about Emily? He could beat her, the way most fathers did with errant children, but he knew his daughter; that would only make her more stubborn.
She was too clever for her own good, that was the problem, and trying to grow up too quickly. Another year and she could court and marry, if she wanted. Both he and Mary would be happy with that. And it might drive the ridiculous notion of writing from her head. He’d said little to his wife, but it disturbed him. He wrote because he had to, reports and figures. There wasn’t any pleasure in it, and he didn’t see how anyone could find the act enjoyable. He read the Mercury, but very rarely did he open a book. They reminded him too much of what he’d been long ago, a boy in a house with a library whose shelves reached close to heaven.
Above all it worried him because he understood that if Emily wrote, she’d fail. She wasn’t aristocracy, or even well-connected. No London publisher would look twice at the scribbling of a Constable’s daughter from Leeds. But he had no idea how to dissuade her.
That was the future; more immediately, he had to keep her away from the streets. When he finally had time, tomorrow he hoped, he’d find this boy of hers and he’d make him back away. He knew she was being canny and coy, telling him just enough, but not the information he needed to search for the lad. In that way she was her father’s daughter again; she knew instinctively how to dole out facts.
The only thing he knew for certain was that an answer wouldn’t come easily or quickly — if it even came at all. He wanted the best for her. But he had no idea what the best was in her case.
Nottingham must have drifted into sleep, for when he opened his eyes the first cast of dusk was spreading across the sky, above the chimney smoke of the city. His neck hurt and the muscles in his calves felt cramped from sitting at his desk. He stretched slowly, pushing out his arms and legs and revelling in the luxurious feel. A few more hours and it would all begin. Time to eat a good meal and make sure everything was ready.
By the time Sedgwick woke the smudges of darkness in the sky were thickening. He sat up in bed, shaking his head. The room was chilly and gloomy, deep shadows filling the corners. He realised that Annie and James hadn’t returned while he slept.
He didn’t bother building a fire; a few more minutes and he’d be gone, and there was no knowing when his wife and son might return. They were probably visiting her family so they could be hours yet. He looked around for food, but there was so little on the table that he couldn’t bring himself to take it.
He locked the door as he left. It was going to be a long night.