At The Dying Of The Year - At The Dying of The Year Part 33
Library

At The Dying of The Year Part 33

*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 a 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.'

*Why would I want that? I need someone to look after the house.'

*But how much longer will you be here?' He began to reply but she continued, *I've got ears and a brain. I've heard you talking.'

*I don't know,' he said. *But wherever we go, you'll have a job. I promised you that.'

*I've had promises off men before. I can look after meself.' Her face hardened for a second and he could see the strong woman she'd become in time.

*I know that.'

She nodded, willing to accept his word, not needing to say anything more. He left her to finish cooking, and saw Rob and Emily by the window, looking out into the night. He had his arm lightly around her waist and she leaned into him. The little girl who'd once told her father that she wanted to marry him when she grew up had given her heart completely to someone else now.

He ate the meal approvingly; Lucy had seasoned the pottage well enough to give it taste, and he wiped up the last of it from the bowl with a heel of bread.

*That was excellent,' he said truthfully, and the girl smiled wide as if he'd given her the greatest praise in the world.

As she cleared the bowls away, Rob stood. *I should go to work.'

*I'll see you in the morning, lad.'

The door closed on Emily and her young man. She'd be out there for five minutes, saying her loving goodbye, then watching him walk away, picking his shape out of the darkness until he reached Timble Bridge.

She came back in, sat in the chair and picked up the books she'd been studying earlier.

*Rob tells me you still write.'

*Yes,' Emily said, puzzlement crossing her face.

*Did you show it to Mama?'

*Sometimes.'

*Would you be willing to let me see it?'

Her eyes widened in surprise. *Are you sure, Papa? I know you don't really like to read.'

*I'm certain.'

*Then yes, of course I will.'

He smiled. *Thank you.'

They sat in silence. She worked and Nottingham gazed into the fire. He closed his eyes and for a few minutes he could imagine it was Mary next to him, turning the pages as she read. Always The Pilgrim's Progress before winter put its cold breath on the world, and poetry to welcome spring. He could tell the passing of the seasons by the book in her hand. For a fleeting moment he felt her in the room, as if she'd come to warm her cold bones at the fire.

The bed was large as a country, the other side too far to reach. He felt empty of God's grace, lost, tired and alone. Sleep hadn't been a willing visitor since Mary had died. He stared at the darkness, the sheets cold against his body.

Tomorrow . . . He'd gambled that he could find the evidence against Darden and Howard and he'd lost. The accounts were in order but that wouldn't matter to the mayor. He'd find some reason to appoint a new Constable.

It was humiliation, disgrace, and some day he'd feel it deeply. For now there was too much pain in his heart to absorb more. It was as if it was happening to someone else and he was no more than a spectator, watching it all play out.

He'd failed Mary and now he'd failed Sedgwick and Rob. They'd believed him, trusted him to discover the proof. He had no doubt that Fenton would dismiss them, too. The man likely already had other candidates prepared for the post, pliable men more eager to please than serve justice. Darden and his factor would continue to walk free.

He drifted in and out of rest, buffeted by dreams that dragged him back to wakefulness, a clammy sweat on his skin. Before dawn he was up, dressed and locking the door behind him. The drizzle had stopped, the stars were clear in the sky, the ground hard under his boots, a sheen of frost on the grass.

Smoke was beginning to climb from a few chimneys as he walked up Kirkgate; servants were already at work, preparing food, cleaning the house before their masters and mistresses rose. The warmth of the fire at the jail was welcoming; Rob was preparing the nightly report, exhaustion showing on his face.

*Anything?' Nottingham asked.

*A burglary up on the Head Row. Took two pieces of plate and some lace.'

*We had one like that last week in Turk's Head Yard,' the Constable said thoughtfully. *How did they get in?'

*A window left unlocked.'

*Mr Sedgwick can look into it. You take yourself off home. You've put in too many hours lately.'

*Yes, boss.' Rob didn't put up any argument, just gave a weak smile as he stood.

Alone, he prepared the daily report for the mayor, keeping it curt, a summation of events. He placed the paper on top of the accounts and poured a mug of ale. The door opened and the deputy entered, shrugging off his greatcoat and standing close to the hearth.

*Another burglary,' Nottingham said.

*Where?'

*Up on the Head Row. Someone left a window open.'

*Very similar to that other one, isn't it?' Sedgwick said thoughtfully.

*I'll leave it with you.' He gathered up the report and the accounts, brushed off his coat and straightened his stock. His stick clicked hard on the cobbles as he made his way to the Moot Hall. Martin Cobb took the report without a word. The Constable took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the treasurer's office. In the distance he heard the bell signalling the start of the cloth market.

Rob felt the ache of tiredness all through his body. He'd eaten some bread and cheese and washed it down with a few gulps of ale. He knew he should go and escort Emily to school, to grab at a few more minutes with her, but he needed sleep. He'd stripped down to his shirt when the knocking came at his door.

*Get your coat, lad,' the deputy told him. *And bring your knife. We have work to do.'

*What?'

*Some justice. For those little ones and for Mrs Nottingham.'

He stared at Sedgwick, his mouth open.

*Well, are you in or do I have to do it myself? This is the best chance we'll ever have. The boss is with the treasurer, I'm with Joe Buck and you're sleeping.'

*Mr Nottingham will know.'

*Aye. And however much it might go against the grain he'll never say a word. There's too much honour in him to do it himself, but inside he'll thank us.'

*Do you think we can get away with it?'

*I know we can, lad. I've been planning this.' The deputy grinned. *Trust me. Now, are you coming? We don't have much time.'

It was late afternoon when the Constable returned to the jail. The treasurer had queried every item in the accounts, wanting justification for each expenditure, asking questions about every tiny detail. But in the end he'd been able to find no fault; Rob had done his work thoroughly. Nottingham felt some small satisfaction in that.

It was the start of the end, he knew that, and the rest would come quickly. A note from the mayor in the morning. If he was lucky he might keep the job for another few days. More likely it would all be over in a few hours.

Sedgwick was pacing the floor, a piece of paper in his hand. He stopped as the Constable entered.

*They've gone. Darden and Howard.'