*Yes, boss.'
*If you walk down to Timble Bridge you'll have more time with Emily,' he advised Lister. *I daresay she'll need some warming up.' He winked and saw Rob blush as Sedgwick laughed.
He finished his daily report and walked up to the Moot Hall. People were tightly wrapped against the weather, hats jammed down hard on heads so only their eyes were visible. A few cattle lowed plaintively at the Shambles, as if they knew what awaited them.
It was all different upstairs, among the Turkey carpets and the polish of the wood panelling. Servants had come in early to lay the fires, then disappeared as if it had all happened by God's will.
Martin Cobb sat at his desk, sorting through a pile of papers. He smiled broadly to see the Constable.
*Mr Nottingham, your timing's excellent,' he said genially. *The mayor just asked to see you. Go on in.'
*Sit yourself down.' The mayor nodded at the expensive chair, its legs so spindly and delicate they looked as though they'd never hold a man's weight. The Constable lowered himself carefully.
Fenton was dressed in rich wool, a merchant who spent money on his tailoring, wearing his suit easily. The coat and waistcoat were cut to flatter, and his face was smooth and pink from a recent shave, but the skin under his eyes dark and puffy.
He was thumbing through the newest edition of the Mercury. On the desk there was a dish of coffee, carried down hot from Garroway's on the Head Row, the aroma rich in the air of the office.
*Have you found him yet?' he asked, barely raising his eyes.
Nottingham placed his report on the pile of papers awaiting the mayor's attention. *Not yet, your Worship.'
*I heard you turned down the offer of a reward from the merchants.' He folded the newspaper slowly and sat back. *Why?'
Nottingham considered his answer for a moment. *Because I want to find the man who hurt and killed those children, not someone whose neighbour has a grudge against him and thinks he can earn some quick money,' he said calmly.
Fenton shook his head. *I disagree, Constable. Folk will see the city takes this seriously.'
*We've been talking to people. We know more about him. He calls himself Gabriel, and he wears a full wig and a grey suit. By now most of the people in Leeds know that, too.' His voice was earnest. *They'll do what they can to help, and they'll do it without the promise of money.'
*We need to show people we're concerned.'
The Constable sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop himself from shouting. *They already know that. Put up a reward and you're only going to make our job much harder. We'll have to follow up every hint or tip, and they'll all be wrong.'
*And what if one of them's right?' the mayor countered with a smug smile.
*It's unlikely.' Experience had taught him that. *And I'd wager we'd get it without the money.'
*It doesn't really matter, anyway,' Fenton told him flatly. *The Corporation's agreed. I'm having the posters printed today.'
*Yes, your Worship.' It was a battle he'd already lost. Now he had to think how to make the most of the defeat.
*Anything else, Nottingham?'
*No.'
His face was grim as he walked down the corridor. He wanted to bang his fist against the rich wood and smash a hole in the wall. At least once he was outside the cold of the wind and the blood stink from the Shambles seemed real.
As soon as the notices were up people would start coming forward, hoping to snatch at the wealth. And he knew they'd need to check each word and suggestion, just in case. It was all they'd have time to do. He made his way back to the jail, and pushed the iron deep into the coal to let the blaze rise.
He knew he'd done all he could. He'd find the bastard.
The door flew open. The recruiting sergeant entered, his uniform neatly buttoned, the scarlet of the coat brilliant in the dull colour of the jail. The drummer boy slipped in behind him.
*You're the Constable?' the sergeant asked. Nottingham nodded, pulled from his thoughts. The soldier looked fearful. *My recruits have disappeared.'
*Disappeared?' He didn't understand. *What do you mean? They've run off?'
*No,' he replied and then shook his head in confusion, pushing his lips together. *I don't know. They were in the stable and the door was locked. When I went in for them this morning they'd gone.'
*And the door was still locked?'
*Aye, good and tight. I turned the key myself last night and opened it a few minutes ago.' He voice was wary. *There's a devil in there.'
*Let's go and take a look, Sergeant . . .'
*Grady. Daniel Grady.' The man straightened his back.
*And what's your name?' the Constable asked the drummer.
*Andrew, sir.'
The lad wore old clothes that had been made for a bigger boy, and a pair of drumsticks was thrust through a worn leather belt. His face and hands had been roughly cleaned, the skin shining and red. But his boots were good, almost new and highly polished.
Nottingham rose, gathered his stick and smiled. *Crown and Fleece, isn't it?' he asked.
The sergeant had locked the stable door and lowered the wooden bar.
*This is how you left it last night?'
*Yes, sir,' Grady said. *I went to me bed early. The two lads had been drinking, and I knew they'd be warm enough in here with the beasts.'
*Let's see inside.'
The horses whinnied as the door was drawn back to let light into the stable. The air was warm and moist, full with the smell of horse shit and hay. The Constable stood and glanced around the building. There were no windows, and the animals were confined in their stalls. A ladder led up to the hayloft.
*Have you checked up there?'
*I sent the boy up,' Grady answered and Nottingham turned to Andrew.
*There was just hay, sir,' the boy said shyly. *No sign of anyone.'
He walked around the outside of the stable, searching for another door or any place the recruits could have escaped. There was nothing. The place was only a few years old, the Yorkshire stone still a soft golden colour, the roof on tight with no gaps.
The sergeant looked haunted, confronted by something far beyond his understanding. He moved awkwardly from foot to foot, turning his head from side to side as if he might spot the recruits hiding somewhere in the yard.
*Andrew,' the Constable said, *go up to the loft again and look in the hay.'
*Yes sir.' The lad moved quickly, used to obeying orders as soon as they were given.
*Kick around in the straw,' he added. Nottingham doubted the boy would find anything, but he wanted to be thorough, and he knew he couldn't climb up there and back down himself.
*Nothing here, sir.'
Grady was still in the yard. He glanced up expectantly.
*Well, Sergeant,' Nottingham said with a sigh. *You were right, they've disappeared.'
*I told you there were devils here.' The soldier stalked off. The drummer boy looked blankly over his shoulder at the Constable for a moment, then followed.
There were no devils in Leeds, least of all at an inn like this, Nottingham thought. Something had happened. The recruits had managed to escape. The drummer boy could have unlocked the stable door for them, or even a serving girl. He'd need to talk to the landlord and try to pull Andrew aside before the sergeant left. There'd be an answer, he was certain of that, something simple and straightforward. The young men might have gone, but they hadn't simply vanished into the air. No one did that.
It was the last thing he needed. Finding Gabriel was all that mattered, not hunting down a pair who'd likely thought better of their futures after taking the King's shilling. He spent another five minutes searching inside and outside the stable, the horses snorting uncomfortably as he prowled around the building. Finally he stood thoughtfully in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, before striding into the inn.
The sergeant sat at a table, idly moving a mug of ale across the wood.
*The two who've gone, what were their names?'
Grady needed to think for a moment before answering. *Thomas Lamb and Nathaniel Sharp.' He shrugged. *That's what they told me, anyway.'
He understood. Young men joined the army for more reasons than adventure. Escaping a wife, debt or the law could all send men to arms, and the names they gave often weren't their own.
*Where's Andrew?'
*I sent him down by the river to practise. We're going down to Wakefield later.' He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. *What happened to them? I don't understand.'
*I don't either,' the Constable admitted. He smiled. *But I will.'
He walked down towards the Aire, passing through a ginnel then cutting over Call Brows and Low Holland, following the sharp tattoo of drumbeats. The boy was marching by the water, the drum hanging from his neck by a thick leather strap, large against his tiny body. He put up the sticks as Nottingham approached.
*You're very good on that.' The boy eyed him warily but said nothing. The Constable gazed out at the water. *What do you know about the two who disappeared, Andrew?'
*Nothing, sir.' The boy looked up with guileless eyes. *Just that Sergeant Grady signed them up, sir.'
*How long have you been with the regiment?'
*Almost two years, sir.'
*Do you like it?'
*Yes, sir,' Andrew said, but his words had no conviction.
*Where do you come from, lad?'
*York, sir.'
*You miss it?'
*Sometimes.' He brightened for a moment. *But Gibraltar is warm.'
*Tell me, what do you think happened to those two, Andrew?'
The boy didn't answer at first, still staring at the Constable. *Don't know, sir. Really, I don't.'
*Thank you. I wish you well in your travels.'
He walked back to the jail, still not sure if the lad was telling him the truth. He'd probably never know. The deputy was sitting by the desk, laboriously writing out a note.
*Any luck, John?' he asked hopefully.
*Nothing,' Sedgwick responded, his mouth tight with frustration. *He's nowhere. No one knows him.'
*He's not the only one, it seems.' He explained about the recruits, and a grin spread across the deputy's face.
*Devils?' he laughed. *Someone felt sorry for them and let them out, more like.'
*Go on down there and talk to the serving girls and the landlord.'
*What about Gabriel?'
*The Corporation's offering a reward,' he said flatly. *The posters are going up today.'
Sedgwick frowned and let out his breath loudly.
*I warned the mayor,' Nottingham continued.
*Couldn't he give us another day or two?'
*The city needs to show it's concerned,' he said disgustedly, then picked up the quill pen and tossed it across the desk. *They don't care about the children, you know that. They're only bothered because people are angry.'
*So what are we going to do, boss?'
*There's no choice. We'll have to go through everything that comes in. It doesn't even matter if we know it's wrong.'
*Every bastard in the city's going to come through that door.'
*I know that, John. But there's nothing we can do about it. You'd better get down to the inn and see what you can discover. We'll be busy enough later.'
Alone again, he sat back in frustration. He was no closer to finding Gabriel and he didn't know how the two recruits had escaped. It wasn't a good return to work. He ached all day and by evening he was exhausted, drained by what he'd done. And that had been precious little, he knew.
Perhaps Mary had been right when she'd suggested that he leave the job. It was in the slowest time of his recovery, when the days all seemed dark and clouded and she believed he'd never have good health again. But he'd been certain he needed this; he'd clung to it. Now, mired down this way, he wondered if he should have listened more closely to her.
He picked up the stick, the silver cold against his palm. A hot pie at the Swan would revive his spirits. Before he could reach the door it opened and a man glanced around nervously before ducking quickly into the jail.
He was tall, a worn old bicorn hat on his head, with the diffident, furtive look of a servant on his face.
*You need the law?' the Constable asked.
The man snatched off his hat awkwardly, holding it in front of him and kneading it nervously between his fingers. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. The words would need to be teased out of him, Nottingham thought.