Chris Nickson - At the Dying of the Year

‘I am.’

Luke grinned. ‘God help her. If you’re the best she can do, the girl must be out of her senses, that’s all I can say.’

‘How’s business?’

‘We’re making money,’ he said cautiously. ‘A few more orders from America. If that keeps on it could be a good market for us.’ He stopped to yell an instruction to one of the men. ‘What do you want with my father?’

‘It’s to do with Mr Darden.’

Luke rolled his eyes. ‘You’ll have his attention, then. He can’t stand the man.’ He watched a length of cloth being carried out. ‘That’s the last one. Go on out, if you want, he’ll have time.’

Nicholas Dunsley was a small man with dark, questioning eyes and a hooked nose too big for his face. The thick woollen coat seemed to overwhelm him; it was beautifully cut but he almost disappeared inside it; a tricorn hat covered his thinning hair. He turned at the sound of footsteps on the flagstones.

‘Robert Lister,’ he said, then glanced back to check that the final bale was loaded properly. ‘I’d not have thought to see you here. Your father well?’

‘Same as ever, the last time I saw him.’

‘Good, good.’ He continued to watch as the hatch was lowered and secured. ‘Now, what is it?’

‘Jeremiah Darden.’

Dunsley, hawked, turned his head and spat in the river. ‘If you’re out to find him guilty of something, good luck to you.’

‘What do you know about him?’ Rob asked.

‘Other than the fact he’s a conniving bastard? He’s cheated me out of three good accounts over the years.’

‘What about his factor?’

‘Howard?’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a strange one. Does his master’s bidding. But there’s always been something dark about him.’

‘We believe he murdered those children and the Constable’s wife.’

‘Howard did?’ he asked in astonishment. ‘I don’t like the man but I’d never seen him as a killer. What about Darden?’

‘Both of them,’ Rob answered.

‘And you’re looking for evidence against them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you’ll not get it from me, lad. If I knew anything, I’d gladly tell you, just to see the two of them done down. But I don’t. I’m sorry.’

Rob bobbed his head in acknowledgement and began to leave.

‘I’ll tell you something,’ Dunsley said quietly. ‘It won’t matter if you find all the proof you need. Darden will never hang in Leeds.’

‘We’ll see.’

The Constable had only met Hammond a few times, but he’d heard plenty of rumours about the man. He had a good brain for business, people said, but he kept himself to himself. His warehouse, a cramped place in the yard behind his house near the bottom of Briggate, was full, every shelf packed with cloth.

The merchant had skin as wrinkled as last year’s apples and blue eyes that seemed filmed by rheum. He was likely close to seventy, Nottingham imagined, old enough to have seen the wool trade here grow until it was the biggest in the kingdom.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had the Constable in here before,’ Hammond said with a grin that made his face look youthful. ‘I suppose there’s a good reason for it.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was so sorry about your wife. I lost mine a while back. It leaves a house empty and loveless.’

‘Thank you.’ He paused. ‘I’m told you don’t care for Jeremiah Darden.’ This place was his last hope to find something; he had nothing to lose by being blunt.

‘You heard right,’ the man answered carefully. ‘Why does it matter?’

‘Do you know his factor?’

Hammond nodded. ‘Little worm of a man.’

‘I think he murdered my wife, and the children who were found. He and Darden were in it together.’

The merchant rubbed his chin, the scratching of bristles loud in the room. ‘From the sound of it you don’t have the evidence, do you?’

‘Not evidence that I can use, no,’ Nottingham admitted.

‘So you’re wondering who knows what.’ He turned his cloudy eyes on the Constable. ‘That right?’

‘More or less.’

‘I know what Darden did to that boy. Years ago, now. Perverted. And I know what his punishment was. I daresay you do, too. A man can’t change what’s in his heart, and his is as black as the devil. I can well believe he did what you say.’

‘But?’

‘But I don’t know anything that can help you.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Even if I did it wouldn’t make a jot of difference. You know the Corporation’s not going to accept a scandal, not with a merchant like him. Business is too important to be tainted.’

‘And you’ll understand it’s my job to try.’ He tried to keep his voice under control.

‘I’d think less of you if you didn’t. But you’ll have no joy from it. From what I hear, Mayor Fenton’s against you now, too.’

He smiled. There were few secrets in Leeds.

‘You’ve heard the truth.’

‘Then you’ll have another battle there. He’ll have the aldermen lined up behind him. He’s a canny sod. I wish you well.’

‘I just want to see some justice before I go,’ the Constable told him.

‘You won’t,’ Hammond said simply.

‘I will if I can.’

‘Then good luck to you, Constable.’ Hammond turned his back and began counting the lengths of cloth on one of the shelves, pointing with a white, bony finger. Nottingham left, pushing the door to lightly, his heels sharp on the cobbles of the yard.

The cold, misty rain was still falling as he made his way to the White Swan. Rob was already there, halfway through a large piece of pie, crumbs scattered on the table.

‘What did Dunsley have to say?’ He signalled to the pot boy for ale and food.

‘That the Corporation would never allow Darden to be convicted.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘Yes. Do you?’

‘I do. It’s the same thing I’ve just been told twice.’

The deputy slid on to the bench next to Rob.

‘Did you find anything, John?’

‘Bugger all.’ The mug of ale arrived and he poured himself a cup. ‘No luck with the merchants?’

‘No.’ Nottingham looked down at the scratched wood.

‘So what do we do, boss?’

The Constable sighed. He felt that he’d failed her. They’d won, and her death had been for nothing at all. But they were always going to win in a place like this.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered.

‘You can’t give up,’ Sedgwick protested.

‘We’re never going to put them in the dock.’

‘Then fuck the law,’ the deputy hissed. ‘They’ve killed too many already. They killed your Mary.’

Nottingham’s eyes were glistening when he looked up.

‘I remember that every single minute, John.’

‘I’m sorry, boss.’

‘But as long as I’m the Constable I’m going to do things legally.’ He stared at the pair of them. ‘We all are. That’s why we’re in this job.’

‘What about the ones who don’t care?’ Sedgwick asked. ‘Them as run this place?’

‘We keep to the law,’ he insisted. ‘If we don’t, who will?’

‘Boss . . .’ Rob began.

‘What?’

‘I don’t understand how you can say that when you know Solomon Howard killed Mrs Nottingham.’

‘Because it’s the only thing I can say while I’m Constable. And I’m that until tomorrow, at least.’ He drained the ale. ‘If you’re done with that pie, you’d better show me what I need to know about the accounts. I don’t want to look like a fool tomorrow.’ He looked at the deputy. ‘Anything you can find, John. Anything at all.’

During the afternoon a messenger came from the Moot Hall; the mayor wanted to see the Constable. He’d been expecting the summons. It would give Fenton one more chance to harangue him before he had to present the figures.