Chris Nickson - Come the Fear

‘I hope you’re right.’ He pushed a hand through his red hair. ‘I don’t want to lose her, John.’

‘She’s got her head on right, that one. She won’t let you go, not if she cares about you. Have you told the boss what your father said?’

‘Yes.’

Sedgwick let out a low whistle. ‘What did he do?’

‘Nothing. Just nodded, the way he does.’

‘Aye, I know, and you wonder what he’s thinking. What’ll your father do if you don’t go along with his idea?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rob answered bleakly.

‘Do you want some advice?’ the deputy asked, his voice serious.

‘I’ll take anything that might help.’

‘If you love that girl, you make sure she doesn’t get away from you. If that happens you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.’

Lister nodded absently and let the silence drift before saying, ‘What did you think yesterday? When it happened?’

The deputy pushed the mug around the table.

‘I wasn’t thinking,’ he answered eventually. ‘That was the problem. Don’t ever do what I did. I got scared and I reacted. I’m just grateful the girl wasn’t badly hurt.’

‘What did you do? After, I mean.’

‘I looked to her first. The blood wouldn’t stop coming out of her head. I thought I’d killed her.’

‘What about Walton?’

‘Who cares about him? He’ll be forgotten tomorrow.’ Sedgwick paused. ‘I’m just lucky the boss stood up for me and didn’t decide to get rid of me. He came as close to losing his temper with me as I’ve ever seen.’

‘Mr Nottingham?’ Rob asked disbelievingly.

‘Aye, and you know what, that hurt as much as anything. I let him down by being so bloody stupid.’ He took a drink. ‘Go on, you’d better go and persuade that lass there’s some good in you. You’ll have an uphill task, mind.’

The deputy took time over the rest of his drink. He kept seeing the girl’s face as Walton put the chain around her neck. The image had knitted itself deep into his sleep, waking him constantly during the night, the sweat chilled on his forehead, his muscles tight and aching, his breathing quick and shallow. When Isabell began to cry he lifted her from the cradle, taking comfort from the warmth of her small body and the joy of him in her eyes. He soaked a rag in sugar water and let her suckle on it until she slept again. He could hear James’s breathing on the pallet in the corner and just make out Lizzie’s shape, her hair all a-tangle on the pillow. He’d tried to sleep but the events of the day ran over and over in his head and kept rest away.

He made his way back to the bridge, dodging between women carrying their purchases home and the piles of horse manure in the road. In the distance he could hear the raw, strained sound of a violin playing a tune that had been changed by experience, scarred, full of weariness and the sadness of life. Its edges had been filed down, all the excess rubbed away until only the essence remained. Then he saw the blind fiddler by the old chantry chapel, working the strings of his instrument with a bow whose best years had passed decades before. He reached into his pocket for a coin and tossed it into the ancient hat that sat on the ground.

‘Thank you, Mr Sedgwick.’

The deputy stopped. ‘I thought you were blind, Con,’ he said.

‘That I am, Mr Sedgwick,’ the fiddler answered with a grin that showed a mouth empty of teeth. ‘You know that.’

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘Your footsteps. People walk in different ways, it’s like a signature, like seeing them. Now you’re a man with a long stride, and you bring your heel down hard. No one else does it quite the same way.’ There was still a faint whisper of Ireland in his voice, a musical lilt that the deputy liked.

‘Can you tell many people that way?’

‘Some,’ Con admitted. ‘And I can tell plenty of things about people from hearing them move. And half of them seem to think that because I don’t have my sight I must be deaf and dumb, too.’ He laughed, a wheezing cackle in his chest. ‘They say all sorts in front of me.’ He lifted the instrument and played a fast jig for a minute, smiling at the jingle of coins in the hat as a man passed.

‘You heard about that boy who disappeared on Saturday?’ Sedgwick asked.

Con chuckled. ‘Show me someone in Leeds who didn’t hear about it. Bad business, though. Very bad.’

‘If you hear anyone talking, let me know.’

‘And what might they be saying, Mr Sedgwick?’ the fiddler asked shrewdly, turning his empty eyes to the deputy.

‘You’ll know if you hear it, Con. There’d be some money in it, too.’

The man nodded. ‘I’ll keep my ears open, then. A few more pennies never go amiss, now do they?’

‘Might be a bit more than that.’

‘Might it now?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Just remember, if you hear anything, tell me.’

‘I’ll do that, Mr Sedgwick. And say hello to that lad of yours. He always has a kind word. You’ve got a good boy there.’

The deputy smiled. ‘I’ll do that, Con.’

He made his rounds, circling the city to see all was well, and finished at the jail. The Constable was there, laboriously writing a letter.

‘Anything?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Sedgwick answered with a long shake of his head. ‘You didn’t expect much, did you, boss?’

Nottingham put down the quill and the knife he used to keep it sharp.

‘I’m always hopeful, John. Ask enough questions and eventually you’ll get some answers.’

‘Aye, but we need them fast before that bitch does it again.’

‘I know that well enough,’ the Constable said seriously. ‘I’ll go out myself tomorrow. I want you to talk to Peter Wendell.’

‘You talked to his girl?’

‘I did. He treats her badly.’

‘We’d seen that. Did she give you anything?’

‘Not really. But I think it wouldn’t hurt to have another word with him. He might well know something.’

‘I’ll go and see him in the morning.’

Nottingham nodded. ‘You go home,’ he said. ‘And try to forget what happened on Sunday. The girl will be fine and Walton’s no loss.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Sedgwick gave a small, weak smile.

‘I mean it. Give it a few days and folk won’t even remember it.’

Rob watched the girls file out from the school then run off in a swarm down the street, laughing and grabbing at their freedom. A few more minutes and Emily would come out of the building and look around the way she always did. He brushed dust off his coat and breeches with his palm, tightened his stock and licked his fingers to try to tame his hair.

Then he leaned against the stone wall and waited. The sun was trying to push through high white clouds and the air was spring warm, full of promise, but all he could feel was the heady anticipation of seeing her. He ached to talk to her, to make what suddenly seem fragile solid again. He straightened as she approached, warmed by the way her pace quickened as she saw him and the smile on her face.

‘I thought I’d come and walk you home.’

‘Good,’ she said happily. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ She slipped her hand into his and he held it lightly as they set off down the road. ‘I’ve hardly been able to work today,’ she told him.

‘Why?’

‘I kept worrying that perhaps you wanted to break from me.’

‘Me? I’ve told you, I’m not going to do that,’ he insisted.

‘I know, but those are words.’ She paused and blushed slightly. ‘I’m sorry, that was wrong. I just couldn’t concentrate. Mrs Rains wondered if I was ill.’

‘I won’t let my father bully me,’ he promised.