Chris Nickson - Come the Fear

After an hour he spotted a face that seemed familiar. She was in blue, a gown whose best days were long past, ill-fitting on the bosom. He tried to place the girl, but her name danced just beyond the edge of memory. He watched her drift between people, scarcely paying attention to the displays and patter around her. He’d seen her before and talked to her, he knew that, but try as he might he couldn’t place her.

The Constable kept his distance, careful not to be seen, staying behind her. Whatever her reason for being at the market, it wasn’t to buy anything. She moved around slowly for half an hour by the church bell, without pattern or purpose. Then she walked away, taking slow, idle steps back down Briggate.

He found Holden in the shadow of the Moot Hall.

‘You saw the girl in blue who left the market a minute ago?’

‘The young one going down the street?’

‘That’s her. Follow her,’ Nottingham ordered. The man looked at him questioningly.

‘Has she done summat wrong?’

The Constable shook his head. ‘Find out where she lives. And make sure she doesn’t see you.’

Holden grinned. ‘The lass’ll never know there was anyone behind her, boss.’

He slipped away, agile and anonymous and Nottingham made his way back to the jail. He’d just bought a slice of pie, the crust warm and crumbling between his fingers when he remembered the girl’s name.

It was Fanny. And the last time he’d seen her, she’d been working down by Leeds Bridge with her sister, the pair of them run by their brother, Joshua Davidson. He’d ordered them all out of Leeds days before. So what was she doing here?

He waited anxiously for Sedgwick to return. He knew Wendell would be difficult to find; the man had lived his whole life in Leeds and he’d have friends to offer him comfort or shelter.

But the Constable knew the city, too. Sometimes he believed he could feel its pulse in his blood. He loved it, he held it close to his heart. He knew where to hide, where to find food; long ago Leeds had seemed like both mother and father to him. Wendell might run, but in this place Nottingham would find him. He’d make Wendell think that the city had turned into a false friend, an enemy. He’d hunt him.

‘We missed him by five minutes,’ the deputy said when he arrived. He poured himself ale and sat down. ‘He took some clothes and all the money she had.’

‘We’ll catch him,’ the Constable said with certainty.

‘I left someone to watch the place but I doubt he’ll be back.’ He took a long drink. ‘I think that girl of his is glad in a way. I think she was surprised by him, though.’

‘Did she tell you where he might be?’

‘I don’t think she really knows his friends. But he spends most of his time and money at the Talbot.’

Nottingham raised his eyebrows.

‘Have you been there yet?’

‘I thought we should both go.’

He nodded. The law wasn’t popular there, and looking for a favoured regular could mean trouble. But even so they’d think twice before attacking the Constable. He took a cudgel from the drawer and looped the thong around his wrist.

‘Better to be safe,’ he said.

As they moved down Briggate Nottingham asked, ‘Did you check that Davidson and his girl had gone?’

‘Yes, boss. The house was empty. Why?’

‘I saw one of the girls at the market. Holden’s following her. She was wearing a blue dress.’

Only the afternoon drinkers were scattered around the Talbot when they entered. The door to the back room, with its pit for cock and dog fighting, was firmly closed and locked. Bell the landlord stood behind the trestle, his arms folded, a forbidding expression on his face.

Nottingham walked up to him, just the wood between them.

‘Peter Wendell,’ he said. The landlord said nothing. ‘You know him?’

The man gave a brief nod.

‘When was he here last?’

‘What business is it of yours?’ He curled his heavy, scarred knuckles into fists.

‘I’m looking for him. That makes it my business.’ He slapped the cudgel down so it barely missed the other man’s hands. ‘I remember you told me you thought his sister was hard done by.’

‘Aye,’ Bell acknowledged.

‘We went to talk to Peter about her death and he ran. You make of that what you will. I think you understand what I’m saying.’ He paused to give the man time to consider his words. ‘Now, when was he here last, Mr Bell?’

‘Last night,’ he said grudgingly. ‘We had a cock fight, he’s always here for those.’

‘How much did he lose?’

Bell shrugged.

‘I want to know who he drinks with.’

‘Whoever’s here,’ the man answered. ‘He’s in most nights, people know him.’

‘Names,’ the Constable ordered.

‘Daniel Scott, Luke Andrews, Solomon Smith.’

It was a litany of petty criminals, men often arrested for violence and drunkenness. Nottingham looked at the deputy.

‘If he comes in here, send someone to the jail,’ he ordered Bell. ‘You want whoever killed Lucy found, don’t you?’

The landlord nodded.

‘Then do your duty for once.’

Outside, he put the cudgel in the deep pocket of his coat.

‘Go and see those three, John. Take some men with you, just in case. Tell them why we’re looking for Wendell. The word will spread. If people believe he killed his sister, they’ll shun him.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘We’ll find him soon. He’ll be scared now. Let’s make him terrified. I want every single door closed to him,’ he said.

By the time he reached the jail he felt a grim satisfaction. It was only a matter of time until they’d have Wendell. He wasn’t smart; he was a man who thought with his fists, not his brain.

Holden was waiting by the door, a deep frown on his face. As the Constable approached he stood straight and rubbed a hand across the bristles of his beard.

‘Where did she go?’

‘I lost her,’ he admitted bashfully. ‘She must have seen me.’

‘Where?’ Nottingham asked.

‘She went up Lands Lane. I gave her a few moments and then I turned the corner. She was gone.’

The Constable kept his face impassive and his voice carefully even.

‘Did you look for her?’

‘Yes, boss.’ Holden looked at the ground. ‘I don’t know where she could have gone, honest. You know me, I’m good at this, but I couldn’t find her.’

Nottingham nodded. ‘Go and see Mr Sedgwick. He needs some men to help him.’

Alone, he brooded. There could be a reasonable explanation for the girl vanishing. She might have a room on Lands Lane. She might have seen him at the market or spotted Holden behind her. But in a blue dress, acting the way she was, she could be the woman snatching children. They needed to find her.

Five minutes later he was still wondering where they could look when the door opened.

‘Mr Nottingham,’ the woman said, ‘where’s my John?’

Lizzie was wearing an old dress, its deep red faded to pink. Her hair was neatly tucked under a cap. She was holding Isabell close to her, the baby swaddled tight. But her face was filled with desperation, her mouth tight, her eyes frantic.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Is it James?’

‘I can’t find him.’

‘Sit down,’ he told her, and poured her a mug of ale. ‘Now, what’s happened?’

‘The lad’s not been the same since this one was born, Mr Nottingham.’ She held the girl close and drank in timid little gulps, not looking at him. ‘Says I’m not his mam, half the time he says he hates us, all sorts of things.’

The Constable rested against the edge of the desk. He pushed the blanket back from the baby’s head and stroked the black down of her hair as she slept.