Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I’m sorry. But you would have been, too, if we hadn’t come. You’ll be safe at the jail.’

She looked at him and shook her head, her eyes warier now. ‘Until they hang me, you mean?’

‘That depends on the judge.’

On Briggate he stayed close to her, ready for her to try to vanish into the throng of people in the street. But she stayed placid, letting herself be guided, glancing round fearfully, her arm linked through his as they walked. Yes, he thought, she’d be convicted by a jury and they’d hang her up on the Moor for her thefts. She knew that as well as he did, but it wouldn’t happen for a while yet. He could give her a little more life.

At the jail he put her in a cell, and brought her a mildewed dress from the chest of old clothes they kept, along with a mug of ale. When he returned, she’d changed her clothes and sat on the pallet, drinking.

‘Are they here, too?’

‘Don’t worry, you’re safe. They can’t get you. Were they the ones who killed your brother?’

‘No.’

‘But you were there when it happened, weren’t you?’

She closed her eyes for a few moments, squeezing them tight to try and keep out the memories and gave a short nod.

‘They found us. We’d been in an inn to have something to eat and they grabbed us when we left. Four of them.’

‘Where did they take you?’

‘I don’t know — a cellar.’

‘Was Worthy there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who else was with him?’

‘The men who’d found us.’

She turned pale and put her head forward. He waited silently for her to continue.

‘They made me sit on a chair in the corner. Tied my hands behind me. Then they started to hit Tom. Over and over.’

The tears began to roll down her cheeks. Nottingham wasn’t even sure she was aware of them as she relived what had happened.

‘What about Worthy? Did he hit him?’

‘He used a stick, not his fists. Kicked him, too.’

‘How did you get away?’

She snorted. ‘The one who tied me couldn’t make a knot to save his life. As soon as they were busy, I ran as fast as I could. I knew I couldn’t do anything to save Tom, he was. .’ Her voice trailed away. Nottingham let quiet fill the room.

‘And you’ve been running since,’ he said eventually. She nodded slightly. ‘You could admit to theft, you know. It might save you from the hangman.’

‘Aye, and it might not.’

‘If you don’t it’ll be the noose for sure,’ he told her. ‘Think on that.’

He closed the cell door behind her. The men were being held separately; they both stared at him defiantly through the barred doors.

‘Did they say anything?’ he asked in the office where Sedgwick and Lister were sitting.

‘Not a word, boss,’ the deputy replied with a deep, frustrated sigh. ‘Mention Amos Worthy and they ask who he is. He must have paid them well.’

‘He won’t pay unless they bring him the girl,’ Nottingham told him. ‘They’re just scared of what he might do if they peach on him.’

‘You broke the wrist of the one you hit,’ Rob said.

‘He’ll live.’ He turned to Sedgwick. ‘It’s Nan.’

‘I thought it must be.’

‘She had to watch her brother beaten to death. Said Worthy was there.’

Lister grimaced at the thought. ‘Would she say that in court?’ he asked.

‘No point,’ the deputy told him. ‘Worthy has the Corporation in his pocket.’

‘It’s true,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘They use his girls, borrow money from him, and in return he gets away with murder. Literally.’

‘So what are we going to do with them?’ Rob asked.

‘Keep them a while and then turn them out. Meanwhile I’ll go and have a word with their boss. I’ll tell them before I release them and we’ll see how fast they run.’

Sedgwick smiled. ‘What about Nan?’ he wondered.

‘She’ll be for the Quarter Sessions. You’d better take her over to the prison at the Moot Hall. And tell the turnkey I want her watched.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He tousled Lister’s hair. ‘Come on you, escort duty for us.’

He waited until they’d marched her out, each holding one of her arms, and then he locked the jail and strode down Briggate.

In the heat the street was rank from the piles of horse turds and the waste that had dried in the central runnel or on the road. Worthy would be at the Old King’s Arms, down at the corner with Currie Entry; it was where he always ate a late dinner. He might have owned the place for all the Constable knew.

He was sharing a bench with two of his men, his fingers greasy from the chicken leg he held, its flesh mostly gnawed away. Nottingham stood by the table until the pimp glanced up.

‘You can leave,’ he told the others. ‘Don’t go too far, mind, we’ll take a walk after.’ He put down the bird and wiped his fingers on his waistcoat, the stains joining hundreds of others on the fabric.

‘Drink, laddie?’ he asked, pouring himself a fresh mug of ale.

‘I hear you were there when Tom got killed, Amos.’

Worthy looked at him guilelessly. ‘Tom? Who’s that, Constable?’

‘Nan’s brother.’

He nodded as if he’d just added an interesting new fact to the store in his mind.

‘I heard you used your stick on him, too.’

‘Did I?’ He took a long drink. ‘People have been telling you things, haven’t they? Shame they’re all lies.’

Nottingham stared firmly at him. ‘Nan got away, though,’ he continued. ‘Whoever you hired to find her almost got her. Except we got them. And she’s safe in prison now.’

‘Is that so?’ Worthy raised an eyebrow.

‘Going to press charges against her, Amos?’

‘No need. She’ll hang without anything I say.’

‘Gall you a bit, does it? That you didn’t get to make an example of her?’

Worthy shrugged. ‘I’m just glad to see you doing your job and catching thieves.’

‘I’ll be letting the two men who were after her go. Funny, they don’t seem to have heard of you.’

‘Strangers, mebbe, then. I’m sure if they stay here long they’ll know my name.’

‘I’ll tell them that, shall I?’ the Constable asked.

‘Up to you, laddie. Doesn’t matter either way to me.’

He appeared completely unconcerned, but Nottingham knew that inside the pimp was seething. He’d caught Tom and made him pay, but he needed the girl, too, needed her more than her brother to show that no one could cross him in this city.

‘I doubt if the lass has your money any more.’

Worthy smiled, showing the meat stuck between his teeth. ‘There’s always more to be made, Mr Nottingham. In my business, at least.’ He stood, pushing himself away from the bench, and with a mocking bow swept out of the inn. The Constable followed, watching from the doorway as Worthy and his men strolled down Briggate.

Thoughtfully he ambled back to the jail, enjoying the afternoon sun on his back, not too hot, just enough to feel comforting. Inside he unlocked the cells of both men, told them they were free to go and relayed Worthy’s none too cryptic message. He let them scurry away, one still clutching his broken wrist, then went over to the Moot Hall.

The prison was in the cellar, a frozen pit in the winter but pleasantly cool in this weather, well shaded, the walls solid and thick. The heavy stones of the floor resounded to his boots.

The prisoners there were waiting for the Quarter Sessions, when their fates would be decided. A few might go free, but most knew they’d end up dancing in the air, transported, or serving their sentences elsewhere. As the court date neared the cells would fill up. At least they were treated better in Leeds than in other cities. Weatherspoon, the turnkey, was a fair man. He saw his charges fed, there was straw to sleep on, sometimes even clean, and the slop buckets were emptied every few days to cut down on the chances of jail fever.