Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

Even so, Nottingham held a handkerchief to his nose as he entered. The temperature might have been pleasurable, but the smell of unwashed bodies and slops was acrid.

‘Afternoon, Constable.’ Weatherspoon was at his desk, oblivious to the odours after so many years. He was at least sixty, a small and wizened man with cramped, arthritic fingers and a shiny, hairless skull. He’d been here since Nottingham was a boy, looking after his underground kingdom with meticulous care. His clothes were old but well cared for, his suit of light wool sponged clean, shoes polished so their metal buckles shone, hose always the same spotless white.

‘Mr Weatherspoon.’ He gave a smile. ‘The girl they brought over a little while ago. I need to talk to her.’

The man hefted a large, heavy ring of keys from the desk and made his way down the corridor. Nottingham waited. He could hear Weatherspoon fetching Nan — ‘You! Not you, you stupid baggage, her in the corner. Yes, you, someone to see you.’ — then the shuffle of feet as he returned with the lass.

She’d been in the place less than an hour but she looked older, careworn, as if she’d begun to fully understand the depth of her fate. There were fresh stains on the worn dress and already the stench of the prison was clinging to her skin and her hair.

‘Hello, Nan,’ he said. She smiled tightly in return but said nothing. ‘Not the loveliest place to stay, is it?’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Not been in worse than this before.’

‘You’re lucky,’ he told her truthfully. ‘Another city and this might seem like luxury.’

She looked at him in sullen disbelief.

‘You’re going to be here a month or more until the Quarter Sessions. You’d better get used to it.’

‘And then the noose?’

‘Maybe not.’ He dangled the idea before her and this time her gaze sharpened with his words, hope flickering behind her eyes. He waited until he had her complete attention, then continued, ‘Amos Worthy won’t be pressing charges. If you admit the others, you might be able to escape hanging.’

‘Why do you care?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘What do you want?’

‘You managed to get away from Worthy. That’s reason enough for me by itself.’

She kept looking at him. He knew she didn’t believe him, but he held her gaze and said no more.

‘So what do you want?’ she asked finally.

‘Nothing,’ he told her, ‘except to know how you and your brother started on all this.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Have you ever been hungry?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

She snorted. ‘You’ve been late for a meal?’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Nottingham said soberly, ‘and I’ve been hungry.’

Nan eyed him for a moment, then continued. ‘You live like that for a while and you’ll do what you need to do. Me and Tom, we were on our own after me dad died. Me mam died when I was born.’

‘Not everyone does what you did.’

‘We’re not all saints,’ she said wearily. ‘Tom had fast hands. I’d distract them, he’d take the things.’

‘Picking pockets. That’s still a long way from what you’ve been doing.’

She paced around the floor, measuring out the space.

‘That all started with me,’ she explained with a brief smile. ‘I just wanted to live somewhere I wasn’t cold all the time.’

‘What happened?’

‘Money, plate, lace. .’ She smiled wanly. ‘I saw all that and thought I could live well from it.’

‘So you took it and left.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I gave it to Tom to sell. Bought us three months off the street, that did.’

‘And you thought you could do it again.’

‘We did. Again and again. I persuaded Tom to do some servant work, too. It was worth it for a few days, especially if we kept moving around and didn’t get too greedy.’

‘You should have moved on from here sooner,’ the Constable told her.

‘Too late for should haves,’ she answered with resignation.

‘Maybe not. You might not get your neck stretched.’

She stood still. ‘Can you promise that?’ she asked finally.

‘No,’ he told her truthfully, ‘I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll put it all in a report. That will help. You’ll still be transported. Seven years, maybe more. But you’ll be alive.’

Nan smiled grimly. ‘I’ll think about it.’

She turned to walk back to her cell, and Weatherspoon rose from his chair to escort her. When he returned, the Constable had a soft word with the man. He wanted the girl kept alone. Worthy’s reach could go below stairs as well as above in the Moot Hall. Better safe than sorry.

‘You’ve got a strange look on your face,’ Mary said cautiously as he sat down in his chair with a mug of ale. ‘I’m not sure if you’re pleased or not.’

He smiled at her and gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m not sure myself, really.’ He watched her hands move rapidly and gracefully with the needle and thread. ‘How’s the dress coming along?’

‘It’ll be finished in time,’ she assured him. ‘Emily’s upstairs practising how to be a teacher.’

‘What?’ he asked in surprise. ‘How do you practise that?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Mary said tiredly. ‘But our daughter seems certain she can. From what I’ve seen it mostly seems to be how to stand and look at people.’

He chuckled. ‘The only teacher I remember seemed to enjoy beating people.’

‘I don’t see her doing that,’ she said and he grinned.

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘not unless all that power turns her head.’

‘Better watch out — give her a month and it might. She might turn into a right little miss.’

‘She’ll learn fast enough.’ He finished the drink. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

‘I’ve-’ she began, then stopped and pushed the needle into the fabric. ‘Yes,’ she said decisively. ‘I need a change from this; I feel like I’ve been sewing all day.’

‘Knowing you, you probably have been,’ he teased as she flexed her fingers slowly. The knuckles were swollen, the skin red. Tenderly he took her hand and kissed it, watching her blush like a girl, the colour rising up her throat and face.

‘I love you.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, but her grin was wide and happy. Laughing, they left the house together, hand in hand up Marsh Lane and into the country.

‘The fresh air feels good,’ Mary said, breathing deeply. ‘Do you know, I haven’t even been outside today?’

‘Then it’s time you were. We were walking out most evenings until Emily came home,’ he reminded her.

‘I know, but everything’s been a whirl since then. And you’re as much to blame, you’ve been working until late, too.’

‘I know.’ He frowned. ‘It’s not been easy.’ Nottingham wasn’t going to say more that that; he’d always kept his work distant from home, as much as he could.

‘That job’ll be the death of you.’ She pulled at him, bringing him close, and gave him a quick kiss. ‘They work you too hard. You’re not twenty any more.’

‘I’m not thirty, either.’

‘I know, Richard, it shows,’ she told him teasingly, then put out her tongue, and for a second he saw the young girl he’d married in her face.

He watched her as they walked, thinking how good it was to have this Mary back, playful and full of spirit. After the winter he’d wondered if there could ever be lightness in their lives again, or if the ghost of Rose would always drift too close by them.

But she was right, he wasn’t a young man any more. All too often he felt every single day of his forty-one years. He couldn’t be like Arkwright, the old Constable, and do this job for another two decades. The hours were too long, the demands on his body too high. He could see the day, not too far ahead, when he’d let Sedgwick take over and find something else to do. A job to eke out the small pension the city would grant when he left.