Chris Nickson - Constant Lovers

‘Hughes,’ Lister began, then hung his head. He could feel shameful tears beginning to form in his eyes and he tried to blink them away.

‘Rob?’ Nottingham asked with concern. ‘What’s happened?’

Sedgwick dashed down the corridor, and he looked up to see him return, shaking his head.

Slowly he recounted it all, every detail, feeling ashamed, the image of the big, cold man with the sword growing larger in his mind and Hughes’s spittle still burning on his cheek so that he tried to paw it away.

‘I couldn’t stop them, boss,’ he explained desperately.

‘You did exactly the right thing,’ the Constable assured him. ‘There’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. John?’

‘Yes, boss?’

‘Go and get as many of the men as you can find and bring them back here. Make sure they’re armed.’

After the deputy had left, Nottingham put a hand on Lister’s shoulder.

‘I meant it, Rob. They were going to take him either way, and you’re a lot more use to me alive than dead. If you want some revenge, you’ll have it in a little while.’ He pulled a pistol from the drawer, checked, loaded and primed the piece before sliding it into his coat pocket. ‘Have you ever used a weapon?’

‘I had a fencing master for a few months when I was younger.’

The Constable raised his eyebrows.

‘I wasn’t very good,’ Rob admitted wryly. ‘My father decided it wasn’t worth the cost.’

Nottingham chuckled. ‘That’s a real Yorkshireman for you, always after value for money. Never mind, at least you know how to handle one of these.’ He brought an old sword and scabbard from the cupboard. ‘Just a word of advice. With this lot you won’t gain anything by just wounding them. You understand?’

‘Yes, boss.’

He strapped the blade on to his belt, its weight and shape awkward against his body, and saw Nottingham use a whetstone to hone the blade of his knife. He felt strangely serene; all the dread that had left him quaking just a few minutes before had passed. He brought his hand down to rest on the hilt of the sword, wrapping his fingers around the grip.

‘You remember what he looked like?’

‘Yes.’ He was certain he’d never forget the man’s face.

‘Watch out for him. Don’t get your blood up and go looking for him. He sounds like he knows what he’s doing.’ Nottingham primed another pistol and sharpened a second dagger, leaving them lying on the desktop.

They had a few minutes to wait before Sedgwick came back, a clamour of voices behind him outside the door. The Constable gestured at the weapons and the deputy took them.

The men spilled into the road on Kirkgate, looking to him for instructions. He heard the deputy and Lister follow him out and the sound of the door closing. The afternoon sun was high and hot, making him squint awkwardly. He thought how ridiculous it was to have to do this on a summer’s day when everything should have been peaceful and placid.

But he had no choice. Hughes believed he could flout the law in Leeds, and Nottingham had to show him he was wrong. Hughes had challenged; the Constable’s reply would be swift and absolute. He glanced at the men. Some of them had bright eyes, eager for the fight. Others kept their faces blank, hands dug into their coat pockets. He waited until they were all quiet and expectant.

‘Right,’ he shouted. ‘This is what we’re going to do. Half of you will go with Mr Sedgwick. You’ll be at the back of the house. The rest of you are coming with me to the front. When I give the signal we’ll go in. Smash the windows and the doors. Create confusion. I don’t know how many there are there, probably seven or eight. They’ll be expecting us, so it’s going to be nasty.’

‘What’s the signal?’ someone asked, and Nottingham gave a shrill, two-note whistle.

‘Any questions?’

‘Do we get extra pay for this?’ another man yelled from the back, accompanied by laughter that grew louder when the Constable answered.

‘We’ll pay for your funeral if they kill you. How about that?’

They marched down Briggate and turned on to the Calls, a loose, ragtag group of men, looking dangerous enough for folk to keep out of their way. A couple of the men laughed and joked, but Nottingham remained quiet and alert. He was certain that Hughes would have someone looking out for them, giving him warning.

Why had they broken the man out of jail? It was a reckless, pointless thing to do. They’d invited this. The Constable rarely picked a fight, only when there was no other way, but when he did, it was always to win.

Sedgwick took five of the men and vanished into one of the courts. He’d need a few minutes to find the house and set everyone in position. Nottingham looked around his men, all of them silent and tense now. Lister rubbed nervously at his chin with the back of his hand.

Nottingham felt the dampness of sweat under his arms and down his spine. The knife was in one hand, the pistol in the other. Finally he raised a hand and nodded. The men gathered around the front of the house, clustered behind him. He gave the whistle and his boot crashed hard against the door. The wood splintered but the lock just held.

The Constable quickly brought his foot quickly down a second time, then a third, and the door finally gave, flying back against the wall in the hallway.

‘In there,’ he yelled, gesturing at the parlour. ‘Rob, with me.’ He started to climb the stairs, glancing upwards. Hughes would be there, he thought, where he’d be safer.

The man guarding the door at the top had no chance. Nottingham pulled the trigger, the sound of the gun deafening with the walls so close, the smoke dense and choking. The body fell with a short cry.

Nottingham kicked the door open, held back for a moment, then dashed in. There was one room, with a pallet in the corner. Hughes and two of his men stood together in the middle of the room, all of them with swords drawn.

He heard Rob behind him, the sliding metallic scrape as he drew his weapon.

‘Think you can take me?’ Hughes asked. The Constable said nothing, his gaze flickering between three sets of eyes, trying to anticipate how they might move. ‘Think you’re better than me?’

Lister circled to his left, alert, watching. The man closest to him made a feint and he drew back slightly. The other guard slashed at Nottingham. The Constable moved aside, slicing his blade down swiftly on the back of the man’s hand, cutting deep across the skin. He dropped the sword with a scream. Nottingham moved in quickly, his boot connecting with the man’s balls, already looking at Hughes as the bodyguard fell.

Lister and the other man were exchanging blows, the sound ringing through the room. The lad seemed to be holding his own, from what the Constable could judge. In front of him, Hughes held his blade in both hands like an amateur. His eyes were manic, a wide rictus grin on his face.

Somewhere in his head Nottingham heard footsteps running up the stairs. Then there was the violent thump of a pistol and Hughes crumpled to the floor, his gaze blank now, red spreading across his colourful waistcoat. The deputy loomed in the doorway, smiling.

‘Give it up,’ Nottingham ordered the last man, his voice hoarse, holding his breath until he dropped his sword and raised his arms, a cut above his wrist dripping blood. ‘Take him downstairs,’ he said. He’d done almost nothing, but he was panting hard, his throat dry, the fury surging through him. ‘Did we lose anyone?’ he asked.

Sedgwick shook his head. ‘A couple of them cut, nothing serious. Three of theirs dead, two more to go off and hang. Not even a good fight in them.’ He spat.

The Constable nodded. It was better than he’d hoped. He realized he was still holding the pistol and knife and put them away. He left, easing his way around the body on the stairs.