Chris Nickson - Cold Cruel Winter

‘There,’ he said, and pointed. The house was a good quarter of a mile away, sitting on the flat land at the bottom of a hill.

‘And you say you’ve seen her there yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘But never a man?’

Petulengro shook his head.

The Constable stared at the building, willing himself into the place. This was it. It had to be. He knew it as firmly as he knew his name.

‘Thank you.’

Petulengro nodded and turned to walk away.

‘Look after Josh well,’ Nottingham said. ‘I’ll be up soon to see him.’

‘He our friend,’ the Gypsy replied simply.

Sedgwick was waiting at the jail when he returned. The deputy was pacing fretfully across the floor, boots clattering awkwardly on the flagstones.

‘Boss.’

‘I know. Don’t worry. Josh is in good hands.’

‘He’s at your house already?’

‘No, he’s with his friends. Friends of his we didn’t know about.’ As the deputy opened his mouth, Nottingham raised a hand to prevent the torrent of questions. ‘He wanted to go with them, it was his choice. I told him he could stay with me. He preferred to be with them.’ He paused deliberately to let the deputy take that in. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. First, call in as many of the men as we can spare.’

Sedgwick glanced at him questioningly.

‘We’re getting Wyatt and his woman tonight.’

The deputy had managed to round up five men, a ragtag collection of sour souls from the shadowy places of the city. Nottingham wouldn’t have trusted most of them, but now he needed them.

He had to keep men around the judge until Wyatt had been caught. Those had to be the sharper ones, alert, able to think for themselves. That left him with those he used only in desperation, who’d claim the coin and drink it away as soon as they had it. The Constable knew all too well not to pay them until the job was done.

‘We’ll go when it’s dark,’ Nottingham instructed them. ‘The house sits by itself, so they won’t be able to see us. There’s open ground all around it.’ He paused and waited for them to show their understanding. ‘There’s a man and a woman, they should both be there. You can’t miss him; he has a T branded on his cheek.’ He pointed swiftly at four men. ‘You’ll each cover one corner of the house. You,’ he said, looking at the fifth, ‘look for a back door and guard it. Mr Sedgwick and I will take the front door. It’s simple enough: we want both of them.’ He looked around the faces and said seriously, ‘I don’t mind their condition. Any questions?’

A heavy silence followed his words.

‘Right, be here at six sharp. We won’t wait for anyone who’s late. And you won’t be paid if you’re not here,’ he added. It was all the incentive they’d need.

They dispersed and he was alone with Sedgwick. The close smell of unwashed bodies and stale beer still hung in the air.

‘Do you really think it’s them, boss?’

‘I do, John. Don’t ask me how, but I know it is. I can feel it in my water.’

Sedgwick stretched, his long arms almost touching the ceiling, then slumped on a chair. They had more than an hour to pass before the men returned.

‘So who has Josh?’ he asked, trying to make it sound like an idle question.

‘Friends of his. Gypsies.’

‘What?’ He sat up quickly. ‘You let Gypsies take Josh?’

‘Calm down,’ the Constable told him. ‘I didn’t let anyone take Josh. He wanted to go with them. He knew Mary and I would have looked after him. He chose this. You know they come here every winter. Josh has been friends with them since he was little. He trusts them.’

‘He didn’t know what he was saying,’ the deputy complained.

‘I was there. He knew full well what he was doing. He’d taken Frances out there often — they’d only just heard she’d died and came to pay their respects. They want to look after him.’ His tone softened. ‘Think about it. When he looks at us, he’s reminded of all the bad things that have happened.’

Sedgwick nodded reluctantly.

‘It’s probably for the best, John.’

‘I’ll still want to see him, check on him.’

‘So do I. I promised him we would. They’re only camped up by Woodhouse.’

‘They the ones who told you about Wyatt?’

‘They said they’d seen the woman going into the house a few times. Said she looked like one of them, but they didn’t know who she was. They were puzzled. They were going to pass it on to Josh.’

Sedgwick considered the information then asked, ‘What are we going to do about the Hendersons?’

The Constable shrugged, feeling a twinge in his shoulder. ‘We’ll never get them to court, you know that.’

‘That’s not the only kind of justice.’

‘I know.’

‘So what, then?’

Nottingham sighed very quietly. ‘All in good time, John. Let’s get Wyatt first and take care of that.’

‘And then?’

‘We’ll let things blow over, bide our time.’

‘But how long?’ Sedgwick asked angrily. ‘They could have killed Josh.’

Nottingham could hear the frustration in his voice, the impotence. He’d felt it often enough himself before. ‘I know,’ he answered calmly. ‘Once the time is right, we’ll do it together. Just you and me.’

The deputy smiled, satisfied, and Nottingham stood up. ‘Why don’t you go next door and have something to eat and drink? We’ll be off soon enough.’

‘You coming, boss?’

‘No, I have an errand first.’

Worthy was sitting in the Talbot, two of his men on the opposite side of the bench, hands resting on dagger hilts, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd. It was a loud place, booming with voices, the floor slick with split ale, the air harsh with smoke and the smell of cooked food. The pimp was chewing a chicken leg, wiping the juices from his chin on to his coat as he ate greedily.

Nottingham settled next to him and poured himself a mug of ale.

‘Help yourself, laddie. Never a need to ask.’

The Constable ignored the jibe. ‘Can you get your men out tonight?’ he asked.

‘If you have a good enough reason,’ the procurer said through his food.

‘Wyatt.’

Worthy put down the meat, wiped his hands again and turned to face the Constable. He was slow to speak. ‘You thought you had him before.’

‘This time I’m certain.’

Nottingham felt the hard eyes on him, weighing the words for truth and belief. He took another small drink and waited.

‘All right, Constable, I’ll trust you this time,’ he answered finally. ‘I can give you four of them. And I’ll come down myself. If you get him, I want to be there.’

‘There’s a house at the bottom of Woodhouse Hill, between that and the Bradford road.’

‘Aye, I know it. Nobody’s lived there for years now.’

‘Wyatt and his woman are there.’

‘And how do you know this?’ Worthy asked cynically.

Nottingham tapped the side of his nose. ‘Information, Amos. Information. I’ll have my men there.’

‘Well then, Mr Nottingham, if you have it covered so well, why do you need us?’

‘I can always use more help. Just in case. Have two of your men at the top of the hill and two on the road.’

‘Aye, I heard you’ll be shorthanded for a while. The Hendersons did the boy.’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do about that?’ Worthy raised a thick eyebrow. His forehead was scarred, the pale line disappearing under his short, dirty wig. ‘People have to see who’s in charge, or they’ll think they can get away with anything.’ He threw the bones on to his plate and stood up, his men following quickly. As he left, he looked back at Nottingham and gave a brief, emphatic nod.