Chris Nickson - Cold Cruel Winter

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘I know it.’ She stood, a tall woman, suddenly proud. ‘I saw it every day when he came home. His work, my sewing, and we could still barely make a life. He was smarter than all of them. He fooled Graves for a long time. If that man had done right by him he’d still be alive.’ She paused. ‘And if not for luck, you’d be dead. Think about that.’

‘Where has he gone?’

‘Do you think I’d tell you?’ She laughed. ‘Even if I knew, do you honestly believe I’d tell you?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Constable said. ‘But I’m certain he hasn’t left Leeds.’

‘He won’t go anywhere until his business is finished,’ Charlotte told him. ‘He’ll leave then, whether I’m alive or not.’

‘Do you want to die?’ Nottingham asked her.

She glared at him. ‘Have you ever waited for someone? I don’t mean for an hour or two, but for years? He was the first man to value me, to treat me well. I look different.’ She stuck out her hand to display the deeper colour of her skin. ‘You see that? I’ve been called all manner of things in my life, but I don’t know what I am. My mam died when I was born and she never told anyone who my father was. A tinker, a sailor, a Gypsy? I don’t know. But he didn’t care what I was, it never mattered to him, he loved me for me. He said he’d return, so I waited for him. I was faithful to him. But all those years without him were like dying. I already know what it is.’

He said nothing.

‘Your daughter died, he told me.’

‘Yes.’ He kept his voice low and even.

‘And did you feel like you’d died yourself after that?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Imagine that feeling tenfold, a hundredfold. That’s what I’ve had.’

‘You know we’ll catch him.’

‘If you’re good enough. You haven’t been so far.’

‘He doesn’t have anywhere to hide now.’

She turned away. In the quiet he could hear the rain beating down outside.

‘Even if I could, I wouldn’t give him up.’

‘Not even if I offer you your life?’

‘No, Mr Nottingham. Not even for that.’

Nottingham stared out of the window. The thick line of grey clouds rolled all the way to the western horizon. The streets were awash, mud clinging to each step. It wasn’t a good time to have men after you and no place to go, he thought with satisfaction.

He opened the drawer and took out the two books, the bindings rough under his fingertips. He needed to see them again, to touch them again so he could remind himself of the evil behind all this. He’d barely put them back out of sight when Sedgwick arrived.

‘Our man’s been on the bridge all night. He swears Wyatt hasn’t gone that way,’ the deputy announced. ‘The river’s over its banks now, too. It’s going to be a bad one, boss.’

They’d had floods before. The engineers worked, made their calculations and built their walls. But nature was stronger than anything they could devise, and when the force was powerful enough, the waters returned.

At least there was little to concern them in that. Houses might be ruined, a few would drown, but none of it was crime.

‘If you were Wyatt, where would you try and hide?’ Nottingham wondered. ‘You’re soaked, you’re scared, your woman’s been taken. Where do you go?’

‘Somewhere I can build a fire,’ Sedgwick responded.

‘You need dry wood for that. Where do you find dry wood when it’s been raining like this?’ He stopped suddenly. ‘Come on.’ The Constable buttoned his greatcoat and jammed the hat on his head.

‘Where are we going?’ Sedgwick asked as they strode down the street.

‘Graves’s warehouse,’ Nottingham answered briskly. ‘Think about it. Where does Wyatt know in Leeds? There’s his house, and he daren’t go back there now. And there’s the warehouse. He worked there for years. The place will be empty overnight. It has a stove. He’ll think he’s safe there for now.’

‘The workers will be arriving soon.’

Nottingham shook his head. ‘Not today. It’s down by the river. No one with any sense is going near those places today.’

‘Which is why we’re going there.’

The Constable grinned. ‘True, John. But we’re hunting.’

‘Off somewhere?’ Worthy was standing at the corner, right hand resting on his stick, upright, indifferent to the weather. ‘You’d better not be going without me, laddie.’

‘Come along then, Amos.’

‘Your men let him get away,’ Worthy said. The Constable saw Sedgwick glance uneasily at him, then blankly across at the pimp.

‘They did,’ he admitted. ‘Seems he was ready, just in case. He must have gone as soon as we entered the house. But your men didn’t catch him, either, did they?’ Nottingham added pointedly.

The procurer acknowledged the fact. ‘Won’t happen again. I’ve already made sure of that. You know where he is?’

‘I believe he’s in Graves’s warehouse.’

‘That’s possible,’ Worthy agreed after a moment’s consideration. ‘And if he’s not?’

‘Then we’ll look elsewhere until we find him. I’m going to have him today.’

By the river they stopped. The water was a full two feet above the bank, sucking at the earth and pulling it away. The noise as it flowed was overwhelming, the biggest sound in the world.

The current was pulling everything along. Nottingham saw large branches, too heavy for a man to lift, bobbing like twigs. Dead animals were carried by the water, a few sheep, a cow, and then they were gone, so fast that they seemed like imagination.

He’d seen floods before, too many to remember, and this was one of the worst. Leeds depended on the river. It sent the cloth down to the ports and brought back other things the city needed. Floods were the reminder that it couldn’t be trusted, that it wasn’t always so docile.

The damage would be extensive this time. The Constable was thankful that the bridge was strong, its foundations deep. It had been widened only a couple of years before; it would withstand all this.

But some of the buildings along the river weren’t so strong. Water like this could undermine them. Yesterday the warehouse staff would have sweated, moving the cloth to a safe height, protecting the investment. Cloth was worth more than workers in Leeds.

‘There’s only one door,’ Nottingham told the others. ‘We’ll go in together. Amos, you stay back and guard that. Mr Sedgwick and I will go and flush him out.’

Worthy seemed about to protest, but then closed his mouth. The plan made sense, Nottingham knew. They were younger, more agile. Worthy’s sheer size and violence would make him an impassable obstacle.

Now they just had to find Wyatt there. It was right, it made sense. He’d go to the only place he knew, somewhere he might feel safe.

The three men followed the muddy track, rain squalling against their backs. Nottingham hunched down into his coat, right hand clutching the cudgel, the dagger tight in his left. His shoulder ached with the tension, one more reason to want Wyatt found and punished.

As they drew closer to the building he began to pray that he was right. He held his breath, only letting it out when he saw that the lock had been broken. Excitement roared through his blood, louder even than the river.

‘He’s here.’

‘You go to the left,’ the Constable told Sedgwick. ‘I’ll take the right.’

‘He’ll not get out of here,’ Worthy promised.

‘I know, Amos.’ Nottingham smiled grimly. ‘Just remember, he’s got nothing left to lose.’

‘I owe him for what he did to Sam. You remember that, Constable.’

‘Let’s find him first before we start talking about revenge, shall we?’ He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes moved from Sedgwick to the pimp, then he leaned against the door, forcing it slowly open.