The rain dripped in a heavy stream from his hat. A fence, long destroyed, brought him into what had once been the kitchen garden, now bare and waterlogged. He turned and waited as the slow snake of men caught up to him.
‘Are you all ready?’ Nottingham asked quietly. ‘Take your positions — and be ready.’
With Sedgwick at his side he rounded the building, reaching out to touch the stone, rough under his fingers. They stood by the front door for a moment, then the Constable nodded and Sedgwick raised his boot.
Thirty-Three
The wood gave only a little at first, then more on the second kick, groaning on its hinges. At the third attempt it exploded open. Nottingham rushed in.
A candle sat on the table, burning bright, the room full of light. The shutters were closed. The room was clean, floors swept, the bed in the corner neatly covered with a sheet.
She was there, half hidden in a crouch behind the table. She wasn’t quite the woman of his memory. Her face was older, harder, the hair dark but missing its deep, unusual sheen. A large knife lay at her side, but she made no move to pick it up.
‘Where is he, Charlotte?’ Nottingham asked. She glanced up at her name, and the candle glow reflected off the tears running down her cheeks.
‘You get her, John,’ Nottingham ordered. ‘I’ll see what else is in the house. He’s here somewhere.’
He found a candle stub and lit it. Raising his arm sent a shudder of pain from his shoulder, but he needed light and he needed the dagger. The door by the stone sink had to lead outside. Another, though, seemed to go somewhere else. Cautiously, he opened it, standing back as he pushed the wood against the wall.
Stairs went down to the cellar. This is the place, he thought. The stench rose to meet him, a sickening, heady blend of piss, shit and blood. He descended carefully, keeping the flame out ahead of him.
There was the table, with a neat stack of paper, a quill and an inkwell. Close by, a chair and another table with leather straps, and several knives. Barrels stood in the corner.
But there was no Wyatt. He turned around, letting light play into every corner and crevice, but there was no one. At the far end of the room another door stood, barely ajar. Beyond it he could hear the rain. He went out and called for his men.
‘Did anyone come out this way?’
He was greeted with blank stares and shakes of the head. They’d missed him. He’d managed to escape. He ducked back in the house and examined the door. The lock was new, the key still in it. Now he was out and loose in the city.
The Constable took the papers from the desk and slid them into a large waistcoat pocket.
Upstairs, Sedgwick had Charlotte’s wrists tied behind her.
‘Where did he go?’ Nottingham asked urgently. He took her chin in his hands so she had to face him. He kept his grip tight enough to hurt her. ‘Tell me and you won’t have the gallows.’
She closed her eyes and said nothing. He pushed her away.
‘Take her to the jail,’ he ordered. ‘Have one man stay in case Wyatt returns. Send another down to watch the bridge. We’re going after him.’
By the time Sedgwick caught up to him with his long stride, Nottingham was halfway down the track that led to the road. The rain slashed at his face and ran down his neck. He slowed to a fast walk.
‘He must have got out without the useless bloody men seeing him,’ the Constable blazed. ‘Worthy’s men buggered up, too. They were supposed to be by the road.’ In the darkness he pointed at the city. ‘He’s out there. He won’t be leaving Leeds. He’s dreamed about this place and what he’d do for so long that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.’
‘So where do we start?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, ‘but he doesn’t have another bolthole. And that means we’ll find him.’
‘Where?’
Nottingham made a quick decision. Where would he be if he wanted to hide in Leeds?
‘We’ll begin by the river and work out from there.’
They marched on grimly, up the Head Row then down Briggate. The only sound was rain pounding on the cobbles; all the snow had finally melted. The water soaked through his coat and his shirt, leaving his skin cold. His boots squelched and he felt as if the world was liquid.
Wyatt was somewhere, somewhere close. At the stairs by the bridge Nottingham stopped. Below, the water was loud, at least two feet higher than usual. For a short moment the moon came through the clouds and he could see the torrent gushing deep and forbidding. The rain in the hills, Nottingham thought, and all this melted snow. Something went by in the river, a large branch, a body, it passed too swiftly for more than a guess.
The Constable glanced upriver. In this weather a regiment could hide in the woods there and never be noticed. The other way, down among the warehouses, were shadows deep enough to engulf a man. Before dawn any search would be hopeless.
He let out a long, slow breath. It was time to admit defeat for now.
‘We’ll start again at first light. Go and get some rest.’
Once Sedgwick had left, dashing away gratefully, he stood for another minute. Tomorrow it would happen.
He burrowed into the bed, the blanket close about him, still feeling the chill all the way to his marrow. As soon as he’d walked into the room he’d stripped off his clothes and stood close to the fire, trying to take in its heat.
Lizzie had rubbed his body with a piece of rough cloth and fed him a bowl of warm soup. It took the edge off everything, but he was still cold. The blanket helped, and the closeness of Lizzie’s body. A few feet away James was already asleep, his breathing soft in the air.
‘Don’t you go and come down with something, John Sedgwick,’ Lizzie said with a chuckle. ‘You’ll want me waiting on you every minute of the day.’
He laughed quietly. She could always do this, come up with the right words to make him forget everything else, to make him happy. He reached for her, but she rolled away with a teasing giggle. ‘That’s not the way to get warm and you know it.’
‘There’s a right way and a wrong way, is there?’
She sighed. He didn’t need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes. ‘Men. Don’t you know anything?
‘If we did, you’d have nothing left to teach us.’
‘You cheeky bugger.’
But she gave in readily enough, and enjoyed it as much as he did. Later, as sleep was slowly overtaking him, she asked, ‘How’s Josh?’
‘Some people are looking after him. Gypsies,’ he said uncomfortably.
‘What?’ He felt her sit up. ‘I thought he was going to stay with Mr Nottingham.’
‘The Gypsies came. They’re old friends, apparently. Known him since he was a nipper or something. And he wanted to go with them.’
‘He could have come here,’ Lizzie insisted, ‘with folk who care about him.’
‘I know.’
‘Better off than with a bunch of Gypsies,’ she grumbled.
‘If it’s what Josh wants.’ He was surprised to hear himself defending the decision.
‘Maybe,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘But what are you going to do about those Hendersons? I remember them, they’re a nasty piece of work.’
‘We’ll do something. The boss promised.’
‘Good.’ She snuggled close. ‘I love you, John. Now let’s get you warm so you can work tomorrow.’
At the jail Nottingham built up the fire and stripped to his shirt and breeches. Charlotte was in a cell, shivering, the sodden dress hugging her close. He left her. Let her grow cold and scared, he decided. Maybe she’d talk then.
Once he was warm he settled at the desk with Wyatt’s manuscript. The third book, it would have been. The one wrapped in his skin.
Seven years in the Indies. That was the judge’s pronouncement. Judge Dobbs, telling me I should be grateful that he was not going to hang me, and all because I knew enough to recite a Bible verse. But if Graves had kept his word and Rushworth had not peached there would have been none of this. I only took what I had been promised, and a little more for my trouble.