The voyage was months of hell. We were chained below decks, like the slaves I would see later. It was no matter to the captain if we lived or died; he would be paid all the same. Before we left Liverpool they branded my cheek with a T. A thief for all to see and know. I smelt my flesh as it burned and decided then I would come back for those responsible.
The Indies were all the agonies that man has described, and more. The heat never faded. Even the nights brought no relief, only time to think and sweat. They worked us from dawn to dusk, often beyond. In the season we would be bent over, hacking at the sugarcane with sharp knives. One slip and the blood would flow and insects flock to its scent. Some died that way, others from the yellow fever. It would take them suddenly, pulling them into a delirium. Few came back from that.
The overseers were cruel men who knew how to work us hard. The whip fell every day. Twice it fell on me, and I still carry the scars.
But I knew I would survive it all. I used those hot, sleepless nights well and began to plan. I was different from those other convicts. They were stupid men, bred to labour like oxen. The fields were a good place for them, alongside the slaves from Africa. Truth to tell, other than colour and tongue there was little to mark them apart. I had education, reading, writing, arithmetic. Once the plantation owner learnt that, as I made sure he did, I was plucked away and put in an office.
I had better meals, better quarters. By the end of three years I made sure I was trusted, and after another twelve months I was indispensable. It was simple enough work to salt away small bits of money that the owner would never miss. For a coin or two a sailor would start a letter on its journey to Charlotte.
I could have any slave girl I desired, and a few times I succumbed. I was the owner’s right hand, dependable. I pointed out where he was being swindled and helped him increase his profits. I worked well, for myself as much as for him. My stack of coins increased. It was no fortune, but it was enough.
My plan grew slowly. From a faint outline it took shape. I thought and considered. Mere killing seemed inadequate. Anyone can murder, it takes no skill, there’s no statement in it. I wanted something that would lodge in the mind, something that would make you remember me.
It all fell into place when I talked to a French trader from the Antilles. He told me of the custom in his homeland. When a man was condemned to be executed, the notes of his trial were bound in his skin. At first it shocked me and I thought the French barbaric. But then I realized it was the perfect thing. I could leave the accounts of my vengeance in the skins of those who had wronged me.
A sugar plantation is a self-sufficient place. I had time and I had the position to persuade the tanner to teach me his art. One thing I learned remains with me stilclass="underline" each creature has just enough brain to tan his own hide. Curious, is it not? The brains are rubbed on the inside of the leather to cure it, and there is just enough to work the whole skin.
But that was too much, even for me. There were other methods and I learnt them well. The true technique is in the cutting and I practised on slaves who died. Their bodies were worthless anyway.
As my time ran out the master asked me to stay on as a free man. His offer was tempting, but the need to make men pay was deep in me. The salary he suggested would have made me a rich man in Europe, but I knew I had to do this. I had made my promise to Charlotte that I would return. She would be waiting. I had my sack of money, enough to keep us until my job was done.
But whoever reads this — perhaps you, John Sedgwick, although your knowledge of your letters is poor — will want to know how I took the Constable.
It ended there.
And no more to be written, Nottingham thought. In the morning they’d find him and that would be the end of it all. He put on the clothes that were still damp but warm against his flesh.
As he unlocked the cell Charlotte glanced up. Her face was pale, body shaking from the chill. Good. This was how he wanted her, weak, vulnerable.
‘I have all the evidence I need against you,’ he began.
She kept her dark eyes steady on his, saying nothing.
‘We’ll find him when it’s light.’
‘And kill him?’ she asked. Her voice quavered.
‘Yes,’ he told her bluntly. ‘No trace, no record.’
‘And me?’
‘You too.’ He waited, letting her digest the words. She was silent and he continued. ‘I’ll burn the books. None of this will ever have happened.’
‘But it did, didn’t it? You’ll remember, you’ll know.’
‘I live with a lot of things, Charlotte. Good and bad. But I still sleep at night.’
She ran her fingers through her wet hair like a comb. There was a bitter ugliness on her face.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked.
‘To try and understand him.’
‘Why? Do you think he’s mad?’
‘Yes,’ Nottingham admitted. ‘I do.’
She shook her head wildly, sending droplets of waters spinning across the room. ‘He’s not. Not any more than you or me. He wanted things for us. A good life where we weren’t always hungry. A place where we could live decently. They stopped us having that.’
‘They?’
‘The people who cheated him, the ones who broke their promises.’ Her eyes flashed with life. ‘He could have been successful. He’s a clever man. But they wouldn’t let him. They only want their own kind to have money, not people who want to better themselves. We had ideas above our station.’
‘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.