Finally he heard her stepping lightly down the stairs and he waited in the living room to see her. The dress was modest, as befitted a teacher, not cut too low, and merely a peek of snowy petticoat at the hem, her hair tucked primly under a clean, pressed cap.
‘You look a picture, love,’ he told her proudly and meant every word. He took her hands and kissed her forehead. ‘You’ll make a grand teacher.’
‘Assistant,’ she corrected him, but her eyes sparkled as she skittered back to her room.
‘You’ve done a lovely job on the dress,’ he said to Mary.
She smiled with weary satisfaction. ‘It was worth all the effort to see her happy. You’d better go and change, Richard, we need to leave soon.’
They paraded into town, Nottingham flanked by the women in his life, smiling happily as they walked up the path to the Parish Church. For today at least he hoped to leave all the problems of work behind, to simply enjoy living.
The Reverend Cookson was preaching, the usual drone that won him praise but always sent half the congregation to sleep. Filled with people, the church was drowsily warm; several times the Constable found himself drifting off and Mary poking him in the ribs with her elbow to bring him back. Somewhere behind him he could hear a man’s gentle snore, cruelly interrupted by the order from the pulpit to stand for the end of the service.
The congregation clattered out, eagerly breathing in the fresh air after the stuffiness inside, exchanging greetings and gossip. Emily stood talking earnestly to Mrs Rains about the work she’d start the next day, bobbing her head and smiling.
‘There’s no need to wait for her,’ Mary said quietly. ‘If I know Mrs Rains she’ll be talking for at least fifteen minutes. And then she’ll give Emily exactly the same instructions tomorrow morning.’
‘No excuse for her forgetting, then,’ he answered with a laugh. Slowly they strolled through the lych gate and down Kirkgate, Mary’s arm through his, finally free to relish the tranquillity of Sunday. Church never lifted his spirit. He’d seen too much of the inhumanity of man to believe in a loving God. But he went because it was expected of his position, to sit and be seen, to doff his hat and bow in all the right directions. And, he admitted, there was something restful and even comforting in the familiar litany of prayers and hymns.
For all he tried to keep them at bay, the thoughts of work wouldn’t vanish entirely. He knew that tomorrow he’d have to confront Amos Worthy, to do something to make sure the fighting between him and Hughes didn’t flare up again into outright war. But he had no idea what.
He despised all that Worthy stood for, the way he exploited his girls and used his position and contacts to make himself invulnerable to prosecution. Yet since he’d discovered that the man had long ago been his mother’s lover, protecting her after her husband had thrown her and her child out, he’d come to see the man in a slightly different light.
It wasn’t a bond; it wasn’t even something he could put into words. There were only wisps of feeling which eluded definition. They were opposites in almost every way. But somewhere, he knew, Worthy had some sense of honour, however twisted it might seem, and he could respect that.
The night before he’d crossed a line, though. Lister was a Constable’s man, and that meant he had to be obeyed. He was untouchable. For what they’d done, Nottingham had no alternative but to stamp on both the culprits, to remind them who had charge of the city. He didn’t imagine Hughes would be a great challenge, but Worthy would be a tougher proposition.
‘Penny for them,’ Mary said, touching his arm.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, knowing she was used to this by now, never prying when he turned quiet, but always understanding. She pulled herself tighter to his arm and smiled up happily at him.
‘It doesn’t matter. I just like being with you.’
They continued in companionable silence, relishing the small joy of togetherness as they walked up Marsh Lane and he put the key in the door. While Mary bustled in the kitchen, he stared out of the window, looking out to the fields. Maybe it was time to give Sedgwick more responsibility, he pondered. To think of spending less time at work and more of it here. Who knew how long he’d live?
Maybe he and Mary really would grow old and bent together, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t likely. He’d seen too many die, men and women his age and younger. It could happen at any time, in any way.
Twenty-One
He heard Emily moving around even before he pushed off the bedsheet. Quietly, he dressed and washed then tiptoed down to the kitchen. She was waiting, all prepared, her books gathered in a parcel, her face shiny and eager for the day to start.
‘Can I walk in with you, papa?’ she asked, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.
‘Of course you can, love. I’d be proud to be seen with the best teacher in Leeds.’
She came and hugged him, something she’d rarely done in a long time, just once after Rose had died and she’d needed the comfort.
‘Thank you,’ she told him.
‘For what?’
‘Making Mr Hartington write that letter. I was so scared when I came home that day.’
Nottingham stroked her cheek. ‘All I did is what any father would do. Me being Constable carries a little more weight, that’s all.’
He poured some small beer and pulled some bread from the loaf. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked her.
‘I can’t.’
He understood. She was nervous, pacing the floor, impatient for him to finish. She’d arrive far too early at the school, but that was what she needed today. Give it another fortnight and she’d be dashing down the road to reach the place in time.
After they left the house her feet moved quickly, and he laughed silently to himself as he kept up with her; any quicker and she’d be running to school. As they approached the jail he took her arm.
‘You need to be ladylike, you’re in town now.’
‘Yes, papa,’ she said, then giggled like a little girl when he grinned.
Lister was waiting outside the door, soberly dressed, a tricorn hat perched high on his head. He bowed to Emily, showing a bandage wrapped neatly around his skull as he doffed the hat. The Constable smiled as she blushed beetroot.
‘You’ll do fine,’ he told her, placing a small kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll see you tonight and you can tell me all about it.’
He watched as she walked away, and he sensed that she was trying not to run.
‘Your daughter, boss?’
‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘She starts teaching at the Dame School today. How’s your head?’
‘I feel like I’ve spent three days drinking, but without any of the fun,’ he replied wryly.
‘It’ll wear off.’ He looked in the cells and saw Hughes sleeping on a bench. Give him one more day, he thought. Tuesday would be soon enough for him. ‘You’re in luck, there’s not much to do, Rob,’ he advised. ‘Look after things here. I’m going up to Roundhay with Mr Sedgwick, if he ever arrives.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Your friend Edward Hughes is locked up. Give him a little food and ale when he wakes. Don’t tell him how long he’ll be here.’
‘What about the other man?’
‘I’ll be dealing with him later. If anything comes up, find one of the men. There shouldn’t be much.’
He was finishing his instructions when the deputy pushed the door open.
‘Morning, John,’ Nottingham said. ‘I see you got him. Did he give you any trouble?’
‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Good. Now you can come with me. We’re off to Roundhay.’
He took the knife that had killed Sarah Godlove from the drawer and handed it to Sedgwick. ‘See if there’s a match for this when we’re there.’