The Broken Token

as she opened her mouth. “We treat you with respect, which is more than most daughters get. Especially young ones who seem ungovernable.”

Her face hardened.

“You might disagree, but we do,” he continued before she could speak. “But if you want that from us, you have to give it, too.”

Emily raised her head.

“I do.”

“I thought we’d got somewhere the other night, but obviously I was wrong. Refusing to tell your mother where you’d been half the night doesn’t sound like showing respect to me. I’d say you’re lucky she didn’t beat you.”

“She wouldn’t do that!”

“No,” he agreed, “she wouldn’t, although God knows there have been a few times lately when I’ve been tempted. But I haven’t — yet.” He gave the words as a threat, then smiled to take the sting from them. “We have a right to know where you are, Emily. More importantly, we need to know where you are. Do you really think the streets are safe after dark?”

“You’re the Constable of the city.”

He nodded. “I am, and that’s why I know.” Nottingham leaned forward and took her hand. “Look, do you know what I’ve spent the last few days doing?”

“Trying to find the man who’s committing those murders?”

“Yes. And there were two more tonight. The girl who died a few hours ago was no older than you, maybe a little younger.”

“But she was a…” He was pleased to see she couldn’t bring herself to pronounce the word.

“She was a whore, yes. But she was a girl, a human being. And I got to see her, and the others, broken and dead. I see them and I think of you and your sister. I don’t want you ending up like them.” He looked at her. “I’ll do anything I have to in order to stop it.”

“But we’re not — ” she protested.

“I know. Think on this, though. There but for the grace of God you go. If we didn’t have any money, that might be your lot.”

Emily lowered her eyes.

“Now, where were you last night, love?” he asked softly.

“I…” she started, then faltered before finding the words. “I was out walking with a young man, Papa.”

He cocked his head.

“Oh? Who was he?” Inside, he was furious, wanting to know who would take advantage of his girl this way, but he tried to sound restrained and in control.

“Just someone I’d met at the market on my way home from school.” She shrugged. “He seemed nice.”

“He must have been very nice, if you were willing to stay out in the pouring rain. Does he have a name?”

“Robert.” She spoke it as if it had a strange power. And to her, he thought, it probably did.

“If it’s all so innocent, why couldn’t you tell your mother?”

“Because she’d have made more of it than it was.” Emily smiled. “You know how she wants to get Rosie married. She’d have been making plans for me, wanting to meet him.”

“What’s wrong with meeting him?” he wondered.

“Nothing,” she admitted. “I like him, but he’s not courting me.” Little do you know, he thought. “I just wanted to be with him, and I knew Mama wouldn’t have let me because she’d think it was wrong.”

There was a finality to her words, and Nottingham realised he’d pushed her as far as he could for now. It was better to stop before the conversation moved from pleasant discussion to argument. He loved Emily dearly, but there was a great deal of his personality in her; when she chose, she could be every bit as stubborn as he was himself. He desperately wanted to know more, but Emily also had to feel he trusted her. Let that come gradually, he decided. Tomorrow or the next day he’d talk to her again. He gave her hand a squeeze.

“You go back to bed.” She rose, gracefully stretching to her full height, and kissed the top of his head before vanishing up the stairs.

Nottingham rested his chin on his hand. Had he done the right thing? If it came to that, what exactly was the right thing? All he had to rely on was his feeling, and that was more tuned to questioning criminals than an errant daughter. Mary wouldn’t be satisfied, of course; she’d want chapter and verse on the young man. So did he, but he was willing to draw it out a little at a time. However much she believed herself an adult, wise in the ways of the world, the innocence in his daughter shone through. For now, he believed, he hoped, she’d be fine. God help the young man if she wasn’t. In a few days he’d learn the whole story, and then he could decide what to do.

He considered waking Mary, but light was coming through the shutters. There were places he needed to be.

20

The morning felt crisp, and yesterday’s downpour was a memory, blown away by a brisk and bitter north wind. Nottingham’s breath clouded lightly on the air. He felt as if weariness was tearing rabidly at the edges of his mind, fraying it with problems and questions, as he plodded back into town. His feet were heavy and his shoulders were stooped, but he had to do the work.

He didn’t pause at the jail, but walked instead to the court where the couple had been murdered. Two men had been left to guard it and ensure nothing was taken, that the scene remained undisturbed. He dismissed them and they left eagerly for breakfast while he searched.

There was little left of the blood, most of it washed away by the rain, except for a single dark, red-brown pool in the depression of a flagstone. He tried to imagine the bodies as they lay last night, crumpled but still warm to the touch, the souls just departed from life. He walked around, shifting the rubbish with his shoe, looking for anything at all. But as before, there was nothing.

He made his way back, lost in thought, trying to puzzle together the few pieces he had into a coherent picture. But it was impossible. They were scattered fragments that didn’t even form a shadow.

Sedgwick was sitting at the desk, his arm resting awkwardly in the sling. He was eating part of a warm, fragrant loaf and sipping from a cup of ale. Nottingham leaned over, tore off some of the bread and ate it hungrily.

“You should be at home, John. I told you to rest.”

“Boss.” The word, and the look in his eyes, was half-plea, half-explanation. He wanted this. Nottingham nodded slightly and asked,

“How’s the arm?”

“You mean apart from being useless and still hurting?” Sedgwick grimaced.

“It’s going to take a while. The apothecary said so.”

“I can still walk and talk.”

“Just don’t push yourself too far,” the Constable warned, although he knew it was pointless. The man would work hard no matter what he said. “What about our prisoner?”

“I apologised to Mr Carver and let him go.”

“How was he?”

“Asked me for ale money so he could drink his way home.”

Nottingham chuckled. “Give him credit, he has a right. We kept him here.”

“I didn’t have any money, so I told him to see if he could find his room if he wasn’t pissed,” Sedgwick grinned broadly. “It’ll be an adventure for him.” He paused and his eyes became serious. “I’ve thought of something else.”

“Go on.”

“I’m sure the murderer was wearing a hat.”