Suddenly Mary was hugging him, her eyes brimming with tears, as the young couple embraced tentatively. He pulled his wife close, savouring her smell and feeling her joy.
Rose was no longer his girl. Looking at her, seeing the adoration she had in her eyes for the man who’d be her husband, he knew that in the last few minutes she’d slipped away and given her allegiance to someone else. To his surprise, he found he didn’t mind. It was the way of women to move from one home to another. He leaned across and shook David’s hand, the lad grasping his firmly and looking him in the eye. He was reminded of himself at that age, when he’d wanted to marry Mary but had taken weeks to find the courage to ask her father.
“Where’s Emily?” he asked his wife quietly.
“I sent her next door,” she explained. “I didn’t think Rose should have to share this with her sister.”
“And how did you know I’d be home?” Nottingham wondered. She raised her eyebrow.
“If you hadn’t come soon I was going to send a boy with a message. Some things are more important than work.” She gave him a sly, womanly smile. “Rose and I have been trying to get him to do this for weeks. Neither of you stood a chance, Richard.”
“What did you think, I’d have said no?” He gestured at the young couple. “Look at them. They think the moon’s risen just for them.”
“It has.” Mary paused as the happy pair left for a walk. “You didn’t come and tell me what you’d said to Emily,” she resumed when they were alone.
“I had to get back to work. She has a young man too, it seems.”
“What?” She raised her head quickly. “Who?”
“I don’t know yet,” Nottingham told her calmly, putting his hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry, I’ll find out. I didn’t want to push her too much when she was willing to talk.”
She looked up at him worriedly. “Promise me you will.”
“I promise,” he assured her.
“She’s sixteen, Richard. She can’t be going out at night on her own. I know she thinks she’s clever, but she’s still only a girl.” Concern flickered in Mary’s eyes.
“I know, and I’ve told her what can happen to girls,” he answered. “I’ll go and get her now and we’ll talk more. I’ll find out about this boy and have her bring him here so we can meet him.”
He rose wearily, feeling his tired muscles protest as he walked out into the darkness. There was light showing through the shutters next door and he tapped on the door.
Norman Earnshaw was a bluff man with a warm face. His weaving business kept his family busy, and Nottingham knew he employed others, too, working in their own cottages to turn out cloth. He’d come down to Leeds fifteen years before from a village outside Bradford and worked hard to build a fair, honest living. He and the Constable had been friends of a sort for over a decade now; their wives went to market together, and Rose often looked after Earnshaw’s younger children.
“Eh up, Richard,” he greeted him broadly, the smell of ale rising off his breath. “What can I do for tha?”
“I’ve come round for Emily,” Nottingham replied easily. Sudden worry arrived when a frown creased the weaver’s forehead.
“Isn’t she back at your house? She left half an hour since, mebbe a bit less.”
“Left? What do you mean?” He spun his head, looking up and down the empty street and feeling sharp pricks of fear on the back of his neck.
“Said she’d only popped round for a visit, and that she had to go home. What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing,” Nottingham said reflexively, immediately thinking too many things at once as he walked away: she’d done it again, gone off without a word while someone out there was killing girls; wondering what he could tell Mary; and most of all how he was going to find her.
He could feel the fear rising up his spine and a cold, panicked sweat on his forehead. His hands were shaking. Where could he begin to look for her? Unless he called out his men, he realised, he had as much chance as a cow in the Shambles. There were so many places she could have gone — in the city, into the country — that it was hopeless. He’d go and look, scouring the usual dark haunts of young lovers, but he wasn’t hopeful. She had imagination, and a desire not to be found.
For a brief moment he considered going home and telling Mary, but stopped after a couple of paces. She’d be terrified, out of her mind with fear, and tonight, of all nights, she deserved her joy. He’d tell her later if he had to, and face the consequences then. But he prayed to God it wouldn’t be necessary.
Nottingham had just crossed Timble Bridge, his mind racing as images came unbidden, when he spotted a pair of figures coming the other way. He paid them no real attention, just forms in the night. His thoughts were focused on finding Emily; where should he look first? How long before he called out the men to search for her?
It wasn’t until the couple were upon him that he could make out his daughter, a sullen, bitter expression on her face. One of Worthy’s guards was urging her along, a hand placed possessively against the small of her back. Emily moved reluctantly, almost staggering, but she was unable to resist the force propelling her.
“Mr Nottingham,” the man said with a dip of his head that was acknowledgement rather than deference. “Mr Worthy’s compliments. He didn’t think you wanted your lass wandering round alone at night. I was ordered to return her to your house.”
The Constable glanced at her, but all she did was stare back defiantly. Relief flooded through him, tempered by a cold fury.
“Thank you,” he said civilly, his gratitude genuine. For the second time that day he was absurdly, stupidly grateful. “I’ll take her from here.” The man nodded curtly, removed his hand, and faded back into the gloom of the city. Emily tossed her head, saying nothing.
“Do you want to tell me what the bloody hell you were doing?” Nottingham rounded on her, satisfied to see her cower. “Well?”
“I wanted a walk.” She tried to sound haughty, but her voice was tiny, a little girl’s.
Nottingham took her by the shoulders and began to shake her. He was gentle at first, rocking her, then faster and harder until her head swayed wildly, long hair whipping across her face. Emily didn’t complain and made no move to stop him.
“I should beat you,” he said in a cold voice that made her look up at him fearfully. “I should beat you here and now until people come out to hear your cries. Maybe that would drive some bloody sense in you.” He waited for her reaction, but she remained deliberately mute, although her eyes were wide. His fingers tightened on her skin until he knew he must be hurting her. “But I’m not going to,” he told her finally. “The way I feel right now, it would be too easy.” And it was true. If he hit her now, he might not be able to stop. She shuddered slightly under his hands, and he saw the moisture glistening in her eyes as she blinked to fight back tears. “Where were you? Were you going to meet him?”
Emily nodded, lowering her head.
“Who is he?”
“I told you, I met him at the market.”
“And what does he do?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. But the words came too readily. He knew she was lying.
“He didn’t tell you? You didn’t even think to ask?” He asked the questions harshly, as if she was a suspect at the jail.
“It didn’t matter.” She raised her face to his. “You’ve always told us to judge people by who they are, not what they do.”
“So you went to meet Robert.” Nottingham ignored her statement and rolled the words around slowly, like a pair of dice before a throw. “Did he arrive?”
“No,” she answered quietly, with a trace of disappointed sadness. “I waited and waited, but he didn’t come. Then that man grabbed me and said I shouldn’t be out on my own at night and that he was going to take me home. He scared me the way he touched me.” She paused a second. “Was he one of your men?”
“No,” he said, and stopped. In all likelihood Worthy had men in the shadows behind Rose and David, too. Returning Emily like that, bringing her home, was a quiet, powerful statement. Tonight Nottingham thanked God it had happened. Tomorrow he’d be filled with an icy rage towards the pimp.
“Come on,” he said brusquely, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along so hard she almost fell. “We’re going home. And as soon as we get in the door you’re going to bed. Don’t even think of answering me back or disobeying or I’ll clout you into next week.”
