Cold Cruel Winter

Nottingham waved the idea away with his hand. ‘I didn’t think it was. Or from Josh. It was Amos Worthy who stopped me.’

‘Oh aye? What’s all this to do with him, then? I was hoping the winter might have claimed him.’

‘He says Graves was good to him long ago.’ He’d never explained to the deputy that his mother and Worthy had been lovers once; it was a history he needed to keep private.

‘And?’

‘And he wants to help us catch the murderer.’

Sedgwick glanced out of the barred window at people moving along Kirkgate, the sounds of the morning rising.

‘I’d be wondering what’s in it for him.’

‘That was my first thought, too,’ Nottingham agreed quietly.

‘I’ve never seen him do owt that didn’t benefit him or his purse.’

‘Hard to believe, but I think he might be sincere this time. I can’t see any way he can use this to his advantage. And the more people we have looking, the sooner we’ll catch Wyatt. Agreed?’

‘Maybe,’ Sedgwick conceded cautiously.

‘People will say things to Worthy’s men they wouldn’t say to us.’

‘Rather than face a beating, you mean?’

‘Not always, John.’

He waited as Sedgwick considered.

‘You’re going to use him, aren’t you?’

‘If Rushworth hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have,’ Nottingham replied reasonably. ‘It’s urgent now. And we’ve got sod all so far. You know that.’

The deputy let out a loud, slow breath.

‘Aye, that’s true.’

‘So we’ve got nothing to lose.’

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to justify the decision to himself or to the deputy.

‘If we can save Rushworth,’ Sedgwick warned. ‘It might already be too late. And what about the Mayor? Or the Corporation?’

‘We don’t tell them.’ His eyes flashed for a moment. ‘They only ask that I do my job, not how I do it.’

‘It’s dangerous, boss.’

The Constable nodded slowly. He knew that well enough. He just had to make sure he kept control of everything.

‘I’ll be back in a while.’

His coat warm around him, Nottingham walked through the drizzle down Briggate. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, of Rushworth, of Worthy, of Graves, of Mary, of Rose.

Just before the bridge he turned on to Swinegate. With the thaw there was plenty of life on the street, the squall of families, shopkeepers setting out their wares, the powerful smell of horseshit from an ostler’s yard, the heady scent of malt from an innkeeper’s brewing.

He pushed open a nondescript door. It was never locked; there was no man in the city mad enough to try to steal from this place. An ageless crone sat in a room off the corridor, a mug of gin balanced on her lap, her eyes a thousand miles away.

He walked through to the kitchen. The windows were dirty, probably never cleaned, and a scattering of crusted dishes stood in the corners. Worthy was there, in his usual spot, standing by the table in the same coat and breeches as the day before, an empty plate on the table before him with a jug of small beer and cups. Two of his men, both young, large and imposing, idled in the corner, hands going for daggers as soon as they saw the Constable. The pimp raised his hand to stop them.

‘It’s all right, lads. You can go. I was expecting Mr Nottingham.’

The men sidled out, giving the Constable wary, suspicious looks.

‘Were you?’

‘Was I what, laddie?’ Worthy sat back in his chair, exploring his teeth with a sliver of wood.

‘Expecting me?’

The pimp gave an easy grin. ‘Aye, I was. You’re not a fool. You know you need help but you’ve wondered why I offered my services.’ He tossed the wood aside and wiped his hands on his old, greasy waistcoat. He might well be one of the richest men in the city, Nottingham thought, but he never spent a penny he didn’t have to on himself or his surroundings.

‘You’ve turned it around in your head and you can find no hidden reason. So you’ve come here. Reluctant as ever.’

The Constable reached across and poured himself a cup of beer. ‘And you’re as astute as ever, Amos. I need your help.’

‘Then you’d better tell me all about it, laddie, so we can work together properly.’

‘Did you ever hear of a man called Abraham Wyatt?’

Worthy shook his head. ‘Means nowt to me.’

‘He was one of Graves’s clerks. Stole some money, ended up transported to the Indies for seven years.’

‘And he came back with revenge in his head?’

‘In his heart,’ Nottingham corrected him.

‘So you think he’s the one who murdered Sam?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Nottingham said flatly. ‘It’s the first of four murders.’

Worthy’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp and inquisitive.

‘How do you know that?’

‘That’s what he implied in the first volume of his book with its special binding.’

‘Special binding?’

‘Now you know what happened to the skin,’ the Constable told him.

Worthy remained silent for several breaths then shook his head. ‘That’s not the work of anyone human,’ he declared finally. ‘Four murders, he said. All like this? With the same ending?’

‘Yes.’

‘You believe him?’

‘I do.’ Nottingham paused. ‘He’s already snatched the second victim. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Who is it?’

‘A man named Rushworth. He clerks for Graves, and he gave evidence at Wyatt’s trial.’

Worthy nodded.

‘And who are the other two?’

‘Judge Dobbs. He handed down the sentence.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t know.’

Worthy sighed lightly. ‘Who arrested him?’

‘The old Constable.’

‘Who was there with him?’

‘I was.’

‘I know your mother didn’t raise you to be both blind and a fool, laddie,’ the pimp said in exasperation. ‘Old Arkwright’s dead.’

Suddenly, Nottingham understood. He was the fourth victim. For the love of God, he must have turned stupid. How had he missed something so obvious?

‘Not nice to know someone wants to kill you, is it?’

‘You’d know if anyone would,’ the Constable responded, the anger at himself brimming over into his voice.

‘Aye, I would,’ Worthy replied mildly. ‘Enough of them have tried. And failed.’ He poured himself more of the beer and drank it down in a single swallow. ‘You’d have done it yourself if you could.’

‘I’d have put you in jail, Amos.’

‘It’ll never happen, laddie, and you know it.’ He tapped the side of his nose. Worthy had too many important