She felt warm in his arms, a part of himself, the best part.
‘I’ll get you some food,’ she said, breaking away to bustle, cutting bread and cheese and pouring a mug of ale. He sat at the table, watching her work, fingers nimble and assured in her kingdom, until she put a plate before him.
‘I’ll go back after this,’ he told her. ‘There’s plenty to do.’
‘When isn’t there?’ she wondered.
‘More than ever at the moment.’
‘It won’t ever end, and you know it.’
‘True.’
‘And that’s why you love it, Richard.’
He nodded, knowing that was true as well. Some men had drink as their weakness. For him it had always been his work. From the moment he’d become a Constable’s man, all those years ago, he’d known this was for him. It meant too many hours away from his family, but even now it was a price he’d gladly pay to do the job.
He chewed slowly, washing the food down with the ale, and watched Mary as she worked, carefully cleaning the knives and scouring dishes. She glanced out of the window and sighed.
‘Do you think this winter will ever leave?’ she asked bleakly.
‘Eventually,’ he answered. He knew exactly what she meant. As long as the cold gripped them, Rose was still close. Once the sun finally arrived and the season changed, there would be fresh, true hope for the future, a warmth they could feel inside as well as out. He stood, held her tight and kissed her brow softly.
‘I need to get back to the jail.’
She nodded and drew back to hold him at arm’s length.
‘Why did you really come home, Richard?’
‘Because I wanted to be with the people I love most in the world.’ He squeezed her arm lightly. It was an honest answer, even if it wasn’t a complete one. He couldn’t tell her how scared of life he felt sometimes. He couldn’t tell anyone. He just needed the quiet reassurance of his home. Softly, he stroked her sleeve with his fingertips.
‘I’ll be back tonight. I’ll try not to be too late.’ It was a promise he’d made and broken so often that the words were more ritual than promise.
Emily was on the stairs, awkwardly pushing the broom into the crevices and corners. He paused for a moment to watch her until she felt his glance and turned to face him.
‘You’re seeing how it’s done now.’
‘I’m slow.’ She smiled. ‘Rose was much better.’
‘We all have to start somewhere, you know.’
‘I think mama will see I have plenty of practice.’ She pushed the hair away from her forehead in a gesture that was so like his own it disarmed him.
‘Well, they say practice makes perfect.’ He gave her a wink and pulled on his coat.
The besom stopped its swish across the stair.
‘Papa?’ Emily asked.
‘What is it?’
‘They say that God gathers those close whom he loves, don’t they?’
‘Some people do,’ he agreed, wondering at her question.
‘If that’s true,’ she said with real concern in her voice, ‘does that mean He hates the rest of us? He leaves us here to miss them and mourn them.’
‘I don’t know, love’ he told her finally. ‘All we can do is hope He loves us all.’
Outside, the sky had lowered further, and the snow was still coming down. Endless clouds the colour of dull pewter rolled into the city. Even before he reached Timble Bridge the greatcoat was covered in white. Underfoot the mud had hardened into a treacherous, slippery mass.
For all that, his heart felt lighter. For the first time in months Emily had sounded a little like the girl she’d once been. Quieter and more thoughtful, definitely, and less challenging, but none the worse for that, given how wilful she’d been.
Children dead in body, children dead in spirit, he thought. He shivered. This winter, tossing up its dead and throwing them into the earth, was going to make atheists of them all.
At the jail he tried to settle back into his report. The words came slowly and awkwardly, vainly attempting to catalogue progress where there was none. He laboured to the end, scratching and sawing on the paper, then threw his quill down on the desk. The afternoon had slipped away into twilight while he’d worked. He lit a candle and sat back in the chair.
Sedgwick and Josh came in together, their voices loud in the small room as they complained about the weather. Nottingham waited as they shook out the snow from their coats.
‘You’d better sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What’s that, boss?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘It seems our friend Wyatt wants to kill me.’
Fourteen
He could count his heartbeats — two, three, four — whilst they digested what he’d told them. It was Josh who spoke first.
‘How do you know?’ he asked.
‘Wyatt said his book will be in four volumes. That’s four victims.’
‘I know,’ Josh replied. ‘I heard you two talking.’
‘You weren’t supposed to,’ Nottingham chided him, then softened. ‘But I’d have been disappointed in you if you didn’t.’ He held up one finger. ‘He’s already killed Graves, the man he stole from.’ A second finger joined the first. ‘He has Rushworth, unless we’re lucky enough to drag him back alive.’ The third finger. ‘Judge Dobbs, who sentenced him to transportation.’ Then the last finger, pointing at himself. ‘Richard Nottingham. I was with the old Constable who arrested him, and the old Constable is dead.’
‘So what are we going to do, boss?’ Sedgwick wondered seriously.
Nottingham reached into his greatcoat where it hung on the hook and produced the knives.
‘We’re going to be prepared,’ he announced. ‘He’s set us the challenge, and I’m damned if I’ll let him win it. I want you two armed. If you find him, let him find the mercy of God, not of justice.’
He looked at them calmly, watching them both. ‘I don’t want any of the men shadowing me. Wyatt already proved how good he was when he snatched Rushworth. I can look after myself. I want to tempt him to come for me.’
‘But boss-’ Sedgwick started to protest, but the Constable held up his hand.
‘No buts, John. I need you out there looking for him. It’s bad enough he’s beaten us and got Rushworth, but can you imagine what’ll happen if he gets the judge? The whole story will come out then, we won’t be able to stop it.’
‘What about me?’ Josh asked.
‘You’re my ears and eyes out there.’ He smiled. ‘You hear things and you see things no one else sees. You know what I mean.’ He watched the boy’s skin flush with pride, then saw Sedgwick’s frown. ‘I mean it, John,’ he warned.
‘Boss-’
‘No.’ It was a short, simple word, and this time it conveyed everything. ‘I needed you to know what was happening. Wyatt’s not going to get me, and he’s not going to get the judge.’
Inside, he’d already given up on Rushworth, sacrificed him. Failed him. Another victim of the winter. Wyatt had him, and they weren’t going to find him alive. Who would be left to mourn him and try to understand what had happened?
‘What else can we do to find Wyatt?’ he asked aloud.
‘We’ve been scraping the barrel for days, boss,’ Sedgwick said. ‘The man’s vanished.’
