As time passed, it became a job like any other. He took over more of the work, making decisions as Arkwright the old Constable became happy to fade into the background. By the end all that was missing was the title, and when that came it seemed perfectly natural. He was old enough, with ample experience and confidence.
He had no doubt that Sedgwick would become Constable in good time; he’d recommend him himself, just as he’d promoted him to deputy. The old order would pass and the new one come in.
Nottingham was still thinking when Josh arrived. There was a pearl light coming through the window, pale and gentle. The boy looked as though he hadn’t slept.
‘John told me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Josh look embarrassed.
‘Have they moved her?’
He nodded. ‘Lizzie says she’s a little better. She was sleeping.’
He told Josh about Wyatt’s woman. For a swift moment he considered sending the lad home, but decided against it. In his room he’d just brood. At least here he’d be doing something. It was a feeling he’d come to know all too well himself in the last weeks.
‘I need you to check on the men around the judge,’ he said. ‘Make sure they stay alert. Keep your own eyes open, too. Wyatt’s going to be planning and watching.’ He paused. ‘Or it could be the woman doing it,’ he added as a sudden revelation hit him.
‘She could be following you, too, boss,’ Josh pointed out.
It was true, he realized. He’d been expecting a man, looking for one. His eyes had passed over the women without thought.
‘Let’s worry about the judge,’ he said with a smile he didn’t feel.
He watched through the window as Josh ran off up the street. The boy was in pain, but he still had plenty of energy.
They had another road to follow now, another chance to track Wyatt. Somewhere out there he was finishing the next part of his book. Very soon it would arrive.
Twenty
It came that afternoon. Once again it was wrapped in a sheet from the newspaper, delivered by a young boy who’d been paid to bring it and couldn’t give any worthwhile description of the man who’d instructed him.
Nottingham laid it on the desk unopened. His throat was dry. He knew he had to read it, that it could tell him important things about Wyatt. But first he’d see Rushworth’s skin, debased, used. He’d have no choice but to touch it, feel it, hold it.
Slowly, he sat down, and carefully removed the paper. The book lay there, the cover staring back at him. Slowly, with a mixture of revulsion and sadness, he reached out and ran his fingertips over the rough skin. The poor bastard, he thought. To die and have a memorial like this.
He pulled the cover back, seeing the sharp copperplate of Wyatt’s writing.
Nottingham held the pages apart with his fingertips, trying to keep his touch clear of the skin, and began to read.
My arrival in Leeds, all those years ago now, was far from auspicious. I was young and naive and I honestly believed I had the chance to make my fortune here. I arrived with nothing. Truly with nothing. I had the clothes I wore and, if I remember it properly, three small coins. But I believed in the power of Fortune to look after me.
The journey from Chesterfield had taken me five days. What little money I had set out with was spent on food and lodging along the road, pitiful as that was. Thin stews with hardly any meat, gruels, beds alive with fleas. But it was all that was on offer, and it was better than hunger and cold.
At first, Leeds justified my faith. Within a single day I had a job, making far more money than I ever had in Derbyshire. My decision seemed like a good one. I worked for a tanner. As jobs went, it was a step up from what I had known, more clerking and putting together the wages. The hours were long, and much was expected of me, but I could manage all that with ease. I was young, I had energy, I still held my dreams of running my own business and watching clerks as the owner watched me.
I had a room in a lodging house, but it was clean and neat. I had ample to eat, even a little money in my pocket for the first time. But soon I discovered that others were making more than I was. Nights in the taverns and conversations over a jug or two showed that the tanner was taking advantage of me. I had been a country boy and easily satisfied, but no more. I was suddenly wiser. I left my position and sought another that would pay me what I was worth.
But I quickly found that Leeds was a cruel town. Because I had left one job, others were reluctant to take me on. I believed, as I still do, that the tanner had told others about me. I was a clerk with a good hand, I could spell, and I could think, but I could not find a job. After a month, all my money exhausted, I began work in a shop.
Some might have said I had been humbled for my pride, yet that would be a lie. I had simply understood my worth, I had rightly demanded it, and I had been hit back down. For my trouble, now I was selling flour and other comestibles to servants.
It kept body and soul together, but little more than that. The injustice of it stung me every day, but I had my plans. I had had another setback, but I had overcome it. I knew that in my heart. I would have my revenge, too. In the end I burned down the tannery. The only pity was that the owner was not in it. He should have been, but something happened, I do not even recall what now. Still, I took satisfaction from the fact that it bankrupted him. If he had paid me a proper wage, he would have prospered and so would I.
The shop work was degrading to someone who could easily do a clerk’s work. I determined I would come through it, my time in the wilderness. It was intended to try me, to make me stronger and prepare me for the future.
In the end, it was a period that lasted for two long years. I hated every day of it. But I did have the opportunity to discover how stupid most people are. They would pay for something and never count the change. I was able to supplement my wages a little. That was just as well, because the shopkeeper paid me next to nothing.
But I knew things would improve eventually. I kept my faith in myself. There were jobs, and I kept applying. Finally one came along, a proper clerk’s job with a merchant. I worked hard, and he paid me well for all I did. Within twelve months I had become his head clerk. He saw my worth and rewarded it.
He was older, though, and I had barely had my high position for a year when he decided to retire. There was no one to take over the business. If I had had the money, I would have bought it from him. But I could not have raised the sum he needed. Not yet. I knew no one who would take the risk of backing me. No one with money. That was the secret, of course: a connection to money.
The stock was sold off, and those of us who worked there were let go. I had a good reference, and a little extra money, but that was all. Once again, I had been cheated of my reward.
I was able to find another job. It was only my due, after all. Graves employed me. He promised me a lot. The other merchant had recommended me highly. I would start at the bottom, Graves said, to learn his ways, then as soon as I showed my mettle I would become his head clerk.
He lied, of course, as they all do. Instead, he received my services for far less than they were worth. He gave me increases each year, but they were miserly. He could afford more. I knew that because I kept the accounts for the business. After four years of this, of still being a clerk and Graves waving me away each time I reminded him of what he had said, I met Charlotte.
Nottingham carefully closed the book. There was more to read, but he needed to think on Wyatt’s words for a while. How deep was the well of bitterness inside the man? It seemed endless.
He had a very faint memory of a fire at a tannery, years before. Even back then, it appeared, Wyatt’s warped sense of justice could be ruthless. Each grudge, each affront went into his ledger, never forgotten, never forgiven. The Constable sat back, stroking his chin.
