didn’t speak much. Frances kept her own counsel, spending words reluctantly, keeping them like valuable coin.
He’d liked her shyness, the way she kept her head bowed. Back in the days when he was a cutpurse, sometimes he’d save a coin and pass it to her. He remembered the delight he felt when she finally used the money to buy a dress. She’d blushed when she noticed him looking.
Josh tried to move again. He steadied himself for the effort, using his hands to drag himself forwards. The pain seared through his arms like fire. He managed to pull himself a couple of feet. In spite of the cold he was sweating, panting as if he’d run across the city, tears running down his face.
He let himself fall again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to die. He’d see Frances again, hold her tight and see that smile blossom, first in her mouth, then all across her face. She’d been the first to care about him. The only one to ever say she loved him.
He was so tired. He felt ready to close his eyes and sleep, to leave all this behind. But he forced himself to remain awake. He was still that way as the first light arrived, breathing slowly, and still in the same position when the night man heard a soft groan and glanced down the passage. Only then, found, could he let himself fall.
Thirty
Josh woke at the jail. He could smell it, so strong and familiar around him that he felt he must be dreaming. He struggled to open his eyes, but he couldn’t; the lids felt stuck together. He fluttered and forced them apart, but there was just blackness still. He panicked. Had he gone blind?
He let out a quiet cry, and then there was the soft, comforting voice of John Sedgwick in his ear.
‘Don’t worry, lad,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now, you’re with us. I’ll sit you up, you can have something to drink. You can’t see, there are bandages over your eyes.’
A hand between his shoulders raised him. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t stop the cry that came with touch and the movement.
‘Just breathe lightly,’ the deputy advised. ‘It’ll hurt less. Someone did a good job on you.’
Josh drank, swallowing gratefully. A mouthful at first, then another, before he greedily drained the cup, letting the liquid swirl away the taste of blood in his mouth.
‘There’s something in it,’ Sedgwick told him. ‘It’ll help you sleep.’
‘Do you know who did this?’ It was the Constable. From the sound of it, he was over by the door.
‘The Henderson brothers.’ It was difficult to speak, to make his mouth form the words.
‘You were lucky the night man spotted you,’ Sedgwick told him.
‘The apothecary looked at you while you were unconscious,’ Nottingham informed him. ‘It’s not good, but it’s not too bad. You’ve got several broken ribs, and you’re going to hurt all over for a while. That’s the worst of it. You must be tougher than you look, lad. He doesn’t think there’ll be any lasting damage.’
‘My eyes?’ Josh asked.
He could almost hear the boss shrug.
‘The apothecary suggested it. They kicked your head a lot. He wants your eyes bandaged for a couple of days. We’ll look after you. I promise you that.’ He felt Nottingham’s hand on his. ‘We put some dry clothes on you.’
Josh felt one of the rough jail blankets drawn up around him.
‘Get some rest,’ the Constable said.
‘He’s right, lad,’ Sedgwick agreed. ‘It’s the best medicine. We’ll only be in the office.’
‘Don’t,’ he began, then had to clear his throat. ‘Don’t close the door,’ he asked, each word an effort.
‘We won’t,’ the Constable assured him. He felt warm breath against his cheek and quiet words in his ear.
‘You’re going to be fine, I promise.’
The footsteps faded on the flagstones and he lay there, slowly letting relief fill him.
Nottingham’s face blazed with rage. He was pacing the office, grinding his teeth as Sedgwick sat by the desk. ‘I’m going to kill them.’
‘Boss-’
‘You heard him.’ The Constable continued, waving an arm in the direction of the cells. ‘The Henderson brothers. I’m not going to let them get away with almost killing one of my men.’
‘But the Corporation won’t even put them on trial when we have proof. What do you think they’d do if we presented them with this?’ Sedgwick asked soberly.
‘I didn’t say anything about a trial, John.’
‘Don’t, boss.’ Nottingham stopped and turned to look at him. ‘You said the Mayor warned you that if anything happened to them, you’d get the blame.’
‘Christ, man, you saw what they did to Josh.’ The Constable’s face was red with fury. ‘He’s still a boy, he didn’t have a chance against them. Are you willing to let that lie?’
‘No,’ the deputy admitted.
‘He’d barely buried his girl, for God’s sake.’
For several seconds neither of them said anything.
‘Look, we both care about him, boss,’ Sedgwick said gently. ‘The first thing to do is see he gets well again. You heard the apothecary, he was worried about the way he’d been kicked in the head. Once Josh is back on his feet we’ll decide what to do.’
‘When he can move, I’ll take him home with me,’ Nottingham offered. ‘He’ll need someone to look after him.’
‘Lizzie would do that, but. . I don’t think it would help him to be where Frances died.’
‘No.’
The Constable knew he needed to calm himself. When one of the men had arrived at his house to tell him Josh had been attacked, his stomach had lurched. This wasn’t a man who could fend for himself in a fight, this was a lad who didn’t even look his age.
He’d sent the man for the apothecary and hurried off to the jail, arriving just after they’d brought the boy, carrying him carefully on the old door. Sedgwick was already there, fear playing over his face.
The two of them stayed close by as the apothecary made his inspection. They’d helped cut off his soaking clothes, showing his thin, white frame. Fists clenched so hard that the nails hurt his palms, Nottingham had watched the ribs being bound, the broken nose reset. Two fingers had been smashed, and they were carefully bandaged with a splint. It was for the best that the boy had passed out. Bruises were blooming like dark flowers all across his flesh. He prayed Josh would live and sat holding his hand until he woke, willing the next breath, the next heartbeat. He needed to know who had done this.
It was full daylight outside, a market day. On Lower Briggate the coloured cloth market would already have ended, its business conducted in near silence as thousands of pounds changed hands on a promise. Trestles would be dismantled and labourers would be carrying cloth to warehouses, bent double under the weight. Later, in the White Cloth Hall down the road, everything would be repeated as the lengths of plain material were bought and sold.
Traces of snow remained deep in the shade. Where the slush had finally vanished, the streets had become heavy, dark mud, holding fast and thick to horses’ hooves and men’s boots. He could hear the clatter and shouting of people beyond the window, the life and laughter and flaring arguments.
Winter was passing, but the pain still lingered. Rose had died, carrying his heart with her; Frances had died; so many others. Josh had survived, but from the look of him that was mostly luck.
The Constable sighed. What could he do about the Hendersons? Sedgwick was right, official action was impossible. And the Mayor had already warned him against taking action outside the law. Never mind that they were murderers, that they’d beaten his man, that the pair of them and their father believed no justice applied to them. He was powerless.
He rubbed his shoulder. Much of the pain had vanished, and now it simply ached. He could move it a little more freely, though awkwardly and with a wary slowness.
He pushed his fringe back and sighed. He needed progress. He needed everything. They had to find Wyatt
