‘We’ll have to get a larger room,’ she said.
‘What?’ he asked absently.
‘Drifting off??’ she asked with a sly sparkle in her eye. ‘I was saying we’ll need a bigger room when the baby’s born.’
‘We could start looking sooner, if you like.’
‘I’d love to have a real home sometime,’ she sighed. ‘Nothing fancy, just more than one room.’
‘Better dream on or find yourself a rich man, then. It won’t happen on my wages.’
‘One day when you’re Constable.’
‘If that ever happens, what with this new lad,’ he said with a sigh. ‘His father publishes the Mercury, so he’ll know people.’
‘Mr Nottingham said he’d speak up for you, didn’t he?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then go ahead and trust him. Look at you, John Sedgwick, you’re worried about someone who hasn’t even been in the job five minutes.’
‘I know,’ he admitted sheepishly.
‘You trust Mr Nottingham, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘He’ll do what he said, you know that. And maybe you’ll get me that house after all.’
‘Well, there’s a house with the job.’ He grinned. ‘Just don’t go holding your breath, though. The boss has a few years in him yet.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m just wishing. And you look like you’re dead on your feet.’
‘I’m fine for the moment,’ he told her and glanced out of the window. ‘It’s not even properly dark yet.’
‘I was thinking we could put James to bed and have an early night. You know.’
‘I suppose I could stay awake for that. Just.’
‘You’d better,’ she warned him with a smile. ‘Fall asleep in the middle and you’ll wake up missing some bits.’
He woke midway through the night, a sudden idea springing into his brain. Even as his eyes opened it began to fade and he struggled to keep it there. Slowly he untangled his arm from around Lizzie, and moved silently across the room, digging a scrap of paper and a pencil from his coat.
As he pulled the sheet back over himself she stirred against him, her breathing becoming soft snores for a few moments before subsiding. He smiled, feeling loved and satisfied.
The morning seemed a little cooler, the air easier to breathe as the deputy walked to work. He could hear the bright chatter of servants through the open windows and the rattle of pots on stoves as they started to make breakfasts.
He’d had some bread and a few sips of ale, enough to set him up for now. He was never hungry first thing, but ravenous by dinner when he usually had a pie from one of the shops or street sellers.
The Constable was already at the jail, his coat draped over the chair and sleeves rolled up to show the hair on his arms bleached pale by the sun.
‘There was a set-to overnight, boss. That’s what Morris the night man told me,’ Sedgwick said with a frown and Nottingham looked up, setting the quill aside.
‘Nothing new there, John. It can’t have been that bad, there’s no one in the cells.’
‘Bad enough.’ He sat down across from the Constable. ‘Seems like some of Worthy’s men were going at it with some others.’
Nottingham sat upright, attentive. ‘How many in all?’
‘About eight or so. Morris wasn’t sure.’
‘And who were these other men?’
‘He didn’t know, but my guess is they belonged to Hughes.’
‘Revenge for the whore who was cut.’
‘Aye. And it lets Worthy know Hughes won’t be leaving, too.’
‘How many were hurt?’
‘I don’t know. Morris was on his own so he stayed out of the way.’
‘Best thing,’ Nottingham agreed with an approving nod.
‘He did think one or two looked in bad shape.’
The Constable pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the throbbing he could feel building in his head.
‘He beats someone to death and now this. Amos must be feeling pressed if he needs to push hard.’
‘What did he say yesterday, boss?’
‘Just what you’d expect. He knew all about it, of course, and challenged me to prove he had anything to do with it.’
‘So what now?’
The Constable sighed. ‘The good news is that he claims he doesn’t have Nan.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes,’ he replied slowly. ‘If he knew where she was he wouldn’t have said a word.’ He sat and steepled his hands under his chin. ‘I think it’s time to go and meet Mr Hughes. Find out where he lives and we’ll pay him a visit.’
‘Yes, boss.’
Sedgwick slipped out, returning in less than ten minutes with a broad grin.
‘House on the Calls. When do you want to go and see him?’
Nottingham gave a dark smile, stood up and put on his coat.
‘No time like the present, John. Let’s see what our newest citizen is like.’
They walked down Kirkgate, then down Call Lane, taking their time, for all the world like two friends out enjoying the morning. Only the determined looks on their faces gave them away.
‘How do you want to do this, boss?’
‘I think we’ll just make the acquaintance of Mr Hughes and remind him that we have law in Leeds. See if that’s enough for him.’
Sedgwick pounded on the thin door with the flat of his hand, rattling it in its old, ill-fitting frame. The house was a cheap dwelling place, mortar slowly crumbling between the brickwork, the chimney pot sitting askew on the roof. They waited a minute and the deputy knocked again, banging until he heard the key turn inside.
‘What do you want?’
The man was young and shirtless, showing off a stocky physique with well-muscled arms. His face was sallow, with a recent cut above his right eye and a deep bruise flowering around his left. His head was shaved smooth, glistening in the sunlight.
Nottingham glanced at the man’s knuckles, cut and swollen, and knew without doubt he’d been part of the battle.
‘Well?’ the man asked, rubbing at his eyes, his voice still thick with sleep.
‘You’re Mr Hughes?’ the Constable asked.
The man put his hands on his hips and smiled comfortably. ‘I am. Who wants to know?’
‘I’m the Constable of Leeds. I want a word with you.’
‘Oh aye?’ Hughes raised his eyebrows.
‘Inside,’ Nottingham told him firmly. He locked eyes with the man, holding his gaze until Hughes moved aside.
The parlour was a jumble, with clothes and rubbish idly scattered across the floor. The sound of voices came from upstairs, men and women both, and footsteps clattered on the boards over their heads.
‘What do you want, Constable?’ Hughes asked. He picked up a dirty mug from the floor and took a swig from it.
‘In a fight, were you?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘Mebbe.’ He looked from one of them to the other.
‘Where are you from, Mr Hughes?’ the Constable wondered.
‘Why? Does it matter?’ His tone had become sullen.
