CONVALESCENCE



A



Richard Nottingham



Story



CHRIS NICKSON





Convalescence: A Richard Nottingham Story

Copyright: Chris Nickson

Published: 2013

The right of Chris Nickson to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.



All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission.





�śA beautiful day, friend.”

Standing on Timble Bridge, idly staring down at the water, Richard Nottingham turned to see a small, ragged man, no more than twenty years old, a wide grin on his mouth, his accent the deep sing-song of the border country. His clothes were old and travel-stained, boots worn and weary. The lad took off his tricorn hat and wiped his forehead.

�śGrand,” Nottingham agreed. And it was. In the shade of a tall willow, he felt pleasantly cool in the July heat.

�śDo you know a good place to stay in Leeds?” The man hoisted a pack higher on his back. �śI’ve walked here from Durham and I could use a bed, like.”

�śTry Mrs. Lumley on Call Lane. She runs a clean house and fair prices. Anyone will be able to direct you.”

The man gave a small nod of thanks. �śChampion,” he said, pulled a flask from a threadbare coat and took a swallow. �śYou know Leeds well, then?”

Nottingham smiled. �śI should. I’ve lived here all my life.”

�śHappen you’d know which folk buy things?”

�śThings?” He raised an eyebrow.

�śAye.” The man winked. �śThings. You know.”

�śTry the Talbot,” he suggested with a smile. �śIt’s on Briggate, you can’t miss it. I daresay you’ll find what you need there.”

The man grinned again, showing a mouth of missing teeth. �śI’ll be sure and do that.”

�śAre you staying here long?”

�śDepends.” He shrugged. �śI’ve never been one for staying anywhere too long. Keep moving, keep alive. That’s the best way, like.” He tipped his hat. �śI’ll wish you a good day, friend.”

Nottingham nodded. �śAnd to you,” he said, then added, �śWhat’s your name?”

�śWill Langton. If you’re looking for something, I’ll have it. And if I don’t, I can get it for you. At a price, of course.” He winked and extended his hand. �śAnd I don’t know you, friend.”

�śRichard Nottingham.” They shook briefly and the man strode off towards the Parish Church and Kirkgate. For a long time Richard Nottingham, Constable of Leeds, stood on the bridge, watching people pass and relishing the light breeze against his face. Finally he began to walk home, a slow shuffle, leaning heavily on the stick as he moved. The pistol in his coat pocket hit against his hip, but it was better to have the habit of carrying it. Each step jarred, leaving him sweating and aching by the time he’d covered the two hundred yards to his door and pushed it open.



He’d started out early in the afternoon, stopping often to catch his breath, taking in the perfumes of all the wildflowers at the roadside and the warm summer scent as men scythed grass over in the fields. Dust rose from the wheels as a cart passed slowly, the driver nodding at him.

Nottingham had smiled as he gazed around. There’d been times since the wounding that he doubted that he’d ever see this again, times he doubted he’d live. He barely remembered much of the spring, days and nights passing in and out of consciousness, seeing faces at the bedside, the living and the dead, all looking at him with their tender, sad eyes. But now, in the shank of July 1733, he was here on Marsh Lane, determined to walk to Timble Bridge and back. He knew he moved like an old man, a few, slow paces then the need to rest. It didn’t matter; even if the small journey took him all afternoon, he had time. All the time in the world. And after so long in the house, even straying these few hundred yards from home felt like victory.

With God’s good grace the constable would return to work. But it would take weeks, likely months before he was ready. When something as simple as a stroll down the road needed all his effort and will, there was still a long way to go.



Sitting on the chair in front of the empty fireplace, he breathed deeply and reached for the jug of ale, pouring a cup and drinking it all down. Mary stood in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at him.

�śYou look exhausted.”

�śI am,” he admitted with a wry smile. �śA tiring business, walking.”

�śYou still need rest, Richard.”

�śI know,” he admitted. �śBut I have to build up my strength, too.”

She shook her head at him and went back to her work. The next he knew, the clump of boots on the stairs woke him and Rob appeared.

�śBeen out, boss?”

�śI went down to the bridge. Although it felt like I’d walked to York and back.” He looked at the lad. �śI did meet someone interesting, though.”

�śOh?”

�śA man called Will Langton.”

Rob frowned. �śI don’t know him.”

�śHe’s new, just arrived from Durham.” He described the man. �śI daresay he’ll be in the Talbot tonight. Looking for people to buy things.”

Lister laughed. �śThings, eh? Perhaps I’ll go down there and see what he has.”

�śIf he doesn’t have it, he can get it. That’s what he wants to make out, anyway. I sent him to Mrs. Lumley’s. He had a heavy pack.”

�śMaybe we can lighten it for him.”

�śMr. Sedgwick might want to look at what he’s been carrying,” the constable suggested.

�śI’ll tell him.” He shifted from foot to foot.

�śDo that,” he said, then glanced out of the window. �śYou’d better go, lad. Can’t have you late to meet Emily after school.”



He was awake when Rob returned from work in the morning. His eyes had been open for an hour or more, seeing the brightness rise slowly in the east. He eased himself upright, trying not to disturb Mary as she slept. Dressing, once so simple and brisk, now seemed a hesitant, painful business. But he needed to do it, to be moving, to feel part of life again, not an invalid.

Finally he was in the kitchen, watching the lad at the table devouring bread and cheese, a full cup of ale in front of him.

�śBusy night?” he asked.

�śDrunks, fights.” Rob shrugged. �śNothing too bad, boss.”

�śWhat about that Tom Langton? Did you find him at the Talbot?”

�śNot when I looked in, boss. No one sounding like him had been there.” He frowned. �śI told Mr. Sedgwick. He’s going down to Mrs. Lumley’s lodging house to check.”

�śMaybe he found somewhere cheaper,” Nottingham said. �śOr perhaps he decided Leeds wasn’t to his taste.”

�śI’ll keep my eyes open, anyway.”

�śI wouldn’t waste your time, lad. It’s probably nothing.”



It had been a rushed morning, the deputy thought. But every day was without the constable around. He’d made his early rounds, given the men their assignments, then checked on the Tuesday cloth market, his eye alert for the pickpockets who loved the place and its opportunities. Dinnertime had come and gone, the sun high, before he had the chance to make his second rounds. He’d struggled through preparation for the court cases, questioned two men suspected of a rape and examined the open window that had given a burglar entry to a house on the Head Row before he could buy a pie from a seller and set out for Leeds Bridge.

At first he thought it was nothing, just the long grass around the water engine flattened by a pair of lovers seeking a quiet spot. He didn’t think he’d spotted it earlier, but he’d dashed by, hurrying to get the morning underway. He put the last of the food into his mouth and pushed his way through, brushing at the midges that tried to gather around his face.

�śFuck,” he said quietly, kneeling by the man on the ground and feeling for a pulse. Nothing. �śFuck,” he repeated.



The cold cell they used for the morgue was heavy with summer heat. He lifted the sheet off the body. The young man didn’t have a face he knew, with sandy hair, old clothes, his boots repaired many time. There’d been an empty pack at his side and a battered tricorn hat a few yards away.

Sedgwick had examined the area carefully before he called for help. There was little blood by the body and he began to search around, finally finding a spot by the riverbank where the soil was damp and sticky to the touch. Twenty yards, he guessed, and the man was small. He could easily have been killed here and carried there, out of sight for a while.

Bruises had bloomed like flowers across the man’s face. There were more on his body, he saw as he cut away a shirt of rags, stiff and discoloured with blood. He’d been knifed four times, in the stomach and chest. If he’d been lucky the poor bugger would have died quickly. From the look of it, he hadn’t even had a chance to defend himself. There was a sheath on his belt, but no knife. The killer had likely taken it.

The deputy stood back, slowly rubbing his chin and reaching for a mug of ale to wash the taste of death from his mouth. Rob had told him about the man the boss met on Timble Bridge yesterday and he wondered if the body could be him. He’d planned on checking Mrs. Lumley’s lodging house when he had chance; now he’d better make time.



In the afternoon Nottingham took up the stick and walked down to the bridge again. He was weary by the time he leaned against the parapet, but perhaps it had been a little easier, just the smallest bit quicker. Maybe, he thought hopefully. Maybe. He settled into the shade, letting the sweat dry on his face and watched the world go by. His thoughts started to drift.

Will Langton. The man was trouble. The constable might have been gone from work for a few months, but his instincts hadn’t vanished completely. Hopefully the man really had bypassed Leeds and gone elsewhere. He shook his head slowly and turned his gaze back to the water, listening to the soft way it burbled over the rocks.

�śBoss?”

Dragged back to the day, the constable looked up to see Sedgwick next to him. He’d never even heard the man arrive.

�śHello, John,” he said with real pleasure. �śI’m surprised to see you out this way during the day.” The look on the deputy’s face made him pause. �śYou look tired.”

�śNever ends, boss. You know that.” Sedgwick sighed and rested his elbows on the parapet. �śI wanted to ask you something. That man you met yesterday�Ś”

�śWill Langton? Strange, I was just thinking about him.”

�śI need you to tell me what he looked like. In detail.”

Nottingham cocked his head. �śWhat’s happened?”

�śI found a body by the water engine. Empty pack by his side. Not anyone I recognise.”

The constable tried to picture the man in his mind, his words slow as he described Langton, telling everything he could recall. �śWhat do you think?” he asked finally.

�śSounds like him,” Sedgwick answered after a while. �śI went by Mrs. Lumley’s. He’d never gone there. Someone killed him by the river.”

�śThat pack was heavy when I saw him,” Nottingham said thoughtfully. �śYou think he was sleeping down there?”

The deputy shrugged.

�śNo sign of a fire, but it’s warm out.”

�śI told him to try the Talbot if he wanted to sell things. Rob said he looked in but didn’t see anyone like Langton.”

�śDoesn’t mean much. He must have met someone.” Sedgwick sighed. �śI don’t need a murder on top of everything else.”

�śI wish I could help you.”

The deputy ran a hand through his hair. �śSo do I, boss. More than you know.”

�śHow are Lizzie and the children?”

�śWell enough, not that I have much time with them.” He sighed. �śYou are you going to come back, aren’t you, boss?”

�śIf I can.” Nottingham gestured at the stick. �śIn time.”

The deputy exhaled slowly and nodded. There were deep circles under his eyes, the flesh strained and tight across his face. �śI’d better get back. At least I know who he is now.”

�śI think there was something big in that pack.”

�śBig?” Sedgwick frowned. �śWhat do you mean?”

�śI’m not sure. It’s just�Śwhen he was walking away I had the sense that there was just one thing taking up most of that pack. The way it bulged. I don’t know if that’s any use.”

�śIt might be.” The deputy pushed himself upright. �śI mean it, boss. We need you back.”

Nottingham watched until Sedgwick had vanished from sight. We need you back. They were good words to hear. He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket. He’d received it that morning from Tom Williamson, his merchant friend. At the cloth market, the mayor had been quietly canvassing the aldermen, suggesting that it might be time for a new constable. Go back? He wondered if he’d ever have the chance.



The deputy had to admit it; the boss didn’t look good. He’d lost weight, his hair was thinner and greyer, his face pinched. He looked old; more than that, he seemed weary to his soul. Maybe he’d never be fit enough to return.

At the jail he picked up Langton’s pack and spread it on the desk. It was a fair size. If that had been bulging, and the constable was right, it had held something big. There’d been no personal items, no spare clothing, no bedroll that he’d found. What could Langton have been carrying all the way from Durham that was worth his life?

He needed to begin asking questions, to discover who’d seen the man during his short time in Leeds.



The Talbot felt dry and dusty, the benches filled by men who’d finished their work for the day and wanted something to cool them. A fug of smoke hung below the ceiling and the smell of ale filled the air. Along the back wall, the door that led upstairs to the whores was open, inviting any with desire and money to spend.

Landlord Bell stood behind the trestle, pouring the drinks and watching the customers. He deliberately ignored the deputy, waiting until Sedgwick drew the cudgel from his pocket to turn his head.

�śYou want summat?”

�śDid you have a stranger in last night? Someone from the north?”

Bell ran a tongue across his teeth.

�śHappen,” he allowed finally.

The deputy lay the cudgel slowly on the trestle.

�śHappen?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

�śAye, he was,” Bell admitted reluctantly. �śThat accent they have, can’t mek out what they’re saying half the time.”

�śWho was he talking to?”

Bell shook his head and shrugged.

�śToo busy to keep checking. I did see him with Joe Buck, though.”

Sedgwick nodded his acknowledgment.

�śOwt else?” Bell asked. �śIf not, you can bugger off out of here.”

The deputy smiled, taking his time. But the name had come as no real surprise. Buck was the biggest fence in Leeds. Yet he was no murderer; he wasn’t a man of violence at all. It was something to think about as he crossed the bridge and strode into the small streets tucked behind the wealthy houses on Meadow Lane.

Henry, the black servant, saw him through to the parlour, the windows open on a surprisingly large garden. Buck was looking out at the grass and the orchard, sipping a glass of deep red wine.

�śI hadn’t expected this.” He smiled, extending his hand. �śIt’s not a social call, from the look on your face. A drink, Mr. Sedgwick?”

�śAle?”

Buck poured from the jug.

�śI hear Mr. Nottingham’s started walking out a little.”

The deputy smiled. If a mouse farted in Leeds, Buck heard about it. �śSlow but sure.” He took a drink. �śYou were talking to someone in the Talbot last night.”

The fence dipped his head in acknowledgment. �śI talked to quite a few people there.”

�śSomeone new, from the north.”

�śHim?” Buck raised his eyebrows. �śWhat’s his name, Will�Ś”

�śLangton. He’s dead. Someone killed him, Joe.”

�śIs he now?” the man answered slowly, then raised his head to stare at the deputy. �śDid he have a pack with him?”

�śAn empty one. What did he try to sell you?”

�śAn urn.”

�śUrn?” Sedgwick asked in surprise.

�śThat’s what he said it was, anyway. He claimed it was silver. I didn’t see it.”

�śYou didn’t want to buy it?”

Buck chuckled.

�śFrom someone I don’t know, someone who’s a stranger here? Give over, Mr. Sedgwick. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

�śDid you suggest anyone else?”

He shook his head. �śI heard him out, turned him down and left.”

�śWhat did he tell you about the urn?”

�śJust that it had come from some rich man’s house in Durham. I didn’t want to know any more. Sounds like it caught someone’s interest, though.”

�śIf you hear anything�Ś” There was a good chance he might. Whoever had the urn would want to sell it.

�śI’ll let you know,” Buck agreed. �śAnd give my best to Mr. Nottingham. I miss him.”

�śWe all do, Joe.” He drained the cup. �śThank you.”



The first shades of evening, pale lengthening shadows, had appeared by the time Rob arrived at the jail to take his shift. The deputy stood, ready to be home with Lizzie and the children, to have a few hours of sleep before returning in the morning.

�śAnything more on the dead man?” Lister asked, and Sedgwick told him what little he’d learned.

�śKeep asking around. Someone’s going to want to be rid of that urn.”

�śAre we sure it was silver?”

�śMaybe.” He shook his head. Who knew the truth? Langton could easily have been lying, he thought, hoping for quick money from a gullible soul. Not that there were many of those in crime.

�śIf it’s solid silver, it’ll be worth a fortune.” Rob paused, thinking. �śAnybody who had that stolen from them might have sent someone after it.”

�śI suppose so,” the deputy agreed after a little while.

�śIf he found it, he’ll be long gone now.”

�śAnd left Langton here, dead for his sins. Just ask in the beer shops tonight,” Sedgwick told him in frustration.



�śNo one seems to have seen him, boss. I asked in the dram shops, the beer shops, the inns.” He stopped and took a bite of the bread. Lister and the constable stood in the kitchen of the house on Marsh Lane, the door open to catch the faint breeze, the early light clear and sharp.

�śYour idea’s good,” Nottingham told him and Rob smiled at the praise. �śIf the urn’s really that valuable, I can believe someone being sent after it. But whoever came would need a man who knows Leeds to help.” That made sense, Lister thought. A man who knew where to look, to pass the word. �śI’d keep your eyes open for someone who suddenly has a bit of money.”

�śI will.”

�śDon’t ignore everything else, though,” the constable warned.

�śWe won’t, boss.”



�śGeorge Richmond,” Sedgwick said without hesitation. �śHe’d be the man for something like that.”

�śGeorge? The one who’s on the bridge most days?”

�śThat’s him.”

Lister had always thought of Richmond as someone solitary, a poor soul whose mind had left him. Hardly someone to guide a killer. �śAre you sure?” He found the idea difficult to swallow.

The deputy finished a mug of ale and placed it on the desk. Outside the clouds were tinged with pink and purple. The day had passed in a welter of tasks: reports, evidence at the Petty Sessions, talking to a man who’d been robbed outside Holy Trinity Church. There weren’t enough hours to do everything, even with the day men to help.

�śThere was something, three, maybe four years back,” he explained.” A man was murdered here. We never found out who did it, but the talk was the killer came from Hull and I still think it was George who showed him where to find the victim. Never found the proof, that’s all. I’ll go and talk to him in the morning.”

�śWhat do you think happened with Langton?” Rob asked.

�śI don’t know, besides the fact he’s in a pauper’s grave now.”

�śWhere does George live, anyway?”

�śHe used to have a room in one of the courts off Vicar Lane. See if you can find out tonight.”

Lister nodded. It was the middle of the week, the time when men had no money to be out drinking away their pains and sorrow. He’d have time to ask questions and discover where George lived. But he’d keep his mind open to other things, too. Just the way the boss suggested.

By ten he had the information he needed. Old Hercules, who looked after the horses and cleaned tables at the Rose and Crown, knew George Richmond. In a strange way it made sense, Rob thought. The pair of them seemed to live outside the world everyone else understood.



Cloud had built up during the night. By the middle of the morning the constable could feel the closeness in the air, the storm that was building, like a physical pressure tight against his chest. There’d be no walk to Timble Bridge today. Once the rain started it would be a deluge to leave the road thick with mud. Even with a stick it would be too easy to slip and reopen the wound. He’d seen Mary watching him as he stared out of the window. She didn’t have any cause for fear; he wouldn’t be setting foot out of the house today.

He’d talked to Rob when the lad came home, the name George Richmond quick off his lips. Sedgwick had always thought the man was guilty back when Joseph Latham has been killed. He’d never been as convinced. There’d been nothing but a rumour and a whisper or two, Richmond seen with a stranger that night.

After Rob had escorted Emily to school and gone off to his bed, Nottingham sat at the table, a piece of paper and a quill in front of him. He needed to send a message to the deputy, something to push him onto the right path.

John –

Don’t waste your time on George Richmond. I know you believe he was behind that business in ’30, but it was never him. I told you that at the time, but you didn’t want to believe me. He’s no more than he seems, lonely and addled.

You’d do better to look to Walter Archer. I had my doubts about him three years ago. He has relatives in Hull. His wife’s from somewhere in the north east, I think. We both know he’s a man who’ll do anything for a few coins. It might be worth talking to him.

He sanded the paper and folded it. Would he do better to let things be and give the deputy his head? No, he decided. Outside the rain began, hammers of noise battering against the windows and the ground. Once it passed he’d have next door’s boy take the note to the jail.

The more he considered things, the more he could see Walter Archer for this. He spent his time wandering around town, in the dramshops and on the corners, a man who lived just on the far side of the law, but rarely worth pursuing. He was good with his fists, cruel when he needed to be; the only reason his wife put up with him was that she was as bad herself.

Half an hour later and the storm had passed; only a misting drizzle remained. The air was clear, filled with a tumble of fresh, sweet scents. He watched the lad skip through the mud, the letter in his coat pocket. The clouds scudded away, leaving blue sky and sunshine. If the ground dried enough he might be able to walk later, after all.



The deputy was soaked, coat sodden, his hose wet to the calves. He’d found George Richmond in his room, sitting on a chair and staring at the wall. Sedgwick had asked his questions, but he might as well have been talking to the moon for all the sense he heard in response.

Eventually he had to admit it; if George hadn’t lost his wits, he was a fine actor. He’d arrived with his hopes high and he was leaving filled with frustration, out into the driving rain. He slipped into the White Swan, a chance to dry off over a pie and a mug of ale. By the time he went next door to the jail the sun had returned. He picked up the note that had been pushed under the door.

Aye, he knew Walter Archer well enough.



It took him most of the morning to discover that Archer and his wife occupied a cellar on the Calls. They’d lived there since winter, he found out after going from one person to the next, finally finding a whore on Briggate who knew the pair of them. He stared at the building, half the limewash missing, the timbers on the upper storey looking as though they’d been eaten away, mortar crumbling between the stones.

He hammered on the door, but no one answered. He tried again, and when there was nothing, he forced the lock with the tip of his knife. It gave quickly enough. Light came through a small, cobwebbed window, dim but enough to make out a bed of straw covered by a dirty, torn sheet, half a loaf of bread on the table and a full jug of ale. A few ragged clothes hung on nails. They were out but they’d be back. Sedgwick closed the door carefully as he left.

All through the afternoon he watched for them, going by the places where he’d seen them in the past. Twice he returned to see if they were at home. By evening there was still no sign and the deputy was beginning to worry.

�śKeep checking for them,” he told Rob. �śIf you see anything, send for me.”

�śYou’re sure it’s Walter?”

�śI am now. I can feel it in my water,” Sedgwick said with certainty. �śThe boss was right. I don’t know where they’ve gone, though.”

�śThink they’ve flitted?”

�śNo,” he answered slowly. �śNot with everything they own in their room. But they might very soon. I’ll wager they’re lying low for now. They’ll go when it’s quieter.”



Nothing. He checked not long after the bells at the Parish Church rang four in the morning. No one had been back to the cellar. Lister was waiting in the jail when the deputy arrived. He shook his head and Sedgwick frowned.

�śI’d best have the men keep looking. You go on home.”



They’d never find whoever had done the killing, the constable was certain of that. The man who wielded the knife would have vanished back to Durham or wherever it was, carefully carrying the urn. Probably Archer and his wife had never imagined anyone would connect them to murder.

He sat at the table and ate his dinner of bread and cheese, barely sipping at the ale. They might still catch the couple, though. They’d try to flee; they had to. He hoped the deputy had men out on the roads and another to watch the cellar in case they went back. Then he shook his head. There just weren’t enough men for all that.

Finally he picked up the stick and eased himself out of the chair.

�śI’m going to take my walk,” he said to Mary. �śI might stay by the bridge a while.”

�śJust to the bridge?” she asked.

�śNo further,” he promised.

The hot sun had hardened yesterday’s mud into today’s ruts, and he moved carefully along the road, then found a patch of deep shade on the bridge, a cool place to rest. Carts passed, some going into Leeds, others heading out along the road that went to York. People passed in conversation, barely noticing him. Lone stragglers nodded a greeting; one or two even stopped to pass the time of day.

He heard the bells of the Parish Church sound one, then two, and he stayed where he was. In the background, Sheepscar Beck burbled and flowed over the rocks. It was a pleasant place to spend time, peaceful enough, and the travellers going by gave entertainment.

Three o’clock came and went. He began to stir, wondering if it was too late. Another few minutes, Nottingham decided, then he’d go home again.

He saw them well before they spotted him. They kept glancing backwards, over their shoulders to make sure no one was pursuing them, not ahead. The constable smiled and walked to the side of the road, leaning on his stick.

�śMr. Archer,” he called. �śMrs. Archer. A pleasure to see you both.”

The shock of the words made them stop. Nottingham saw the panic on Archer’s thin face. The pair of them carried small sacks over their shoulder. For a moment the man half-turned, then understood the folly of going back. Instead he gave a false smile and walked forwards.

�śConstable. It was all over town you’d been hurt. People are saying you’re going to retire.”

�śI doubt I’m ready for that yet, Mr. Archer. A few more weeks and I’ll be back at the jail.” He bowed his head towards the woman. �śLeaving Leeds, are you?”

�śAye.” Archers ran his fingertips inside the neck of his shirt. �śWe thought it was time to try somewhere new.”

�śHull, maybe? You have relatives there, don’t you?”

�śAye, maybe.”

�śAll that weather off the sea, though,” Nottingham said. �śCold in winter, I hear.”

�śPerhaps.” The man shrugged.

�śOr there’s always Durham. Your part of the world, isn’t it?” he said to Mrs. Archer.

He’d been watching Archer’s eyes and it took nothing to move aside as the man charged forward, then to drive the stick between his legs to send him sprawling. By the time he’d raised himself to his knees Nottingham had pulled the pistol from his coat pocket.

�śThe pair of you sit down, backs against the parapet. I’m sure there’ll be someone along for you soon enough.”

Maybe it really was too soon to consider retiring, he thought.





If you enjoyed this story, I hope you’ll read the Richard Nottingham novels:

The Broken Token

Cold Cruel Winter

The Constant Lovers

Come the Fear

At the Dying of the Year



Coming in hardback in September 2013:



Fair and Tender Ladies (January 2014, US and ebook)