‘Ay well,’ she said. ‘Once a reiver, allus a reiver, I say.’
‘When did you find Nixon then, Goody?’
‘Och, a while before dawn when I came down to milk the goat. He slept down here on the fleeces when he couldnae climb the steps in the night. I gave him milk to gi’ him strength and put some cold water on his face and give him a sling for his arm, though he said it annoyed him. Then off he went when the sun was up and that’s the last I saw of him that day, for he didnae come back until it was well dark and I was in bed, but I heard him at the door and going up the ladder.’
‘That was Monday night.’
‘Ay sir. A little before midnight, I hadnae heard the bell yet. And then yesterday, he was up as usual and looking a bit better though he hadnae much stomach to his meat for breakfast, and then he was off to see Mr Pennycook, the man he works for. And then he come home in the afternoon and he was in a terrible state o’ fear, and he didnae tell me what it was but I think he heard ye’d gone to arrest Mrs Atkinson, and he packed his bags and promised me the back rent as soon as he could get it, and then he was off out the door as fast as he could go. And that’s the last I saw of him, sir, as ye know, for I told ye yesterday.’
Carey smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Goodwife. That’s very clear.’
‘Ah’ve done him nae good, have I sir?’ She had actually stopped her toing and froing to look at Carey.
Ye’ve about hanged him, woman, Dodd thought but didn’t say. Instead he handed her a fresh basket of lambstails for spinning and she gave him a distracted smile of thanks.
‘We’ll see what happens,’ said Carey diplomatically. ‘Nothing is certain yet.’
Goodwife Crawe screwed her face up anxiously. ‘It’ll be a sad thing for the boys if he hangs, for they like him.’
‘If he did the murder, Goodwife, it’s only right he should hang for it,’ said Carey pompously.
She sniffed and started the wheel turning again. ‘Ay, well,’ she said. ‘He’s nobbut one man. He’s no’ rich nor a gentleman nor a gentleman’s servant and his father’s not strong enough to save him either, so nae doubt he’ll hang whether he did it or no’. Poor lad.’
Carey looked annoyed. Why was he so touchy, Dodd wondered. Goodwife Crawe had only stated the obvious.
‘I give you my word, Goodwife, if he isn’t guilty I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t hang.’
‘Hmf. But ye willna favour him over your ain servant, now will ye, sir?’
‘I might.’ Carey’s voice was cold. He went to the door and opened it. Goodwife Crawe curtseyed as she walked with her spinning. ‘Thank you for your help, Goodwife.’
Carey was looking thoughtful as they left the alley. He stopped in the middle of the way and Dodd nearly bumped into him.
‘You still there, Dodd?’
‘Ay,’ said Dodd.
‘Why are you following me around?’
‘It’s no’ fitting for the Deputy Warden to be wandering around Carlisle town wi’out any man of his ain to back him,’ said Dodd, highly offended at this example of southern ignorance. ‘And dangerous, what’s more. D’ye think the Grahams willna kill ye if they have the chance?’
Carey had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘To be honest, I hadn’t thought I was in danger in Carlisle.’
‘Ay, well,’ said Dodd. ‘Would ye go out unattended in London?’
‘I might. If I didn’t see any need to make a fuss.’
‘Ye’re not the Deputy Warden in London. Ye’re but one o’ thousands of rich courtiers milling about the place, nae doubt.’
‘And you weren’t trotting after me like a calf with his mother yesterday either.’
‘Sir,’ said Dodd patiently. ‘The way ye flourish around upsetting folk, has it never crossed your mind that somebody might put a price on ye? Wattie Graham for sure; if he didnae after Netherby, he will now, and Sir Richard Lowther as well, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Carey, evidently rather taken with the idea. ‘Do you really think they have? How much do you suppose it’s for?’
Their next visit, Dodd was relieved to see, was to Bessie’s alehouse because Dodd for one was parched from all the wool fluff filling the air of Goodwife Crawe’s house. Carey asked Nancy if he could speak to Bessie and she came out from her brewing shed with smoke smuts on her face, wiping her hands on her apron, and curtseyed to him. In silence, Carey counted out the ten shillings and seven pence he had run up as his tab while Bessie watched him with an odd expression of mingled satisfaction and alarm on her broad red face. He turned to leave, which Dodd thought was a pity and Bessie called out to him. ‘Will ye not take a quart before ye go, sir?’
Carey turned and looked at her with his eyebrows raised.
‘I don’t usually go back to a place where I’m refused credit,’ he said to Dodd’s horror. Where else did the silly fool think he was going to get beer as good as Bessie’s?
Bessie clearly wasn’t thinking straight. She beamed at him as friendly as she knew how. ‘Och no,’ she said. ‘That was all a mistake and a lot of gossip I was fool enough to believe. Sit down sir, and take a drink... on the... on the...’ she nearly choked saying it, ‘on the house, sir. A quart of my best double-double.’
‘What will you have, Dodd?’ Carey asked him.
‘The same.’ Dodd’s mouth was watering.
‘Two quarts of double-double on the house, Nancy,’ cried Bessie with painful gaiety as she bustled back into the yard and Nancy served them in a booth.
‘Cheers,’ said Carey with a sly grin and lifted his tankard. Unwillingly Dodd found himself tempted to smile back so he drank quickly to hide it.
Carey was the first to break the companionable silence. ‘It’s all sounding very black for Andy Nixon,’ he said.
‘Ay sir,’ said Dodd regretfully. Lord, how his wife would give him trouble for being part of the process that led to Andy Nixon on the end of a rope. Not to mention Kate Atkinson at the stake. Carey was drawing pictures again with beer spillage on the wooden table between them. The alehouse was almost empty at that time of the morning, but would be full by noon, full and bursting with all the men come in from the haymaking with their money burning holes in their purses.
‘This is how I see it,’ Carey went on more to himself than to Dodd. ‘On Sunday night Long George, Sergeant Ill-Willit Daniel Nixon and two others of Lowther’s troop waylay the unfortunate Andy Nixon in the alley and beat him up. They tell him to stay away from Atkinson’s wife, because Atkinson paid for it.’
‘How d’ye ken that, sir?’
