Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Look,’ Annabelle said, ‘there’s Billy.’

  And it was definitely him, sitting erect at the front of the steam fire engine as it paraded around. He wore his dress uniform, helmet gleaming, proud. The day after they’d found Gordon Carr and Sugden he’d gone back to the fire brigade to work on the engine while he trained to be a fire investigator.

  Maybe it was for the best, Harper had decided at the time. Maybe Billy Reed was more comfortable with the certainties of a fire. No grey areas there. And it meant a promotion for Ash. After an hour of talking and wearing him down, the inspector had managed to persuade Kendall that it was the right thing. Detective Sergeant Ash it was now, and he’d grinned wide as a child at Christmas when he heard the news.

  The mayor had given his speech, splendid in his ermine and gold chain, talking about opening up Roundhay Park to everyone and the start of a new era for Leeds. The usual rubbish, but people loved it. Reporters from the newspapers took down every word. A brass band struck up God Save The Queen when he finished and children waved paper Union Jacks.

  Then the ceremony was over and it was time for the main act. Council men and their wives were packed on to the tram. Plenty of the grandees of industry. And finally Annabelle Harper and her husband. Her eyes sparkled as she climbed the steps from the pavement. She’d bought a new gown for the occasion, soft purple with a small bustle, high-necked and trimmed with darker purple velvet.

  Everyone was in their Sunday best. He wore the beautiful grey suit she’d had made for him the Christmas before. He always felt rich when he put it on: the only time he knew what it was like to have money.

  The bell sounded and the crowd cheered. With a judder the tram started, bunting waving in the breeze. The engine was quiet, no more than a hum. None of the familiar clop of hooves.

  But it moved as slowly as any horse-drawn tram as it passed by the streets of grimy back-to-back houses before opening out into the light and the grander villas around Harehills.

  Annabelle leaned towards him. ‘What do you think, Tom? Isn’t it wonderful?’

  He had to agree. It was something special. Something modern. The world was changing and it was time Leeds changed with it. For most of those on board, this would probably be the only time they ever rode a tram. Not that it mattered. Next summer the working families could clamber on and enjoy the park.

  At the terminus the vehicle turned slowly, the green of the fields stretching away to the horizon. Then it was slowly back down Roundhay Road.

  The crowds had all vanished by the time they returned to the Victoria. The band had packed up and gone. Inside the pub, the dignitaries fell on the food and drink as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Scavengers, the lot of them, Harper thought, shaking his head.

  Annabelle was the perfect hostess, moving from group to group, a word here and there. Harper stood alone in the corner, cradling a glass of beer and watching.

  An hour later they were done. The plates and the barrel had all been emptied before the last of them left in their carriages. She surveyed all the debris, arms folded under her bust.

  ‘It can wait until tomorrow,’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘Come on, I’m exhausted.’

  Her face was flushed with the excitement and pleasure of the day. She led him up the stairs. As he closed the door to their rooms she came into his arms with a sigh, her head resting against his chest.

  ‘I enjoyed that.’

  ‘So did I.’ In a curious way it was fun to watch the rich at play, greedier than any poor man he’d ever known.

  They stayed silent for a minute. He rubbed her back gently, enjoying the warmth of her against him.

  ‘Did you wonder why I turned down that place on the suffrage committee?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. Finally he was going to have his explanation.

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain.’ She pulled away a little and looked up into his eyes. ‘But I’m going to have a baby.’

  AFTERWORD

  In Edwardian times, a case came before the Leeds coroner’s court regarding a dead baby, posted in a parcel to a non-existent address and later discovered. Terrible and sad, I have used it, but with one difference: in reality, the police were never able to trace the parcel’s sender.

  A fire did indeed occur at New Station in Leeds, although it was in January 1892. I’ve changed the date by a few months. Three platforms were destroyed and one fireman, James Schofield, was killed. The fire began in ‘Soapy’ Joe Watson’s warehouse in the Dark Arches. Rebuilding work began immediately and the other three platforms remained open, as did neighbouring Wellington Station. At that time the fire brigade was part of the police force.

  The Leeds Women’s Suffrage Society flourished in the early 1890s, as did those in some other Northern towns. Isabella Ford was a leading figure, as was her sister Emily (who was also a fine artist), and Isabella would go on to be instrumental in the formation of the Independent Labour Party in 1893.

  Patrick’s Martin’s description of the people of Quarry Hill is taken from the notebook of the man who was the superintendent of the area for Leeds Town Mission.

  Temple Mill was built in the late 1830s. The front design was based on the Temple of Horis at Edfu and the Typhonium at Dendera. When it opened as a flax mill it was the largest room in the world. There was natural light from the conical skylights in the roof – which was originally covered in grass, to retain the humidity flax needs. Sheep were taken to and from the roof in a hydraulic lift to crop the grass. These days it’s an arts hub, Temple Works, and a Grade 1 Listed Building.

  The first electric tram in Leeds had its inaugural run between Sheepscar and Roundhay Park on October 29th, 1891. The service opened to the public on November 10th.

  I’m grateful to all the people at Severn House for their belief in my writing and the way they push my books. To Lynne Patrick, the best editor (and friend) a writer could want. To many who’ve shown friendship – Candace Robb, Joanne Harris, Thom Atkinson, so many more besides. To Penny, always. To the people who come out to my events, who buy my books or borrow them from libraries. Thank you all.