TWO
He hurried back up the ladder, falling on his knees at the top and gulping down the fresh air. His legs buckled at he tried to stand, and for a moment he was forced to hold on to someone’s arm. The man handed him the jug and he drank deep, swilling the ale around his mouth before spitting out the taste of the pit.
‘Bad,’ was the only thing the man said.
Rob didn’t reply. He didn’t own the words for what he’d seen. ‘Send someone for Mr Brogden, the coroner,’ he said, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. ‘I’ll bring some men to take the bodies out.’
He marched purposefully up Kirkgate, trying to clear the thoughts and images from his head. For all he knew there were more children down there, hidden by the darkness. He ran a hand through his hair, the stink of the dead clinging fast to his clothes.
The Constable looked up from the desk when the door opened, suddenly alert as he saw Lister’s expression.
‘Christ, lad, what is it? I thought you’d gone home.’ He poured a cup of ale and passed it over. ‘Drink that.’
Rob sat, trying to steady the mug in his hand, framing how to tell what he’d witnessed.
‘The bell pits by the Cloth Hall,’ he began slowly, watching Nottingham’s eyes intent on his face. ‘There are bodies in one of them.’
‘Bodies?’ he asked sharply. ‘More than one?’
Lister nodded. ‘Three that I saw.’ He paused. ‘They were just children, boss,’ he said hopelessly. ‘One of the men who died at the Talbot had three children.’
The Constable sat up straight. ‘You think it’s them?’
‘I don’t know, boss.’ Rob swilled a little more ale around his mouth then swallowed, trying to wash the dank taste away.
‘Who found them?’ Nottingham asked urgently.
‘One of the workmen.’
‘You’ve sent for the coroner?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll come straight down. Go and find some of the men to help you get the corpses out.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He stood, ready to leave.
‘Rob?’ The lad turned. ‘If it helps, this is probably as bad as the job will ever be.’
Lister tried to smile, but it was weak and empty.
The Constable remembered the face of every dead child he’d seen since he’d begun the job. They were impossible to forget, each one clear and sharp in his head. Many had gone from hunger, little more than ghosts even before their hearts gave up the battle to keep beating, some from accidents, crushed by carts or lost to the river. Precious few had been murdered, and he thanked God for that, at least.
Some of the workmen were sitting on the grass when he arrived, others stood in a small group. He nodded and asked, ‘Has the coroner arrived yet?’
‘Gone down there with a candle,’ one of the men answered.
When Brogden climbed back out there was dirt on his immaculate coat and he’d vomited on his shoes with their expensive silver buckles. He brought a flask from his waistcoat, fingers shaking so hard he could barely unscrew the top. He took a long drink and saw the Constable.
‘What’s down there?’ Nottingham asked.
The coroner shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d seen. He raised his eyes. ‘Three of them,’ he replied quietly. ‘Someone’s killed them. None of them look older than eight.’ Tears began to roll down his cheeks and he pawed at them angrily before walking away.
The Constable ran a hand across his mouth. His thoughts raced away from him. Three? It seemed impossible. Unless they did belong to the dead man, how could so many children vanish without anyone noticing? For the love of God, why would anyone want to murder them and leave them that way? He was still standing there thinking when Lister returned with four others, a ragtaggle group who looked more like beggars than Constable’s men.
‘You’ll have to be my eyes down there,’ he told Rob. ‘I can’t use a ladder. Not yet.’
‘I’ll tell you what I see, boss.’
‘Tie linen around your faces,’ Nottingham advised them all, ‘and try to breathe as little as you can when you’re down there.’ He looked at them. ‘They’re children, it’s going to be difficult. There are three of them.’ He noticed their eyes widen. ‘I’m sorry.’
There was nothing more he could do until they started to bring out the bodies. The workmen had left hurriedly, not wanting to see, and he couldn’t blame them. They didn’t need this haunting their dreams for years.
The first, a boy perhaps six years old, was placed gently and lovingly on the grass by men who kept their faces deliberately expressionless. Then a girl of maybe eight and finally another boy, small and emaciated, who couldn’t have been more than three.
They were all naked, covered in coal dust from the pit, grime all across their faces. Their small corpses had bloated and an army of maggots crawled over them, around their wounds, in their mouths and ears and eye sockets. They’d been dead a few days, maybe even longer; nothing to do with the dead man, the Constable decided. He walked between them, studying each one intently before softly saying, ‘Cover them up and take them to the jail, please.’
Rob hung back, his face ashen. Nottingham placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
‘Go and find Mr Sedgwick, then get some sleep.’ He glanced back at the children. ‘We’re going to find the bastard who did this.’
They placed the bodies in the cold cell the city used as a mortuary. The Constable cleaned the worst of the pit dirt off them with a cloth and cold water and washed the maggots and blood from their wounds on to the floor. Now they lay on the bunks and the floor, so tiny, beyond help. The warmth of the pit had left their bellies distended. Rats and the Lord knew what had stolen their eyes, so they were sightless in death; chunks of hair were torn away by vermin, skin bitten and torn. Bruises blossomed dull purple all over their legs, arms, chests and faces, and knife cuts marked every part of their bodies. Each one had been stabbed in the heart. They’d suffered before they were given release.
Nottingham left them there and went back to the desk to pour himself a mug of ale. He swilled the liquid around in his mouth, trying to take away the lonely, bitter taste of death before swallowing. He stood, gazing out of the window at the people who passed, their thoughts on business or worries, a pair of women laughing brightly, all of them a world away from what he’d just seen.
Pain rumbled through his belly. He kept still until it passed, then breathed slowly and drank a little more before returning to the cells.
He’d lost count of the bodies he’d seen in this job. Young, old, male, female, the ones who died as he held them and those who’d gone weeks before, with barely any traces left to show they’d ever been alive. He believed he’d seen every evil man could do. But he hadn’t.
Very carefully he lifted the girl’s arm, as thin and light as a twig, so tiny and fragile in his hand. He could feel the break in the bone and saw the little finger twisted away from the hand. On the smaller boy, so frail he seemed to be more air than flesh, he could see the imprint of fingers around the neck, the child’s tiny fists clenched tight in death. The older boy had a broken nose, his face a swollen mass where he’d been hit over and over.
Gazing around the three of them, at the bodies where the ribs showed clear against the skin, the arms and thighs so scrawny he could close his hands around them, he began to understand. He realized who they’d once been and why no one had reported them gone. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer for their souls.
‘Boss?’
He hadn’t even heard the deputy enter. Nottingham turned slowly to face him.
‘Rob told you?’
Sedgwick nodded, his eyes wide. His son James was six, recently started at the charity school, and he had another young baby at home. For a long time he stood silently and the Constable saw a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. He wiped it away in a swift movement. ‘How?’ he asked.
‘Because they’re the ones no one cares about.’
/> ‘Were they . . .?
‘Yes,’ he answered simply.
‘The boys too?’
‘Yes,’ he repeated, scared of what might come out if he said more. He knew the signs and they’d been there on all three of the children. Nottingham returned to the office and sat at the desk, steepling his hands under his chin. He closed his eyes but the faces with their empty, lost eyes remained in his mind.
‘Fuck,’ the deputy said.
‘I doubt it mattered to him what sex they were. He probably just wanted to hurt and use and kill.’
Sedgwick kept gazing at the battered faces. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen one of them before.’
‘Scavenging at the market?’
‘Aye,’ he agreed with a nod. ‘The bigger lad. He was trying to steal some meat, or something like that. Ran off when I came around. Just another little vagabond.’
‘That’s what they all were, John,’ the Constable said with a long sigh. ‘No families, no homes. That’s why no one ever noticed they were gone.’
THREE
The Constable drained the cup and went back in to study the bodies in the cells. He’d been like them once, in a life he’d long put away; he understood what their existence had been like. When he was eight his father had discovered that his wife had a lover. He’d thrown her and his son from the house, leaving them with nothing.
With no money and no skills, Nottingham’s mother had become a whore, the lady who’d fallen all the way to earth. The boy had been forced to forage, learned to steal, to survive in a new, hard life. After his mother died he’d been alone, with no one in the world. Living meant simply surviving until the next day.
He’d known other children who lived off their wits and their hope. Some would go to sleep at night with empty bellies, and never wake. Others would just vanish, never heard from or seen again. It was the way things were, they all understood that. Time on earth was brief and it was dangerous.
But murder . . .
Why? he wondered. Why would anyone want to do that? And why three children?
The deputy was still standing there, unable to avert his eyes.
‘All we can do for them now is find their killer,’ Nottingham said.
‘When we do you’d better keep me away from him,’ Sedgwick told him, teeth clenched.
‘You can watch him hang, John,’ he promised. He sighed and shook his head. ‘Go and see the undertaker. We’ll get these poor souls in the ground.’
The deputy walked along Vicar Lane, barely noticing anything. His hands were pushed firmly into the pockets of his greatcoat, flexing into hard fists. Inside, anger rose. He wanted to hit something, someone, anything to douse the fire within.
He thought about James, learning so quickly at school, and Isabell, safe at home with Lizzie. What would happen to them if he died? There’d be nothing for them. No house, no food, and any charity would be precious scarce. There was so little that kept them from falling away.
The sign over the door read Thomas Cooper, Undertaker. Inside, the shop was dark and sober, a full, reverent silence pressed between its walls. The owner came out from behind his desk. He was dressed neatly in a freshly sponged black coat, his face shaved that morning by the barber. He relaxed as he recognized the deputy.
‘Someone for us, John?’ he asked, then as he saw the other man’s face his voice became serious. ‘What is it?’
‘Three,’ Sedgwick told him, feeling the word choke in his throat. ‘They’re all children.’
‘Dear God.’ Cooper closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Where were they?’
‘In one of those bell pits by the Cloth Hall.’
‘How long?’ the undertaker asked thoughtfully.
‘Long enough. A week, mebbe a bit more,’ the deputy said. ‘Make it tonight when there’s no one around, Tom. We don’t need folk seeing them.’ He raised his eyes. ‘Please.’
‘I promise.’
The deputy offered a small, weak smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Leave it with me, John,’ Cooper assured him. ‘I’ll look after them properly.’
The Constable was still thinking when Sedgwick returned. He cocked his head.
‘He’ll be here after dark.’
‘People are going to know about this, John,’ Nottingham said thoughtfully. ‘Those workers at the pits won’t keep quiet.’
‘The mayor won’t, either.’ Sedgwick noted wryly. ‘Happen he’ll trust you more than me, boss.’
‘No, he won’t.’ He paused. ‘All he’ll want is someone on the gallows for this. We’d better find whoever did it quickly.’
‘How, boss?’
‘We need to talk to the children who are out there.’ He waved beyond the window. ‘They’re the ones who might know.’ He paused. ‘Jesus.’ He slammed his fist down on the desk.
‘It’s a market day tomorrow, there’ll be children all over looking for scraps.’
The Constable was silent for a long time. ‘I’ll go and talk to them,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve been away for months, half of them won’t even know my face.’ He gave a sour grin. ‘And like this, walking with a stick, I’m not going to scare them.’
The deputy nodded. He knew how Nottingham had lived when he was young. The boss understood, he’d be able to talk to the children who hovered like spectres around Leeds, the ones who kept their own counsel and their own company. Perhaps he’d be able to gain their trust, to draw out the words from them and learn what they needed.
‘We’ll find him, boss.’
‘I hope so,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘It’s too late for those in there, though.’ He let the words hang for a moment. ‘And any before them. Have they looked in the other bell pits?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Find the workmen who were at the Cloth Hall and ask them,’ Nottingham ordered briskly. ‘I want to know why they were working on this pit. Anything you can find out. And have them check the other pits. If there are more children we need to find them.’
‘I will.’
‘I’m going back to tell the mayor before he hears it from anyone else.’
After an hour Lister gave up on sleep. From the start he’d known it would be pointless, a fight against fate. Every single one of the faces burned fiercely in his mind. As soon as he closed his eyes he was back in the bell pit, seeing the legs and the darkness, the smell pressing against his face as if it would suffocate him.
He pushed off the blanket. There were still hours before he could meet Emily at the dame school where she taught. If he couldn’t rest he might as well do something worthwhile.
The Constable had just returned to the jail, easing himself down into the chair behind the desk as Rob arrived.
‘I thought you’d be back, lad,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
‘No.’
‘Keep seeing them, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Rob answered simply, and poured some of the ale. ‘What can I do, boss?’
Nottingham sat back and thought. ‘Mr Sedgwick’s gone to the Cloth Hall to see if there’s anyone in the other pits. Go and join him, then I want the pair of you out asking questions. Talk to all your sources,’ he said, his voice dark and weary. ‘I daresay the whole city knows about this by now. We find the killer quickly.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘The mayor’s orders, as if we bloody needed them.’
The workmen were lowering ladders into two more of the pits. The deputy stood with his hands on his hips, waiting as the first of the labourers climbed down, candles in their hands.
‘Nothing yet?’ Lister asked.
‘No,’ he answered without turning his head. ‘Better hope there isn’t, either.’ They stood in silence until the first man emerged. Rob felt his body tense until the man shook his head, then realized he’d been holding his breath.
The other pit was empty, too. Sedgwick worked his jaw slowly and started to walk away.
‘What are you thinking?’ Lister asked as he caught up to him.
‘Nothing. Every
thing,’ he replied in frustration. ‘I was scared we’d find more of them.’ He turned and Rob could see the fear in his eyes. ‘All I could think was it could have been James down there.’ His face hardened. ‘I’m going to make that bastard scream when we find him.’
‘He’ll have a trial.’
Sedgwick spat. ‘Why waste the money?’
‘But—’
‘But what?’ he said angrily. ‘You really believe we’re going to be the only ones out there looking? People hate child killers. Even if they don’t care about the children themselves. And if they find him . . .’ He let the thought twist in the air. Rob understood; he knew how dangerous a mob could be.
‘What were the workmen doing at the pits, anyway?’
‘They’re filling them in. It’s going to be a big bloody job and all. But that new mayor thinks the city should look better, especially around the Cloth Hall. We’re so important that we have to impress visitors these days,’ he said in disgust. ‘Those pits have been open since Adam was a lad. You know people still go down there looking for coal in the winter? When it’s bitter out there’ll be folk scavenging in the pits.’ He paused, but before he could say more, the sharp clatter of a drum made him turn his head.
‘What’s that?’ Rob asked.
‘I don’t know.’ They began to walk briskly along the Calls in the direction of the sound. A small, curious crowd had gathered close to the bridge, drawn in by the crisp, urgent beats, eager for any brief excitement in their day.
‘Gather round, lads,’ boomed a deep voice. ‘Aye, and you lasses, too, we like a pretty face.’
Sedgwick relaxed and started to laugh. ‘You know who that is?’
‘No.’
‘It’s the recruiting sergeant.’ He winked and nudged Lister in the ribs. ‘If you’ve an urge to escape that Emily, now’s your chance, lad. Plenty of adventure. You can come back with a fortune, if you believe what they say.’
Rob snorted. ‘I think I’ll stay here. More chance of staying alive.’
‘There’ll be some who’ll fall for it,’ the deputy told him. ‘He’ll march off in a day or two with a few in tow, you can wager on that. There’s no shortage of fools in the world. I was halfway tempted myself once till I came to my senses.’
At the Dying of the Year Page 2
