At the Dying of the Year

by Chris Nickson

  Nottingham had to look carefully before he found the building, half of it so thickly covered in ivy that it looked as if nature had claimed it back. Slates covered some of the roof, leaving dark, bare patches that gaped to the morning. He knocked twice on a door eaten away by rot, and waited. Rob opened his mouth to speak but the Constable held up his hand.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said. ‘I told you I’d come.’

  Inside someone dragged at the door, the hinges squealing. The girl walked out of the darkness, blinking in the bare daylight. Pulled tight around her shoulders she had a threadbare shawl someone had thrown away, and the knife was in her hand.

  Nottingham handed her the loaf. ‘You can use this. You and the others.’

  ‘Aye,’ she agreed, bobbing her head. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You said you could help me. Like I told you yesterday, there’s someone I’d like you to see, someone I think might be Gabriel.’

  Rob saw panic rise in her eyes.

  ‘He won’t see you,’ the Constable promised her. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

  The girl gestured back over her shoulder. ‘One of the little ones is poorly,’ she said. ‘I can’t leave her.’

  ‘Rob, go and fetch apothecary Kirshaw. Bring him here.’

  Surprised, he turned and walked away quickly, making his way down to Briggate and pounding on the apothecary’s door until the old servant answered. From there it took another five minutes of fussing before the man was ready to leave, the bag weighing him down on one side.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Kirshaw asked, his voice petulant. His coat, old and trailing almost to the ground, was buttoned all the way to his throat against the November chill.

  ‘Mr Nottingham wants you to look at someone.’

  The apothecary muttered as he followed, lifting his legs to move through the overgrown grounds of the manor. The Constable was waiting by the building.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said. The girl stood at his side, looking down at the ground.

  ‘Where is he?’ the apothecary grumbled.

  ‘She,’ Nottingham corrected him. ‘She’s in there.’

  ‘She?’ Kirshaw bristled.

  ‘A little girl. Look at her, help her.’

  ‘Who’s going to pay me?’

  The Constable smiled. ‘You’ll get your reward in heaven,’ he said slowly, his voice firm enough to brook no argument. ‘Mr Lister will stay and help you.’

  Light filtered through the door. The child was in a corner, a ragged blanket pulled around her. Rob watched as the apothecary lifted one of her hands then ran a hand across her forehead, muttering to himself. He delved into the bag, then turned.

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ Kirshaw said sharply. ‘Fetch some water.’

  ‘Will he make her well?’ Lucy asked as they walked.

  ‘If he can,’ Nottingham told her.

  ‘What if he can’t?’

  ‘He’ll do everything he can.’

  She nodded. He knew the world she lived in, where the line between life and death often blurred to nothing, where some never woke in the morning.

  He found Holden standing behind a hefty oak tree close to Howard’s house.

  ‘Keep her out of sight,’ he ordered. ‘Howard can’t see her.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Mr Holden knows what to do,’ he told her. ‘Just listen to him.’

  She looked scared. ‘You did this with Caleb, didn’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. She stared at him, her eyes unblinking. ‘Mr Holden will make sure no one sees you.’

  Finally, with a sad, unbelieving smile, she nodded.

  By the time the apothecary left, the little girl was sleeping quietly. Kirshaw had fed her a few drops of liquid in water Rob brought from the spring.

  ‘She needs food,’ the apothecary said as he stood. ‘There’s nothing to her. She needs to be warm and something hot in her.’ He looked at Rob. ‘She needs looking after. Do that and she’ll be fine. If not . . .’ He shrugged and gathered his bottles and potions. ‘And tell Mr Nottingham I’ll be sending my bill to the Corporation.’

  ‘You do that.’

  Alone, Rob watched the girl. A few of the other children had come, then scattered like sparrows when they saw him, vanished from view. He couldn’t leave her helpless and on her own. He scavenged dead wood from the orchard and lit a small fire in the building then settled back against a wall.

  He was dozing when Lucy returned. The blaze had brought a little warmth to the room and the child slept on, a smile on her lips, the blanket pulled around her face.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’ll rest for a while. When did she eat last?’

  ‘Yesterday, maybe,’ Lucy said. ‘Day before.’

  Rob pulled some coins from his pocket. ‘Buy her some food. Something hot.’

  The Constable completed the daily report and left it with Martin Cobb at the Moot Hall. He’d taken three men to the Petty Sessions for their trials: the baker with adulterated bread would find himself in the stocks on Briggate and the two apprentices found drunk would be handed over to the masters for a thrashing.

  He listened to the people passing, a murmur of voices outside the window, the creak of carts and the yelling of the drivers. Finally the door opened wide and Holden strode in.

  ‘She says it’s him, boss. Howard is Gabriel.’

  Inside he felt a surge of satisfaction replacing the anxiety that had been bubbling through him.

  ‘Go and find Mr Sedgwick then keep watching. Where’s Howard now?’

  ‘Down at the warehouse. He’ll probably be there until dusk.’

  ‘Stick with him.’ He paused. ‘Let him see you,’ he decided. ‘I want him to know we’re there.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  The deputy arrived within the quarter hour, breathless and grinning. ‘Bob told me. What are we going to do now?’

  Nottingham picked up a mug of ale and sipped slowly. ‘We’re going to find the evidence to put him on the gibbet.’

  ‘What about that lass who recognized him?’ Sedgwick asked. ‘You know what happened to Caleb.’

  ‘I might have an idea there.’ He said no more.

  ‘Are you going to bring Howard in again?’

  ‘Not yet,’ the Constable answered slowly. He pushed the fringe off his forehead. ‘I want him to understand that we know. It’ll stop him trying anything else, too.’

  ‘He’ll be down here with a lawyer,’ the deputy warned.

  ‘Let him.’ Nottingham smiled. ‘He’ll have to explain things to others then. In the meantime I want you to ask around more. See if there are other little dark secrets you can find.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  The house was filled with the smell of a stew cooking on the fire. He heard Mary moving around upstairs and the swish of a broom.

  ‘Home in the middle of the day again?’ she asked wryly as she saw him standing in the doorway of the bedroom. ‘Folk will think you don’t like to work any more.’

  ‘You need a serving girl to do that,’ he said.

  ‘And become a lady of leisure?’ She laughed.

  He looked at her hands, red from work, the knuckles becoming gnarled and misshapen. ‘You deserve it after all these years. At least not to work as hard.’

  ‘We haven’t had anyone since Pamela, and the girls were little then.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time we had someone else.’

  Mary leaned on the besom and stared at him suspiciously. ‘Why now? What is it, Richard?’

  He explained it all, watching the emotions cross her face.

  ‘Where would she sleep?’ she asked. ‘We don’t have any room.’

  ‘In the kitchen,’ he countered. ‘Believe me, it’s better than where she is now.’

  She swept a little more, pushing the dust closer to him so it settled on his boots. ‘If she doesn’t obey and work hard I’ll dismiss her,’ she threatened.

  ‘Of course.’
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br />   Mary nodded her agreement, then asked, ‘What would you have done if I’d said no?’

  ‘I’d have told John that Lizzie needs some help.’

  She laughed. ‘You had it all worked out, didn’t you? Go on, get out and bring her back here.’

  He knocked twice on the door of the building. The walls were solid enough, put together for the ages, but even at its best it had never been intended for man nor beast. Slowly the door was pulled open over the rough ground and Lucy stood there, the knife in her small fist. Late daylight came in through the missing slates of the roof. The little girl had gone.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Some of the others found a place where she’d be warmer. Down in the Ley Lands.’

  He knew the way children became family, tending one another, the older caring for the younger as much as they could.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m safe here.’ She shrugged.

  ‘You asked if I wanted a servant.’

  He watched the glimmer of hope in her eyes before she spoke warily. ‘Aye, and you never answered.’

  ‘Have you done the work before?’

  Lucy snorted and gestured at her dress. ‘Who do you think I’d know who needs servants, mister?’

  ‘Are you willing to work hard?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Give me a chance and see.’

  ‘I will,’ he told her.

  ‘What?’ She looked at him in disbelief. ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘I do. You’ll help my wife, and it’ll be easier to keep you safe. Who do you need to tell first?’

  ‘The others, so they know nothing’s happened to me.’

  ‘Do that, and meet me at the jail. Bring your things.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since you lived out here, hasn’t it, mister?’ she said. ‘What do you think I own?’

  ‘Do you know how to cook and clean?’

  ‘I can clean,’ the girl said with a proud nod. ‘And I’ll cook if you’ll show me.’

  Nottingham stood, trying not to smile. Lucy was willing enough but she wasn’t about to be cowed by anyone.

  ‘I daresay we can cut down an old dress to fit you,’ Mary said hopefully, looking at the girl’s thin arms. ‘And we need to put some meat on you, too. When did you last eat properly?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lucy answered.

  ‘She’s no more than a twig, Richard.’

  ‘She’ll still do her share,’ he answered and winked at Lucy. He knew his wife all too well. The girl would work, that much was true, but no more than her mistress, and in a few days she’d seem like a member of the family, another daughter rather than a servant.

  ‘Sit down,’ Mary said, and the girl did as she was ordered, looking uncomfortable perched on the chair at the table. ‘Food first, then we’ll get all that dirt off you.’

  They ate in peaceful silence; the girl watched and copied their manners, then when they’d finished she gathered up the dishes and carried them carefully into the kitchen.

  ‘Give her a scrub and she’ll be a pretty young thing,’ Mary told him. ‘She looks like she’ll learn quick enough.’

  ‘I daresay,’ he agreed with a grin. And, he thought, she’d be well away from Gabriel.

  SEVENTEEN

  The days had passed too quickly. Wednesday had turned into Sunday and he’d barely had time to think. The nights had grown colder, the grass rimed with frost by morning, the earth solid under his boots as he made his rounds.

  Rob had managed to enjoy minutes here and there with Emily, staying twice for supper served by Lucy, her clean face serious as she worked, so different from the girl he’d seen in the hut. Holden and the night man stayed close to Howard, and the Constable waited to let the factor make the next move.

  The church bells woke him after just a couple of hours of rest, the way they did each week, but his sleep had been broken, troubled by the thoughts of what lay ahead. He rose and washed, then tried to tame his hair with a comb. The landlady had sponged his good suit and laundered his other shirt and stock.

  Rob dressed slowly, feeling the tightness in his belly. Once the service was over he’d meet Emily outside the church. They could walk a few minutes and then go to eat dinner with his parents. He doubted he’d eat much; instead he’d listen to every word from his father and weigh them for the barbs they might contain. Maybe the man really did want peace. He hoped that, but he didn’t expect it; James Lister was someone who’d bite all the way to his grave. It was his way and he was unlikely to change now. If he chose to snap and snarl they’d leave, and that would be a true end to things.

  Before he left he looked in the glass. The suit was the best wool, tailored to fit him well, the cut still in style and the breeches tight over his thighs. He retied the stock and put on the heavy greatcoat.

  Emily was already in the churchyard, talking and laughing with some of the other girls. She left them as he hurried through the lych gate, happy to see him, only a fleeting trace of worry on her face.

  ‘How was the service?’ he asked.

  ‘Papa fell asleep twice, but at least he didn’t snore like Mr Peters. His wife had to keep nudging him to keep him quiet.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to go? We can always cry off.’

  Rob saw her hesitate for a fleeting moment, then she drew in a breath and said, ‘I’m ready. Let’s see if your father has really changed.’ He took her hand and they began to stroll. The clouds were high, the outline of a weak sun faint behind them as a chill wind drew down from the north.

  They went out along Vicar Lane, past the houses, some grand, some old and tumble-down, then up the Head Row to the Market Cross. Emily’s voice was bright in the cold air, repeating something one of her girls at school had said that had forced her to stifle her laughter.

  Other couples were parading arm in arm on Briggate. He saw a few faces he recognized, a girl he’d once liked walking with a man almost old enough to be her father. In the distance he made out the lanky figure of the deputy deep in conversation with a man.

  As they crossed over Boar Lane he took a deep breath. Emily had stopped talking. At the door he looked at her. She gave a small nod and he knocked.

  James Lister and his wife were in the parlour at the top of the stairs. The fire burned hot in the hearth and the room was full of the smell of roasting beef. Lister rose to greet them, beaming, taking his son’s hand in his own, while his wife, a bird of a woman long cowed into silence by her husband’s opinions and prone to attacks of nerves, stayed seated. The servant brought wine as his father talked, asking with apparent interest after their health and their work. A good host, Rob decided, but he’d seen the man that way before with the rich men of the city, putting them at ease.

  Emily sat upright on her chair, her body stiff, her hand clutched tightly around the glass. She’d barely taken a sip, and she’d answered the questions politely but with a minimum of words, her voice soft and low. She’d never been here before, and he saw her glance around curiously, taking in the shelves of books, the thick Turkey rug and dark furniture that spoke quietly of money.

  Finally the servant called them through to dinner, and carved the meat once they were seated, juice and blood pooling on the platter. They ate with a few passing compliments on the food, Lister pouring wine for himself three times before he pushed the empty plate away, sighing with satisfaction.

  ‘Nothing better than a good hot meal,’ he said. ‘Do you get enough of those in your lodgings, Robert?’

  ‘The landlady feeds me well. I don’t always have time to eat.’

  ‘You should insist on it. A full belly means a contented mind, an active mind.’

  ‘What about those who can’t afford to eat?’ Emily asked. ‘There are more than enough of those.’

  ‘The poor have always been with us,’ Lister said benignly. His wife cut small pieces of meat, chewing and looking around nervously. ‘That’s what the Bible says, isn’t it? And they always will be.’

>   Emily smiled sweetly. ‘But doesn’t the Bible also talk about the difficulty of a rich man entering heaven, sir?’

  Lister laughed. ‘Indeed.’ He laughed and drank more, raising his glass to her. ‘Very sharp, young lady. But it’s the nature of man to have rich and poor. They balance each other; history’s shown us that. I don’t find any shame in having money. I do understand others aren’t as fortunate.’

  ‘There’s charity for the poor.’

  ‘There is, and a good thing it can be, too.’ He drank once more. ‘For those who deserve it, of course.’

  ‘What do you do to help them?’ she asked.

  Lister opened his arms, palms upward. ‘That’s not my job, my dear. Plenty of people give – look at Mr Harrison last century with the church and almshouses he gave to the city. The Corporation offers money to those who are without. My job is merely to report it.’

  Rob clenched his fists under the table. He could feel the clash rushing closer but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Emily took a tiny sip of wine, just enough to moisten her lips. ‘There but for fortune go all of us. Who can tell what God has in store?’

  Lister nodded seriously. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Your family knows that well.’

  ‘We do,’ she agreed. Rob knew his father was baiting her and he felt a small surge of pleasure that she remained so calm. ‘But that was hardly fortune, sir, it was law. I’m sure you’ll agree with that. Laws made for men, not women.’

  ‘Laws made for all of us,’ Lister countered smoothly. ‘Your grandmother made her choices and had to pay the consequences by law.’

  ‘Tell me, sir, how much do you know about her?’

  ‘I know all that’s needful, my dear.’

  Emily kept her voice sweet and even. ‘Needful?’ she asked. ‘Then I’m sure you’ll be aware she brought a large dowry that her husband stole from her, as the law allowed.’ She waited no more than a heartbeat and added, ‘More money than your wife commanded, perhaps.’