At the Dying of the Year

by Chris Nickson

  The old man hesitated before answering. ‘Sordid and crude,’ he said. ‘Mr Darden tupped a servant.’

  ‘There’s nothing unusual about that.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Trueman’s smile became wolfish. ‘But not his own servant. And not a girl. This was a boy who’d just begun working for another member of the Corporation. He hadn’t just enjoyed him, he’d beaten him hard, too.’

  The Constable was silent for a long time. ‘How did people find out?’

  ‘The boy collapsed the next day. When he came to, he told them what Mr Darden had done.’

  ‘What happened to the lad?’

  ‘He died,’ Trueman said flatly, then stared at Nottingham. ‘You can understand why Mr Darden was asked to resign. We couldn’t have someone like that running the city. But neither could we have the truth come out, of course.’

  ‘The tales I heard were about a girl.’

  The man waved an old hand, the skin wrinkled and pale. ‘Vague fancies. People could build on them as they wished. And better they believed it was a girl than a lad.’

  ‘But the city and the merchants still protect him.’

  ‘They always will, Constable. He’s paid for his crime. He gave up his seat on the Corporation, he lost the chance to be mayor. He’s been punished. Underneath all that he’s still one of them. He helped them when he needed it. Surely you understand that?’

  He nodded sadly. He understood it all too well.

  ‘Besides,’ Trueman added, ‘imagine the damage it would cause if the real story ever came out. Not just to Mr Darden, but to the city. I’ll ask you to think about that. I’ve told you all this in confidence. I’m trusting you have enough respect for Leeds that you’ll never make it public knowledge.’

  ‘Should I have?’

  ‘Would you care for one more story from the past?’ He took another sip of the cordial and leaned back in his chair. ‘Did it ever surprise you when Constable Arkwright first took you on?’

  The question took him aback. It had been over twenty years ago, when he worked the jobs he could, none of them steady, none paying much. He’d survived living on the streets of the city. He believed that Arkwright had seen something in him, something that would make him a good Constable’s man, and he’d been grateful for the steady employment.

  ‘Should it?’ he answered warily.

  ‘There were folk on the Corporation who thought your father had treated your mother very shabbily. He flaunted his sins, his gambling and philandering. Then he put the two of you out because he’d discovered her affair.’

  ‘And you’ll know she died,’ Nottingham said bitterly.

  ‘I do,’ he acknowledged. ‘A few people thought that perhaps you deserved a little better. After all, none of it was your fault.’ Trueman sighed. ‘Eventually someone had a quiet word with Mr Arkwright. Without that you wouldn’t be sitting here today.’

  ‘Thank you for being so honest with me.’ The Constable stood, pushing himself slowly upright with the stick and groaning at the pain in his legs.

  ‘You’re going to have more of that as you grow older,’ Trueman told him with a sympathetic nod. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am.’

  The trees were bare, branches stark against the sky. The bitter November wind suited his mood as he walked back into Leeds. So now he knew exactly why Darden had left public life. No one had cared that the boy had died. A lie or two and a few pounds to his parents would have covered that. He doubted if any of those in power had remembered the lad’s name. And still they protected the merchant to hide all the secrets and shame of the past.

  And now he knew another ugly truth. There’d been no special promise for the old Constable to spot. It was simply a sop, a way of relieving a little guilt, but long after his mother had died with nothing, all she owned legally stolen from her by her husband. Telling him had been the price Trueman exacted for his secrets, and the words had stung.

  But only for a moment. Nothing anyone said could really hurt him now. He was already overflowing with pain. It was so heavy that he felt he could touch it, that it stood between him and the rest of the world. And he knew he’d been good at his job, good enough to become deputy and then Constable. He’d earned his position.

  He waited outside the dame school, huddled in his greatcoat, a heavy coat and breeches beneath it, with thick hose and sturdy boots. Still he felt the cold through to his bones. It could be another long winter, he thought.

  There was no gaiety or life in her face when she came out. Mrs Rains had a brief word with her, then Emily gave a quick reply and she was beside him, her small fingers warm in his hand. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Take me home,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  Rob smiled at her and she tried to return it. But there were dark smudges under her eyes and her face seemed pinched with sadness. He knew she’d find no relief in the house. Her mother’s ghost would fill the place; it would always be there.

  ‘Do you know what I wish?’ Emily said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we could just walk away from here and never come back.’

  ‘But we can’t.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I miss her. It hurts. I want her to be there when I open the door and she won’t be.’

  It would fade, he knew that. It would always gnaw at her, but other joys, other treasures of memory would fill the hole that consumed her. But telling her wouldn’t help. At the moment she wouldn’t even understand. He stopped and pulled her close to him, stroking away the tears that started to fall down her cheeks.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  They walked in silence. At the house he could see her hand shaking as she slid the key into the lock. Inside, he heard Lucy moving in the kitchen, then she came through with two mugs of ale.

  ‘Thank you.’ Emily took the cup.

  The girl curtseyed, looking serious. She moved away then halted in the doorway. ‘I know you wish it was your mam doing that and not me.’

  ‘No,’ Emily said, taken by surprise.

  ‘I can see it in your face,’ Lucy told her quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He sat at the jail, considering what Trueman had told him about Jeremiah Darden. Was there anything he could use, some scrap to help him convict the man? After all these years it had become nothing more than rumour scattered on the wind. The merchant could laugh it off and deny it all. Even passing it as gossip wouldn’t damage him; it had all happened too long ago.

  Outside, darkness had fallen quickly. Through the window he could glimpse candlelight flickering through shutters on the other side of Kirkgate. The fire was burning low in the grate. He knew he should go home but was reluctant to leave. All that waited for him was more sorrow.

  The door opened and the deputy entered, rubbing his hands together. ‘It’s going to freeze out there tonight. Won’t be much work for Rob, they’ll all be round their firesides.’

  ‘Did you find anything worthwhile?’

  Sedgwick held his arms out to the weak blaze. ‘Not really. I had another word at the Talbot and threatened Bell a little. There might be something tomorrow.’

  The Constable explained what Trueman had told him about Darden.

  ‘And nothing happened?’

  ‘He left the Corporation.’

  ‘He’s in it with Howard. He has to be,’ Sedgwick said. ‘Some of those dead children were boys.’

  ‘I know.’ Nottingham shook his head. ‘Have I done all of this wrong, John?’

  ‘What do you mean, boss?’

  ‘We’re no closer to putting them on the gibbet, are we?’

  ‘No,’ the deputy admitted.

  ‘Could I have done it differently?’

  ‘Not that I can see. You mean the pouch, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was the question he’d never stop asking himself.

  ‘I’d have done the same.’ Sedgwick shook his head. ‘I doubt that’s much comf
ort, though.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go home, boss. There’s nothing more you can do here. I’m off myself soon. Tomorrow we’ll come up with something.’

  Lucy’s pottage was flavourless. After a few spoonfuls he pushed the bowl away, seeing the disappointment on the girl’s face. ‘I’m just not hungry,’ he said.

  Even Emily, with her appetite, couldn’t finish.

  Head bowed, Lucy cleared the table. She was trying hard, he knew that, and it was difficult for her, working in this house full of heartbreak.

  ‘Papa?’ Emily’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. ‘What are we going to do?’

  He understood. She was lost, flailing. All the hope had gone from her face.

  ‘We’ll do what we have to do,’ he told her. ‘We’ll carry on.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I know.’ He reached across the table and placed his hand lightly over hers. ‘We survived when Rose died.’

  ‘Mama was with us then.’ Her eyes were glistening.

  ‘She’s still here,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s always going to be here.’

  ‘It hurts.’

  ‘It does,’ he agreed.

  ‘Was it like this when Grandmama died?’

  Had it? His mother had been ill for so long that he was

  the only thing keeping her alive. They existed in rooms where the runnels of damp came down the walls and he stole and begged food that she could barely eat. When her breath stopped he’d felt relief first of all; she didn’t have to struggle any more. The pain took longer. It was still there, buried deep, and it would never vanish.

  ‘No,’ he answered finally. ‘But I wish she was still here. She’d have been very proud of you. Mama was, too. So am I.’

  She smiled and the tears began. Better that she let them out, he thought.

  They sat by the firelight and talked, sharing their memories. He told her tales that brought laughter, and he learned things about Mary as a mother that he’d never known. Eventually he stood.

  ‘We both need our beds,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Papa.’ She hugged him, still sniffling a little.

  ‘As long as we’re here, she’ll never go away,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I know.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Do either of you have any ideas how we can put Darden and Howard in the dock?’

  They’d gathered in the jail, Rob yawning behind his hand, the deputy looking dishevelled, his old hose filled with rips. Nottingham looked from one face to the other.

  ‘That Lucy of yours can identify Howard,’ Sedgwick said.

  ‘His lawyer would tear her apart in court. Especially since she came to work for me.’

  The deputy grunted. ‘Couldn’t they just disappear?’

  ‘No. I want them to go to trial and I want to see them hang for what they’ve done. I want everyone to know.’ His voice was hard and determined.

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘We’d better keep digging. The longer it goes on, the harder it’ll be for us to find anything.’

  He watched them leave, finished the daily report and walked it over to the Moot Hall. A heavy frost had fallen overnight, leaving the flagstones and cobbles white and slick. Martin Cobb was at his desk, head bent over his work; he looked up as the Constable approached.

  ‘The mayor wants to see you,’ he warned.

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘Arrived five minutes ago.’

  He knocked and entered. Fenton was at his desk. The fire blazed in the hearth, making the room luxuriously warm.

  ‘Sit down, Nottingham.’

  He settled awkwardly on the delicate chair and waited. The mayor looked harried, in need of a shave, white bristles sprouting on his chin. He read through a paper, dipped the quill in a small jar of ink and scribbled his signature across the bottom before pushing it aside.

  ‘People have been talking to me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It seems you’re still asking questions about Mr Darden and his factor.’

  ‘I am,’ the Constable admitted.

  ‘Why? I told you to stop.’

  ‘My job is to find who killed those children.’ He looked directly at Fenton. ‘And my wife,’ he added.

  ‘When we put up the reward, people came forward. Have you looked at them?’

  ‘Of course. All it did was waste good time,’ Nottingham told him flatly.

  ‘You’d already made up your mind.’

  ‘It was them.’

  The mayor sighed. ‘You’re grieving. Your thinking is muddled.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘That’s what I’ll tell Darden’s lawyer when he complains. But if you keep it up I’m going to talk to the Corporation and we’ll start looking for a new Constable. I’m sorry about your wife but you’ve been nothing but trouble since you came back to work. I’ll not tolerate you defaming Jeremiah Darden. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Very.’ He stood. ‘But you’d better think about what you’re going to say when it comes out that they killed those children. I know about Darden and that boy.’

  ‘You know nothing,’ Fenton replied firmly. ‘You’ve got an idea fixed in your head and it’s the wrong one. I’ve given you the last warning; there won’t be another.’

  Once he was outside all the rage of the last few days welled up in him. His wound hurt and his legs ached, but he forced himself to walk out along the Head Row, beyond Burley Bar and into the countryside beyond. The road to Woodhouse snaked off into the distance and he followed it along the hill, all the way to the common land where people still grazed their cows in the summer. The beasts were all away in their byres now and the ground was empty; most folk were too sensible to be out in the cold.

  The wind tore at him, harsh enough to take his breath away for a moment. He opened his greatcoat, letting everything buffet him. Slowly he knelt, the dampness of the earth soaking straight through his breeches. Alone, he could cry, letting the tears fall and the sobs shake his body. He shouted out for her, for himself, for everything that was lost. He put his hands on the grass, feeling it damp against his fingers, and tore up tufts of it, anything that could ease the pain inside.

  When he’d finished he pushed himself slowly back to his feet. His throat was raw, and a thin drizzle hid the tears. He breathed deeply and walked slowly back to the city.

  The clock had struck eleven by the time the deputy entered the Talbot. He could smell a stew cooking somewhere, but he’d have put money on the meat being tainted, bought cheap, the taste hidden with spices. Soon enough folk would be in for their dinner, some spending the rest of the day here, meeting and making their bargains behind tankards of ale. None of them would stay if they saw him.

  Bell the landlord was wiping down the trestle with a wet, dirty cloth. He looked up as Sedgwick approached.

  ‘I said I’d give you a day.’

  ‘Aye, I remember.’

  ‘Have you done some thinking?’

  ‘Mebbe,’ Bell replied. He poured himself a mug of ale from the barrel and tasted it.

  ‘It’s your choice. I’ve a man with nothing better to do than spend his day outside the door.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Was Darden here from that cockfight?’

  ‘No,’ the landlord admitted grudgingly.

  ‘First he wasn’t here, then he was, and now he wasn’t. Which is it to be, Mr Bell?’ He kept his voice low and pleasant, enjoying the man’s torment.

  ‘He was never here.’ There was hatred in Bell’s eyes.

  ‘So why did you lie?’

  ‘I was offered money.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘Hugh Smithson. He works for Mr Howard.’

  ‘I know who he is. He told you to say Mr Darden had been here and paid you for that?’

  ‘Aye, if anyone asked, that was what I was to tell them. I had to say I’d forgotten he’d been here.’

  ‘You’d better be pre
pared to swear to that in court,’ the deputy told him.

  ‘You never said owt about court,’ Bell said sharply.

  ‘Didn’t I?’ Sedgwick asked blandly.

  ‘I can’t do that.’ The landlord shook his head slowly. ‘I’ll tell you, but that’s it.’ He raised his head defiantly. ‘I don’t give a bugger what you do.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I am. Leave a man here all the time if you want.’

  The deputy stared at him for a moment then nodded and left. He wouldn’t be able to push Bell further. He had something now, though, even if he couldn’t use it in court. It might be worth going to Solomon Howard’s house to talk to Smithson once more.

  But the man who answered the door wasn’t familiar. He was heavily muscled, starting to run to fat, with dark hair cropped short against his skull and a thick, fleshy neck.

  ‘I’m looking for Hugh Smithson,’ Sedgwick began.

  ‘Gone,’ the man answered bluntly and began to close the door. The deputy wedged a foot on the step.

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Mr Howard wasn’t happy with his work.’

  ‘When did that happen?’

  ‘Two days back.’ Tuesday, the deputy thought. The day the boss showed Howard the pouch. The day Mary Nottingham was killed.

  ‘Where’s he gone?’

  ‘Buggered if I care.’ The man pushed harder and Sedgwick gave way. The door slammed closed in his face.

  ‘Tell your men to keep their eyes open for someone called Hugh Smithson,’ the deputy told Rob. Outside the jail it was full dark, the night bitter.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘He was Howard’s servant until Tuesday. Sacked. He’s the one who let me in the house. The older men will remember him. He has a bit of a past, does Hugh.’

  ‘What do you want me to do if I find him?’

  ‘Bring him in. He’ll likely welcome a bed for the night, anyway.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘If he’s been out of work for two days and doesn’t have any money, he’ll have done something,’ Sedgwick promised.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ Sedgwick whispered to Lizzie. They were in bed, both James and Isabell asleep, the night quiet around them.

  ‘Work?’ He was holding her close, enjoying the warmth of her body. His greatcoat and her cape were piled on the bed, on top of the thin blanket.