Chris Nickson - At the Dying of the Year

‘Did that belong to Amos?’ Sedgwick asked. Amos Worthy had been the city’s biggest pimp, never convicted of anything as half the Corporation used his girls. He and Nottingham had enjoyed a strange relationship, part hatred, part friendship, until Worthy had died of cancer the year before.

‘The old bugger left it to me in his will. I never thought I’d use it.’ The Constable laughed. ‘I’m never going to be rid of him.’

They both worked through the afternoon, talking to more people, hoping for any indication of who Gabriel might be, and finding nothing. Towards evening a low, cruel wind blew out of the north, cutting like knives against the skin, and the deputy pulled his coat tighter about him as he finished his rounds.

The house on Lands Lane was warm, filled with the smell of cooking, a pot suspended over the fire in the kitchen. Isabell was awake, sitting on the floor, her eyes widening to see her papa come in on a wave of cold air.

‘Shut that door,’ Lizzie told him sharply, but with a welcoming smile on her face. He pulled her close, rubbing his chilled face against hers. She laughed and shrieked, ‘Give over, John Sedgwick, you’re perished.’ The baby joined the laughter, throwing her head back and giggling. He scooped her up and danced round the room holding her in his arms.

‘Where’s James?’ he asked and Lizzie raised her head towards the ceiling. Still holding Isabell he climbed the stairs to the bedroom they all shared and found the boy at his school work. He settled on the small pallet, tickling the girl lightly on the chest. ‘What is it tonight?’

‘Spelling.’ He looked up, frowning. ‘The master said he’d beat anyone who didn’t do well.’

The deputy raised his eyebrows. ‘Aye, I suppose that would make you study. You know it all yet?’ He glanced at the long list of words.

‘I hope so, Da,’ James replied in a heartfelt voice. ‘Can you test me?’

They ran through ten of the words together. Sedgwick was impressed by his son’s confidence; he reeled the letters off quickly, right each time.

‘Very good,’ he said finally. ‘You’ll make him happy.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘I’m proud of you. And so is she,’ he added with a laugh as the baby gurgled. ‘You like school, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Da.’ He slid the slate into his bag. ‘I like to know things.’

‘You’ll do well.’ He smiled. ‘But you’d better get yourself to bed or your mam won’t be happy.’

Rob made his way along the Calls before turning up High Back Lane and coming out on Kirkgate by the White Cloth Hall. The pale stone of the building shone eerily in the moonlight, standing broad and tall, as intimidating as a cathedral.

The Crown and Fleece was quiet. He opened the door to see a few drinkers gathered close to the fire, the landlord leaning on the trestle bar to talk to a customer. He straightened as Rob entered.

‘The sergeant moved on?’

The landlord shook his head. ‘Upstairs asleep. Didn’t find any more recruits so he started drinking. He’ll be on his way tomorrow.’

‘What about those two lads who signed up?’

‘Locked them in the stable. They’ll be warm enough in there while morning.’

He accepted the ale he was offered, grateful to have a few minutes out of the chill, edging closer to the hearth until he felt the heat on his face and hands.

Back on the street he could have sworn it was even colder than before. His breath clouded as he walked, the only sound the clatter of his boots on the cobbles. Everyone was indoors and he wished he was among them. It was still only November.

As he made his rounds he thought about Emily. He could understand that she didn’t want to marry, didn’t want to be the property of any man. Over the months he’d even come to accept it after a fashion. But deep inside he held tight to a knot of hope that she’d change as she grew older. There was plenty of time yet; she’d just turned seventeen over the summer.

The curse was that he loved her. Contrary as she could be, Emily was the only girl he’d ever cared about. But James Lister desired something different for his son, a suitable wife, someone with the right standing and a handsome dowry, not a girl who was the granddaughter of a prostitute. That had caused the rift between them; it was the reason he lived in lodgings now. He hadn’t spoken a word to his father since he left, fully six months before. The lights were all out in the house on Briggate when he passed, his parents tucked under the blankets for the night, shutters closed over the offices of the Leeds Mercury , the newspaper his father published.

He made his way down to the riverbank, picking out the small fires flickering in the distance. As he came closer, Bessie emerged from the darkness, coming to meet him before he reached the camp.

‘Getting brisk out here, Mr Lister.’

‘If it keeps on like this we’ll have another hard winter,’ he agreed. ‘Do you have anything for me?’

In the moonlight he saw her shake her head. ‘One of the lasses took ill and I was looking after her all night. I didn’t have time for owt else.’

‘How is she?’

There was a pause, a fill of silence, before she answered.

‘She died.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She tried to smile but there was no heart in it. ‘Aye, well, it happens. There wasn’t anything we could do. And there was someone else to look after her little girl.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll ask them tonight, I promise.’

‘I know a little more now.’ He told her about Gabriel, seeing the anger rise in her eyes.

‘Leave it with me,’ Bessie said. ‘If anyone knows anything I’ll tell you tomorrow.’

The hours passed slowly. By the time the clock struck five he was glad to return to the jail, put more coal on the fire and start writing his report. He could still feel the cold in his bones, as if he might never be completely warm again.

There was a strong blaze in the grate by the time the deputy arrived, hands pushed deep in the pockets of his ancient greatcoat, closing the door swiftly to keep out the bitter dawn air.

‘At least you’ve made it cosy in here,’ he said with a grin. ‘I knew there was a reason we took you on.’

‘Planning on staying here most of the day?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing. The boss will have me hither and yon. That recruiting sergeant still at the Crown and Fleece?’

‘Leaving today. And he was in his bed early as a Christian last night. No trouble at all.’

‘Many take the King’s shilling?’ Sedgwick asked idly.

Lister shrugged. ‘Just two, from what the landlord said. They’re locked in the stables.’

‘Daft buggers.’

The Constable arrived a few minutes later, breathing deep and warming his hands in front of the blaze before he shrugged off his coat.

‘Anything much during the night?’

‘All quiet, boss,’ Rob told him.

‘Were Bessie’s people able to help with Gabriel?’

‘She’s going to ask them. Someone died there, she didn’t have the chance.’

Nottingham sat at the desk and glanced at the night report. ‘Somebody knows him,’ he said firmly.

‘We’ve already talked to everyone,’ the deputy observed.

‘Then we’ll go back and talk to them again. People have passed the word. I don’t care if it’s a rumour or a whisper, we need something.’ He looked at the others. ‘John, just speak to everyone you can.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘If you walk down to Timble Bridge you’ll have more time with Emily,’ he advised Lister. ‘I daresay she’ll need some warming up.’ He winked and saw Rob blush as Sedgwick laughed.

He finished his daily report and walked up to the Moot Hall. People were tightly wrapped against the weather, hats jammed down hard on heads so only their eyes were visible. A few cattle lowed plaintively at the Shambles, as if they knew what awaited them.