Chris Nickson - At the Dying of the Year

She came through the door and he stood upright, smiling, his heart lighter. Emily put her arm through his and they began to walk down the street. Rob pointed out the poster and she stopped to read it.

‘A reward?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered with a sigh. ‘A big one, too. It shows how concerned they are.’

‘But everyone . . .’ She paused for a moment. ‘It’s not going to help what you do at all, is it?’

‘No,’ he told her, ‘it’s not.’

She took tighter hold of his arm and said, ‘Let’s take a walk by the river.’

‘Now?’ Rob asked in astonishment. ‘In this weather?’

‘Then there won’t be many people around,’ she answered with a smile, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse her.

Emily led and he was content to follow. She strode past the warehouses and the stink of the dye works as if they barely existed, pulling him along by the hand, before clambering up the bank into a stand of trees, all the leaves gone from their branches. The track ran to a dip in the ground, sheltered from the wind and out of sight. She turned around, gazing up at the sky, a smile on her lips that he couldn’t read.

‘You look like you know this place.’

‘When I was little my sister and I used to come here.’ She paced around slowly, reaching out to touch a tree or bending to make out something he couldn’t see. ‘It was our special place. Even Mama and Papa didn’t know about it. I haven’t been back here since Rose died.’ She gathered her cloak and sat on an old, weathered tree trunk that lay on the ground. ‘We’d sit here and she’d tell me stories. Or sometimes we’d play.’ She patted the log and he settled next to her.

‘So why did you want to bring me here?’ He stroked her neck, the skin soft and warm under his fingertip. She turned and kissed him quickly.

‘Because I wanted you to know about it, too,’ she explained. ‘I wanted us to have somewhere that was ours, where no one else can find us. And in summer . . .’ Her eyes twinkled; he imagined the hollow hidden by bushes and leaves and grinned. Emily took his hand and began to slide her fingers between his. ‘Papa told me some things while he was recovering,’ she began, her glance flickering to him, then away and back again, and he knew they’d reached the true reason for coming here. He waited; she’d continue when she was ready. ‘Do you remember Amos Worthy?’

‘Of course,’ he replied, taken aback by her question.

‘He knew my grandmama. He loved her. That’s what Papa told me. I think it surprised him when he learned that.’ Lister was certain that it had. ‘He left me some money in his will.’

‘What?’ The word flew out of him.

‘He told Papa that he wanted to give me freedom. I’ll receive it when I come of age.’

When she came of age, he thought. That was still four years away, a lifetime, one he wanted to spend with her. But he knew Emily; if she was talking about it, she needed to make a decision about this now, otherwise it would rub at her every day and leave her raw.

‘It would be my money.’ Her eyes widened. ‘ My money. Enough to live on.’ She paused. ‘For us both to live on.’

‘You know what he was, don’t you?’

She nodded, her lips pushed together.

‘What do you want to do?’

‘What would you do?’ she countered.

It was a long time before he answered, allowing his thoughts to form and the words to take shape. He held her hand as she watched him.

‘I think I’d say no. But I’d wish I’d been able to say yes.’

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘That’s what I told Papa I’d do. He said I should wait, that I might change my mind by the time I’m twenty-one.’

But she wouldn’t. He knew her well enough by now to be certain of that, and he loved her deeply enough to be grateful for it.

‘I love you,’ he said quietly. They sat for a few more minutes as the darkness grew around them, then made their way back to the house on Marsh Lane.

‘We were wondering where you two had been,’ Mary Nottingham said brightly, and Rob saw her glance swiftly at Emily’s clothes to make certain she was properly dressed.

‘Sit down, lad,’ the Constable told him. ‘I need to talk to you before we eat.’

Lister lowered himself on to an old joint stool. The warmth from the fire started to soak through his clothes and into his skin. ‘What is it, boss?’

‘What do you know about Jeremiah Darden?’

Rob pursed his lips and tried to recall things he’d heard. ‘Nothing, really. No more than anyone else.’

Nottingham nodded slowly. ‘What about your father?’

Lister let out a long breath and held his hands out to the blaze as if he wanted to cup its heat between them. ‘I’m sure he’d know chapter and verse,’ he replied. ‘Why?’

‘One of Darden’s servants thinks he might be Gabriel.’

Rob raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he think that before or after the reward was posted?’

‘Before.’ The Constable waited a moment before continuing. ‘I’d like to you talk to your father and find out what he knows about Darden.’

‘Boss . . .’ Rob said warily. ‘You know he might not want to speak to me.’

‘He will,’ Nottingham told him with a confident smile.

The shutters were closed at the office of the Leeds Mercury , no light leaking through. He knocked on the heavy door that stood to the side and heard the sound of footsteps on the stair. The servant held up a candle, eyes widening to see him.

‘Mr Robert!’

‘Hello, Sarah,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve come to see my father. Is he upstairs?’

‘He is. Come on in.’

He passed by, the smells of the house, of cooked cabbage and wax, as familiar as if he’d never left. James Lister was in the parlour, sitting before the fire in his favourite chair, a volume of Defoe page-down on his lap. He looked up as Rob entered, cocking his head questioningly.

‘I’d not looked to see you here again,’ he said. There was no warmth in his words.

‘Hello, Father,’ Rob said. He looked around the room. It was exactly as he remembered it, books filling the shelves along the walls, candles lighting the place.

‘Given up on the lass, have you?’

Rob shook his head. ‘I’m here on business, nothing more.’

‘Oh?’ James Lister sat upright, his face suddenly alive and interested. ‘What do you need?’

‘Information on Jeremiah Darden.’

The older man rubbed his chin. ‘Why do you need to know about him?’

Rob gave a small smile. ‘I can’t tell you, and there’s nothing you can print, Father. Just as if you were dealing with Mr Nottingham.’

Lister chuckled. ‘You’ve a long way to go yet before you’re Constable, lad.’ He paused and narrowed his eyes. ‘Is this to do with the reward?’

‘What would make you think that?’

‘Timing. I take it you don’t need the common knowledge?’ He waited a moment for an answer then plunged on. ‘The Corporation wanted Darden to be mayor a few years ago. He’d been an alderman since he was a young man. He turned it down and resigned. Paid the fine to be allowed to leave and that was it. Hasn’t done much since.’

‘Why?’ Rob asked.

The older man mulled over his reply. ‘He’s never said, although plenty of people had their ideas. Honestly, I don’t know.’ He offered a small shrug. ‘It’s a mystery. I do know he pulled back from business around the same time.’

‘How is he as a man?’

Lister removed his spectacles and wiped them carefully on the elaborate silk of his waistcoat. ‘Not especially social. He never was, I suppose. More so when his wife was alive, perhaps. I remember they’d go to assemblies and balls sometimes. He married young and doted on those daughters of his. Now they’re all married off he doesn’t seem to have much in his life.’