Chris Nickson - At the Dying of the Year

‘And his temperament?’

Lister gave a smile. ‘Jeremiah Darden’s never been one to suffer fools.’

Rob laughed. ‘You mean he’s an awkward bastard.’

His father pursed his mouth. ‘Your words, not mine.’ He cleared his throat. ‘How are your lodgings?’

‘Good enough for what I need. You’ve no idea why Mr Darden stepped away from public life? That’s unlike you.’

‘There’s nothing queerer than folk. That’s what they say and it’s true enough. You should have learnt that in your job by now. There were a few rumours about him and a girl.’

‘A girl? Who was she?’

‘A very young girl,’ Lister said pointedly. ‘No one really believed it, but he left the Corporation.

‘What were the rumours?’

The older man waved them away with his hand. ‘Tittle-tattle. Whispers behind hands.’ He made a face. ‘It seemed ridiculous. Just folk making trouble. I didn’t believe it then and I won’t believe it now. Jeremiah Darden’s an upright man, always has been. He’s given plenty of his wealth to charity over the years.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t know that, did you?’

‘I don’t know anything about him,’ Rob pointed out. ‘That’s why I came to ask you.’

‘And I’ve told you.’

‘Then thank you, Father.’ He gave a small bow and turned.

‘Come for your dinner some Sunday,’ Lister said quietly to his son’s back. ‘Your mother would love to see you again.’ Rob took two paces down the stairs. ‘Bring that girl if you like.’ Rob nodded and left the house.

The cold air felt clean against his skin. His father had taken him by surprise, ambushed him. What was behind that offer? Did he really want to reconcile or was he hoping for a chance to humiliate Emily? God alone knew. But he needed to put it out of his mind for the moment.

Maybe his father had been wrong to discount all the gossip about Darden and the girl. They’d need to investigate that.

He strode down Briggate and along the path by the Aire. Bessie was helping a girl feed her small child when he found her, spooning something into the infant’s mouth, encouraging and cajoling her to eat more. He waited silently until she’d finished and wiped her hand on her dress, gathering a shawl tight around her shoulders.

‘Babies making babies,’ she said with a slow shake of her head. ‘They don’t know.’

‘How are you, Bessie?’

‘I’ll live. More than some of these will if it gets any colder. We could use more food,’ she said pointedly.

‘I’ll talk to the baker. He should have some old loaves.’

‘It’ll all help, love.’ She nodded her approval. ‘I’ve asked around about those children.’

‘Anything?’ Rob asked hopefully.

‘They tend to keep to themselves. They don’t trust anyone else. I’m sorry, Mr Lister.’

‘What about Gabriel?’

‘I don’t think people have talked about owt else since the posters went up.’ She snorted. ‘Truth is, no one here’s seen him. They might think they have, but it’s just hoping for the money.’

‘Thank you, Bessie.’

‘Nay, lad. I just wish I could do more. You find him, though.’

‘We will.’

‘And kill him. It’s no more than he deserves.’

John Sedgwick woke with a start, sitting up with his eyes wide and heart racing as the dream dissolved in his head.

‘What is it?’ Lizzie asked, her voice full of sleep.

He breathed slowly and wiped the night sweat off his face. ‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it, love.’ He stroked her hair and neck until he felt her drift away. It was still full dark but there would be no more rest, not after the images he’d seen, of James and Isabell tortured, used and bloody, and left for dead at the side of the road. He could hear them both sleeping, the baby in her crib, the boy on his small bed.

Quietly, he rose and dressed, took some bread from the kitchen and slipped out of the door. He knew that moving, doing something, was the only way to make the pictures go away.

Still an hour to dawn, he judged, the time when the blackness was blackest and the thoughts were always bleak. The air had turned even colder and a low fog clung tight to the ground, creeping like an army over the land.

Rob was at the jail, the scrape of his nib on paper loud as he wrote out the night report. The deputy settled close by the fire, took the bread from his pocket and began to eat.

‘Many come in for the reward?’ he asked.

Lister frowned. ‘Ten of them last night, and that’s just the ones who found me here.’

‘Anything likely?’

‘What do you think? Some of them would peach on their dog if it would bring in sixpence. Anyway, someone came and gave the boss a name yesterday.’

‘Oh?’ Sedgwick asked with interest.

‘You’re going to love this. It’s Jeremiah Darden.’

The deputy laughed. ‘That old bastard? You can’t be serious.’

‘I am. The boss asked me to find out about him from my father.’

‘And did you?’ he asked slowly. ‘You went to see him?’

Rob nodded. ‘Last night.’

‘What did he have to say?’

‘About Darden?’

‘Aye.’

‘Seems there was a rumour about him and a very young girl. He was supposed to become mayor but instead he resigned from the Corporation. No one who mattered believed it, but . . .’

‘You told the boss yet?’

‘No.’

‘And what else did your father say to you?’

‘Invited me for Sunday dinner.’ He paused. ‘With Emily.’

The deputy raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘What are you going to do?’

He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to her.’

The door opened and the Constable walked in. ‘That fog’s getting thicker,’ he said, shrugging off his coat. ‘If it keeps up you won’t be able to see the Moot Hall soon.’

‘I’d not call that a bad thing,’ Sedgwick laughed.

‘You might be right there.’ He gave a small smile and sat in the chair. ‘Right, what do we have?’ He listened closely as Rob related what he’d learned and the deputy aired his frustration. ‘We’ll have more people giving us names today. Look into them, John. We need to follow up on everything. I’m going to talk to the mayor and then see Mr Darden.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Go back to everyone you’ve talked to, see if they’ve remembered anything.’ He glanced at Rob. ‘And the same for you tonight.’

Martin Cobb sat behind his desk, the scrape of his quill the only noise in the corridor. Nottingham placed the report on the desk.

‘I need to see the mayor.’

‘Constable . . .’ the clerk began but Nottingham cut him off, his tone brooking no protest.

‘Now.’

Cobb looked down for a moment, then back up. ‘If it’s important you’d better go in.’

Fenton was standing at the window, looking out at a city lost in the fog. He turned as the door opened.

‘Any results from the poster?’

‘Someone came to see me yesterday with a name.’

‘And?’ the mayor asked brusquely.

‘The name was Jeremiah Darden.’

‘You believe it?’ Fenton almost shouted the words, his face reddening. ‘Are you a fool? Has being off work addled your brains?’

‘He lied about how some blood ended up on his grey coat,’ the Constable told him flatly. ‘The same colour Gabriel wears. That’s enough to warrant talking to him.’

‘If you accuse him you’ll end up looking ridiculous,’ the mayor warned.

‘I haven’t accused anyone yet. I just want to ask him some questions.’

‘Then make sure you keep it to that. Even if you should find something to properly incriminate Mr Darden, you will not arrest him without my authority.’ He paused. ‘Do you understand that, Nottingham?’