Chris Nickson - At the Dying of the Year

‘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.’

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.

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.