At the Dying of the Year (10 page)

‘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.'

J
ohn 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?'

The Constable stared at him. ‘I'll do my job, your Worship. The one the city pays me to do.' He gave a small bow and left.

He needed to calm his temper before seeing Darden. After seeing the mayor his blood was hot, and it needed to be cold as January for the encounter. He let the fog swallow him, drifting down Briggate to Leeds Bridge. Sounds were muffled, even the creak of carts as they approached, and people came and vanished like ghosts in a dream.

The water rushed by, a few yards below him, with a noise as deep as the devil's laughter. He leaned on the parapet and watched it, roiling and curling around the stanchions, until the anger had passed. Then he cut through to Vicar Lane to the house that had been in Darden's family for generations.

The limewash had been renewed recently, still a bright, glowing white against the dark timbers. The windows were small and old, the door heavy, worn oak. At the side of the building a cobbled path led to the warehouse where Darden had his business.

He'd had few dealings with the man over the years; he'd maybe met him three or four times, and they'd never spoken long enough for him to gain a solid impression beyond the sense of wealth and power that surrounded him like perfume.

Nottingham let his fist fall on the door three times and waited. Soon he could hear a rush of footsteps and then he was looking at the harried face of the servant who'd appeared at the jail.

‘Yes, sir?' the man asked as if they'd never seen each other before.

Nottingham smiled. ‘I'm the Constable of Leeds. I'd like to see Mr Darden.'

He entered the hall and waited while the servant went into a room, hearing the small murmur of voices. Then he was shown into a parlour where Jeremiah Darden sat in his chair, a copy of the
Mercury
spread over his lap. He took off his spectacles, a quizzical look on his face. There was an air of cleanliness about him, but the rich always looked clean and smelt of sanctity, Nottingham thought. Dirt never clung to them.

‘Constable?'

‘Yes, sir,' Nottingham answered.

‘You wanted to see me?'

‘Yes. You've heard what happened to the children?'

‘The ones in the bell pit? Of course.' He folded the newspaper and dropped it on the floor. Even seated he was a big, powerful man, his hands large, thighs thick in a pair of pale blue breeches, his hose pure white, shoes polished, silver buckles sparkling in the light from a hot fire. ‘What's that to do with me?'

‘Where were you a week ago Saturday?' the Constable asked, keeping his eyes on Darden's face.

The man sat and thought. ‘Was that when they had the cockfight at the Talbot?' he said after a few moments.

‘Yes.'

‘Then that's where I was.' He gave a small, bemused chuckle and rubbed his chin. ‘The first time I've ever been, if you can believe that.' There was no sign of worry or hesitation.

‘Did you enjoy it?'

‘Not especially. I only went because my factor's been saying for years that I should see it. I finally gave in.' He snorted. ‘I lost a guinea and came home with blood on my coat from the damn bird. Anyway, what does that have to do with those children?'

‘You've seen the posters the city put up?'

‘Of course. I've given a pound towards the reward myself. Fenton came calling on me for money.'

The man had complete confidence, Nottingham thought. Pride seemed to seep from every pore. Most people would be nervous if the law came asking questions, but Darden acted as if it was the most normal conversation in the world, with nothing at all to hide.

‘It's brought out plenty of people wanting the reward and giving us names.'

‘I still don't see how that brings you here, Constable.'

‘Yours was one of the names.'

For a second the man's face darkened, as if his temper was about to explode. Then he gave a long, deep laugh. ‘Me? And you believed them?'

‘We're following up on everything,' Nottingham said genially.

‘Well, there's nothing here for you. If you don't believe I was at the cockfight, ask my factor, Mr Howard, or whoever it is that owns the Talbot. They'll tell you.'

‘I will,' the Constable promised and smiled. ‘After all, I have to do my job.'

Darden stared at him as if trying to see a deeper meaning in the words, then gave a curt nod. ‘Next time try using a little intelligence, though. You should know better than to suspect a man like me. Good day, Constable. I don't imagine you'll need to return here.'

Outside, the fog wreathed around him as he walked. Darden had attempted to be polite, but there had been something beneath that, a deep disregard, arrogance, as if the man had believed himself above everything. He'd never asked about the children, never mentioned them, as if their deaths were nothing at all to him.

And he'd lied about being at the cockfight, the Constable was certain of that, just as he was sure that if he returned to the Talbot tomorrow, Bell would remember that the merchant had been there after all. And Solomon Howard was Darden's factor, the man closest to him. He'd worked for and with the man for years now; he'd say whatever he was bidden to say.

In his gut he now believed that Darden was Gabriel. Proving it – even being allowed to try – would be another matter altogether. And the man knew that full well. He believed he was untouchable.

‘John, I want Holden watching Darden every day. He's the best we have. Tell Rob to assign another of the men to cover nights.'

‘Yes, boss.' He hesitated. ‘Are you sure it's him?'

‘I am,' Nottingham replied with certainty. He frowned. ‘He's clever, though. Didn't even blink at the questions, answered everything perfectly naturally. And at the end warned me not to come back.'

‘What? He threatened?'

The Constable shook his head. ‘Nothing as obvious as that. He just gave me a very strong hint that I should consider him above suspicion.'

‘So how are we going to prove any of this, boss?'

‘I'm going to find Caleb and have the lad take a look at him. He's seen Gabriel, he can tell me if it's Darden.'

‘And if it isn't?'

‘It is,' Nottingham said.

‘What about all these people giving us names? If I've had one this morning, I've had twenty of them.'

‘Do what you can and pass the rest to the men to look into. They'll all come to nothing, anyway.'

‘What about the mayor?'

‘I'll tell him we're looking at everything.' He gave a sly grin. ‘It'll be the truth. We will be, just not quite the way he wants.'

Sedgwick glanced out of the window. ‘With this fog Holden will have problems following Darden. It's not going to clear today.'

‘I don't care if he knows we have someone on him. He won't be doing anything stupid.' The Constable pushed the fringe off his forehead. ‘I want him to know we're there.'

‘He'll go to the mayor, boss.'

‘Let him.' He rummaged through a small pile of papers on the desk. ‘Do you have anything more on those recruits who vanished?'

‘Bugger all.' He gave a deep sigh. ‘I went back again. No one will admit to letting them go and they didn't leave without help. It doesn't make any sense to me. I don't think we're going to get anywhere on it.'

The bell at the Parish Church sounded for noon, the noise deadened by the fog.

‘Come on,' the Constable said, ‘let's go next door to the Swan and have dinner. See if the world looks any better with a full belly.'

N
ottingham walked down Briggate, the chill of the fog seeping through to his bones. His greatcoat felt damp to the touch, tiny drops forming on the wool. In the distance he could hear shouting; he moved faster, following the sounds down towards Swinegate. As he turned the corner the noise grew louder, a babble of voices yelling obscenities and threats. He charged forward, shouldering men aside until he reached the middle of the mob.

‘Stop!' he shouted, using his stick to push people away. A man was on the ground, curled in on himself, his hat a few yards away, dark wig close to his head. Someone raised his foot to kick and the Constable hit him sharply on the knee. ‘What's going on here?' When no one answered, he said, ‘You know who I am. You can give me some answers or spend tonight in the jail.' He pointed at a fat man wearing a threadbare coat and sweating as if he'd worked half a day ‘You. Tell me.'

‘It's him,' he answered, trying to catch his breath. ‘It's that Gabriel. He killed them children.'