At the Dying of the Year (16 page)

‘Every Sunday.'

‘All the servants?'

‘Aye, both of us. Why?'

‘I'm just curious.' He smiled. ‘You see much of Mr Darden?'

Smithson sat back and folded his arms. ‘What do you want to know for, Mr Sedgwick?'

‘I want to make sure you're well looked after, Hugh. Can't have anyone taking advantage of you.'

‘Mr Howard would never do that.'

‘Did you tell him about your past?' the deputy wondered. ‘I know we never proved it but we were sure you were guilty.'

‘That was a long time ago,' the man demurred.

‘You're an honest, hardworking man these days?'

‘I am that,' he answered proudly. ‘You ask anyone.'

‘So if I happened to see Mr Howard and mentioned that we thought his servant had once battered someone to death it wouldn't matter to him?'

Smithson's face set firm. ‘That would be slander.'

‘It would only be what we thought.' He paused. ‘Although perhaps he might let you go after learning that. No more wages or time to slip away for a drink. No more Sundays off.'

The man sighed. ‘What do you want?'

‘Tell me about your employer. He likes his whores, from what I hear.'

‘I wouldn't know.' His mouth set in a tight line.

‘There's a lass who works in the house, too.'

Smithson chuckled. ‘She's forty if she's a day. Hardly a lass.'

‘How is he with her?'

The man shrugged. ‘Same as he is with me. We know our place and he treats us fairly.'

‘And what does he do when you're not there?'

‘I've no idea, Mr Sedgwick. I'm not there.'

‘Does he go out much?'

‘Aye, he'll go to the cockfights or an assembly sometimes. Most days he's working until after dark.'

‘He must be a rich man.'

Smithson drained the mug and stared at him. ‘Anything else, Mr Sedgwick?' He started to rise, tall and menacing.

‘Nothing. But it's good to know where we can find you, Hugh.'

He watched the servant leave, forced to bend his head slightly to go through the door. Smithson was clever enough not to mention the meeting to his employer; it could only bring questions the man would rather not answer.

For all that, he hadn't learned anything other than Howard was generous, giving them every Sunday off. There was plenty a man could do with a whole day in an empty house.

The Constable had seen Rob in the morning, still bedraggled from his rounds, hair hanging in tangles around his face.

‘Emily said there was something at the Crown and Fleece.'

‘We found our answer.'

Nottingham listened with a frown, then said, ‘We should have done more there.' He sighed. ‘Go on home and dry off.'

He'd taken the daily report to the Moot Hall and strolled down Briggate for the cloth market. Howard and Darden were standing together, discussing something intently. He raised his hat to them and continued down the street, feeling the anger of their gaze hot on his neck.

At least fewer people were pursuing the reward for Gabriel; the novelty of it had passed. There were just three new names and he could strike one of those immediately. Old Jeffrey Halton could scarcely walk down the street and his hand shook so hard his wife had to feed him. But there'd be other tips coming in. Folk didn't easily forget a sum like twenty pounds.

He bought a pie from the seller at the market, spotting the deputy in the distance, a full head taller than most of the people bobbing along the street. Quietly, he slipped through the opening and into the court where he'd met Caleb.

The ground was thick with mud from the rain, the stink of rubbish stronger than ever. The Constable leaned against a wall that was heavy with slime. The sounds of the market seemed muted and distant, a world apart from here.

He waited, hoping that one of the children would come. It was unlikely, but he had to try. He needed to be able to talk to them, to know if Gabriel returned and if any more of them disappeared.

The church bell tolled the quarter hour, then the half, and he was still alone, the pie growing cold in his hand. Finally he moved away, ready to return to the bustle of Briggate.

‘Wait.'

He halted and turned. He stood facing a girl, small and thin, wearing an old gown full of rents and patches, deep blue once, but the colour had faded and worn to nothing. She had a proud little face, dirt smudged across her cheeks, and dark hair that hung matted to her shoulders. In her hand she carried a knife.

‘You're t' Constable, aren't you?' There was no fear in her voice and she stared steadily at him.

‘I am.'

‘Caleb told me about you. He's gone.'

‘I know,' Nottingham said.

‘He's dead, isn't he?'

‘Yes,' he answered simply. ‘You're the girl who was in the shadows when I talked to him, aren't you?'

She didn't lower her eyes, just nodded once. ‘Who killed him?'

‘I think it was Gabriel,' the Constable answered her. He held out the pie. ‘What's your name?'

‘Lucy.' She took the food from him, small, deft fingers wrapping it carefully in a dirty kerchief.

‘Have you seen Gabriel?'

She stood straighter, her mouth moving in disgust. ‘Often enough, whenever he's come around. He even tried to get me to go with him once.' She paused. ‘Is it right, what Caleb said? That you lived out here.'

‘Yes. But it was a long time ago now.'

‘And now you have a house and servants?'

He smiled gently. ‘A house. No servants.'

Lucy nodded then asked, ‘How did he die?'

‘He was in the river.'

‘He could swim,' she said quietly.

‘Someone had hit him on the head.'

The girl stayed silent for a long time. ‘He looked after me.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Are you going to catch him?'

‘I'm going to try.'

She looked doubtful. ‘You were wrong before. Caleb told me that.'

‘I know,' he admitted. ‘But Caleb helped me. He'd seen Gabriel.'

‘So have I.' She paused. ‘Helping you got him killed.'

He said nothing but bobbed his head sadly. ‘I need to catch this man.' He watched her face.'Would you know him again?'

‘Oh aye,' Lucy said with a snort. ‘I'd know that face anywhere.'

‘Would you help me? Like Caleb did.'

She eyed him calmly.

‘I want Gabriel,' the Constable said. ‘For Caleb. And Mark and Luke and Alice and all the others.'

‘I'm not afraid,' Lucy told him, although he could see the lie in her eyes.

‘I know.'

‘What'll happen if you catch him?'

‘He'll hang,' Nottingham answered. He waited a few moments.

‘I'll help you,' she agreed finally, her face set.

‘Thank you. But I need a better way to find you than this.'

Lucy hesitated. ‘You know the old manor house? There's part of an old shed there that still has a roof. I sleep out there with some of the others. Knock twice before you come in and I won't kill you.' Her voice was serious and hard.

‘I'll come for you in the morning,' he said and moved towards the passageway.

‘Mister?' she called. ‘You said you didn't have a servant?'

‘That's right.'

‘Do you want one?'

‘What are you going to do?' the deputy asked. He soaked up the juices of the stew with a piece of bread and pushed the bowl away.

‘I'll have her take a look at Howard tomorrow,' Nottingham said. They sat at the bench in a corner of the White Swan, the other customers happy to keep their distance.

‘What if she says it's him? No one who matters is going to believe her.'

‘We will,' he said. ‘Then we can dig deeper and find some evidence we can use.'

‘You were sure it was Darden, boss, and you were wrong,' Sedgwick reminded him.

‘I know.' He'd pored over it often enough since, rubbing it raw.

‘I caught up with Hugh Smithson.'

‘What did he have to say for himself? Anything useful?'

‘Just that the servants receive every Sunday off.'

‘Every Sunday?' The Constable raised his eyebrows.

‘Aye, that's what I thought, too.'

‘Do you think he'll say anything to Howard?'

The deputy shook his head and grinned. ‘Seems Hugh hadn't told him about his past and he'd rather it stayed quiet.'

‘That's good work, John.'

‘What are you going to do if it's not Howard?'

‘I don't know. I really don't know.'

‘B
efore you finish I want you to come with me.'

‘Where, boss?'

Rob had handed over the night report. A frost had hardened the ground and frozen the wheel tracks on the road into deep ruts; the chill had been damp enough to cut through to his bones as he'd completed his rounds. Now he wanted nothing more than a chance to see Emily for a few minutes as she walked to school, and then the warmth of his bed.

‘You'll see.'

He followed the Constable up Briggate, stopping for bread at the baker's, and along the Head Row, past Garroway's, its windows covered with steam, the heady, exotic scent of coffee in the air. At Burley Bar, the edge of the city, they turned down Mill Hill Lane and into the tangle of grass and trees that had once been the orchard of the manor house.

Nottingham had to look carefully before he found the building, half of it so thickly covered in ivy that it looked as if nature had claimed it back. Slates covered some of the roof, leaving dark, bare patches that gaped to the morning. He knocked twice on a door eaten away by rot, and waited. Rob opened his mouth to speak but the Constable held up his hand.

‘Lucy,' he said. ‘I told you I'd come.'

Inside someone dragged at the door, the hinges squealing. The girl walked out of the darkness, blinking in the bare daylight. Pulled tight around her shoulders she had a threadbare shawl someone had thrown away, and the knife was in her hand.

Nottingham handed her the loaf. ‘You can use this. You and the others.'

‘Aye,' she agreed, bobbing her head. ‘Thank you.'

‘You said you could help me. Like I told you yesterday, there's someone I'd like you to see, someone I think might be Gabriel.'

Rob saw panic rise in her eyes.

‘He won't see you,' the Constable promised her. ‘I'll make sure of it.'

The girl gestured back over her shoulder. ‘One of the little ones is poorly,' she said. ‘I can't leave her.'

‘Rob, go and fetch apothecary Kirshaw. Bring him here.'

Surprised, he turned and walked away quickly, making his way down to Briggate and pounding on the apothecary's door until the old servant answered. From there it took another five minutes of fussing before the man was ready to leave, the bag weighing him down on one side.

‘Where are we going?' Kirshaw asked, his voice petulant. His coat, old and trailing almost to the ground, was buttoned all the way to his throat against the November chill.

‘Mr Nottingham wants you to look at someone.'

The apothecary muttered as he followed, lifting his legs to move through the overgrown grounds of the manor. The Constable was waiting by the building.

‘Thank you for coming,' he said. The girl stood at his side, looking down at the ground.

‘Where is he?' the apothecary grumbled.

‘She,' Nottingham corrected him. ‘She's in there.'

‘She?' Kirshaw bristled.

‘A little girl. Look at her, help her.'

‘Who's going to pay me?'

The Constable smiled. ‘You'll get your reward in heaven,' he said slowly, his voice firm enough to brook no argument. ‘Mr Lister will stay and help you.'

Light filtered through the door. The child was in a corner, a ragged blanket pulled around her. Rob watched as the apothecary lifted one of her hands then ran a hand across her forehead, muttering to himself. He delved into the bag, then turned.

‘Don't just stand there,' Kirshaw said sharply. ‘Fetch some water.'

‘Will he make her well?' Lucy asked as they walked.

‘If he can,' Nottingham told her.

‘What if he can't?'

‘He'll do everything he can.'

She nodded. He knew the world she lived in, where the line between life and death often blurred to nothing, where some never woke in the morning.

He found Holden standing behind a hefty oak tree close to Howard's house.

‘Keep her out of sight,' he ordered. ‘Howard can't see her.'

‘Yes, boss.'

‘Mr Holden knows what to do,' he told her. ‘Just listen to him.'

She looked scared. ‘You did this with Caleb, didn't you?' she asked.

‘Yes,' he admitted. She stared at him, her eyes unblinking. ‘Mr Holden will make sure no one sees you.'

Finally, with a sad, unbelieving smile, she nodded.

By the time the apothecary left, the little girl was sleeping quietly. Kirshaw had fed her a few drops of liquid in water Rob brought from the spring.

‘She needs food,' the apothecary said as he stood. ‘There's nothing to her. She needs to be warm and something hot in her.' He looked at Rob. ‘She needs looking after. Do that and she'll be fine. If not . . .' He shrugged and gathered his bottles and potions. ‘And tell Mr Nottingham I'll be sending my bill to the Corporation.'

‘You do that.'

Alone, Rob watched the girl. A few of the other children had come, then scattered like sparrows when they saw him, vanished from view. He couldn't leave her helpless and on her own. He scavenged dead wood from the orchard and lit a small fire in the building then settled back against a wall.

He was dozing when Lucy returned. The blaze had brought a little warmth to the room and the child slept on, a smile on her lips, the blanket pulled around her face.