At the Dying of the Year by Chris Nickson

Author:Chris Nickson [Nickson, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Creme de la Crime
Published: 2013-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

‘Before 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.

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