At the Dying of the Year Read Online Free PDF

Briggate and along Lands Lane. Inside the house a fire burned bright and warm in the hearth; Isabell was awake and smiling in the crib he’d made from old scraps of wood.
    Sedgwick picked her up and held her at arm’s length before bringing her close, burying her face against her and smelling the freshness and the milk on her skin.
    â€˜James is upstairs,’ Lizzie said. ‘He’s finishing the work he has to do for school.’ She was sitting close to the blaze, using its light to finish mending a shirt. He bent to kiss her and stroke her hair lightly, then tickled the baby until she began to gurgle happily. This was what he lived for, the thing that drove him through every day, knowing he’d come back to his family when it was all over.
    He laid the girl back in her bed and climbed to the cramped upper storey of the house. The room was filled with a bed and a paillasse where the boy sat thoughtfully, staring at the slate in front of him, a stub of chalk clutched tight between his small fingers.
    â€˜What do you have to do?’
    â€˜Sums,’ James replied glumly, looking up. ‘It’s hard.’
    The deputy chuckled and ruffled the lad’s hair. ‘It’s worth knowing,’ he said. ‘Remember, if you know how to count properly no bugger can cheat you.’ He’d talked to his son’s teacher at the charity school and knew he was learning quickly, already able to read and write spidery letters.
    The boy’s blue coat hung neatly from a peg. Each afternoon, when James came home, Lizzie sponged it carefully. It was
too large but that was good; it would need to last a few years before they’d be able to afford a new one. The first morning he’d walked the boy to school and seen him vanish into the place he’d thought his heart would burst from pride.
    â€˜Sleep as soon as you’ve finished.’ He tried to kiss the lad but James wriggled away, never taking his eyes from the numbers in front of him, then scribbling an answer. ‘You hear me?’
    â€˜Yes, Da.’
    He settled by the fire, letting the warmth surround him. Isabell had fallen asleep and he pulled the blanket up around her chin. Lizzie had cut bread and cheese and poured a mug of ale. He drank slowly, gazing into the flames.
    â€˜Bad?’ she asked. He nodded in reply. He’d knew she’d have heard; the word would have flown around Leeds.
    â€˜Very,’ he said with a weary sigh. ‘It made me think about our two.’
    Lizzie reached out and took his hand. ‘You can’t look after all of them, you know.’
    â€˜We don’t even know their names,’ he told her bleakly. ‘Let alone who did it.’
    She squeezed his fingers gently. ‘You’ll find him, John Sedgwick.’
    He hoped that was true.
    Rob made the rounds with two of the men then headed out along the Aire to the camp. He’d gone to his lodgings for the greatcoat and was glad of it now; with night the sky had cleared, stars shining and the air stinging against his face.
    The clock on the Parish Church had struck nine by the time Rob walked along the riverbank. Small fires burned in the darkness, figures in silhouette gathered around them.
    There’d be a thick frost tonight, he thought; already the grass crunched beneath his boots and the earth felt hard and rutted. He looked up to see a woman standing in front of him, her arms folded.
    â€˜Evening, Mr Lister,’ she said, her voice wary. ‘What brings you this way? We’ve not seen you for a while.’ Her face broke into a small grin. ‘I was starting to think maybe you didn’t love us any more.’
    He chuckled. ‘Hello, Bessie. It’s good to see you, too.’
    â€˜Must be summat important to bring you down this way.’
    â€˜I’m looking for information.’
    For much of the year the strays and waifs of the riverbank gathered here every night. Being together