At the Dying of the Year Read Online Free PDF Page B

gave them safety, somewhere to call home, if only for a few hours. Simon Gordonson had started the camp, but in the late summer he’d left, taking to the roads, and Bessie Sharp had assumed iron control. She was a hefty woman, almost as tall as Lister, with a fearsome gaze and a shrewd mind. Her curls were tucked under her cap, and she wore clothes others had cast off as if they were a queen’s robes. She looked after all the lost souls like they were her family, keeping them in line and protecting every one.
    â€˜It’s about them children, in’t it?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    She glanced at the faces gathered around the fires, pulling a worn shawl tighter around her shoulders. ‘There’s enough to look after here. Once winter comes proper I’ll have plenty to do keeping these alive.’ Bessie stared at him. ‘So what information are you looking for?’
    â€˜About the children. If any of them had lived here, maybe. If anyone might know a name or two.’
    She shook her head. ‘You know what it’s like here. Some folk stay a day or two then move on. What were they like?’
    He described the faces still lodged in his mind.
    â€˜I’ll ask,’ Bessie said. ‘But don’t hold your breath. Any bastard who’ll do that deserves more than the rope.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ If any of them knew anything, he knew she’d badger them until they told her. He brought a pie from the pocket of his coat and handed it to her. She accepted it as if it was her due, not charity.
    â€˜It won’t go far,’ Lister said apologetically, looking at the faces gathered around the flames. There were more than the night before, their faces all pinched and hungry in the flickering light. There were men with the vacant look of the lost, as if they were slowly walking towards death, mothers with young children clutched against their breasts, families in rags and tatters huddled together for the comfort as much as the warmth.
    â€˜It’ll feed a few. That’s a start, Mr Lister, that’s a start. You come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you if they know owt.’
    If he was fortunate there’d be a word or two of help from the camp, he thought as he took the steps by the bridge and began to walk up Briggate. Light shone through gaps in the shutters at the
Leeds Mercury
and for a moment he hesitated, tempted to go over there and try to make some peace with his father. But each time before it had ended in an argument; why would this be any different?
    He was almost at the jail when he heard someone running hard up the street. Hand on his cudgel, he waited. The man slowed as he came close, breath steaming wildly in the air.
    â€˜You the Constable’s man?’ he gasped. Lister nodded. ‘Fight down at the Crown and Fleece.’
    Rob hurried along Kirkgate, careful not to go too fast. It was always best to give them a little time, to let them hit each other for a while before he arrived. That way they had their pride from the fight, but most of them would be ready to end things. That’s what the deputy had taught him and he’d seen it was true. After a few minutes the fighters would have had their fill and their blood. But he still kept a tight hold on the cudgel, ready to break some heads.
    The Crown and Fleece was set back from the street, close to the Cloth Hall, at the back of a small yard. It was usually an orderly house, just a small inn, neatly kept, and with a clean stable for horses. Lister pushed at the door and walked in. One man lay on the floor, his eyes closed, and another was yelling at the recruiting sergeant who stood in a corner, the battle lust red on his face, heavy fists ready.
    â€˜Come on, then,’ he challenged the man in front of him, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘You were happy enough to take the King’s shilling earlier. You’re not going to back out now.’ He glanced at the man sprawled