BooksBarbecue
Back The Dead of Winter Save as PDF

The Dead of Winter

Nicola Upson
Contents ( 46)
  1. The Dead of Winter
  2. MAP OF THE ISLAND
  3. MAP OF THE CASTLE
  4. CONTENTS
  5. CHRISTMAS DAY, 1920
  6. EIGHTEEN CHRISTMASES LATER
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. CHRISTMAS EVE
  15. 1
  16. 2
  17. 3
  18. 4
  19. 5
  20. 6
  21. 7
  22. 8
  23. 9
  24. 10
  25. 11
  26. CHRISTMAS DAY
  27. 1
  28. 2
  29. 3
  30. 4
  31. 5
  32. 6
  33. 7
  34. 8
  35. 9
  36. 10
  37. 11
  38. 12
  39. 13
  40. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  41. About the Author
  42. By the Same Author
  43. EXTRACT FROM DEAR LITTLE CORPSES
  44. 31 AUGUST 1939
  45. 1
  46. COPYRIGHT
Cover: The Dead of Winter by Nicola Upson

iii

The Dead of Winter

NICOLA UPSON

v

For all the readers, librarians and booksellers who love this series. Happy Christmas.

MAP OF THE ISLAND

ix

MAP OF THE CASTLE

xi

‘Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die?’

Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

CONTENTS

  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Map of the island
  4. Map of the castle
  5. Epigraph
  7. CHRISTMAS DAY, 1920
  9. EIGHTEEN CHRISTMASES LATER
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  18. CHRISTMAS EVE
  19. 1
  20. 2
  21. 3
  22. 4
  23. 5
  24. 6
  25. 7
  26. 8
  27. 9
  28. 10
  29. 11
  31. CHRISTMAS DAY
  32. 1
  33. 2
  34. 3
  35. 4
  36. 5
  37. 6
  38. 7
  39. 8
  40. 9
  41. 10
  42. 11
  43. 12
  44. 13
  46. Acknowledgements
  48. About the Author
  49. By the Same Author
  50. Extract from Dear Little Corpses
  51. Copyright

1

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1920

It was the day that stripped the joy from Christmas, or so he thought afterwards – everything a parody of what it should have been. The snow was dirty and trampled underfoot, the children frightened and cold, and even the robin – perched on a dustbin in the street – refused to sing, complicit in the horror that awaited him inside the house. And then there was her face, of course. For years to come, he would never be able to hear the carol that he was once so fond of without remembering the expression in her eyes, such a stark reminder of how little comfort and joy there really was in the world.

A crowd had already gathered outside by the time he arrived, a young detective sergeant, newly promoted and keen to make his mark. The house was in Notting Dale, a rookery of overcrowded streets and run-down buildings, and although the snow had covered some of the area’s shortcomings, it was still a wretched part of the city – one grim, monotonous row after another, untouched by any sort of spirit, seasonal or otherwise. He parked his car at the end of the street where Mollie Naylor and her children had lived, and walked over to the group of neighbours, all silently waiting for something to happen. Pushing his way through the onlookers, he could feel the hostility closing in on him, as cold on his face as the harsh December air. Somewhere over to his left, a man’s voice muttered a sarcastic happy Christmas.2

A uniformed constable stood by the front door, his face as white as a sheet, and Penrose guessed that he was the local bobby whose misfortune it had been to pass by. ‘Who found them?’ he asked, after the briefest of introductions.

‘The next-door neighbour, sir. His wife heard a bit of shouting last night, but she didn’t do anything about it because she was on her own with the baby, and anyway, she didn’t want to get involved. Then this morning there was no sign of the children. She couldn’t hear a peep out of them through the walls and she thought that was strange, bearing in mind the pandemonium going on in her own house. You know how kids are at Christmas.’ He stopped suddenly, as if he had said something inappropriate, and Penrose guessed that the tragedy of what lay upstairs had struck him again, more forcefully than ever. ‘Anyway, she sent her husband round to check. The back door was unlocked and he soon found them, although he says he didn’t go any further than the first room. I believe him, too. You wouldn’t, if you didn’t have to.’