The Black Country (16 page)

K
ingsley gazed out across the fields at the hazy trees on the horizon. He thought he could hear something echoing across the ice. A low whistle. He strained to pinpoint it, but the breeze picked up and the sound dissipated, blown away like another errant snowflake.

“Father?”

Kingsley looked at Fiona and smiled. “Thought I heard something,” he said.

“I could stay and help you here. Mrs Day will be fine with her sister.”

Kingsley smiled again and glanced around at the others on the platform. Inspector Day was huddled with his wife, both of them whispering. Kingsley had seen many men afraid to touch their pregnant wives for fear they might break them, but the Days stayed in constant physical contact, reaching out to touch each other gently on their arms, their faces, their hair. The wind carried snatches of their conversation to Kingsley.

“It’ll only be a week or two,” Claire said.

“Two?”

“Never mind that. I’ll be back in London before the baby can come.”

“But I’ll be back in London tomorrow.”

“The storm might keep you.”

“What will I do while you’re in Manchester?”

The wind changed direction and their conversation was lost.

Across from them, Hammersmith sat on a long bench next to Henry Mayhew, the doctor’s assistant. From Kingsley’s vantage point, it looked like Henry was propping the sergeant up.

“I don’t know Mrs Day’s sister or her abilities,” Kingsley said. “I need you to watch over her.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll have Henry here to help me.”

Fiona frowned and looked away, toward the bench and Hammersmith. Kingsley’s smile turned sad and he shook his head. He knew why she wanted to stay. The girl was growing up entirely too fast. He would have to keep a close eye on his youngest daughter in the future.

Jessica Perkins, the village schoolteacher, stood on the periphery of the group. She carried Claire’s bag, but Kingsley didn’t fully understand why she had come along. There was something about her that impressed him. Perhaps she simply needed something to do. She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows in a question. He thought for a moment before calling her over. As Jessica approached, Fiona took a step back and fidgeted with the pad of paper she always carried. She stared at her feet and didn’t acknowledge the schoolteacher.

“Dr Kingsley,” Jessica said.

“Miss Perkins, I have something of a favor to ask of you, while we wait for the weather to do . . . what it is that weather does. You’re accompanying Sergeant Hammersmith to see the children, correct? The siblings of the missing boy?”

“I believe I am.”

From the corner of his eye, Kingsley saw Fiona bristle. He ignored her. “I was wondering if you would attempt an experiment for me.”

“An experiment? Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

“Not at all,” Kingsley said. “At least, I don’t think it ought to be.”

He was interrupted by the distant whistle of the approaching train.
That,
he thought,
must be why I heard whistling earlier.
He had only a few moments left in which to say good-bye to Fiona, and so he filled Jessica in on his plan as quickly as he could, trusting that she understood what he wanted to achieve.

T
hey both looked up when they heard the train’s whistle.

“All I have to do is hop onto the train as it pulls away and I could go with you,” Day said.

“Lovely as that sounds, there are people here who are depending on you,” Claire said. “You can’t abandon them.”

“But I could.”

“But you won’t.”

Day sighed and shook his head. “You’re not telling me the things I want to hear,” he said.

“True. I’m a terrible wife.”

“You’re no such thing.”

“You know, as easy as it would be for you to jump on the train and come with me, it might be even easier if I were to not get on the train in the first place. I could get a room at the inn here.”

Day looked up at the sky. He almost reached out to put a hand on his wife’s pregnant belly, but there were too many other people nearby. “No,” he said. “If Mr Rose is correct, there’s worse weather coming. You might be trapped here, and with the baby on its way . . .”

“I would be trapped here with my doctor.” Claire rolled her eyes in Kingsley’s direction. The doctor was at the far end of the platform, deep in discussion with the village’s schoolteacher.

“Also,” Day said, “and this is no small thing, there’s something very wrong going on here in Blackhampton. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if murder’s been done. Can’t have you near that.”

“As opposed to Manchester, you mean? Or London? That crime-free utopia?”

“I don’t even know what that word means. You’ve been reading too much.”

“What else do I have to do with my time?”

“Think about me.”

“I do that while I’m turning the pages of my books. For seconds at a time.”

Day chuckled.

“I wish you’d let me stay,” Claire said.

Day opened his mouth, but Claire put her hand up before he could speak. “I understand,” she said, “and I shan’t argue further.” She looked past him at the bench on the depot wall. “But I do think Nevil ought to go to London on the first train back. He looks a fright.”

Day turned and glanced at Hammersmith. “He’s as stubborn as they come. Even if I ordered him, he wouldn’t go.”

“Is there anything we can do for him?”

“The best we can do for him is to solve this case.”

Hammersmith saw them looking and smiled, but he looked tired and anxious. As they watched, he raised his hand and absently wiped his nose. A moment later, blood gushed forth with astonishing force, running down over the front of his overcoat. He seemed astonished and sat there, letting his nose bleed. Day leapt away from Claire, reaching for his handkerchief as he moved toward Hammersmith, but Kingsley beat him to the bench. The doctor laid Hammersmith on his back and produced a rag from his satchel. He pressed the cloth to Hammersmith’s nose and held it there.

“I’b fide,” Hammersmith said.

“You’re fine?” Kingsley said. “That seems to be your motto, Mr Hammersmith. And yet you are rarely fine. We must strengthen your grasp of the language so that you can more accurately communicate your state of being.”

“Jus’ a dosebleed.”

“Doctor,” Day said, “could this nosebleed have to do with the cold he’s caught?”

“In my experience, a cold doesn’t produce nosebleeds. But dry winter air certainly can. This weather isn’t helping him.”

“Perhaps you should return to London,” Day said. “I can carry on here. I have Constable Grimes to help.”

“An’ where is he?” Hammersmith said.

“I suspect he’s around somewhere, probably trying to prove he can do the job as well as we can. He’ll turn up.”

“I’ll be here whed he does.”

“You won’t do me much good if you collapse in your tracks, you know.”

“Neber happed.”

“Knowing you, it never will.”

Day felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned. Claire had come up behind him. She smiled. “Here,” she said. “This may come in handy.” She put her handkerchief in his hand. It was an old thing from before their wedding, and it had a monogram of her maiden name stitched in one corner:
CC
. Day made a mental note to buy her a new set of handkerchiefs.

“It will at least remind you of me,” Claire said.

“I hardly need a reminder. And I’ll be back home tomorrow evening. Missing you.”

Day smiled at her, but he was worried. He worried about his wife and he worried that he’d never get to the bottom of Blackhampton’s mysteries. It seemed an impossible task and not something he could finish by the following day’s train. Hammersmith was right. Day would need his sergeant if he was going to make it home. He needed all the help he could get.

T
he Price house was a boxy two-story dwelling butted up against the back of another row of railroad cars that had been converted into homes. One of the cars had sunken into an abandoned coal pit, half out of sight below ground, the other half sticking straight up into the air as if it had been caught in the act of diving down an unseen tunnel. The Price house was also sinking, but more slowly. The ground floor was partially underground and the front door had been modified to accommodate the steady descent. The doorway had been lengthened as far as it could possibly go, and the upper edge had been recapped. The door itself had been removed and reinstalled two feet higher than it had originally been. A narrow landing had been built just inside the front door, with a series of shallow steps leading down into the small parlor.

When the Prices’ housekeeper answered the bell, Jessica Perkins noticed that the door scraped against the ceiling. There was a shallow groove there in the shape of a crescent moon and a faint black smudge from years of contact with the top of the door. She had been to the house many times, escorting her students home, but now she was trying to see the place through Sergeant Hammersmith’s eyes, trying to imagine what he saw when he looked at Blackhampton.

Raising the doorway had only partially solved the problem of the sinking house. On the inside, the home seemed perfectly normal, but Jessica estimated that the top of the doorjamb was still well short of six feet high. Sergeant Hammersmith had to duck his head to enter the house and he stumbled on the inside landing. Jessica caught his elbow before he fell, and he smiled gratefully at her. She looked away to hide the sudden heat she felt creeping across her cheeks.

The housekeeper let them in and showed them to a set of faded but comfortable chairs, then left them so she could fetch the children. Hammersmith settled into his chair with a visible sigh, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Jessica saw that his hands were shaking, vibrating against the seat cushion.

The parlor was all that Jessica could see of the house. All that she had ever seen of the house. It was modestly furnished, but pleasant. Cheaply framed floral prints adorned the walls, which were painted a cheery yellow. The furniture was solidly constructed and simple. Built, she guessed, by a local carpenter at least a century before.

When the housekeeper returned, she was trailed by the three children. First came Anna, perhaps half a foot shorter than Jessica and ten years younger. She scowled at each of them in turn, her gaze lingering on Hammersmith perhaps a moment too long. Then came Virginia, a little girl wearing a yellow dress that matched the parlor’s walls, a purple ribbon in her hair. She was only five years old, too young for school. Jessica hardly knew her. Following the two girls was Peter. He had straight sand-colored hair and an open intelligent expression. He nodded a greeting at his teacher and leaned against the wall next to the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

“Is he all right?” The housekeeper pointed at Hammersmith.

“He’s dying,” Anna said. “There was an omen.”

“He’s not dying,” Jessica said. “He’s sick, is all, just like half the village.”

“I’m not dying.” Hammersmith stood, his hands folded in front of him, and smiled at the three children. With a bow, the housekeeper faded into the shadows of the hallway. Jessica could see nothing of her except her starched white collar and the toes of her white shoes.

“Good morning,” Hammersmith said. “Some of you know me already. Hello, Anna. Hello, Peter. And hello, Virginia. We haven’t met yet. My name is Sergeant Hammersmith. You may call me Nevil, if you’d like. I’m visiting you from London and I’d like to talk for a bit, if you wouldn’t mind terribly.”

Jessica could see that he wasn’t comfortable talking to children. From the look that passed between Peter and Anna, they could see it, too. She decided she might have to take over the conversation if it began to turn.

Anna curtseyed, but said nothing. And, like her sister, Virginia curtseyed. She gave Hammersmith a big smile and bobbed her head, her blond curls bouncing against her apple cheeks. “I am very pleased to meet you, sir,” she said. Jessica covered her mouth and stifled a laugh. There was something entirely too studied about the little girl’s mannerisms. Jessica had only met the youngest Price girl a handful of times, but here and now, she seemed like a miniature adult.

Hammersmith inclined his head toward her. “I’m happy to meet you, young lady. I’d like to talk to you about your family.” Clearly exhausted by the effort of standing, he sat back down and closed his eyes. Jessica popped up and felt his forehead. It was a furnace. She imagined his brain was cooking inside his skull.

She put her lips next to his ear and whispered, “Perhaps we should return another time.”

Hammersmith waved a weak hand at her. “This is fine,” he said. “I only need a moment.”

Jessica decided to minimize Hammersmith’s effort. She turned to the little girl. “Virginia, do you know how long your brother’s been missing?”

“Weeks, I think.”

“No, a few days, at most.”

“Oh, well, it seems like weeks, doesn’t it?”

“Did you see your brother on the day that he went missing?”

“But if I don’t know what day he went missing, how do I know whether I saw him?”

Jessica saw Peter shift in the doorway. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip that gleamed in the low light.

Hammersmith opened his eyes. “What were your parents doing the last time you saw them, Virginia?” he said.

“My father was kissing me on my forehead. He told me ‘Good night, my sweet princess,’ because he always calls me his princess.”

Anna looked away, and Jessica thought she heard a faint snort of derision from the older Price daughter.

“And your mother?” Hammersmith said. “Did your mother kiss you good night as well?”

The light went out of Virginia’s eyes and her expression hardened. The tendons stood out against the thin pale flesh of her throat, and her tiny hands balled up into fists. “My mother went away to the city a long time ago, sir,” she said.

“My apologies. I meant your stepmother, Hester. Did she kiss you good night?”

“Hester does not kiss me.”

“I see.”

“Hester will not be staying with us for very much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was lonely when my mother went away. Hester is only keeping him company for a short while. He told me so himself.”

“He did?”

“I never lie. Lying is for bad children and scoundrels.”

“I wonder,” Jessica said. “Would it be possible to get a glass of water?”

The housekeeper stepped out of the shadows. Jessica was reminded that Hester, the second Mrs Price, had once been a member of this same household staff. “Of course. I should have offered right away,” the housekeeper said. “It’s just that things have been a frightful mess.”

“Were you here the night the Prices went away?” Hammersmith said.

“Oh, no, sir. I’d gone ahead home. I ain’t a stay-in housekeeper. I’ve got a place up the road.”

“Did we pass it on the way in? Which is yours?”

“It’s one of the old rail cars, sir. The green one.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Jessica said. “That one’s quite pretty, I think.”

The housekeeper almost smiled and looked down at her toes. “Thank you much, ma’am. Green’s always been my favorite color.”

“Mine, too.”

“Thank you. I’ll be gettin’ your water now. One for the mister, too?”

“Yes, please. And for the children, too, would you?” Jessica said. “I imagine they’re thirsty.”

She watched the two older children, Peter and Anna. Both of them suddenly snapped to attention. They had been sulking, bored, while she and the housekeeper had talked about the green railroad car. Now they were bristling with nervous energy.

“No,” Peter said. “I mean, thank you, but we’re not thirsty.”

“Not at all,” Anna said.

“I’m a little bit thirsty,” Virginia said.

“Then have some milk,” Anna said.

“Okay,” Virginia said. “I will have some milk. Thank you, Sister.”

“I’ll be right back,” the housekeeper said.

“I’ll help you,” Jessica said. “You have a lot to carry and you appear to be alone here.”

The housekeeper led the way down a narrow back hall. She turned and gave Jessica a grateful smile. “Thank you, ma’am. There was never much of a staff to begin, but now none of ’em come round no more ’cept me. Their aunt’s supposed to be comin’ next week to take the children, but she couldn’t get away before and there’s no one else to watch after ’em. They got nobody left, ma’am, and I couldn’t leave ’em all alone up here, could I?”

“You’re a good person.”

The housekeeper beamed and hurried away down the hall. Eventually it opened into a small anteroom filled with pots and pans on hooks above a sideboard. Through another door was the kitchen, slightly bigger. On a long butcher block against the far wall, a pitcher of milk and a pitcher of water sat side by side. The housekeeper found three chipped glasses in a cupboard under the butcher block and poured water into two of the glasses. She filled the third glass with milk and reached for a silver tray in the same cupboard.

“Oh, I don’t think we need that, do we?” Jessica said. “We each have two hands.”

The housekeeper smiled again and nodded. Jessica quickly picked up the two water glasses, leaving the milk glass for the housekeeper, and led the way back through the two doorways and down the dark hall. She quickened her pace, trying to get well ahead of the housekeeper, and managed to make it back to the parlor first. She handed one of the water glasses to Virginia Price.

“Here you are,” she said. “A fresh glass of water.”

Virginia had just opened her mouth to speak when Peter rushed forward and grabbed the glass from her. “No,” he said. His voice was loud and shrill. “I mean, she asked for milk, not water, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did,” Jessica said. “My mistake.”

She took the water glass from him and stepped aside while the housekeeper handed the little girl her milk. Jessica turned and started to walk toward Hammersmith, who held his hand out for a glass. She put her left foot in front of her right and let it drag, tripping herself. She went down in a heap. Miraculously, one of the glasses landed on its bottom on the floor. Water splashed up and out, but the glass remained half-full. The other glass spun away and rested on its side against the baseboard across the room, a trail of water curled behind it in decreasing arcs. Jessica had planned her fall and tried to land gently, but there was a loud popping sound from somewhere in the vicinity of her hip and a flash of yellow behind her eyes. She found herself rolling about on the floor, sopping up the spilled water with her favorite dress. There was no graceful way to recover, and she was mortified when she discovered that she was being lifted up, firm hands beneath her arms, and she turned to see Hammersmith.

“Are you quite all right?” he said.

Jessica shook her head, unable to talk just yet. She had done the right thing, she was sure of it, but she had done it in the wrong manner and injured herself. She tested her weight on her right leg and it held her. It seemed she hadn’t done any permanent damage.

She snuck another peek at Hammersmith and saw that he was concerned. He was standing just on the other side of her, uncomfortable and useless. It embarrassed her to see how pale, sweating, and disheveled he was, and yet he was the one worried about her.

She took a deep shuddering breath and was surprised to find that the entire world seemed to shudder with her. She glanced at the upright water glass at her feet and saw that the liquid inside was vibrating. There was a screeching, rending noise that came from everywhere at once and echoed in her ears. The housekeeper grabbed little Virginia around the waist and pulled her to the side of the room, pinning her against the wall. The two older Price children moved to the wall nearest them and braced themselves. Jessica reached out toward Hammersmith, who seemed confused. They stood in the middle of the room as the house bucked and shook and seemed ready to come to pieces around them.