The Black Country tms-2

by Alex Grecian

  30

  The 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,” P
eter 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.

  31

  Inspector Day stopped at the telegraph office. He inquired within and found that there was a message waiting for him. The message was surprisingly long, and it took him some time to read it all. He read it again, folded the paper and slipped it into his breast pocket, then continued on his way.

  He suddenly had a lot to think about and so he took his time. The sky was still a uniform grey, no sun, and snow was falling faster, decreasing visibility to just a few feet ahead of him. But the cold breeze had died down and he left his overcoat open, enjoying the fresh air. The path wound along slightly uphill around slag heaps and old covered coal pits. His feet slipped from under him and he caught himself before falling. He slid forward, one foot, then another, making slow but steady progress. The town revealed itself to him a bit at a time through the snow. It looked much different in the grey daylight than it had in the predawn night, remote and ominous and unnaturally empty.

  He came around the familiar bend in the path and was struck anew by the beauty of the church. It was an immense building, constructed entirely of river rock and giant rough-hewn timber. There was no pretension on display; everything about it seemed functional, but a great deal of thought had gone into its structure and its preservation. Small iron-rimmed stained-glass windows ringed the high walls, and the shingled roof gave way to a clerestory that, in turn, gave way to a tall bell tower with a spire atop. The rock walls were stained with ash, and the building had obviously settled and sunk over time, its foundation cracked and repaired, but it had been kept up marvelously, the windows sparkling, the metalwork gleaming. The snow and fog wrapped it like a blanket, and the isolation he had felt walking through the rest of the village was different here, cozy and welcoming.

  There was a wide porch that swept across the entire width of the front wall, simple stone steps and a rock-capped rail. On the topmost stair, the giant bird-watcher Calvin Campbell sat waiting. He rose and took a step down toward Day.

  “How odd,” Day said. “I was only just reading about you.”

  “Were you?” Campbell said.

  “There’s much you haven’t seen fit to share with us.”

  “I’m not the sort to share.”

  “I think you ought to try anyway.”

  “I will, if you insist, but first there’s something I’d like to show you, if you’ve a moment,” Campbell said.

  “What’s that?” Day said.

  “Follow me.”

  Campbell walked toward the woods beyond the church and turned. He waited to see if the inspector would follow. Day hesitated. To follow this strange man into the frozen woods seemed like suicide, particularly given what he now knew about the supposed ornithologist. But detective work was about finding things, learning things, and Day had the bug. If there was something out there, he wanted to know it, needed to know it. Curiosity had killed the cat, but the cat had clearly been a detective. In the end, he’d really had no choice.

  But Day wasn’t stupid. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his Colt Navy. He showed it to Campbell and raised his eyebrows. Campbell nodded, message received. Day would go along, but Campbell had better watch his step. Without a word spoken, Campbell turned and walked past the tree line. Day followed along, the gun down at his side, held loose but ready.

  “Ow bist!”

  Day turned, his gun coming up without any conscious direction from him. A young man was racing toward them. The first thin trees, outliers of the woods, were between them, and visibility was low, but Day lowered his gun. As he drew near, the young man’s features came into focus and Day recognized Dr Denby. The doctor appeared to be out of breath and stopped a few feet away from Day. He put his h
ands on his knees and breathed hard. Day glanced back and saw that Campbell had stopped and was patiently waiting farther back in the trees.

  Denby held up a finger, then he coughed. He turned his head to the side and coughed again, a deep barking sound that came from somewhere deep inside and didn’t make it all the way out. His whole body spasmed, and Day thought he could see a fine red mist spray from the doctor’s lips. There was a long moment of silence, and Denby took a rattling breath and stood up straight. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and came toward Day with his hand out. Day moved the gun to his left hand and shook the offered hand.

  “Sorry. Saw you from the window,” Denby said. “Terribly sorry about all that.”

  “Are you quite all right?”

  Denby grinned sheepishly and pushed his hair back from his eyes. “Hazard of being a doctor, I suppose. The humors are always out of balance. But never fear, I recover quickly.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  The doctor looked over at Campbell, who was still waiting. “Mr Campbell. Good to see you, sir.”

  Campbell nodded, but said nothing.

  “I heard you’ve brought in another doctor,” Denby said. “Someone from London?”

  “We did.”

  “I hope I didn’t give the wrong impression last night. I’m completely at your disposal, you know, whatever you should find. Of course, I do hope the Prices are safe and well, but I’m available should the worst come to pass.”

  “Thank you. We mean no offense. We’d arranged for Dr Kingsley to join us here before we ever arrived ourselves. It was no reflection on you or your abilities. Perhaps the two of you could work together. You know the people here, after all.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Very wise of you, actually, bringing him along. My hands are rather full. We’ve lost another two people in the night to this illness.”

  “Lost them?”

  “They were older. It’s unfortunate, but their bodies couldn’t withstand treatment as well as some of my younger patients.”

  “What treatment is that? I don’t. .” Day was interrupted by a shuffling noise. He turned and nearly bumped into Calvin Campbell, who was standing directly behind him.