The Black Country

by Alex Grecian

  “Well, there’s little I can do about it.”

  “You mystify me, Mr Hammersmith,” Day said.

  “Blackhampton mystifies me.”

  “Yes, that too.”

  “There are too many agendas at play here.”

  “It does seem that way,” Day said. “But Dr Kingsley will arrive sometime today and he’s not keen on wasting time. We’ve got the dress you found last night and the eyeball that the little girl found.”

  “Hopefully the doctor can tell us something more about one or the other.”

  “Or both, preferably. Meanwhile, I don’t feel as though we’ve made much headway in those woods.”

  “I really don’t see how we can unless we’ve got a hundred men, marching abreast.”

  “Neither do I. But I’m curious about the man I saw last night. What’s his role in all this? The hideous wound across your face reminds me of him.”

  Hammersmith touched his cheek again and winced.

  Day chuckled. “We must try to determine who that is out there,” he said. “That’s my suspect at the moment, though I’m not completely certain a crime’s been committed.”

  “I think the innkeeper knows something,” Hammersmith said. “Why else would he try to drug us?”

  “I think Calvin Campbell knows something, too. He locked us in our rooms last night.”

  Hammersmith raised an eyebrow. “He did what?”

  “He locked us both in our rooms. I let myself out and followed him.”

  “You let yourself out?”

  “Yes. I brought my keys. The special keys.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “No. I imagine he thought we were both sound asleep and would never know. He came back round and unlocked the doors just after dawn.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t have known. Where did he go? When you followed him?”

  “I’m afraid he disappeared.”

  “He knew you were there.”

  “I don’t think so. He tiptoed down the stairs, very quiet, very nervous. And he did come back and unlock our doors. Why do that if he knew I was already out?”

  “Should we question him directly?”

  “I think we’d better.”

  “It seems I missed a great deal while I slept,” Hammersmith said. “You should have come and got me.”

  “I tried, but you looked a bit rough.”

  “We have a lot to do.”

  “You snore, by the way.”

  Hammersmith frowned, but said nothing.

  Day chuckled. “To work, then. I’d like to find out which tunnels are no longer in use and see about putting together a crew of men to take a look down there.”

  “Why haven’t they done that already?”

  “I wondered that, too. In fact, they hardly seem to have looked for the missing family at all. Constable Grimes is the only man here who seems to care.”

  “Apparently half the village is sick, after all.”

  “True.”

  “But we also have an innkeeper who drugged us, presumably to keep us from going into the woods. Is it possible he didn’t want the dress found?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And we have the mysterious Mr Campbell, who locked us in our rooms for the night.”

  “We have a lot of questions to ask.”

  “A tour of the village would help, too.” Hammersmith grimaced. “There seems to be an endless number of places three people might hide. Or be hidden. The woods, still, of course. Then there are the tunnels, as you said, every house in this town, even the well.”

  “The schoolhouse doesn’t seem to be in use.”

  “Worth taking a look inside.”

  “And I want to get a look inside that church. When I was out and about, I didn’t see a rectory here.”

  “Ah, yes, the note from Mrs Brothwood. It’s the only clue we’ve got. And not much of one. We need more clues. We need to narrow down the field before we run out of time here. It’s hardly likely, but if we can solve this today, we may be able to get you back to your wife by tomorrow sometime.”

  “I still fear she’ll have the baby before I can return.”

  Hammersmith softly coughed. He wiped his mouth and tapped his head. “I have an idea.”

  “Does it involve getting out of this stuffy room?”

  “You read my mind.”

  “After you, Mr Hammersmith.”

  Hammersmith tugged his forelock and preceded Inspector Day to the staircase.

  24

  They could hear the distant chattering of voices as they came down the stairs, and when they reached the bottom step, the inn’s front door swung open and Freddy Higgins limped inside, followed closely by a cloud of swirling snowflakes. He turned and pushed the door shut against the wind. He seemed smaller and more pale than he had on the previous evening, but Day had never seen the boy off his carriage.

  “There they are,” Freddy said. “You almost missed ’em. Train’ll be leaving soon and the weather’s comin’ on thicker. Better get ’em to the depot, quick as I can, gentlemen.”

  “Missed who?” Day said. “What train?”

  “The London to Manchester. You nearly slep’ through, you did.” Freddy turned his head and coughed into the crook of his elbow. Day gave Hammersmith an exasperated look and turned to the empty common room, as if looking for an answer there. The lamps had been lit and the place was warm and cozy. The chattering of voices was slightly louder now, and Hammersmith walked toward the door at the far end of the room. Just as he reached it, the door opened and Claire Day stepped through. Without a word, she rushed to her husband and hugged him. Hammersmith looked away at the panes of colored glass in the wall above the bar.

  “How long have you been here?” Day said.

  “Not long at all,” Claire said. “And yet we must be off already. I’ve decided to visit my sister for a bit and let you work.”

  “You should have come upstairs.”

  “Well, I would have if you’d slept any longer. I almost didn’t get a chance to see you.”

  “But I wasn’t asleep. I was pressing clothes.”

  “Mr Rose said you didn’t get in until the sun was up.”

  “Very nearly. But apparently I can’t sleep when you’re so far from me. Didn’t he tell you I was up and about?”

  “He said you went back up.”

  “Let me have a look at you.”

  “I look the same as I did yesterday and the day before. Absolutely enormous.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Well, come on. We have to get back before the train leaves again, and the others are dying to see you.” She turned to Hammersmith. “You, too, Nevil.”

  “Lovely to see you, Mrs Day.”

  “They’re in the dining room.” She took Day’s hand and led him through the door at the back of the room, and Hammersmith followed them.

  “There they are,” Bennett Rose said. He was clearing breakfast plates from the big oaken table. “Caught up on your beauty sleep, have you, Mr Hammersmith?”

  Day ignored him and held the door open for Hammersmith, who didn’t appear to have heard the innkeeper. Claire pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh. Day swept his eyes over the other four people at the table.

  “Dr Kingsley,” he said. “You’re here, too? We weren’t expecting you until later in the day.”

  “Early train,” Kingsley said. “I’d like to get back tonight, if at all possible.”

  The doctor pushed his chair back and stood. He was a small man, lean and wiry, with a wild shock of prematurely grey hair. There was always something about his manner that suggested he was only ever there for a few short moments and everyone should make the best of it before his next appointment. There was a huge man sitting next to him who looked nervous about bei
ng there. Day nodded at him.

  “Henry,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  “Hello, sir,” Henry said.

  Henry Mayhew was Dr Kingsley’s assistant, a simple, good-natured man who had been living on the street until Inspector Day found work for him with the doctor.

  “And you’ve brought your daughter, too,” Day said. He shook the doctor’s hand and glanced at the young girl sitting next to him. “Good morning, Fiona.” Fiona was fifteen years old with long blond hair, a sharp fox’s face, and wide eyes that seemed to see everything at once. She paid not the slightest attention to Day, but stood up and hurried around the end of the table, making a beeline for Hammersmith.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “What’s happened to your face?”

  She reached out toward Hammersmith’s face, but pulled her hand back at the last minute, as if she might be burned by him.

  “I’m fine,” Hammersmith said. He glanced at Day, shrugged, and covered his cheek with his palm. “Is it really as bad as all that?”

  “Father,” Fiona said. “Do something.”

  Kingsley rubbed the side of his nose and reached for the satchel on the floor at his feet. He came around the table and nudged his daughter out of the way. He peered up at the wound on Hammersmith’s cheek and clucked his tongue.

  “It’s not deep. Just needs to be cleaned.” The doctor rummaged in his bag and found a vial of alcohol and a laundered rag. “You were right about his clothes, though, Fiona.”

  “My clothes?” Hammersmith said.

  “She insisted we stop in at your flat. We talked to your landlady there, Mrs Flanders, and she sent along a fresh shirt for you.”

  “How could you possibly have known that I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothing?”

  “You tend not to look after yourself,” Fiona said. “You’re always too busy looking after others.”

  Hammersmith sucked in his breath as the alcohol-damp rag touched his cheek. Day smiled and looked away. He pulled out a chair and sat down between his wife and the schoolteacher.

  “Good morning, Miss Jessica,” he said.

  Jessica tore her eyes away from Hammersmith for just a moment before looking back at him while she talked to Day. “And good morning to you, Inspector. I trust you’re well rested.”

  “Surprisingly so,” he said. “Are there no classes today?”

  “The weather.”

  “It does seem a bit worse out there. But surely the snow will taper off soon. It’s a bit late in the season for a bad storm, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it really is,” she said. “But by the end of the day we’re sure to be completely snowed in. At least that’s what some of the villagers are saying. They’ve even shut the seam down.”

  “How could they possibly know what the weather will do?”

  “Mr Rose says a dead black stork was found in the center of town this morning. Means a bad storm’s on its way.”

  “I never saw—” Day said.

  “Tut,” Kingsley said. He pulled the rag back from Hammersmith’s face and pursed his lips. “What rot.”

  “I’m sorry?” Bennett Rose said. The innkeeper had been quietly busy in a corner of the room, polishing flatware, but now he turned and fixed Kingsley with a steely gaze. “I’ll ask you to be respectful while you’re in my place.”

  “I don’t understand.” Kingsley stood holding the rag, a look of genuine confusion creasing his face. Day could smell the sharp tang of alcohol from halfway across the room.

  “Mr Rose takes a bit of getting used to,” Hammersmith said.

  “Our customs are important to us,” Rose said. “Sometimes the customs of a place is what binds people together. It’s not somethin’ to jest about.”

  “I assure you, there was no jest intended.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Your superstitions have no basis in fact or reason. They mean nothing and should not come into consideration when discussing any provable thing,” Kingsley said. “But I meant no jest.”

  “Well, you’re . . . you . . .” The innkeeper’s face gradually assumed the color of his name, a deep pink hue blossoming from somewhere beneath his collar and moving rapidly across his fleshy face. He sputtered, but was unable to form a complete sentence. He pointed a thick finger at Kingsley, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room.

  Kingsley blinked hard and scratched his nose with the same hand that held the rag. He gasped at the concentrated odor of the alcohol and dropped the rag back into his satchel. “I’m sure I don’t know what came over him,” he said.

  “The people here are quite keen on their beliefs, Doctor,” Jessica said. “I have found that superstitions are often to blame when people intuit information from their surroundings. That doesn’t make the information wrong.”

  Kingsley smiled. “Then please tender my apologies. You are a most perceptive young woman. Meanwhile, I’ve made your face as presentable as possible, Mr Hammersmith.”

  “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll change my shirt.”

  Hammersmith took the clean white shirt from Fiona and went to the stairs and up. When he had ascended out of view, they all heard him cough once, loudly. There was a moment of silence, and then the echoes of a fresh coughing fit bounced down the stairwell at them. Day rose halfway from his chair, alarmed that Hammersmith might fall back down the stairs, but the coughing sounds retreated down the upstairs hallway and were shut off by the quiet click of a bedroom door closing.

  “He must have been saving that up the entire time you were working on him, Doctor,” Claire said.

  “I’m glad he didn’t let it go in my face.”

  “He sounds dreadful,” Fiona said. “Has he caught cold here?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Day said.

  “You must take care of him, Father.”

  “A cold will pass without any help from me,” Kingsley said. “But he must rest.”

  “There’s not much chance of getting Nevil to rest,” Day said.

  “No,” Fiona said. “He’s very dedicated.”

  “There are a lot of people here who’ve come down sick,” Miss Jessica said. “It’s possible he’s got what they have.”

  “Surely not,” Day said. “We’ve been here one night.”

  “What’s the village sick with?” Kingsley said.

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “It would be odd for him to have caught it so quickly, but I ought to talk with your doctor as soon as possible.”

  “I could take you.”

  “Actually, it would be helpful if you could first arrange a visit with the Price children,” Day said. “The remaining Price children, that is. They trust you.”

  “But didn’t the sergeant talk to them last evening?”

  “All but one.”

  “Oh, you mean Virginia,” Jessica said. “The youngest of them. But surely she’s not important.”

  “She may have seen something useful,” Day said. “Children often place importance on different things than we do.”

  “If you think it might be worthwhile, I would be happy to take you to her,” Jessica said. “But we should hurry. This storm is only going to get worse.”

  Day opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Hammersmith appeared on the landing, looking considerably more dignified in a fresh shirt. He was carrying a small fabric-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm. His face was pale and he was sweating, beads of dew glistening on his upper lip and across his brow. Kingsley crossed the room and laid the back of his hand against the sergeant’s damp forehead.

  “Fiona, bring me a thermometer,” he said.

  Hammersmith waved him away. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  Fiona rummaged through the satchel
and produced a mercury thermometer, which she handed to her father. But Hammersmith clamped his lips shut. Day suppressed a chuckle as he watched Kingsley try to forcibly insert the thermometer past Hammersmith’s gritted teeth. Kingsley gave up and handed the thin tube of glass back to Fiona.

  “There are other places I could insert this, you know,” he said.

  But Fiona was already putting the thermometer back in the bag, so it was an empty threat. Hammersmith risked opening his mouth.

  “I’m just a bit worn out from spending a night in the woods,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  Kingsley clucked his tongue. “Nonsense. You must rest. I order you back to bed.”

  Hammersmith shook his head, and Kingsley scowled at him. Day had been right: The sergeant would never voluntarily neglect his duty. If he was conscious and capable of walking, he would work.

  “I’m afraid Sergeant Hammersmith is too valuable to me, Doctor,” Day said. “There’s only the two of us, and we must solve this case before we return to London tomorrow.”

  Hammersmith gave Day a grateful look. Day smiled back at him. Better to give Hammersmith a task that wasn’t strenuous than to fight him and allow him to go off on his own. Besides, stubbornness wasn’t the worst trait for a policeman.

  “Doctor, I brought these down for you to see,” Hammersmith said. He held out the bundle and laid it on the edge of the table. Day recognized the fabric. It was the runner from under the washbasin on his vanity. Hammersmith carefully rolled the cloth out and caught the bloody dress and the small box in his other hand.

  “Evidence?” Kingsley said.

  “We think so.”

  Kingsley opened the box and stared at the shriveled eyeball inside. He nodded and closed the box, set it on the table, and picked up the dress. He unfolded it on his palm, the sleeves and the hem hanging down off the ends of his fingers.

  “Blood.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “It does look like it. I’ll have to test it.”

  “Did you bring the proper equipment?” Day said.

  Kingsley made a face at him.

  “Yes, of course you did,” Day said. The doctor was always prepared.

  “I’ll need a few hours. It’s mostly a matter of observing chemical reactions, but I’ll want to be sure.”