by Alex Grecian
And then he died.
68
They took the carriage apart.
Day used the shovel to break the axles, took off the uprights, and reduced the bed of the thing to about half its previous size by smashing through the planks all along its length. Hammersmith helped, as much as he could, but had to stop frequently to rest.
After Day took the rifle away from Peter (he gave it up without protest), the boy gentled the horse who had been frightened by the gunshot, while Day lashed the wide litter, all that remained of the carriage, to its harness.
Day left the boy and the horse to care for each other and he cut Sutton Price down from the ceiling. He had trouble loosening the rope, which had buried itself deep in Price’s flesh and had dislocated his skull, but he managed to cut it away with minimal additional damage to the corpse. He covered Price with the remnants of Day’s own ragged overcoat.
He and Hammersmith dug up the two graves.
The dirt that covered the fresh grave was easier to dig through, and they found little Virginia’s body quickly. Her lips were blue and her head lolled on its broken spine. Her hair and dress were streaked with dirt, and they both recognized a kinship between the tiny ruined gown she wore and the blood-spattered dress Hammersmith had found in the woods, but neither of them spoke as they carried her to the modified bed of the carriage and laid her there next to her father. Day did his best to distract Peter from the sight of his sister, but the boy saw her body and didn’t react. He looked away and turned his attention back to the horse, petting its muzzle. His lack of reaction bothered Day, but he had no idea what to do about it. Perhaps, given enough time, Peter would grieve and heal.
Gravity had worked its magic on the soil of the second grave and it was harder going. Hammersmith’s legs finally gave out—Day marveled at the fact that the sergeant had stayed on his feet as long as he had—and he sat down to rest. Day removed his jacket and dug, slow and steady, and eventually began finding bones, scattered through the dirt three or four feet down. There was a dress, well-preserved and nearly intact, and a cloud of light brown hair. Day used pieces of the carriage’s bench and leftover nails from its bed and fashioned a crude box that he used to collect the pieces of Mathilda Price, Sutton’s first wife. All the pieces he could find.
He lashed the three bodies—Virginia, Sutton, and the unnamed American—and the box of Mathilda’s bones to the homemade litter and hitched the horse to it. He put Peter on the horse, made him lay forward and hug its neck so that he wouldn’t scrape the low ceiling of the tunnel, and he led them away from that dark chamber. Hammersmith trudged behind, and they made slow progress.
After a long while, they came to the mouth of the mine.
Peter finally began to cry when they left the horse and the bodies behind and climbed up into the evening light. Day held the boy tight against him, half carried him through the high drifts.
The snow had stopped falling and the wind had stopped blowing. A sliver of pale moon showed through a seam in the colorless sky.
Day uncorked his flask and took a long draught from it. Far in the distance he heard the low whistle of the train from London.
EPILOGUE
The train was warm and largely devoid of passengers, and so Inspector Day had commandeered it. The tracks didn’t appear to have been affected by the tremors of the previous night, but the engineer was taking his time examining them and the train sat quiet and ready. Dr Kingsley announced his preference for a sleeping car for the children and for Sergeant Hammersmith, but there wasn’t one, so he made do, temporarily curling Peter and Anna up across from each other on the long seats of one compartment, where they fell instantly asleep. Extra cushions were brought and another compartment was made up like a sultan’s seraglio, pads and pillows covering the floor and the seats. Hammersmith was swallowed up by the space, but once he settled in, he looked almost comically comfortable, and Day realized he had never seen Hammersmith at ease.
Day ushered everyone out of the sergeant’s opulent train compartment, enduring Dr Kingsley’s scowl of disapproval and his admonishment: “He needs rest.” Day cleared off a small portion of the edge of one seat and perched there. He uncorked his flask and swirled the amber liquid in the bottom of it, frowning. He took a sip. Hammersmith blinked up at him from his well-lined nest.
“The doctor’s given me something,” Hammersmith said. “I’m having trouble staying awake.”
“Drugged, yet again,” Day said.
“I do seem to have a knack for it.”
“You’ve earned some rest, Nevil. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I am?”
“Well, that owl did land on your chair.” Day smiled and winked.
“Nobody died. At least, nobody who was in that room when the owl flew in. That disproves the superstition, doesn’t it?”
“Bennett Rose died. He was there. And it’s true you were sitting on that chair, but it belonged to him. The owl actually landed on Rose’s chair.”
“I say we should call that a coincidence. Anyway, there’s still work to do. The bodies we left in the tunnel. That poor horse.”
“They’ve been tended to.”
“When?”
“You weren’t entirely conscious, I’m afraid. The village men pulled together. Watching them bring up that horse was something to see.”
“Was Constable Grimes there? I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Funny,” Day said. “I thought he was with you. I suppose he’ll turn up.”
“What will we do with the children?”
“I’ve spoken with Jessica Perkins. She’s going to assume responsibility for Peter and Anna when they finally wake up. We’ll find a way to make it official. By the way, Jessica asked me to tell you good-bye. She seems rather smitten with you.”
“She is? I hadn’t noticed.”
Day shook his head. “You’re blind, Nevil.”
“But shouldn’t we arrest them? The children, I mean.”
“Neither of them killed anyone.”
“But they helped hide Oliver’s body in the well, didn’t they?”
Day sighed. “Peter has had a hard time of it. Both the children have. He finally broke down and told it all. Virginia Price led Oliver to the woods and stabbed him to death after first practicing on a pig. I can’t imagine anything more horrible than that. I have no idea what seeing such a thing would do to the fragile mind of a child. Peter and Anna were protecting their only remaining sibling, and I don’t think I’d feel awfully good about myself if I consigned them to prison or to a London orphanage.”
“I suppose not,” Hammersmith said. “You know, while he was hanging there, Sutton Price told me that he was responsible.”
“Did he say . . . Do you think it’s possible that Virginia saw him kill his first wife, Mathilda? That she learned her behavior from her father?”
“Place the ultimate responsibility on him, after all?”
“He did claim it,” Day said.
“If only Hester Price had cared for her stepchildren. So much might have been avoided.”
“I believe the only person she cared for was Calvin Campbell.”
“And little Oliver, of course,” Hammersmith said. “She stayed in Blackhampton, waiting for Campbell to find her baby. Do you suppose they really thought they could run away together? As a family?”
“That’s what Campbell says. True love, he says.”
“Will he stay now? The village will have to be rebuilt.”
Day shook his head. “He’s already gone. He disappeared from the depot after we brought Hester’s body out. Took the horse, so I suppose I ought to arrest him for that if we ever see him again. When poor Freddy recovers, he’ll miss that horse.” He stared out the window as if he might be able to see the row of bodies—Hester Price and her husband, and Virginia Price, and the mysterious Amer
ican—laid out in the snow by the ruined outbuilding, but they were on the other side of the train.
Bennett Rose and the tiny body of Oliver Price had been destroyed in the fire at the inn. Day supposed their remains might eventually be found once the site cooled off enough that the village could rake the ashes.
Hammersmith began to softly snore. Day drank the last of the brandy in his flask, corked it, and put it away. He covered his sergeant with a blanket. He left the compartment as quietly as he could and slid the door shut along its well-oiled track. Kingsley was waiting for him in the hall. Day held a finger to his lips and led the doctor a few feet away.
“He’s sound asleep,” Day said.
“He ought to be,” Kingsley said. “I gave him a little something to help with that. The man fights against sleep.”
“He does prefer to get things done.”
“Yes. You should get this train moving, get him back to his own flat and let him rest for the next few days.”
“You make it sound as if you won’t be going with us.”
“I won’t be. They need me here. Half the village is sick, and the other half is underground. There are injuries to tend to.”
“But what of Claire?” Day was alarmed. “She’s due to give birth soon.”
Kingsley chuckled. “She’ll have that baby whether I’m there or not, but don’t worry. She’s got plenty of time yet, and I’ll be back in London by early next week. I might even get there before she returns from her sister’s.”
Day took a deep breath and shook his head. “I do wish you’d reconsider.”
“I’ll leave Blackhampton as soon as their doctor is back on his feet. I want to show him a few things about proper medicine. He’s still using leeches. Probably boils potions in a cauldron. He needs a bit of training.”
Day smiled, despite his worry. Kingsley laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kingsley said.
“Of course. I never drank the water here.”
“I meant . . . Whoever that deformed American fellow was, you’ll have to live with the fact that you killed him. That’s not always an easy thing.”
“I had no choice.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Day looked away from Kingsley’s probing gaze. He wasn’t comfortable with deception, but now that he had committed to the lie, he intended to stick to it. He wouldn’t be blamed for the killing, and Peter Price had been through enough in a week. The boy didn’t need to be labeled a murderer on top of everything else. Day wanted him to have a chance at a good life.
He changed the subject. “What about Henry?” he said.
“He’s decided to stay on with me here for a bit.”
“But he seemed so anxious to get back home.”
“Well,” Kingsley said, “it’s entirely your fault for giving him that little magpie.”
“How is that?”
“Henry says the city is no place to raise a baby.”
• • •
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My agent, Seth Fishman, and my editor, Neil Nyren, for their guidance, patience, and good humor. Ivan Held and Marysue Rucci for showing that first crucial bit of faith in me and in this book. Claire Sullivan, Kate Ritchey, and everybody else who had to go through this and fix my most glaring mistakes. Alexis Welby, Kelly Welsh, Lauren Truskowski, Victoria Comella, and Kayleigh Clark for making me peek out of my shell a time or two. All the other wonderful people at Putnam and the Gernert Company.
My early readers and experts, who were gracious with their time and showed great kindness while tearing my prose to little bits: Roxane White, Alison Clayton, Melanie Worsley, Brandy Shillace, Whitney Lyn Kalin, and Arnold Hermansson, DDS.
The many booksellers and readers I have been fortunate enough to meet. I hope to see you again soon.
My father.
My wife and son, without whom there would be nothing important.
An exciting preview of Alex Grecian's new novel of Scotland Yard's Murder Squad THE DEVIL'S WORKSHOP
Chapter 1
Two men stood waiting beside three horses in the dark at the side of the railroad tracks. One of the men, the shorter one, moved nervously from foot to foot and blew into his cupped fists, despite the relative warmth of the spring night. The other man stood still and watched southward down the length of the rails.
They had arrived early and had to wait nearly a half hour before they first felt the track vibrate and began to hear a train in the distance, slowly moving closer. And then it was there, only a few yards away from them, huffing along, away from the city’s center. With a shriek of metal on metal, it braked in front of them and a stout man clambered down to greet them.
“Exitus probatur,” he said. The ends are justified.
“Ergo acta probantur,” said one of the waiting men. Therefore the means are justified.
The train’s enormous engine purred and grumbled behind them. An owl hooted. One of the horses snorted. The stout driver coughed and spoke to the other two in a low whisper.
“I’m having another thought about all this,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Is it empty?”
“What?”
“Is the train empty? Are you the only one on it?”
“Yes, of course. Just me and Willie.”
“Willie?”
“The fireman. He’s in there feeding coal on the fire.”
“We only brought one horse. We didn’t know there would be two of you.”
“It’s fine. We’ll ride together. But I’m trying to tell you we’ve been talking about it, Willie and me have, and we’ve changed our minds.”
“Bit late for that,” the short man said. “You’ve taken our money.”
“You can have it back.”
“You should do as you’re told.”
“I just don’t feel right about it. Willie neither.”
At last the taller man spoke. “The warders have been warned already and they’ve been paid to stay well away from the south wall. Nobody will be hurt except perhaps a prisoner or two.” He used the tip of his cane to point at the driver. “Is it the well-being of convicted murderers that concerns you? The fate of men who are already waiting for execution?”
“Well, no,” the stout man said. “I suppose not, but—”
“Such a man as that is no longer truly a man. His fate has been decided, no? This is what we say.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then we’re in agreement. You have ten minutes to convince Willie. Wait until we’ve got it sorted at the back of the train, and then get this thing moving again.”
Without giving the driver a chance to respond, the tall man led his companion down the rails to the last carriage, the guard’s van. He leaned down to peer at the coupling that held it in place. He looked up at the shorter man and smiled, his teeth glinting in the light of the moon. Then he knelt in the dirt and got to work. The other man ran up the line and began to work on another coupling there.
The train was fastened together with loose couplings, three heavy links of chain that allowed the individual carriages to get farther apart and then closer together as they moved, reacting to the speed of the train. The guard’s van was weighted to keep the back end of the train taut, stopping the last few carriages from breaking their couplings and flying off the track at every sharp curve.
The tall man unfastened the last coupling, freeing the empty guard’s van. The other man sawed halfway through a link in the coupling between two of the four rearmost cars. The birds and insects in the surrounding trees went silent at the sound of the saw as it voosh-vooshed its way through twisted iron. Weakening the link was probably unnecessary, but th
e men had agreed to take no chances. Their mission this night was the culmination of months of planning.
When the link was sufficiently damaged, the man stepped away and tossed the saw as far as he could into the trees. He rejoined his companion, and they walked together to the front of the train. The driver shook his head, but didn’t renew his argument. He climbed up into the engine and released the brake and the train began to roll forward. It picked up a little speed, the wheels rolling smoothly over the rails. A moment later, the driver hopped down again. He stumbled forward but caught himself before he fell. He was followed by a thinner man who landed awkwardly, fell forward and rolled into the grass, but stood and nodded to the others to let them know he was unharmed.
The four men stood beside the rails and watched as the driverless train chugged away from them, gaining speed as it disappeared into the darkness. A soft plume of black smoke drifted up across the moon and then dissolved.
The stout driver quietly accepted the reins of a mottled bay. He and his fireman, Willie, heaved themselves up, turned the horse around, and followed the two other men toward the city.
***
The locomotive rocked and bounced along the tracks, swaying from side to side and picking up speed as the last load of coal in its firebox burned away. The track approached the southwest corner of HM Prison Bridewell’s outer wall, then curved sharply to the east, but there was no driver to slow the engine and ease it around the bend. The train had accelerated to forty miles an hour by the time the prison hove into view and the engine slammed through the curve, dragging ten carriages behind it. The loose couplings between them contracted and then quickly stretched taut as the carriages moved forward and back to accommodate the sudden turn. Seven carriages from the front, the middle link in the chain snapped where it had been weakened. The back of the train tilted, then slammed down onto the rails. A forward wheel jumped the track and, unmoored and empty, the final three carriages left the rails and powered down the embankment toward the prison walls as the front half of the train continued through the curve and away.
