The Black Country tms-2 Read online

  He looked down and began the short slide back to the ground. He heard a shrill whistling sound from somewhere nearby, but before he could raise his head to look for the source of the noise, a hole the size of a sixpence coin materialized above his left eye. Almost at the same instant, another, larger, hole appeared below his right ear and a.45 caliber bullet deposited a thimbleful of his brains in the bark of the tree beside him. He grunted once before dying.

  Constable Grimes’s body tumbled four feet down the side of the tree and landed in a heap under the thorny bushes beside the trail. His dark blue uniform rendered him nearly invisible in the icy darkness of the thicket.

  His lifeless fingers opened and the lavender ribbon floated away, curling in the breeze. It snagged for just a second on a thorn, but twisted loose. It drifted up through the trees and out of the woods and across the long barren fields toward the village.

  26

  N ine hundred yards away, the American lowered his Whitworth rifle.

  The policeman was Calvin Campbell’s friend and that was the only reason he had died. The American had seen them together the night before and had decided to make the game more interesting by killing Campbell’s friends first. It seemed somehow fitting, given their history.

  From his vantage point high up in a tree, he had tracked the policeman’s clumsy movements through the woods. The American had taken his time unsnapping his gun bag and quietly pulling out the rifle, all the while watching the policeman move closer. He had pulled out the Whitworth and flipped up the sight, carefully loaded the rifle with one of the unique hexagonal bullets the model was known for. The shape of the bullet was slim and elegant, and when it rocketed through the air, it whistled, giving a split-second warning to anyone within range. The American liked it that his rifle whistled. It made the game seem a little more fair somehow. He had rested the rifle’s thirty-three-inch barrel in a fork of the tree. There was a slight breeze, cold and from the north. He had adjusted for the wind and waited for the policeman to walk into range.

  Then the policeman had climbed up a tree and made the job even easier.

  Now the American flipped the sight back down and stowed the rifle back in his bag, snapped it shut, and slung it over his shoulder. He climbed easily back to the ground and made his way up the path, back toward the abandoned schoolhouse on the edge of the village.

  Without realizing he was doing it, the American began to whistle through his teeth as he walked along.

  27

  How are you?” Claire said. “Really?”

  “Happy to see you,” Day said.

  The door to his room was open, and Day sat on the wooden chair next to it. Claire reclined on the bed. Her feet hurt, and Kingsley had advised her to lie down. Fiona Kingsley paced nervously in the hallway, just out of sight, but not out of earshot. She took her responsibilities as governess and watchdog seriously. Day longed for even a few minutes completely alone with his wife, but he was content enough to take what he could get.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Claire said. “I couldn’t stop myself from getting on the train, but feel silly about it now. I’m keeping you from your work.”

  “I’m still happy to see you.”

  Claire smiled.

  “Is he behaving himself?” Day said. He regarded Claire’s swollen belly with a mixture of suspicion and anticipation.

  “He?”

  “I assume that’s a son.”

  “Is that so?”

  “What else could it be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It seems to me there might be another possibility, but it escapes me.”

  “You may want to consult with Dr Kingsley about that. You have some strange ideas.”

  “You know, now I’m going to make sure this is a little girl.”

  Day grinned at her and looked down at his folded hands, beyond them at the toes of his shiny shoes. He genuinely didn’t care whether the baby was a boy or a girl. The possibilities were equally terrifying.

  Claire put a hand on her husband’s chest, reading his mood, but misunderstanding its cause. “You’ll find that lost little boy,” she said. “And his parents. I know you will.”

  Day tried a smile. “I appreciate your faith, but I’m not so sure.”

  “I am. I’m certain they’re somewhere warm and safe, waiting to be found.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Oh,” Claire said. “I made something for you.” She maneuvered through the pregnant woman version of jumping out of bed: swinging her feet around and placing them solidly on the floor, jacking herself upright, and pushing off the wall behind her. Day stood and took her elbow, helped her to her feet. He was amazed by how ready she was to bring another Day into the world. At any moment, their tiny family would be increased by half again.

  Or, according to the sobering statistics that Kingsley had privately shared with him, there was a very good chance that Claire, or the baby, or both, would die in childbirth and Day would become a family of one. He shuddered and smiled at his wife and blinked hard, forcing the thought to disappear. Only it didn’t completely go away. It never did. It had lived with him for six months.

  Claire crossed the room, heavy and graceless and, Day thought, breathtakingly beautiful. She fetched her bag from the floor of the wardrobe where he had placed it and rummaged through it.

  “Aha!” she said. She unraveled from the top of the bag what appeared to be a long skein of the winter sky, grey and bristling. She took the ashen coil and looped it around his neck. He immediately began to itch and resisted the urge to scratch himself. “It’s a muffler,” she said. “I made it for you myself. Do you like it?”

  He gripped the end of it and hauled it up to his face. It was really nothing more than a tube of some low-grade yarn, rough and charmless. Claire was still learning to be a homemaker after a lifetime of privilege, and Day was overwhelmed that she had tried so hard to make something for him, even something as wretched as this shapeless grey thing that was now making his neck itch so badly that it burned.

  He wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he dared, as tightly as her belly would allow him, and spoke into her hair, smelling of lavender and apples, sweat and Blackhampton ashes. “I love it so much.”

  The baby bird, invisible in its box on the vanity, woke up and chirped, and a deep voice floated in from the hallway: “I hear a bird.”

  Day let go of Claire and took a step back. He looked at the door, but didn’t see the owner of the voice.

  “Henry?” Day said.

  Henry Mayhew peered into the room, a floating head, the rest of him out of sight behind the doorjamb. “The doctor sent me, only I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s all right, Henry. Come in.”

  The bashful giant shuffled into the room. “The boy with the broken leg said the next train’s coming and the doctor says you have to get on it and go to Manchester, Mrs Claire.”

  “Broken leg?” Claire said. “I don’t think Freddy’s leg is broken, Henry. I think he was born that way.”

  Day stole an anxious look at Claire’s middle, as if he might be able to see inside and make sure their unborn baby was whole and healthy. “How much time do we have, Henry?”

  “No time, Mr Day.”

  “Then we’d best get you on your way, my dear,” Day said.

  The bird peeped again, and Henry went to the vanity and stared down into the straw-filled box. “It’s little,” he said.

  “It’s a baby,” Day said. “I found him in the woods last night and I haven’t decided what to do with him yet. He’s an agreeable chap, but he demands a lot of me.”

  “You should show him to Dr Kingsley right away,” Henry said. “He could help.”

  “You’re probably right. I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  “If you’d like.”

  Henry nodded, taking the new responsibility seriously. He lifted the box and whispered an answering chirp at the little b
ird.

  “Actually, Henry,” Day said, “if it wouldn’t be too much to ask, could you watch him for me?”

  “Oh, not me, sir. I’m not good at things.”

  “I think that’s a marvelous idea,” Claire said.

  “I’m quite busy here,” Day said. “You’d be doing me a tremendous favor.”

  “I’ll try.” Henry looked frightened. “Is he hungry maybe?”

  “Oh, Henry, he’s always hungry.”

  “I’ll get him food.”

  “He likes bread crumbs soaked in warm milk.”

  Henry’s frightened expression was replaced by one of sheer panic, and Day laughed despite himself.

  “I believe Mr Rose has a good supply of those things.”

  “Oh, good,” Henry said. “Because I don’t have them.”

  “Go ask him. We’ll be right down.”

  Henry nodded and rushed out of the room. They listened to him clattering along the hall and down the stairs. Day picked up Claire’s bag, and his smile wavered as he motioned her toward the open door. She touched his cheek as she passed him. Fiona was still waiting in the hall and took Claire’s elbow to help her down the stairs. Day took another look at his room, now lifeless and empty.

  He blew out the lantern and followed his wife and never returned to that room.

  28

  Kingsley 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.

  29

  They 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.