“Good job.”
“Thank you, sir.” Henry held out the box tentatively, with a pensive frown and a furrowed brow. “He’s yours, sir. You can take him back, if you want to.”
“I think he still needs you, Henry. Better leave him with you until he’s big enough to fly.”
Henry nodded, quite serious. “I’ll get him big enough.”
“I’m quite sure you will.”
“Let’s go, sir.”
“I suppose the train depot is as good a place to look as any.”
“Look for what?”
“For Hester Price and Calvin Campbell.”
“Oh, was I right? Are they leaving, too?”
“I think they might be. Given Hester’s frame of mind, I can’t think of anything that would be keeping her here anymore. She said as much, but I thought she might return here for her things.”
“She had things here?”
“Not really, no. She was living like a prisoner, waiting for her son to be found. And waiting to leave this place.”
“And she’s gone now?”
“On her way.”
“Then we’ll all go together.”
Henry led the way up the aisle and through the foyer. He pulled the doors open and took a moment to close the wooden box and stow it away beneath his enormous long overcoat. Day could still hear the bird chirping somewhere deep in the folds, but he imagined that it was warmer than he was and he wished that he was small enough to fit in a wooden box within a giant’s coat, ferried safely through any storm. He wished that he felt the way he had as a child, secure and trusting in the sound judgment of everyone larger than he. He knew that Oliver Price had felt that same thing and that the boy’s faith had been misplaced, and for a brief moment before plunging into the storm behind Henry Mayhew, Day wondered how any children ever made it to adulthood when they so blindly placed their trust in adults.
The moment his foot broke the thin icy surface of the church’s stoop, the earth beneath him rumbled and shook and he was thrown backward into the foyer.
He landed hard on his left shoulder and braced himself, both palms flat against the floor, waiting for the church to collapse around him. But the sound died and the shaking stopped and the calm of the snow resumed.
From somewhere behind him, back in the sanctuary, he heard the frightened cries of sick villagers and he wondered how far the church had sunk into the tunnels below, whether the priest hole was still intact, and what might have happened had he still been down there beneath the vicar’s room when the tremor struck.
Henry reappeared at the church doors, covered with white powder. He took a step into the foyer and held out his hand, helped Day to his feet, then stuck his hand into his coat and drew out the little wooden box. Day was touched by the anxiety on Henry’s face, the pure worry for his tiny charge. Henry opened the lid and peeked inside, and Day heard the bird chirp once. Henry smiled and closed the lid again and put the box away.
“Oliver’s all right,” he said.
“You named the bird Oliver?” Day said.
“I did, sir. I heard a lot of people saying that name since we came here, and I like the sound of it.”
Day smiled, but couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t impossibly complicated and unnecessary. The smile seemed like enough of a response.
“I think we’d better hurry, sir,” Henry said.
“Yes,” Day said. “I’m afraid Blackhampton is collapsing beneath us.” He moved past Henry and jumped into the snow and trudged away as fast as he could, Henry right behind him, sheltering the living bird that had been given a dead boy’s name.
54
Hammersmith waited until he was certain the inn had stopped trembling on its foundation before he released his grip on the banister. Across the room, Jessica was sunk deep in the cushions of an armchair before the fire. She had slept through the tremor. And the remaining members of the Price family at the inn had also withstood the tremor with little sign they had noticed it happening. They were, of course, much more used to their sinking village than Hammersmith was.
Sutton Price was holding his three children in a big loose hug as they spoke to him. Virginia leaned in close to her father, and Hammersmith read her lips as she whispered the words “I know a secret” in Sutton’s ear. The other two children tensed and began trying to distract their father, but Sutton calmed them and smiled indulgently at Virginia, who began to babble at him. Price had spent days separated from his children, but now he seemed utterly attached to them, listening carefully to his daughter. Hammersmith tried to read Virginia’s lips to make out what she was saying. He squinted and leaned forward, but the little girl’s long hair was in the way.
Peter and Anna Price broke away from their father and Virginia. They scurried over to Hammersmith as if by some prearranged agreement between them, took him by the hands, and began to lead him toward the dining room.
“I’m hungry,” Anna said. “Let’s find something to eat.”
Bennett Rose was there at his bar, polishing the surface with a dirty rag. He stopped scowling at Sutton Price long enough to scowl at Hammersmith instead.
“There’s your man,” Hammersmith said. “Why don’t you ask Mr Rose for a bite of something?”
“We want you to come,” Peter said.
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“We like you,” Anna said. “We’d like to spend more time with you.”
Hammersmith pulled away from them and stopped in front of Rose. “The children are hungry,” he said.
Rose nodded and left his rag where it was, wiped his hands on the legs of his trousers, and sulked through the door, headed toward the kitchen. Anna shook her head. “You come, too,” she said.
“I’d rather stay near your father.”
“It’s no good if you don’t come,” Peter said.
“I’ll be here when you’ve finished. Go with Mr Rose.”
“I’m not hungry, after all,” Anna said. “Let’s have a chat.”
“Yes,” Peter said. “Let’s have a chat.”
“I’m sorry, children. I’m a bit run-down at the moment. Perhaps we can talk later.” Hammersmith walked rapidly away from Peter and Anna, but he could hear them scurrying after him. They seemed terribly nervous.
As he drew near Sutton Price, he stopped, surprised by the expression on the miner’s face. Or rather, by the expressions, because Sutton’s features reflected a kaleidoscope of horror, shock, grief, pain, and anger. He picked up his youngest daughter by her shoulders and shook her. Her feet flopped back and forth almost comically, dancing in air. Hammersmith rushed forward, ignoring the two other children behind him.
At that moment, the floor shook again as another tremor hit the inn. Hammersmith was running, his head and shoulders too far out over his feet. There was no possibility of regaining his balance. He saw a flash of light as his jaw smacked hard into the planks of the floor.
He blinked hard and, just as his vision began to return, he saw Sutton Price, weirdly distorted, tall and out of perspective, stride confidently toward him, perfectly adapted by decades of experience with tremors, able to walk without a trace of difficulty. Price had Virginia by one arm, dragging her along after him. Hammersmith raised himself up as Price approached and opened his mouth to speak just as Price pulled back one steel-toed boot and kicked Hammersmith squarely in the forehead.
There was another flash of light, brighter than the first, and then there was darkness and, strangely, a sharp whiff of sulfur as the world shuddered away from him.
From far away, he heard Peter Price yell, “Father, no!” And then there was nothing.
55
Jessica woke with a start, and it took her a minute to get her bearings. She had heard Peter shouting, but associated his voice with a dream she had been having in which children were climbing up the walls and across the ceiling of the schoolroom, calling out to one another as they jockeyed to get into position above her head, planning to drop down on her like spiders. There had been a dark figure watching from the corner of the schoolroom, an evil man with a hideous face from a children’s rhyme. Despite the crackling fire in front of her, she was still shivering. She rubbed her goose-bumped arms and yawned.