The girl, Anna, woke up, sat in the snow, looked around at them all. She opened her mouth to speak, but Peter shushed her, watching Day’s face to see what he should do next. Day smiled at the boy and listened for another rifle shot.
But there was no other sound and the tremor stopped. Day nodded at Peter and the boy crawled over and hugged his sister. He helped her to her feet. Jessica pressed a hand against Henry’s chest, and he finally let her down. Day gave his lantern to Jessica, held out his hand to Kingsley, and pulled the doctor up. They stood, looking into the distance, seeing nothing.
“We need to get the children inside,” Kingsley said. “Someplace warm. Or, at least, out of this wind.”
“I still think the depot’s in this direction,” Day said. “We must be close.”
“I can see the fire there,” Kingsley said. He pointed to an orange glow on the horizon where the inn blazed away, still busy cremating the bodies of Oliver Price and Bennett Rose. “Which means you’re right, I think. If we just keep going. .”
“But there’s someone shooting out here.”
“Surely not at us.”
“Whoever they’re shooting at, it can’t be good for us. We don’t want to stumble across something. Not with the children.”
“We’ll be fine,” Anna said.
“You let us be the judge of that,” Kingsley said.
“No, thank you,” Anna said.
“Anna!” Peter said.
“We’ve done very well on our own, so far.”
“That may be,” Day said. “But we’re all in this together now and we need to rely on each other. You know this place much better than the doctor and I do. We’d very much appreciate your help in finding the train depot or we’ll freeze to death.”
Anna looked at Peter. He raised his eyebrows at her. Day worried that if the boy stood in the snow much longer, with nothing but gloves on his feet, he might lose his toes.
Anna sighed. “Very well,” she said. “I think it’s this way.” And she marched off into the night, expecting the rest of them to follow. They did.
Jessica caught up to Day and touched his arm. “You’re very good with children,” she said. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.
“Thank you,” Day said. “I’m expecting my first at any moment.”
“I know. You’ll do well, I think.”
He grinned at her. “I do hope so,” he said.
Then he fell into a chasm and disappeared from sight.
63
Hammersmith staggered through the tunnel, stopping every few feet to rest and to make sure he was still following the tracks in the dirt. He didn’t have a lantern, and so he had to strike a match every time he checked the ground under him. He had four matches left and was just beginning to worry when he saw a dim yellow glow coming from somewhere ahead. He put the matches away and leaned against the wall for a minute, waited for his vision to clear. The blow to the head had affected him more than he’d imagined it would. He’d assumed he’d shake off the effects and be fine, and maybe under other circumstances he would have, but since arriving in the village he had hardly eaten, he’d fallen ill, and had even been drugged. He was afraid the omen of the owl had been more than a silly superstition. That Blackhampton would kill him if he spent another day here.
He took a deep breath, pushed off the wall, and moved toward the light.
Four minutes later, he stepped into a large chamber dug out of the rock below the village. The space was lit by a lantern on the floor, and later he would have time to look around and would notice the bedroll, the shovel, the remains of the fire. And he would notice the two dirt-covered mounds against the far wall.
But when he entered the chamber, the first thing he noticed was Sutton Price, swinging by his neck from a wooden support beam that ran across the length of the cavern’s ceiling. A crate had been upended two feet away from Sutton’s feet, and it was instantly clear that Price had thrown the rope over the beam, tied his knot and stood on the crate, then kicked off and swung free. Sutton’s feet were still moving, kicking sullenly at the air beneath him.
Hammersmith hurtled across the chamber to the hanged man and grabbed his legs, hoisted him up, creating slack in the rope above. Sutton Price thrashed like a fish in the bottom of a boat, and his voice rasped down at the sergeant. “Keh. . Kawh. .” A broken bird.
“No,” Hammersmith said. He gasped and held on tight to Price’s struggling legs. “Stop fighting me.”
Price laughed. The sound forced up through the swollen furnace of his throat, burning the air. “Glad. . glad you’re here. Hear my confession. Last confession.”
Hammersmith stretched out his right leg, angled his foot, trying to hook the box and drag it over, but it was still inches out of his reach. “I’m not a priest,” he said.
“Not. . I’m not Catholic,” Price said. “You’ll do.”
Hammersmith struggled to keep his feet under him, balancing the hanged man above him. He felt weak and suddenly very tired of everything and everyone. “What is it? What do you want to say?”
“Don’t blame her. Virginia.”
“Where is she?”
“She was lost.”
“I don’t know how long I can hold you up. Tell me where your daughter is. Which tunnel?” He was panting, spitting out short sentences like a mockery of Sutton Price.
“Mathilda. I hit her. Ended her. Buried her here.”
“Your first wife?”
“There.”
Hammersmith looked at the far wall of the chamber, at the two mounds, one packed down and settled, the other fresh and high. “You buried her here.”
“Played out.”
Hammersmith understood. “This tunnel. The seam’s played out here. You brought her here and no one ever found her.”
“She was good. A good person.”
“But you wanted the nanny.”
“Hester. So beautiful.” The words forced out of Price as if by a bellows. “But she loved another. Another man. I knew she did. But I did it all anyway. I did everything.”
“The other grave?”
“It was in her.”
“Who?”
“My wickedness. All my fault. Don’t blame her.”
“Who, man? Tell me before I fall and let you dangle.”
“She killed Oliver. My responsibility. Done now.”
Hammersmith realized who was buried under the mound of earth, had realized it as soon as he saw the two piles of dirt, but had refused to acknowledge it. His stomach flopped over and he cried out. Price kicked at Hammersmith and the sergeant lost his footing for a second, but regained it, used the swaying man to right himself. He planted his feet again and pushed up, but he could already feel his arms starting to give out.
“Put me next to them,” Price said.
“My inspector will come,” Hammersmith said. “He’ll help me. We’ll get you. Get you down. And you’ll pay for your crimes properly.”
“Am paying.”
“This isn’t the way.”
“My way.”
“No. By order of Her Majesty, I’m placing you under arrest. For the murder. For the murder of Mathilda Price. And for the murder of Virginia Price, too. Damn you.”
Sutton Price chuckled. The deep harsh sound of sand shaking through an hourglass.
“I can wait. Policeman. If you can.”
Hammersmith closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He wrapped his arms tighter around Sutton Price’s dangling legs and steeled himself, prepared for a long wait. Price began to talk again, but his voice was gone, nothing but rasping, and Hammersmith didn’t try to listen. He held on and concentrated on breathing, on staying awake, on rooting himself to the ground. He held on and he waited for help.
64
I’m all right!” Day said.
The others couldn’t see him.
“Stand back,” Henry said. He cupped his massive palms around his mouth and hollered into the chasm made by generations of miners. “I’m coming down!”