He lifted his glass and took another swallow of water, then picked his notebook and pencil up off the bar.
“What were we talking about?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “If you want to waste what little time you have left talking to us, go ahead.”
“Right,” Hammersmith said. “Thank you, I will.” He looked at his notes. “You haven’t supplied me with many facts yet. You think your stepmother’s run away, but you don’t know why. And you think I should be suspicious of Calvin Campbell because you don’t know him. So let’s talk about things you do know.”
“Sergeant,” Jessica said. “Surely the children aren’t suspects.”
“Of course not.”
“Then perhaps you could be friendlier?”
“I apologize. I’m not used to speaking to children.” He smiled at Peter and Anna, and cleared his throat. “I’d like to know about your sister, if you don’t mind. Her name’s Virginia?”
“No,” Peter said. Anna turned and looked at him. “I mean, yes,” he said. “Of course. Virginia is our sister.”
The boy seemed peculiar to Hammersmith, but then everyone in Blackhampton seemed peculiar. “Where is she?” he said.
“Who?”
“Virginia. Your sister.”
“Oh, her.”
“She’s at home with the housekeeper,” Anna said.
“Your brother seems to be more nervous than you are.”
“He’s like that.”
“You seem calm enough.”
“I’m like that.”
“Are you worried about your parents?”
“Hester isn’t my mother. She’s only our stepmother and therefore not really our parent at all.”
“What about your father and your brother?”
“Oliver isn’t my brother. He’s Hester’s child.”
Hammersmith stared at her, waiting for her to say something more. She was deflecting his questions, not answering. But Day had taught him that sometimes all it took to make the other person talk was a moment of silence that needed to be filled.
“Of course we’re worried about them,” Peter said.
Hammersmith wasn’t surprised that Peter was the one to break the silence. He made a note on the blank sheet of paper: Separate the Price children. Talk to Peter alone.
“Why did you leave Virginia with the housekeeper instead of bringing her with you tonight?” he said.
“She was sleepy,” Anna said.
“How old is she?”
“Five.”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
Anna shrugged. “Come to the house, then,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ll have time.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re going to die tomorrow. The owl chose you.”
“Right. Then I’ll come to your house first thing in the morning.”
“Why do you even want to talk to her?” Peter said.
“I want to talk to everybody.”
He made another note: Children very protective of Virginia. All the family they have left.
“May we go home now?” Anna said. “We’re tired, too. And we’re sad about you.”
Hammersmith nodded and closed his notebook, slipped it back into his pocket, along with the pencil.
Jessica Perkins went to the door and opened it wide enough that Hammersmith could see past her. The sun had set and light from the distant furnaces sparkled on the crust of snow. Jessica closed the door, rubbed her hands together, and smiled at the sergeant.
“More snow coming,” she said.
“Wonderful,” Hammersmith said. “I was hoping for more snow.”
Jessica shook her head. “I certainly wasn’t. It’s supposed to be spring. All those poor trees just started growing their leaves out.” She snapped her fingers at the children. “Anna, Peter, button your overcoats. It’s getting colder out there.”
“I’ll be fine,” Peter said.
“Button your coat, Peter,” she said.
The boy clicked his tongue, but he did as she’d instructed.
When the children were ready, she waved good-bye to Hammersmith and the others and stepped out into the frigid night again. She gestured for the children, and they hurried out behind her and down the path to the avenue and she closed the front door behind them.
For a moment the room was cold and silent, then Bennett Rose entered the room through the back door carrying two more kerosene lanterns, holding them high, swinging them by their wire handles. He thunked them down on the bar in front of Hammersmith and leaned over so that his face was mere inches from Hammersmith’s.
“I filled ’em so you’ll have enough light out there for a good while,” he said. “The woods ain’t as bad as they could be, ain’t as bad as the mines after dark, but they ain’t safe. You watch where you step and you pay attention.”
He moved back a bit, but then frowned as if remembering something. He motioned Hammersmith close and ducked his head. When he spoke, it was in a low whisper.
“You stick close to your inspector,” Rose said. “Stick close and watch out, each for the other. You’re doomed, of course, but he still has a chance.”
Rose broke off and looked down at the bar as Day approached. It was evident in his expression that the inspector had heard Rose’s warning.
“We appreciate the warning, Mr Rose,” Day said. “And I’m grateful for your concern. But you let us do our jobs, sir.”
Rose was quiet for a long moment, and then he nodded. He wiped his hands on his apron and disappeared again through the door at the back of the room.
“Did you learn anything from that lot over there?” Hammersmith said.
Day opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a quiet voice.
“Excuse me?”
The men turned to see a girl on the landing. She was clutching a small wooden box, which she held out for them to see.
“I can show you my eye if you’d like,” the girl said.
8
The girl hobbled the rest of the way down the stairs. She was perhaps eight or nine years old, lace at her throat and wrists, her hair done in a short blond bob. Dirty white bandages covered a splint on her right leg that ran from hip to toes, and she was leaning on a cane made from the varnished branch of a river birch. She smiled at them, bowing her head slightly in lieu of a curtsy.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said.
Day rose from his chair and went to the stairs. He held out his arm for the girl to steady herself and led her to the gathered men.
“You’d be Hilde Rose?” he said.
“Yes, sir. You’re the detectives from London?”
“We are,” Hammersmith said. “Very good to meet you, young lady.” He stood and offered Hilde his chair.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” she said. “I’ve been awfully anxious, waiting in my room. Papa said for me not to come down when you arrived, and I was going to wait, but I know that if I do I shall never sleep a wink tonight.”
“Should you be walking about on that?” Day said.
Hilde looked down at her bandaged leg. “It’s not so bad,” she said. “I was quite lucky that it was a clean break. Dr Denby was able to set it, and both legs are the same length again. Otherwise he might have amputated, and I shouldn’t want that.”
Day shuddered. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Please sit. You’ve got something to show us?”
Using Hammersmith’s arm to balance, Hilde maneuvered herself onto his chair. She held out the box, and Day took it.
“You won’t keep it from me forever, will you?” she said. “It’s ever so odd, and I’m the one who found it.”
Day smiled. “May I?” he said. He cracked the lid and swung it back on its delicate brass hinges. Hammersmith stepped closer and peered over Day’s shoulder. Inside the box was a small shriveled eyeball, a thread of dried optic nerve curled around one side of it.