looking for an answer there. The lamps had been lit and the place was warm and cozy. The chattering of voices was slightly louder now, and Hammersmith walked toward the door at the far end of the room. Just as he reached it, the door opened and Claire Day stepped through. Without a word, she rushed to her husband and hugged him. Hammersmith looked away at the panes of colored glass in the wall above the bar.
“How long have you been here?” Day said.
“Not long at all,” Claire said. “And yet we must be off already. I’ve decided to visit my sister for a bit and let you work.”
“You should have come upstairs.”
“Well, I would have if you’d slept any longer. I almost didn’t get a chance to see you.”
“But I wasn’t asleep. I was pressing clothes.”
“Mr Rose said you didn’t get in until the sun was up.”
“Very nearly. But apparently I can’t sleep when you’re so far from me. Didn’t he tell you I was up and about?”
“He said you went back up.”
“Let me have a look at you.”
“I look the same as I did yesterday and the day before. Absolutely enormous.”
“Nonsense.”
“Well, come on. We have to get back before the train leaves again, and the others are dying to see you.” She turned to Hammersmith. “You, too, Nevil.”
“Lovely to see you, Mrs Day.”
“They’re in the dining room.” She took Day’s hand and led him through the door at the back of the room, and Hammersmith followed them.
“There they are,” Bennett Rose said. He was clearing breakfast plates from the big oaken table. “Caught up on your beauty sleep, have you, Mr Hammersmith?”
Day ignored him and held the door open for Hammersmith, who didn’t appear to have heard the innkeeper. Claire pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh. Day swept his eyes over the other four people at the table.
“Dr Kingsley,” he said. “You’re here, too? We weren’t expecting you until later in the day.”
“Early train,” Kingsley said. “I’d like to get back tonight, if at all possible.”
The doctor pushed his chair back and stood. He was a small man, lean and wiry, with a wild shock of prematurely grey hair. There was always something about his manner that suggested he was only ever there for a few short moments and everyone should make the best of it before his next appointment. There was a huge man sitting next to him who looked nervous about being there. Day nodded at him.
“Henry,” he said. “Good to see you.”
“Hello, sir,” Henry said.
Henry Mayhew was Dr Kingsley’s assistant, a simple, good-natured man who had been living on the street until Inspector Day found work for him with the doctor.
“And you’ve brought your daughter, too,” Day said. He shook the doctor’s hand and glanced at the young girl sitting next to him. “Good morning, Fiona.” Fiona was fifteen years old with long blond hair, a sharp fox’s face, and wide eyes that seemed to see everything at once. She paid not the slightest attention to Day, but stood up and hurried around the end of the table, making a beeline for Hammersmith.
“Oh, my,” she said. “What’s happened to your face?”
She reached out toward Hammersmith’s face, but pulled her hand back at the last minute, as if she might be burned by him.
“I’m fine,” Hammersmith said. He glanced at Day, shrugged, and covered his cheek with his palm. “Is it really as bad as all that?”
“Father,” Fiona said. “Do something.”
Kingsley rubbed the side of his nose and reached for the satchel on the floor at his feet. He came around the table and nudged his daughter out of the way. He peered up at the wound on Hammersmith’s cheek and clucked his tongue.
“It’s not deep. Just needs to be cleaned.” The doctor rummaged in his bag and found a vial of alcohol and a laundered rag. “You were right about his clothes, though, Fiona.”
“My clothes?” Hammersmith said.
“She insisted we stop in at your flat. We talked to your landlady there, Mrs Flanders, and she sent along a fresh shirt for you.”
“How could you possibly have known that I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothing?”
“You tend not to look after yourself,” Fiona said. “You’re always too busy looking after others.”
Hammersmith sucked in his breath as the alcohol-damp rag touched his cheek. Day smiled and looked away. He pulled out a chair and sat down between his wife and the schoolteacher.
“Good morning, Miss Jessica,” he said.
Jessica tore her eyes away from Hammersmith for just a moment before looking back at him while she talked to Day. “And good morning to you, Inspector. I trust you’re well rested.”
“Surprisingly so,” he said. “Are there no classes today?”
“The weather.”
“It does seem a bit worse out there. But surely the snow will taper off soon. It’s a bit late in the season for a bad storm, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it really is,” she said. “But by the end of the day we’re sure to be completely snowed in. At least that’s what some of the villagers are saying. They’ve even shut the seam down.”
“How could they possibly know what the weather will do?”
“Mr Rose says a dead black stork was found in the center of town this morning. Means a bad storm’s on its way.”
“I never saw-” Day said.
“Tut,” Kingsley said. He pulled the rag back from Hammersmith’s face and pursed his lips. “What rot.”
“I’m sorry?” Bennett Rose said. The innkeeper had been quietly busy in a corner of the room, polishing flatware, but now he turned and fixed Kingsley with a steely gaze. “I’ll ask you to be respectful while you’re in my place.”
“I don’t understand.” Kingsley stood holding the rag, a look of genuine confusion creasing his face. Day could smell the sharp tang of alcohol from halfway across the room.
“Mr Rose takes a bit of getting used to,” Hammersmith said.
“Our customs are important to us,” Rose said. “Sometimes the customs of a place is what binds people together. It’s not somethin’ to jest about.”
“I assure you, there was no jest intended.”
“Well, then.”
“Your superstitions have no basis in fact or reason. They mean nothing and should not come into consideration when discussing any provable thing,” Kingsley said. “But I meant no jest.”
“Well, you’re. . you. .” The innkeeper’s face gradually assumed the color of his name, a deep pink hue blossoming from somewhere beneath his collar and moving rapidly across his fleshy face. He sputtered, but was unable to form a complete sentence. He pointed a thick finger at Kingsley, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room.
Kingsley blinked hard and scratched his nose with the same hand that held the rag. He gasped at the concentrated odor of the alcohol and dropped the rag back into his satchel. “I’m sure I don’t know what came over him,” he said.
“The people here are quite keen on their beliefs, Doctor,” Jessica said. “I have found that superstitions are often to blame when people intuit information from their surroundings. That doesn’t make the information wrong.”
Kingsley smiled. “Then please tender my apologies. You are a most perceptive young woman. Meanwhile, I’ve made your face as presentable as possible, Mr Hammersmith.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll change my shirt.”
Hammersmith took the clean white shirt from Fiona and went to the stairs and up. When he had ascended out of view, they all heard him cough once, loudly. There was a moment of silence, and then the echoes of a fresh
