The Black Country

relieved of duty for a week, maybe two. Make the man rest, whether he liked it or not.

Sutton Price stood where he had been left in the hallway. Day prodded him in the back, herding him toward the staircase and down. One of the fires had died. The great room was dim and, all at once, musty, as if the place had been shut up for years. An open window might have cleared away the fustiness, but the storm outside demanded that everyone remain shut away from the world.

Then the door opened and the stillness was shattered as Jessica Perkins bustled in with the three Price children. She was carrying the littlest, Virginia, and dropped her on the inn’s floor, collapsing against the front door as it closed. Virginia saw her father and ran to him.

“Father!”

He stooped and picked her up. The two older children were more shy. They hung back and edged their way closer to Sutton Price. He took three quick steps toward them, with Virginia clinging to him like a monkey, went down on his knees, and scooped Peter and Anna into his arms.

Bennett Rose disappeared and came back with a stack of thin blankets. He handed two of them to Day and took one to Jessica Perkins, who used it to dry her hair. Day took his blankets and draped them over the shoulders of Peter and Anna. They appeared not to notice him or care.

Day gave them a few moments and then cleared his throat. “Your stepmother is upstairs,” he said. “Would you like to see her?”

Nobody spoke, but Anna shook her head. No.

“Come, children,” Jessica said. There were dark bruises under her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped and rounded with weariness. She hung her blanket on the coatrack and held out her hands. “You should say hello to her.”

Sutton Price drew back from the two older children and set Virginia down next to them. “Go,” he said.

“We don’t want to,” Virginia said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll still be here when you come back. I have to talk to the policeman, but I won’t leave you again.”

The three children went reluctantly to Jessica, who took them to the stairs and up.

Rose busied himself with the embers in the colder of the two fireplaces, while Day led Sutton Price to the largest and most comfortable of the armchairs positioned at the hearth of the other. There, the fire still blazed cheerily and the mustiness of the room gave way to a strong ashy, nutty odor. Price sank heavily into the chair and sighed.

“You have questions,” he said.

“A few,” Day said. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“I’ll do my best to answer.”

Day gathered his thoughts. He could hear Jessica Perkins upstairs, in murmured conversation with Hammersmith, but couldn’t make out their words.

“You were down in the tunnels?” Day said.

“Hester had disappeared. And little Oliver. .” Price looked away, into the fire, waiting for the ability to speak again. Day gave him time, let him work his emotions into something bearable. “She took him,” Price said at last. “At least I thought she had. But where could she go? You must understand, I came home, early in the morning. Hester and Oliver were gone. They had left me. That’s what I believed. I knew in my heart that she had finally left, and that she had taken our son.” He stopped again, but only for a few seconds, swallowed hard, and continued. “I always knew she would leave. She never loved me, always a part of her waiting for him to come and find her.”

“Him?” Day said.

“Campbell. I didn’t know his name until he arrived here in the village. He actually did come for her when he was released from prison. After all this time. But Oliver is mine. Was mine. Not Campbell’s. That was my son, and they couldn’t have him, damnit.”

“Why the tunnels? They might have been anywhere.”

“Where else? A mother and child in the woods? Risking wolves and badgers and the weather? Whatever else she might be-and she was not a good wife-she loved that boy. Didn’t care one whit for the other children. They weren’t hers, you know, and she made them know it. But she loved Oliver. She wouldn’t carry him into the woods. She hadn’t taken his belongings, so she couldn’t have been on her way somewhere else, couldn’t have taken the train anywhere. At least, not yet. She was not well-liked in Blackhampton. Where would she go? Put yourself in my place and think as I thought.”

“Below ground.”

“And so that’s where I went.”

“But she wasn’t there.”

“No.”

“She was being hidden from you. I think she was at the church. Why would she hide from you?”

“I don’t know.” But Sutton Price avoided Day’s eyes. He looked away at the dancing fire.

“You had threatened her?”

“Never.”

“Hurt her?”

“No, never.” Price looked back at Day, this time with conviction. “I would never raise a hand to her.”

“And yet she feared you, didn’t she? I believe she was able to persuade the vicar that she was in danger, and so he hid her away from you.”

Price shook his head back and forth, but said nothing.

“Why stay in the mines?” Day said. “Why not come out when you didn’t find her?”

“There are miles of tunnel down there. Miles of them.”

“Who killed your son, Mr Price?”

“He did it!” Bennett Rose said. “He did it! You saw that he did it. The body bled.”

Price bounded from his chair. Day leapt forward, but not quickly enough to get between the two men before they grappled. Rose landed a solid fist on Price’s ear, and the miner bellowed and kicked out, catching the innkeeper’s shin with the steel toe of his boot. Then Day managed to insert himself in the mix and push the men apart. It wasn’t hard to do. The fight went out of them instantly.

Day heard a door close upstairs, and then Hammersmith was pounding down the steps. He stopped at the landing and grabbed the banister, sought Day out in the cluster of men by the fireplace. His expression was panicked. Jessica crowded onto the landing behind him, and Day could see the three children farther up at the bend in the stairs.

“Sir,” Hammersmith said. His voice rasped quietly, but could be easily heard over the hard breathing of Price and Rose. “She didn’t answer when we knocked at her door. We gave her a moment, and then Miss Jessica went in. But Hester Price has left. She’s gone out the window.”

Day went to the front door. He heard Hammersmith come down the stairs behind him.

“I looked out the window,” Hammersmith said. “She’s nowhere in sight.”

Day pulled the door open and a swirl of snowflakes entered the room in a mighty rush. Cold air settled along Day’s shoulders and crept down the collar of his waistcoat.

“I think I know where she’s gone,” Day said. “Watch them. They don’t seem to get along.” He gestured at the room, indicating Sutton Price and Bennett Rose. He didn’t anticipate any trouble from Jessica Perkins and the three children, but the men remained tense and dangerous. Still, there was little they could do, and the storm would keep them inside. If they decided to resume their fight, Hammersmith could handle them. The miner and the innkeeper seemed geared for short bursts of manic energy, but they had no stamina.

Day pulled on his torn and useless overcoat.

“I’m going with you,” Price said.

“No, sir, you stay with your children. They’ve had a difficult time of it and they need you.”

With that, Day stepped out into the snow and pulled the door shut behind him. By now he could make the trip to the church with his eyes closed. The wind had died down and visibility had improved, but the road was buried under a foot of ice and powder. Day moved as quickly as he could, plodding through drifts. He tried to run and realized he must look ridiculous lifting each foot high and pushing out and down through the thin hard cover that had melted and refrozen into the soft snow beneath, then the next foot, like a duck with a tall hat. One foot,