being kept busy.”
The bespectacled young man smiled ruefully and nodded. His floppy hair bounced over his eyes. “I wanted to meet you anyway,” he said.
“You’re the doctor here?” Day said.
“I am indeed. I’m afraid half the village is sick in bed, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m at your. .” Denby paused and held his hand up, palm out. His shoulders quaked with a sudden silent coughing fit. Day waited. Finally, the doctor stood up straight and smiled. “Forgive me. I am, of course, at your disposal.”
Day frowned. “You’re quite all right, I hope.”
“Perfectly.”
“When you say half the village has fallen ill-”
“Not precisely half, but a great many of them.”
“What are they sick from?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s all I can do to treat their symptoms. Blackhampton simply isn’t equipped for a plague.”
“A plague!”
“I don’t know what it is.
“Is it possible, Doctor, that the missing family are among the ill?” Day said. “That they’ve holed up somewhere to convalesce?”
“I suppose it is possible. But I think I would have been notified. I haven’t visited the Price home in a great long time.”
“I see.”
“I do hate to be rude, but I must be off. Many homes to pop in at before bed.”
“Will you tell us when you’ve reached a conclusion about the nature of the illness?”
“I will. Although I can’t see how it could possibly help you to know.”
“It may not help. But I’d like to know anyway. And I understand how busy you are, but we may need your assistance when we find the Prices.”
Dr Denby smiled and nodded and walked away across the room. Day noticed that the doctor moved carefully, as if each step pained him. He grabbed a hat and overcoat from the rack by the door and exited in a flurry of snowflakes. Day turned back to Vicar Brothwood, who touched the young red-haired woman on the elbow by way of introduction.
“This is our schoolteacher, Miss Perkins,” he said.
“Please call me Jessica, Inspector Day,” the young woman said. She put a gloved hand in Day’s, then turned her attention to Hammersmith. “It’s lovely to meet you, too, Mr Hammersmith. Though one might wish for better circumstances.”
Day thought her gaze lingered on Hammersmith a second longer than was necessary, and he looked down at his feet so that neither of them would see him smile. He had noticed that women often looked at Hammersmith a bit too long to be merely cordial, but in his experience the sergeant was unaware of their attention. Hammersmith was almost fanatically focused on his work. Day gestured past the schoolteacher at the children behind her.
“And who might these young people be?” Day said.
“This is Peter,” Jessica Perkins said, tearing her attention away from Hammersmith, who was busy taking notes in the tiny cardboard-covered tablet he carried with him everywhere. “And this is Anna Price. It’s their parents who have. .” Jessica paused, obviously trying to think of the best way to finish her sentence without upsetting the children.
“They’ve gone missing, sir,” Anna Price said.
Her brother nodded.
“Well, we’re here to find them,” Day said. “Don’t you worry.”
He immediately regretted saying it. His words would be taken as merely polite by the adults gathered there, but the children would accept it as a promise.
The boy, Peter, nodded, but his sister Anna didn’t move or change her expression. She locked her gaze on Day and stared until he had to look away.
“Why don’t you two go and see if Mr Rose has a ginger beer for you?” Jessica said. She put a hand on each child’s shoulder and pushed them toward the bar. They went without complaint and without looking back.
“We’ll need to talk to them,” Day said.
“Of course,” Jessica said.
“Perhaps you would help my sergeant with that?”
Jessica looked briefly at Hammersmith and then back at Day. “If you’d like.”
“Yes, thank you. They might be more comfortable with you there. Sergeant, check if they’ve seen anything, would you?”
Hammersmith shot Day a puzzled look, but followed the schoolteacher to the bar, where the children were already pulling themselves up onto stools. Day wanted to question the villagers as quickly as possible. The teacher seemed likely to want to impress Hammersmith and she might encourage the children to talk to him. Day doubted they would learn much from the small welcoming party here, but there was always the possibility that someone knew something useful. He took his own little notebook from the pocket of his waistcoat and found the stub of a pencil. The notebook was a match for Hammersmith’s, but had never been used. He opened it to the first page and creased the cardboard cover back on itself.
“Let’s start with you, Mr Campbell,” he said. The giant had settled back into his armchair and had leveled his gaze at Day. “We have the village vicar, the schoolteacher, the doctor, and you. What function do you serve in Blackhampton?”
“I’m only a visitor here,” Campbell said. “Like you are.”
“I’m sorry,” Vicar Brothwood said. “I thought I’d mentioned that.”
“Perhaps you did,” Day said. “Why Blackhampton, though? Why visit this place in particular?”
“Why not Blackhampton?”
“I’m having some trouble placing your accent, sir. Where are you from?”
“I’ve traveled.”
“Yes, I’d wager it’s been some time since you’ve seen Scotland.”
“A long time.”
“You’ve been to America?”
“Spent time there.”
“Liverpool?”
“Spent time there, too.”
“And now the Midlands.”
“I’m passing through. Staying here, same as you.”
“What’s kept you here? What’s your interest? Why do you care about the missing family?”
“We all care. Everyone here does.” Campbell turned his attention to the fire. He slid out of the chair and squatted on the hearth. Day watched as Campbell grabbed the poker from the rack beneath the mantel and poked at the logs. Orange sparks leapt out, burning tiny holes in Campbell’s trousers. Campbell didn’t react, didn’t move back, kept turning the logs, and talked into the fire. “I’ve lost people I cared about. It’s a hard thing, and I hate to see it happen to anyone.”
“Do you know the family?” Day said.
“Only by reputation.”
Day frowned at the Scotsman’s broad back. Campbell wasn’t telling him everything, but his posture and the tension in his shoulders told the inspector that he had finished talking for the moment. Day decided not to press him. He could come back to him later. Right now he wanted a broad overview, as much information as possible before he began ordering things and narrowing down the possibilities. He turned to the others. “What can you tell me about the Prices?”
“Sutton Price is the night watchman on the main seam,” Vicar Brothwood said. “He wasn’t at his post three days ago when the morning shift came on.”
