The Dark Assassin (12 page)

Hester looked at
him gently. "Sewers run under the houses of men with money more than they
do under yours or mine. I think we might find a way of reminding them of that.
At least we can try."

Collard sat
perfectly still for a moment. Then very slowly he turned to look at Sutton, to
try to read in his face if Hester could possibly mean what she said.

"Exactly,"
Sutton said very clearly, then turned to Mrs. Collard. " 'Ow about a cup
o' tea, then, Lu? It's colder'n a witch's-" He stopped, suddenly remembering
Hester's presence. " 'Eart," he finished.

Collard hid a
smile.

Lu glared at
him, then smiled suddenly at Hester, showing surprisingly good teeth.
"Yeah. O' course," she replied.

That evening
Hester spent a couple of hours cleaning and tidying up after the plasterer, who
was now finished. Not only were the walls perfectly smooth, ready for papering,
there was also elegant molding where the wall met the ceiling, and a beautiful
rose for the pendant lamp. But all the time her hands were busy with brooms, dustpans,
scrubbing brushes, and cloths, she was thinking about her promise to Andy
Collard and, more important, to Sutton. As Collard had observed, Parliament
made the laws. That was the only place worth beginning. She must find out who
was the member most appropriate to approach.

When Monk came
home she proudly showed him how the house decorating was going, and asked after
the success of his day. She said nothing about Sutton or her interest in the
building of the new sewers. It was not difficult to conceal it, nor did she
feel deceitful. She was deeply concerned over the apparent suicide of Mary
Havilland, the young woman who had so recently lost her father in a way Hester
could understand far more than she cared to remember. She had thought her own
loss had been dealt with in her mind and the wound of it healed over. Now it
was like a bone that was broken long ago but aches again with the cold weather,
a pain deep inside, wakening unexpectedly, too covered over with scars to reach
again, and yet sometimes hurting as sharply as when it had been new.

She wanted to
hide it from Monk. She could see in the shadow in his eyes, the line of his
lips, that he was aware of the memory in her, and that he was pursuing the
Havilland case at least in part because Mary made him think of Hester. Inside
he was reacting to the old injustice as well as the new.

She wanted to
smile at him and tell him that it did not hurt anymore. But she would not lie
to him. And it was going to hurt more in the loneliness of the house with only
chores to keep her busy, no challenge, nothing to fight. She reached out to
touch him, to be close to him and say nothing. Sometimes explanations intruded
into understanding that was better in silence.

In the morning Hester
visited a gentleman she had once nursed through a serious illness. She was
delighted to see that he was in much improved health, although he tired more
quickly than earlier. She had gone principally for the purpose of learning from
him which member of Parliament to seek out regarding the method and regulations
of the new construction of sewers.

She came away
with the conviction that it was unquestionably Morgan Applegate. She even
obtained a warm letter of introduction so that she might call upon him immediately.

Since she was
already dressed in the best clothes she had, and incidentally the warmest, she
bought herself a little luncheon from a street peddler-something she had become
used to lately. By early afternoon she was at the front door of the home of
Morgan Applegate, M.P.

It was opened by
a short, extremely plump butler who took her letter of introduction. He showed
her into a morning room with a roaring fire that gleamed red and gold on the
polished furniture and in the copper globes that decorated the handsome fender.

It was a full
quarter hour before Morgan Applegate himself appeared. He was a most
agreeable-looking man, of average height, with an aquiline face that yet
managed to look mild in spite of a very obvious intelligence. His fairish hair
was receding, and he was clean-shaven.

He greeted
Hester courteously, invited her to sit, then asked what he might do to be of
assistance to her.

She told him of
her visit to the excavations the previous day, without mentioning Sutton's name
or occupation.

He stopped her
in midsentence. "I am aware of this problem, Mrs. Monk."

Her heart sank.
The fear of typhoid was everywhere, and the queen was in the grip of a
desperate, almost uncontrollable grief since Prince Albert's death from
typhoid. If Applegate was a man of any ambition, he would not risk his career
by stating an opinion that must be bound to anger and offend many.

"Mr.
Applegate," she said earnestly, "I do understand the very immediate
need for new and adequate sewers. I nursed men dying of typhoid in the Crimea,
and it is something I could never forget or take lightly. But if you had seen
the dangers-"

"Mrs.
Monk"-he interrupted her again, leaning forward a little in the chair he
had taken opposite her-"I am aware of the matter because it was drawn to
my attention by someone else, someone even more disturbed by the possibility of
disaster than you are. She gave her whole time and attention to it, and I fear
perhaps even her sanity." His face was very grave, and there was an acute
consciousness of pain in his eyes. "My wife was very fond of her, and I
held her in high regard myself."

"Held?"
Hester said with a chill. "What happened to her?"

Now there was no
mistaking his distress. "Of that I am not certain. I was informed only of
the merest details, and since they are unclear, I prefer not to repeat them. It
is no slight upon you, Mrs. Monk, it is a respect for the dead. She was a young
woman of great courage, a kind of high daring. In spite of personal loss and
forfeit of much chance of happiness, she placed honor first, and it seems to
have exacted from her a terrible price. Please do not press me to say
more."

But it was
impossible for Hester to leave it. She was the equal of anyone on earth for
compassion, and had the fire and courage to make it of practical use, but she
had never excelled in tact. She was too fierce and too impatient. "If she
placed honor first, then it is all the more urgent that we should follow
her!" she said intently. "How can you wish to say nothing of her? Are
you not proud of her? Do we not all owe her something?"

Now he seemed
embarrassed, and very clearly uncertain how to answer. "Mrs. Monk, there
are some tragedies that... that should remain ... unexplained. I can think of
no better word. Please ..."

She saw the
great crevasse in the ground in her mind's eye again, and her stomach turned at
the thought of its collapse. She imagined how it would be for the men at the
bottom, possibly even seeing it begin to bulge and give way, knowing what would
happen and yet unable to do anything but watch. They would see the water
explode through, carrying earth and timber with it to crash down on top of
them, bruising, breaking, burying them in the filth and darkness. She could not
keep silent.

"Mr.
Applegate, there is no time for the niceties of feeling! If she saw what I did
today and understood what could happen to these men- almost certainly will
happen one day, sooner or later-would this woman really wish you to respect her
delicacy now she is dead? Think of their lives, of those who still have a
chance if we act, if we achieve what she began. Is not the greatest compliment
to her, the greatest service, that we take up her cause?"

He was looking
at her with profound indecision in his eyes. He was a kind man, torn by
conflicting principles of overwhelming power.

Hester realized
she was leaning forward as if to physically touch him. Reluctantly she sat
back, not in apology but because it might be a bad strategy, and certainly bad
manners.

Without
explanation Applegate stood up. "Excuse me," he said huskily, and
left the room.

Hester was
crushed. She had liked the man instinctively, and it seemed she had driven him
to the point where he had found her so oppressive he had actually retreated
from her presence, as if not knowing how else to deal with her. Was she really
so insensitive? Was she dragging out the memory of a woman he had perhaps
loved, and treating it with unbearable disrespect? How ugly! And how stupid.

She did not know
what to do next.

Then the door
opened and a woman came in. She was tall, perhaps even an inch or so taller
than Hester, and equally slender. She had a most unusual face. It was handsome
in its own way, but far more than for the beauty; it was remarkable for its
great readiness for the enjoyment of life.

The woman was
immediately followed by Applegate himself, who introduced her to Hester as his
wife, then by way of explanation added, "We were both fond of Mary, but my
wife the more so. Before I break confidence I felt I should consult her
opinion."

"How do you
do, Mrs. Monk," Rose Applegate said warmly. Then she glanced at her
husband. "Nice of you to consult me, but quite unnecessary." She
invited Hester to resume her seat, since she had naturally stood up when Mrs.
Applegate came in. Rose sat opposite, leaving her husband to sit where he
would. "Mary died a couple of days ago, and we are all very distressed
about it, and angry. I don't believe for an instant it was as simple as they
say. She wouldn't do it, she just wouldn't."

"My dear
...," Applegate began.

She did not
exactly say "Hush" to him, but almost. It was apparent that he was
devoted to her and that she was sufficiently confident in that devotion not to
defer to him when she felt passionately.

Suddenly Hester
had a flash of understanding. "Mary Havilland!" she said quickly.
"Are you speaking of Mary Havilland?" It would make perfect sense
with the little that Monk had told her of the death on the river.

Morgan Applegate
and Rose looked at each other, then at Hester. Rose was now pale, her hazel
eyes troubled. "The news has spread so widely already?" she asked
softly.

Applegate
reached over to put his hand on her arm. It was an extraordinarily protective
gesture, as gentle as if he touched some wound.

"No,"
Hester answered, lowering her own voice, aware now that she was dealing with
real and present pain. "I know of it only because my husband is in the
River Police and was the one who actually saw it happen."

Rose gave an
involuntary gasp, and Applegate's hand tightened slightly on her arm. Hester
could see in their eyes that they wanted to ask more but dared not, afraid of
the finality of the answer.

"He isn't
sure what happened," Hester told them. "It wasn't possible to see
from that distance, and of course they were looking upwards." She knew why
Monk was so reluctant to believe it, but she could not tell these people of her
own loss. She had thought the pain of it was healed, safe as long as it was not
touched. She had not tried to remember her father's face for a long time,
perhaps not since she had learned to believe that Monk loved her enough to let
go of his own fears.

"My husband
is trying to find out precisely what happened," she added.

Rose blinked.
"You mean ... it might not be taken as suicide?" There was a flare of
hope in her eyes. "She would never have killed herself.' I'd stake
anything on that!"

"Rose
...," Applegate began.

She shook him
off impatiently, without taking her eyes from Hester's. "If you had known
Mary, I wouldn't have to tell you that. She had far too much courage to give
up. She simply wouldn't! She was too . .. too angry to let them get away with
it!"

Hester saw
Applegate wince, but was beginning to appreciate already that he had no control
over his wife's passion. If Rose was outspoken, that was part of her nature,
and part of what he loved in her.

"Angry with
whom?" Hester asked. "Circumstances or people? The Big Stink was
appalling. We can't allow it to happen again. And the typhoid was even worse.
Some of the soldiers died of typhoid in the Crimea. I wouldn't wish it on Satan
himself."

"Oh, I know
we must build the new sewers," Rose agreed. "But Mary was sure that
some of the machines were being used without regard to safety. People are so
determined to be faster than their competitors that they are ignoring the
rules, and sooner or later the navvies are going to pay the price. You know
about the collapse of the Fleet sewer? Of course you do. It was in all the
newspapers. That will be nothing compared to what could happen if-"

"Rose, you
don't know that!" Applegate interrupted her at last. "Mary believed
it, and she may have been right, but she-"

"She's
still right!" Rose corrected him.

"But she
had no proof!" he finished.

"Exactly!"
Rose said, as if that sealed her point. She stared at Hester. "She knew
there was proof and she intended to get it. She was certain she could. Does
that sound to you like someone who would take her own life?" She leaned
towards Hester, just as Hester had done towards Apple-gate, unconscious of it,
impelled by her fervor. "She loved her father, Mrs. Monk. They understood
each other in a way few people do who are of different generations. She had a
strong, clear mind and immense courage. I don't know why people think women
can't be like that! It's our skirts that stop us from running, not our
legs!"