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“M-Mar-tha?” Leda tried hard, licking her misshapen lip.
Martha smiled through her tears, taking a step forward instinctively, then stopping. It was plain in her face she was afraid of moving too quickly. They did not know her. They might not wish to be touched by a stranger … and she was a stranger to them still.
Phemie held out her hand in response, slowly at first.
Martha took it gently, holding out her other hand to Leda.
There was a moment’s silence as the lights inside the hallway shone out into the gray afternoon, reflecting in the drifting rain and the cabs and carriages splashing along the street behind the sodden man with hair plastered across his face in dark streaks, his clothes sticking to him, and two gaunt and ragged young women, hair like rats’ tails, clothes torn and thin.
Then Leda stretched her hand and gave it to Martha, holding on to her with surprising strength.
“Come inside,” Martha invited. “Get warm and dry … and have some hot soup.”
Monk found himself grinning idiotically. He wanted to laugh with joy.
“I think you had better come too, Mr. Monk,” Martha said in a very unbusinesslike tone. “You look terrible. I’ll find you some better clothes before you see Miss Latterly. I’m sure something of Mr. Gabriel’s will fit you, for the time being. Then I’ll let Miss Latterly know you are here.”
He wanted to tell Hester himself, see her face when he said he had found the girls. It was perhaps childish, but it mattered to him with a fierceness that startled him.
“I …” he began, then did not know what to say. How could he explain what he felt without sounding absurd? Then he remembered Delphine Lambert. “I have something very urgent to tell her.”
Martha looked at him doubtfully, but she was too grateful to deny him anything at all.
“I’ll tell her you are here,” she agreed. She regarded his filthy and disreputable state ruefully. “You’d better wait in the pantry. But don’t stand on the carpet … and don’t sit down!”
“I won’t,” he promised, then followed her obediently as she led the two girls towards the green baize door through to the servants’ quarters, guiding them as they stared in awe. They had never been inside a house so large or so clean—or so warm—in their lives.
Martha pointed to the butler’s pantry, which was presently empty, and promised to send the maid up with a message to Hester.
It was less than five minutes before she came down, only the most momentary surprise on her face when she saw his state. She closed the door.
“What happened?” she demanded, her face eager. “Tillie said Martha has two fearful-looking girls with her, wet as rats and about as pretty. Did you find them?” Her eyes were wide, her whole expression burning with hope.
He had meant to be calm, to have dignity, to behave as if he had been in control of himself all the time. It slipped away without his even noticing it.
He did not speak, he simply nodded, smiling so widely he could hardly form the words.
She abandoned any thought of restraint and ran forward, throwing her arms around him, holding him so fiercely she knocked the breath from him.
He hesitated a moment. This was not really what he had intended to do. It was impulsive, too careless of consequence. But even while the thoughts were in his mind, his arms tightened around her and he held her close to him, feeling the strength of her. He bent his head to her cheek, her hair, and smelled its sweetness. She was crying with relief.
“That’s … wonderful!” She sobbed, sniffing hard. “You are superb! I didn’t think you could do it. It’s marvelous. Are they going to be all right?” She did not let go of him or look up, but left her head buried on his shoulder and her grip around him as if letting go might destroy the reality of what he had said.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, still holding her too. He had no need to, but it seemed natural. He thought of letting go, of straightening up, but he really did not want to. “I’ve no idea what she’s going to do with them. They’re not fit for ordinary service.”
“We’ll have to find something,” she answered, as if it were a simple thing and to be taken for granted.
“That is not all,” he said more thoughtfully. He had to tell her the other fact, the one which now was beginning to make such hideous sense.
She was quite still. “What else is there?”
“You remember Martha told us their mother abandoned them … Dolly Jackson, Samuel’s widow?”
“Yes?”
“I know where she is.”
This time she did move. She straightened up and pulled away, staring up at him, her face defiant, eyes blazing.
