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“It’s really fairly simple,” Rose replied, still standing in front of his desk, thus obliging him to remain on his feet also. “It is a matter of the nature and frequency of serious injuries to men involved in the work on the new sewer system.”
“Absolutely vital!” Lamb said earnestly. “The state of public hygiene in the city of London is a disgrace to the Empire! Anyone would think we were the edge of the world, not the center of it!”
Rose drew in her breath, then let it out again. “You are quite right,” she agreed diplomatically. “Quite right. It is so very important that we must be absolutely certain that we are correct in all we say. To mislead the House is an unpardonable sin, you know?”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded, pushing his eyeglasses up to the bridge of his nose. “What is it you wish from me, Mrs. Applegate? I am sure figures are already known from the companies concerned.”
Rose and Hester had already decided on the answer to that. “Naturally, but they have a powerful interest in the number of injuries being as low as possible. And there is the world of difference between an engineer’s estimate of an injury and a surgeon’s.”
“Of course. Please be seated, Mrs. Applegate. And Miss…Mrs….?” He waved at Hester without looking at her.
“We would like specifics,” Rose continued, sitting upright with a ramrod-stiff back and smiling at him. “Descriptions of actual injuries, and the names of the men concerned, so that it is apparent that we have investigated the matter more than superficially.”
Lamb looked uncomfortable.
Rose waited with an air of expectancy, eyes wide, her mouth in a half smile, ready to beam upon him if he should do as she wished. “As full a list as possible,” she added. “So we do not seem to be singling out any particular company. That would not do.”
Reluctantly Lamb reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out a small key. He rose, opened a file cabinet, and from one of the drawers took out a folder of papers. He returned to the desk and read from them selectively. “I cannot see what use this will be in the House of Commons,” he said finally.
He had described accidents and injuries in the blandest terms, using laymen’s words, making them seem slighter than they were. Rose might not know that he was being evasive, but Hester did. She spoke for the first time.
“There was an Albert Vincent. His right leg was crushed when a load overturned on him, breaking his femur, I think you said in two places.”
“That is correct,” he agreed, frowning at her, puzzled as to why she had spoken at all. He had assumed her to be there merely as chaperone, or perhaps a maid of some sort.
“You did not mention the treatment given him. Was that because he died?”
“Died?” He looked appalled. “Why ever should you think that, Mrs….?”
“Mrs. Monk,” she supplied. “Because from the description, the load have torn the femoral artery, which would have meant he bled to death in a matter of minutes. If there had been anyone there on the scene to amputate the limb and rescue him, surely it would have been mentioned?”
He was clearly flustered. “The details are not there, young lady, and I hardly think it is something about which you would have any knowledge, even if you can read a little and bandy words around as if you understood them.”
“Oh, she does!” Rose said with a sweet smile. “Mrs. Monk was in the Crimea with Miss Nightingale. She is acquainted with battlefield surgery, in the most distressing circumstances.”
“You didn’t say so!” he accused, the color now hot in his face. “That is, if I may be candid, most deceiving of you!”
“Is it?” Rose said ingenuously. “I’m so sorry. I had imagined you would say exactly the same to whomever you spoke to. Had she been of a delicate disposition and likely to faint, I would not have brought her, of course. But that is quite different. I cannot imagine what you would have said differently had you known Mrs. Monk is very practiced in such tragic and terrible things.”
He glared at her but apparently could think of nothing to escape from the pit he had unwittingly dug for himself.
“I shall just make a few notes so that we cannot find ourselves mistaken. It would be dreadful to quote figures that are not true. And embarrassing,” Rose continued, keeping her smile fixed. She looked straight at him; his face was tight-lipped, but he did not argue.
Outside on the steps, with the wind tugging at their skirts, victory seemed already fading. Rose turned to Hester. “Now what do we do?”
“We have addresses,” Hester replied. “We find a cup of tea, or better, chocolate, if we can. Then we go and see some of these people and find out which of them, if any, Mary Havilland asked also.”
Fortified by a cup each of thick, rich cocoa and a ham sandwich bought from a peddler, then hot chestnuts a hundred yards farther on, they set out to the nearest of the addresses. The early afternoon turned colder. The sleet changed into intermittent snow, but still the street was too wet for it to stick except on the windowsills and lower eaves. Of course the roofs were white except for around the chimneys, where the heat melted the snow and sent it in dribbles down the slates. Cab horses looked miserable. Peddlers shivered. The wind flurried, scattering newspapers, and gray smoke hung in the air like shadows of the night to come.
At the first house the woman refused to allow them in. At the second there was no answer. At the third, the woman was busy with three children, the oldest of whom looked barely five.
Hester glanced at Rose and saw the pity in her eyes. However, Rose masked it before the woman could recognize its nature.
“I in’t got time ter talk to yer,” the woman said bitterly. “Wot d’yer think I am? I got washin’ ter do wot in’t never gonna dry in this weather, an’ summink ter find fer tea. Wot’s a member o’ Parliament ter me? I in’t got no vote, nor’s any o’ me fam’ly. We in’t never ’ad an ’ouse wot’s ours, let alone big enough ter let us vote. Anyway, me man’s crippled.” She started to push the door closed, pushing the small girl behind her and moving her skirts awkwardly.
“We don’t want your vote,” Hester said quickly. “We just want to talk to you. I’ll help. I’m good at laundry.”
The woman looked her up and down, disbelief growing into anger at being mocked. “I ’ear yer, misses. Ladies ’oo talk like you, all proper, don’ know a scrubbin’ brush from an ’airbrush.” She pushed the door again.
