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She did not argue, and they walked in companionable silence to the bus stop.
SIX
Monk was standing in the kitchen when he heard Hester come in at the front door. He spun around and strode into the hall. He immediately saw how she was dressed and that her face was pinched and weary. Her hair was straggling as if she had tied it in a knot rather than bothered dressing it at all, and her sleeves and trousers were wet.
“Where in hell have you been?” he said abruptly, alarm making his voice sharper than he had meant. He was very close to her, almost touching her. “What’s happened?”
She did not even try to prevaricate. “I’ve been in the tunnels, with Sutton. I’m perfectly all right, but there’s something terribly wrong there,” she said, looking directly at him. “It isn’t as easy as I thought. The engines are enormous, and they’re shaking the ground. It’s nothing to do with what James Havilland or Mary discovered. They all know it’s dangerous; it’s part of the job.” Her eyes were searching his face now, looking for help, explanations to make sense of it. “They all know about the fact that there are streams underground, and wells, and that the clay slips. Hundreds of people live down there! But Mary was going from one person to another asking questions. What could she have been looking for, and why did it matter?”
Monk forced himself to be gentle as he accompanied Hester into the warmth of the kitchen. He was not in the least domestic by nature, but he had nonetheless cleaned out the stove and relit it. With Hester’s absences in the clinic caring for the desperately ill and dying, he had been obliged to learn.
He took her coat from her and hung it up on the peg, where it could dry. She made no attempt to be evasive, which in itself alarmed him. She must be very badly frightened. He could see it in her eyes in the brightness of the kitchen gaslight. “Where did you learn all this?” he asked.
“The Thames Tunnel,” she answered. “Not alone!” she added hastily.
“I was perfectly safe.” Involuntarily she shuddered, her body in a spasm of uncontrollable memory. She pushed a shaking hand through her hair.
“William, there are people who live down there, all the time! Like…rats. They never come up to the wind or the light.”
“I know. But it’s probably no more a root of crime than the waterside slums or the docks, places like Jacob’s Island.” He put his arms around her and held her close. “You’re not setting up any clinic for them!”
She laughed in spite of herself, and ended up coughing. “I hadn’t even thought of it. But now that—”
“Hester!”
She smiled brightly at him.
He breathed out slowly, forcing himself to be calmer. Then he put more water in the kettle and slid it onto the hob. There was fresh bread and butter and cheese, and a slice of decent cake in the pantry.
“William…”
He stopped and faced her, waiting.
At last she spoke. “Mary went to all sorts of places and asked questions about rivers and clay, and how many people had been hurt, but she asked about engineers as well. And apparently she knew something about them—knew one sort from another. She took terrible risks. Either she didn’t realize, or…” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She was so tired her skin was white, and in spite of his holding her, she had not stopped shivering.
“Do you think she was foolish enough to be unaware of the dangers?” he asked.
“No,” she said in a soft, unhappy voice, but she did not pull away from him. “I think she cared about the truth so passionately that she preferred to take the risk rather than run away. I think she was afraid of a real disaster, worse than the Fleet.”
“Because it’s in a tunnel?”
“Fire,” she told him. “Gas pipes go up into houses aboveground as well.”
He understood. The possibilities were terrifying. “And they know?”
She nodded and moved back a step at last as the shivering eased. “It looks like it. She just couldn’t prove it yet. Or maybe she could. Do you think that’s why she was killed?”
“It could be,” he said gently. “And it also might be why her father was killed, so don’t imagine they would give a moment’s thought as to whether or not they should kill you if they see you as a threat! So—”
“I know that! I have no intention of going back there again, I promise.”
He looked at her closely, steadily, and saw the fear in her eyes. She would keep her word; he did not need to ask her for a promise. “Not only your life,” he said, his voice softer. “The lives of others, too.”
“I know. What are you going to do?”
“Make the tea,” he said ruefully. “Then I’m going to consider who had the opportunity to kill James Havilland. As for Mary’s death—we’ll never prove that Toby meant to kill her, and since he died as well, the matter of justice has been rather well settled.”
“Do you think she held on to him and took him with her on purpose?” she asked.
