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“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve made promises I couldn’t keep. I know how it hurts …”
“Do you?” he demanded, his voice tight with pain.
Memories of the battlefields surged back into her mind, drenched with the smell of blood. “I’ve promised soldiers I’d save them, and I couldn’t always …”
He drew in a breath. “Oh, Hester! I’m sorry …” His arms tightened around her again and it was moments before he let her go. Only then did he notice Scuff standing in the doorway, pale-faced but with a thin, shy smile.
“You all right?” Scuff asked nervously. “You want a cup o’ tea, or something?”
“Yes,” Monk replied immediately. “Yes, please. And what are you doing here at this time of day? You should be at school. You ducking it again?”
“Couldn’t go till I knew you was all right,” Scuff replied.
“You—” Monk began.
“Couldn’t leave Hester, could I?” Scuff glared at him. Then he swallowed hard and turned on his heel to go and make the tea.
Hester started to laugh a little jerkily, trying to stop it turning into tears.
AS SOON AS HE had drunk his tea, Scuff left Paradise Place, but he did not go to school. Actually he had not said that he would, not in so many words, although he knew both Hester and Monk had assumed he was headed there.
But this was not the time to go and learn things in books, however important they may be one day. Right now he must return to the river. Some stupid man in a clean shirt and a woolen suit had taken away Monk’s right to work this momentous case, when the damage was not just on the river but actually in it. Well, under it, now! Policing the river was Monk’s job. That was who he was. They had no right to do this, no matter what Hester had said to comfort him about it being a bad case that maybe no one could solve. Monk could do all kinds of things other people couldn’t. She just didn’t want him hurt, which was all right, except life wasn’t like that. All those people were dead and under the water. That was wicked, and had to be sorted out, and somebody needed to be punished, really punished, for it.
And it was Scuff’s river too. He had been born on its banks and grown up within sight of it, to the sounds of it, feeling its damp all his life. Even in his sleep he could hear the lapping of its tide, and its foghorns booming in the distance. Almost all the treasures of his childhood had been saved from its depth, not to mention the pieces of coal, metal, china—even wood, now and then, that he had sold to feed himself. How could any ordinary land-bound London policeman know the river, or care about it as he and Monk did?
First he would go to where they were hauling the ship up, but quietly, not speaking to anyone who might know him. This must not get back to Monk, which meant that Scuff must steer clear of Mr. Orme as well. Although he would have been with Monk, so he had likely been up all night too, and sent home as Monk had been. Scuff figured he was safe for a while.
He walked briskly down to the ferry and used some of his savings to pay his fare to the other side. He climbed up the Wapping Stairs, keeping his face averted from the police station. He went as quickly as possible along the bank toward the dock where he knew from the ferryman that the pleasure boat was being dragged up. He tried to imagine what strength that would take, and what kind of engines it would need. And chains. They’d better be good! If one of them snapped it could take the heads of half a dozen men standing too close. He refused even to think of that!
He moved quickly, used to slipping by unnoticed. It was not so far, about a mile or so. There were loads of people standing around watching. What did they expect to see? A broken ship and a whole lot of dead bodies? They looked sort of huddled, even though it was a bright May morning. You would have thought it was winter! Maybe they were there because they’d lost someone they loved and they felt they had to come to see the boat pulled from the river, out of a kind of respect, like standing at the graveside at a funeral. Scuff did not like funerals. He did not want to see dead bodies here either. He’d seen people drowned before. It was horrible … the bodies all bloated out of shape, and squashy.
But if he was ever going to be a policeman like Monk, then he’d better get used to it. Even Hester could look at dead bodies! But then she could do a lot of things that most people couldn’t.
He moved to stand beside a man and woman who were nicely dressed, but pale-faced and as close together as they could get. What would he say to them? Something that would not sound stupid, or childish, or cruel. Nobody was coming out of the wreck alive. Did they hope there was? They couldn’t be that daft—could they?
There was a shout from the shore. Then as they watched, the funnel of the boat broke the surface. No one made a sound. It was so quiet he could hear the gushing of water out of the sides.
Without weighing his words, Scuff turned to the man.
“You shouldn’t watch this, sir. If you lost someone, you don’t need ter see it.” Then he stopped abruptly. It was out of place. He had no right to speak. They had not asked him.
The man turned toward him in surprise, as if he had not realized Scuff was there. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. Did you lose someone, lad?”
“No. My pa’s in the River Police. He worked all night trying to save people, an’ now they’ve taken ’im off the case. Given it to the land police.” Scuff’s voice was bitter, but he could not help it.
The man’s arm tightened around the woman beside him. “You’re right. We can’t do anything here. Come on, Jenny. Don’t look. Remember him the way he was. Lad’s right.” He looked again at Scuff. “Your pa send you to report back to him?”
“No, sir! ’E thinks I’m at school! But I gotter do something. This in’t right. It’s our river. What kind of a cruise was it, sir? What kind o’ people?”
The man began to move away from the place where he had been standing. His arm was still around the woman, but his glance included Scuff.
“Just a pleasure cruise,” he replied. “The Princess Mary. Started up at Westminster Bridge and went as far as Gravesend, then back again. Expensive, at least for those attending the party. Very good food, lots of champagne and that sort of thing. Just … just
people having fun.” Suddenly his face tightened with fury. “What kind of a madman would want to hurt people like that? Why, for God’s sake?”
“Albert …” The woman’s hand tightened, dragging his arm down toward her. “The boy doesn’t know. Nobody does. It’s mad … mad things don’t make sense.”
Scuff wanted to say something that would make her feel better. What would Hester have said?
