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She swallowed. ‘Then you risk their dying, and I will not let you do that.’
‘I see. You know, Mrs Monk, I believe you.’ He turned and walked a couple of yards towards a cupboard, opened it and took out a bottle and a cloth. He was between her and the door.
He looked up, smiling with a strange expression of regret. Then he moved swiftly. She felt her arms held. It was painful. There was a pungent smell, something over her nose and mouth. She tried to fight him, but the darkness closed over her and she plunged forward into nothingness.
When Monk got home there was no sign of Hester. He guessed that she had been kept at the hospital. Maybe the patient she had been nursing had reached a critical point and she could not leave him.
Scuff left a note, saying that he was working with Crow and had no idea when he would be back.
Monk went to bed alone, restless and unhappy. He had wanted intensely to tell Hester about the schooner, and all that had happened, the suspense and the pain, his fear for his men, and how they had shown such startling care for each other when the dangers were worst. He was proud of them, and he had wanted to tell her so, and see her pleasure. He realised with a to
uch of self-mockery how much he wanted to see her face, her eyes, when he told her. Out of all of it, the way in which they had survived was what mattered to him.
And, of course, there was the question of McNab, whose men had never shown up. Was that mischance, misunderstanding, carelessness – or deliberate betrayal as revenge for something Monk could not even recall?
He wanted more than anything else to tell her about Orme, and the grief he felt, how deep was his sense of loss. He wished to tell her about Laker, of all people, who had tried so desperately hard to save him. Laker had wept when he knew that Orme was dead. She would have understood.
Sharing all this with her mattered intensely to him. It would have eased his own pain and been the beginning of healing.
He woke in the morning stiff and still tired, but he got up straight away, shaved and dressed. He went downstairs and found Scuff in the kitchen.
‘She isn’t home yet,’ he said, looking Monk up and down. ‘Wot ’appened? You been in a fight?’ He did not give words to his anxiety, but it was clear in his face.
‘She must have been detained,’ Monk answered, going over to the stove, which had been carefully banked all night so it was still burning. Scuff had already opened it, cleaned out the old ash and put more coal on it. The kettle was hot. Everything was set for breakfast, it was only Hester that was absent. But for both of them, this left the room incomplete.
Scuff helped Monk make breakfast and they ate together in companionable silence. Scuff left for school and Monk went down to the ferry and across to Wapping.
But by that evening there was still no word from Hester, and Monk could take it no longer. He put on his coat again and went to find out where she was.
When he reached the hospital, he went immediately to the annexe wing where Hester worked for Dr Rand. He found that, in spite of his aching muscles, his step quickened at the thought of seeing her in moments, even if she could not return home with him. Just to see her, hear her voice would unravel the knots that were so painful inside him.
Inside, he enquired for Magnus Rand’s office and went along the corridor past all protest. At the door he knocked abruptly.
‘Come,’ a voice replied from inside.
Monk opened the door and went in. He closed it behind him and looked at the rather harassed man seated behind the desk littered with papers. He barely noticed the rest of the room, the bookshelves or mementoes.
‘Dr Rand?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir? Who are you, and what may I do for you?’ Magnus Rand asked.
‘I am William Monk, Commander of the Thames River Police,’ Monk replied. ‘I have come to see my wife, Hester Monk. I am concerned about her. She has not been home in two days. Where is she?’
The colour drained from Rand’s face. It was seconds before he found his voice to reply.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Monk is not here,’ he said a little huskily. ‘She left today, without giving me a reason. It was only a temporary post anyway. She was filling in for a friend who had to take leave.’
Monk was stunned.
Chapter Six
HESTER WOKE up with a headache. She opened her eyes to sunlight so bright it blinded her, and she closed them again quickly. She had recognised nothing in the room. She was not at home. Was she still in the hospital? A room she did not know? Why?
She licked her lips and tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Her tongue tasted like a piece of old blanket. Her body ached as if she had been involved in a fight, and yet she could not remember anything like that. In fact, the last thing she could remember was standing in Hamilton Rand’s laboratory. He had said something. She had argued. She struggled to remember what it had been about, but it eluded her.
She moved slightly. She was lying on something soft. If she had not ached so much, it would have been comfortable.
She opened her eyes again, narrowly. It was less bright. She took a deep breath and made herself focus. She was lying on a bed with carved wooden bedposts at the foot. She was in a small room with dark, reddish-pink wallpaper. The ceiling was low. Bright sunlight came in through the small, latticed window, falling in a pool around her. It looked like a cottage bedroom.
