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‘I am going for a walk along the river,’ he added. ‘South bank. I’ll give it some thought. See you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hooper replied quietly. ‘Good night.’
Scuff was standing on the wharf at Greenwich when Monk’s ferry pulled up to the steps and he climbed out. Scuff had grown almost a foot in height in the five years since Monk had adopted him. Or, more accurately, since he had adopted Monk. He had been eleven, or thereabouts, anyway, and felt far too old to need parents!
But Monk himself had been new to his job on the river and really did need somebody who knew the teeming life of the Thames to stop him making the worst mistakes, if he were to succeed, never mind solve any crimes. Scuff had made his own way on the river-bank for several years. It seemed natural that he should keep an eye on Monk, help him now and then, and explain how things worked.
Scuff had always liked Monk. Hester was a different matter. Scuff was too big to need a mother, and anyway, he already had one, but he had left home years ago. There had been no room for him there since he was about seven and his mother had remarried and had more babies.
Scuff had been very wary of Hester. She was an odd one, not like any other woman he knew. At first she seemed so strong she was frightening. She knew things no one else did, about medicine, and government. He was almost ready to admit to himself that he loved her, in some ways even more than he loved Monk. The quality of the feeling was different. There was a kind of peace in it that he did not understand.
He rose to his feet as Monk reached the top of the steps. Although Monk was smiling, he looked tired, which was a pity because Scuff had things he needed to talk about with him, and he didn’t want to have to wait for another opportunity. It had taken all his courage to make up his mind now. He had it worked out and the words were on his tongue, although there were too many for the short walk home. Monk’s house was home to Scuff now, just as if he had been born there. Sometimes, however, he woke in the night and just lay still, feeling the space and the cleanness of it, then getting up and touching things to make sure it was all real.
‘D’yer wanter walk?’ Scuff asked hopefully. ‘Dinner in’t ready yet.’
Monk hesitated only a second, and then he smiled and agreed.
They started to walk east along the bank, towards the Estuary, which led eventually to the sea. They watched the water, the longest street in London, where the ships made their way past them up towards the Pool, the biggest port on earth.
They stopped to stare as an ocean-going schooner made its way with half-sails set.
‘Wonder where it’s come from,’ Scuff said in awe. His imagination skipped through the possibilities that Monk had taught him: countries on the coasts of Africa, China, Australia, Egypt – names that conjured up visions like a magic incantation.
Monk smiled. ‘India?’ he suggested, as if he knew it was the one Scuff had not thought of.
‘Have you ever been to India?’ Scuff asked.
‘No,’ Monk answered quickly. ‘Would you like to go?’
‘Not yet,’ Scuff said. ‘I like it here . . . for now.’
They started to walk again.
‘Then what’s wrong?’ Monk asked quietly.
A string of barges passed, followed by a coastal scow heavy-laden with coal.
Scuff needed to find the right words to tell Monk what he had decided. He was not at all sure what Monk would think; if he would be disappointed, even angry. Scuff glanced at him and felt his heart sink. This was not a good time for him to bring up decisions for the future. Monk clearly had something on his mind already. But he would have to tell him some time soon, and there were always going to be other things that mattered. He drew in his breath to start, right words or not, then he looked at Monk’s face again and saw the anxiety in it.
‘Summink go wrong?’ he asked.
Monk was startled for a moment, and then he smiled ruefully. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘Yeah,’ Scuff nodded. Then he saw the flicker in Monk’s expression and knew that he would rather not be so easily read. Well, he would just have to put up with it. Scuff had always had a pretty good idea of when he was troubled, even if he was quite often wrong as to the cause. This time he made a very well-educated guess. ‘Mr Orme going to stop working any more?’ he asked.
Monk sighed. ‘Yes, I think so.’
Scuff kicked at a small stone and sent it rattling across the path.
‘Don’t worry. Mr Hooper’ll be there.’ He said it as comfort, but also with belief and some considerable respect. His mind slipped back to Hooper arriving at the door in Paradise Row, badly injured and needing help because he had gone alone to fight a battle to save Monk. He could close his eyes and see Hooper sitting on the hard-backed chair in the kitchen while Hester stopped the bleeding with all the towels she could find, and then stitched him up. It must have hurt like being stuck with daggers, but Hooper had never moved. It had been a bad time. Scuff didn’t really want to remember it, except that if they could all come through that, then they would probably come through anything. And Hooper had been part of it.
‘He will!’ he said again, with conviction.
‘I know,’ Monk agreed. His hand casually brushed Scuff’s shoulder, just a touch, then gone again.
It was time for Scuff to stop avoiding it. ‘I got summink I need ter tell you,’ he said.
He glanced at Monk and saw him nod, waiting.
