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Only when he was in trouble too real and too desperate to be plastered over with vanities had he come to value her lack of compromise and see her courage as the one quality that mattered.
He was frightened, but perfectly well. Should he trouble her with his fear? It would be so much lighter if he shared it, and she might see the way forward more clearly than he did.
Frightened! He had actually framed the word in his mind. That was an admission he seldom made, if ever. And so bluntly. It was to admit the unknown. Everything before waking in the hospital was unknown, and above all, the man he had been. Evidence varied from those who respected him, who said he was extremely clever, even brilliant at times, inexhaustible, apparently fearless, and uncompromising to those who did not like him. A larger number agreed he was clever, but added that he was too arrogant to be afraid, too angry to give in to tiredness, and too judgmental to compromise.
And now? He had made too many mistakes of his own to afford easy judgment. He knew fear very well. Perhaps he had before, but hid it better. Now at least he not only knew he needed others, but found it easy to accept, even comfortable.
“We’ve got evidence that McNab’s men were working with the river pirates, at least as far as telling them about our raid,” he said.
“Enough to prove it?” Hester asked with a lift of hope in her voice.
“Not yet,” he admitted.
“Did he do it for money?” she asked. “That might be a way of linking up the evidence. You have to be very clever indeed to hide unearned money, once people know it’s there, if they look for it.” She was watching his face. “Or was that not the reason?”
“The man who drowned at Skelmer’s Wharf—Pettifer—seems to have been a part of it. Of course, how much he knew is another question….”
“You mean only McNab knew what was really going on? Why? He’s got a good career, William, money and respect, and there’s very little danger in his job. Why would he risk that?”
That was the heart of what frightened him. What had he done to McNab that mattered so much to him that he would jeopardize all he had to damage Monk? He had lain awake searching what was left, what he could find and piece together of his memory, but there was nothing.
“William…?” she said gently.
He looked up. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The words were difficult to say, even to Hester. “I don’t have any memory of him at all, not his name, his face, anything.”
“Did you ever work on the river before?” she asked. “I don’t mean remember, but you must have looked at records. You know where you were in the police.”
This was dangerous territory now, too close to the shards of memory that Aaron Clive was stirring up, and Gillander.
“I was in the Metropolitan Police from 1852 onward. The records are clear. I don’t know before that, but not on the river. Not anywhere that I can trace.” That was what frightened him, that yawning gap of the unknown. Working in the police, yes. But at what? Clever, successful, ruthless…and what else?
“And have you looked for McNab’s name in the old records?” Hester asked. Her voice was so gentle, her eyes troubled; she knew he was afraid of what he might uncover.
“Not…yet…” he admitted. “I must, mustn’t I?”
“It’ll be there waiting for you if you don’t.” She did not pretend it would be painless. She never had avoided confronting what was painful. Instead she moved forward off her seat and onto her knees and put her arms around him, holding him with all her strength.
“Have you spoken to Crow lately?” he asked at last, letting go of her.
She looked up at him and smiled, lifting the weariness from her face and softening the shadows. “Yes. Scuff makes mistakes, of course. But Crow says he has good instincts, and is so keen to learn. He’s also patient, which I admit surprises me.”
He asked the question that hovered at the edge of his mind, where anxiety waited.
“Is he actually any use to Crow, other than as an assistant, a messenger? If he’s doing us a favor having Scuff, rather than his actually helping, then I must pay him.”
She leaned back a little, smiling. “Crow will be gentle, but he won’t spare the truth. It wouldn’t be a kindness, either now or later. Scuff must become a good doctor, or no doctor at all.”
/> He smiled back at her. “I suppose that’s what he wants?”
“Of course it is,” she agreed. “I know you would like to spare him the pain of failure. So would I. I have to keep reminding myself that I wouldn’t accept comfortable lies, or anyone else protecting me from life.”
He winced. “I wouldn’t have dared!” he said, only half-jokingly. He had wanted to, and failed. He loved her, and had seen the pain she concealed from other people. She seemed so fierce, so sure of herself. Did anyone else see the capacity for hurt in her, the self-doubt she had to hide from the patients because they needed to believe in her? Without knowing it she was possibly teaching Scuff the exact same qualities.
She was looking at him a little ruefully.
He put his hand on hers for a moment, then sat back in his chair and let the silence of the room settle over him. There was no sound but the whickering of the flames in the hearth, and the patter of rain on the windows beyond the curtains.
“William…” Hester said quietly.
