Acceptable Loss (33 page)

“Yes, exactly like that. I expect she didn’t even know what happened.”

“Were it the same person wot done ’im?”

“Yes, I expect it was. She was found in the water, as he was, and pretty close to the same place.”

“In’t Mr. Ballinger in jail?” He pulled the bedclothes a little tighter round his body.

“He is now, but he wasn’t when she was killed. But neither was Rupert Cardew.”

His eyes opened wider. “Yer think as ’e done ’er?”

“No, I don’t. But they might try to make it look that way, to get Mr. Ballinger off.”

“Yer like Mr. Cardew, don’t yer?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t have anything to do with it. At least, it shouldn’t.”

He looked puzzled. “You wouldn’t like ’im anymore if ’e done it?”

His hand was still lying on top of hers, as if he had forgotten it. She was careful not to move. “I might still like him. You don’t stop liking people, or even loving them, because they’ve done something horrible. I suppose first you try to understand why. And it makes a difference if they’re sorry—really sorry. But it doesn’t mean they don’t have to pay for it, or put as much of it right as they can. You have to have right and wrong the same for everybody, or it isn’t fair.”

He nodded. “So wot are we gonna do?”

“Find out what happened.”

“Termorrer?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I woke you up to tell you, but there might not be time in the morning … and …”

He waited, eyes shadowed.

“I just wanted to tell you now.”

His mouth tightened. “You thought I were gonna cry.” He was on the very edge of it, and angry with himself.

“No,” she told him. “I thought I was. I still might!”

He smiled at her widely, as if it were funny, and two large tears spilled over and rolled down his cheeks.

This time she did put her arms around him and hug him. At first he merely let her, then quite suddenly he hugged her back, hard, hanging on to her and burying his face in her shoulder, where the hair that had slipped out of its pins was loose.

I
N THE MORNING
M
ONK
went back to the court, and Hester and Scuff went to the clinic.

“You don’t have to be here,” Squeaky said as soon as she was through the door and into the room where he was working at a table spread with receipts. “Nor you neither,” he added to Scuff.

“Yes, I do,” Hester responded. “And Scuff can help me.” There was no allowance for argument in her voice, and no prevarication. “I want to find out exactly what happened to Hattie Benson, why she left here and who said something to her that prompted her to go.”

Squeaky regarded her dismally. “Won’t do no good. Maybe she lied to you. Have you thought of that?”

“Yes, and I don’t believe it. It came out in court yesterday, Squeaky. She was murdered, exactly the same way as Mickey Parfitt—strangled and put in the river, up at Chiswick.”

“Gawd Almighty, woman!” Squeaky exploded. “What d’you want to go and say that for, in front of the boy? Sometimes you’re a cold-hearted mare, and that’s the truth!”

Scuff charged forward, fists clenched, glaring at Squeaky across the table. “Don’t yer dare talk to ’er like that, yer bleedin’ worm! Yer in’t fit ter clean ’er boots …”

Hester thought of pulling him back, and then decided not to. She could not rob him of the right to defend them both, but she had to bite her lip to hide a weak smile.

Squeaky backed off a little, only a matter of leaning away while still in his chair.

“Y’in’t fit ter …” Scuff went on. Then he drew in his breath and
regarded Squeaky with disgust. “D’yer think I’m some kind o’ baby, then, that you can’t tell me the truth? Yer gotta pretend, as if yer think I can ’ear yer?”

Squeaky considered for a moment. “I grant that, pound for pound, you’re worse than a wild cat,” he opined. “Never mind defending you, I should be looking after myself from the pair of you.” He turned to Hester, his eyes bright with a strange, almost embarrassed amusement, as if he were pleased but did not want them to know. “And how are you going to find out who took poor Hattie to the door and pushed her out, then?”

“I’m going to ask,” Hester replied. “We will begin with a full account of who was here, when they arrived, and what they did, exactly.”

“Like the bleeding police,” Squeaky said with disgust.

Hester caught Scuff just as he was about to launch forward at Squeaky again, his fists clenched.

“Yes,” she agreed. “What did you expect? That I would first ask everyone nicely if they’d set Hattie up to be murdered?”

“I s’pose you want me to write it all down?” he said accusingly. “Don’t blame me if they all walk out in a huff.”

Hester thought of several retorts, and bit them all off before she said them. She needed his help.

“Who was in that day?”

“You think I can remember?” he countered.

“I think you will know exactly who was here, what they did that was useful, and how much they ate,” she replied. “I shall be disappointed in my judgment of your skills if you don’t.”

He considered that a moment or two, weighing up her precise meaning. Then he decided to take it as a compliment, and dug his books out of the desk drawer, finding the appropriate pages for the day of Hattie’s disappearance.

Scuff watched him, fascinated.

“Does ’e ’ave it all there, in them little squiggles o’ writing?” Scuff whispered to her.

“Yes. Marvelous, isn’t it?” she replied.

Scuff gave her a sideways look. She had not yet persuaded him of the necessity of learning to read. He could count. He considered that to be enough.

Squeaky read out who was resident and who had arrived that morning and at what time. He also listed what duties they had performed, and if, in his opinion, they had been requisitely appreciated for their efforts.

Hester made a couple of notes on a piece of paper, borrowing his pencil for the task, then set out to question each person in turn.

To begin with the people were defensive, imagining their work was under attack, and frightened of losing the safety of food and a place to sleep.

Scuff followed Hester most of the time, as if he were protecting her, although he had no idea from what.

“She’s lyin’,” he said casually as they left one young woman in the laundry, her sleeves rolled up, her hands red from hot water and the caustic soap necessary to clean sheets that had been soiled by body waste from the sick and injured.

“We’ll check with Claudine,” Hester replied. “Mrs. Burroughs to you. She’ll know if Kitty was there or not.”

“She weren’t,” Scuff told her. “I’ll bet she were at the back door, doin’ summink as she shouldn’t. Are yer gonna throw ’er out?”

“No,” Hester said immediately. “Not unless she did something to Hattie.”

“Oh.”

She glanced at him and saw the smile on his face.

She questioned two more women—patients not well enough to leave yet but able to be of assistance in cooking and cleaning. Their accounts contradicted Kitty’s, and one of the other women’s.

They found Claudine in the pantry checking rations. There seemed to be plenty of the staples such as flour and beans of several sorts, barley, oatmeal, and salt. Other things such as prunes and brown sugar were in considerably shorter supply.

Claudine smiled when she saw Hester’s eye on the half-empty pot of plum jam, and then Scuff’s, wide with amazement at what to him was a lifetime’s supply of luxury.

“I’ll give you a slice of toast and jam later, if you’re good,” she told him.

Hester nudged him.

“Thank yer,” he said quickly.

“Unless you would rather have a piece of cake?” Claudine added. Her eyes were bright, as if she were laughing inside.

“Yes,” he said instantly. Then he glanced at Hester. “Yes, I would—please.”

Hester told Claudine of the discrepancy between the accounts of who was working where on the morning Hattie disappeared.

Claudine had already judged that it was important.

“That can’t be right,” she agreed. She turned to Scuff. “If you go to the kitchen, you’ll find Bessie there. Tell her that I said you could have a piece of the plum cake in the third jar along. Don’t forget, the third jar. Then she’ll know that you are telling the truth. No one else knows it is there.”

Scuff drew in his breath, and then let it out again. “I’ll ’ave it later,” he replied, taking a step closer to Hester. “Ye’re gonna tell ’er who opened the door an’ let ’Attie out ter get killed. I gotta be ’ere. Thank yer.”

Claudine looked at him, then at Hester. “Is he right?”

Hester nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so. She had strict instructions not to go out for any reason at all, not even to go into the main rooms where other people come and go. She knew she was in danger, and she was scared stiff that they would kill her.”

Claudine’s face filled with misery. “And did they?”

“Yes. Claudine, I have to know who persuaded her to go out.”

“What good will it do now?” Claudine asked. “The poor girl is beyond help.”

“It seems it was just a piece of stupid behavior. But if she was lured out on purpose, then I need to tie it together. The trial is going badly. It looks as if nothing will be proved, and Ballinger will get off on reasonable doubt. We will be back where we started.” She did not add that the trade in pornography would begin again exactly as before, as soon as the man behind it had replaced Mickey Parfitt. Although, she feared that leaving this unsaid would not deceive Scuff for long.

Claudine looked at her, and her eyes were suddenly tired and bitterly
unhappy. “Then you had better ask Lady Rathbone. She was here that morning, working in the laundry and the medicine room, just checking on supplies. She will know who is lying.”

Hester was stunned. “Margaret was here?”

Claudine’s face was unreadable. “Yes.”

“How long?”

“About an hour, that I know of.” Claudine watched her steadily.

“In the laundry?”

“Yes. Hester … I don’t believe any of the women here would lie to you. In addition to their gratitude, and perhaps fear for their future chances of treatment, why would they? They’d lie to anyone else to protect you, as easily as breathing, but not this. They all knew you wanted Hattie protected.”

Hester knew that was true. It was Margaret who’d had every reason to fear Hattie’s testimony. It had just never occurred to Hester that she would do this. In fact, for Hattie to have gone back to Chiswick and ended in the river, Margaret must have done far more than simply getting Hattie to leave.

“She done it?” Scuff asked, looking from Hester to Claudine and back again.

“Not killed her,” Hester said quickly. “But, yes, it does look as if she took her away from here.”

“Then, who killed ’er?” he said, his eyes full of disbelief.

“I don’t know. I don’t know exactly what she did, or what she meant to happen. But I’m going to find out.” She turned to Claudine. “Thank you. I think it’s best if you don’t say anything more to people here, even if they ask you. Please?”

“Of course I won’t.”

Claudine seemed about to add something more, then changed her mind. Hester guessed that it was some kind of warning, and from the troubled gentleness of her face, a sympathy. She smiled back, not needing words.

A
FTER A SHORT, VERY
firm discussion in which she told Scuff he was definitely not coming with her, Hester put him in a hansom and
paid the driver to take him to the Wapping police station. She gave him fare for the ferry home, and she went on to the court.

Even the pavement outside was bustling with people, all eager to catch any word about what was going on inside. It was only with the help of an usher who knew her that Hester managed to get in at all. He escorted her through the hallway, and with some use of his authority, into the very back of the courtroom.

She had not long to wait—just a few minutes of Winchester’s argument—and then the judge adjourned the court for luncheon. Hester was buffeted by the crowd pouring out, first from the back of the gallery, and then at last from the front. She saw Lord Cardew, pale-faced, looking a decade older than he had just a few weeks ago. She was ashamed of being so relieved that he did not see her. What could she say to him that would even touch the pain he must be feeling? How much courage did it cost just to come out of the house, let alone to sit here and listen as the horror grew deeper, and the doubt ate into all that had once been so bright and safe?

Then she saw Margaret and her mother, side by side, just behind two other couples, pale-faced and tense. They also looked neither to right nor left, as if they could see no one. The resemblance in the women—something in the angle of the head, a shape of eyebrow—made Hester believe that they were Margaret’s sisters and their respective husbands.

But it was Margaret she needed to speak to, and alone.

She stepped forward, blocking Mrs. Ballinger’s way. It was discourteous, to say the least, but she had no better alternative.

Mrs. Ballinger stopped abruptly, her face filled with alarm. But Margaret hesitated only an instant, then, grasping the elements of the situation, turned to her mother.

“Mama, it seems Mrs. Monk needs to speak to me. Something must have occurred at the clinic.”

“Then, it can wait!” Mrs. Ballinger said between her teeth. “It is not even imaginable that anything there could be of importance to us now.”

“Mama—”

“Margaret, I do not care if the place has burned to the ground!
Does she expect us to pass buckets of water?” She swiveled away from Margaret to glare at Hester.

“It is regarding evidence, Mrs. Ballinger,” Hester replied, needing a considerable effort to keep her voice level and polite. “I would prefer not to take it to Mr. Winchester, but that is my alternative.”

The last vestiges of color drained from Mrs. Ballinger’s face. “Are you threatening me, Mrs. Monk?”

Hester felt the anger brew inside her. “I am trying to gain your attention, Mrs. Ballinger. Or to be more accurate, Margaret’s attention. The matter in hand is more important than our personal feelings.”

Margaret took her mother’s arm briefly. “I shall find you when court resumes, Mama. Go with Gwen and Celia.” And without waiting for her mother’s reply, she let go of her and faced Hester. “We had better go to Oliver’s rooms. Whatever you have to say need not be made a spectacle of out here. Come.” Then, walking as briskly as possible through the last few people still in the corridors, she led the way to the room where Rathbone was permitted, for the duration of the trial, to keep his papers and to speak with anyone he might need to. The clerk recognized Margaret and, without question, allowed her in, and Hester because they were clearly together.