The Dark Assassin (18 page)

"Honesty,"
Hester replied. She took a deep breath. "And perhaps a less fashionable
gown?"

"Oh!"
Rose blushed, glancing down at her beautiful dress. "Yes, of course. This
is quite inappropriate, isn't it! Will you excuse me for fifteen minutes? I'm
sure I can find something better. Morgan, please don't spend the time trying to
persuade Mrs. Monk that I am not suitable for this task. It would be
humiliating for me. I like her, and I wish to impress her as competent."
She gave him a dazzling smile and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, my
dear."

Hester mastered
her expression with difficulty, reaching very quickly for a handkerchief and coughing
into it to hide her smile.

Morgan Applegate
blinked also, but he did not say anything.

After Rose had
changed, Hester suggested that although it would take a little longer and
definitely be a great deal less comfortable, it would be wiser if they were to
travel by public omnibus rather than in Rose's carriage. The day was viciously
cold, with intermittent sleet and snow piling in dirty drifts at the edges of
gutters and walls and causing the drains to overflow, so everything was wet
underfoot.

"Of
course," Rose agreed, her face reflecting momentary distaste. "I
shall appreciate my carriage more next time, I suppose." Then she realized
that Hester almost certainly did not have a carriage. "I'm sorry!"
she said, a tide of color washing up her cheeks.

Hester laughed.
"I had a carriage before I went to the Crimea," she told her.
"Before the war my family had very comfortable means."

"You lost
it in the war?" They were walking briskly down the street towards the
omnibus stop.

"My father
did," Hester replied as they passed two women going in the opposite
direction. "He was cheated out of it by a man who made a fortune doing
that. He was an ex-army officer invalided out. A hero, so people trusted
him."

There was a
quick sympathy in Rose's face, but she did not interrupt.

"My father
took his own life." Hester found it difficult to say, even so many years
after. "But there was no question about it. He felt it was the only
honorable way to act ... in the circumstances. My mother died shortly
afterwards."

"Oh!"
Rose stopped still in the street, ignoring the spray of icy water from a
passing carriage. "How unbearable for you!"

"One has to
bear it," Hester replied, taking Rose's arm and moving her away from the
edge of the curb. "Doing something helps a great deal. The days pass, and
it gets better. Do you think that was what Mary Havilland was doing?"

They started to
walk again.

"No-no, I
don't think so," Rose said gravely. "She was . . . too excited. She
grieved terribly for her father, of course, but she really believed she was
going to prove his innocence-I mean of ... Oh!" It was a wail of horror at
herself. She was aghast at her own clumsiness in piling one pain on top of
another.

Hester was
forced to smile. There was a ridiculous humor to it, in spite of the tragedy.
"I never thought my father acted dishonorably," she said truthfully.
"In his mind he was paying the price for his error."

"What
happened to the soldier who ... ?"

"He was
murdered, very violently, by someone else he had . . . robbed," Hester answered,
then changed the subject. "What was Mary like? Please tell me the truth,
not what kindness dictates because she is dead."

Rose thought for
a long time, in fact until they reached the omnibus stop and stood side by side
waiting.

"I liked
her," she began. "Which means that my opinion is probably not
accurate. She was brave in her opinions, and in fighting for what she cared
about. But she was afraid of certain kinds of failure."

"I think we
all are," Hester agreed. "There are things we can afford to lose, and
things we know we can't and still stay whole at heart."

Rose looked at
her, then lowered her glance. "I think Mary was afraid of being alone, but
also of marrying someone she did not love. And she did not love Toby. I am not
certain if in the end she even liked him. She preferred the safety of being a
good daughter. She did that superbly."

"And she
thought there was no risk in it," Hester added.

"Exactly."
Rose met her eyes again. "But she never thought of her own danger in
defending her father. I think her courage may have cost her her life."

"You think
Toby meant her to go over the bridge?"

"I know the
Argyll brothers only socially. We've met maybe a dozen times in the last few
months, but anyone could see they were very close. Toby was clever and
ambitious. Alan was proud of him."

"But Alan
was a success already?"

"Very much.
He is quite wealthy. And well regarded, so my husband says." She frowned.
"Actually, his company's record of safety is excellent, better than that
of many other companies. If Mary found anything untoward, then she must have
been either very lucky or extraordinarily clever."

The omnibus
arrived and they climbed onboard awkwardly, struggling to hold wet skirts out
of the way. They did not continue talking until they had found seats and the
horses moved off again.

"Then it
won't be easy," Hester observed. "I cannot help assuming that Mary
was unusually intelligent and of a very practical turn of mind."

"Yes,
absolutely," Rose agreed. "In fact, she was a little unfeminine in
her grasp of logic, mathematics, and such things as engineering. At least she
was told so, and I think she believed it."

"Did she
care?"

"Yes. She
was a little self-conscious," Rose admitted. "She was defensive about
it, so I suppose that means she did. But that is the thing-the week or so
before she died, she was more fully herself than ever before! She had realized
that she had her father's gift for engineering and was happy with it." Her
face was very earnest. "Mrs. Monk, she really was not going to kill
herself!"

"Even if
she had discovered her father to be mistaken?" Hester hated having to say
it, but it would be not only dishonest but destructive of all they hoped to do,
for themselves and for others, to conceal it now.

"I believe
so," Rose said without hesitation.

The omnibus
reached the end of the line. They dismounted and walked briskly around the
corner to the stop for the next one, which would take them as far as the
hospital where most injured men would have been taken after the collapse of the
Fleet sewer. On this journey they discussed tactics and decided that Rose
should begin the conversation as the wife of a member of Parliament, but when
it came to medical details, then she would ask questions as Hester prompted
her.

It was a long
time since Hester had been inside such an institution, but it was exactly as
she remembered. In the long hallway she smelled again the forced cleanliness
masking the odors of sickness, alcohol, coal dust, and blood. Almost
immediately she saw junior doctors, excited, self-conscious, walking with a
mixture of arrogance and terror that betrayed the fact that they were on the
verge of actually practicing surgery, cutting into human flesh to heal-or kill.

She found
herself smiling at her own innocence in the past, imagining she could change
everything except for a few individual people here and there.

It took them
half an hour to gain access to the appropriate person. Rose was magnificent.
Standing a little behind her, Hester could see her hands knotted with tension,
and she already knew Rose well enough to be very aware of how much she cared,
however much she might lie with candid and superb ease, at least on the
surface.

"How kind
of you, Dr. Lamb," she said charmingly when they were in the chief
surveyor's office. "My husband wished me to learn a few facts so that he
will not be caught out if asked questions in the House."

Lamb was a
middle-aged man with a quiff of sandy-gray hair and rimless eyeglasses, and not
quite as tall as Rose, so he was obliged to look up at her. "Of course,
Miss ... Mrs. Applegate. What is it the honorable gentleman wishes to
know?"

"It's
really fairly simple," Rose replied, still standing in front of his desk,
thus obliging him to remain on his feet also. "It is a matter of the
nature and frequency of serious injuries to men involved in the work on the new
sewer system."

"Absolutely
vital!" Lamb said earnestly. "The state of public hygiene in the city
of London is a disgrace to the Empire! Anyone would think we were the edge of
the world, not the center of it!"

Rose drew in her
breath, then let it out again. "You are quite right," she agreed
diplomatically. "Quite right. It is so very important that we must be
absolutely certain that we are correct in all we say. To mislead the House is
an unpardonable sin, you know?"

"Yes,
yes." He nodded, pushing his eyeglasses up to the bridge of his nose.
"What is it you wish from me, Mrs. Applegate? I am sure figures are
already known from the companies concerned."

Rose and Hester
had already decided on the answer to that. "Naturally, but they have a
powerful interest in the number of injuries being as low as possible. And there
is the world of difference between an engineer's estimate of an injury and a
surgeon's."

"Of course.
Please be seated, Mrs. Applegate. And Miss ... Mrs ?"

He waved at
Hester without looking at her.

"We would
like specifics," Rose continued, sitting upright with a ramrod-stiff back
and smiling at him. "Descriptions of actual injuries, and the names of the
men concerned, so that it is apparent that we have investigated the matter more
than superficially."

Lamb looked
uncomfortable.

Rose waited with
an air of expectancy, eyes wide, her mouth in a half smile, ready to beam upon
him if he should do as she wished. "As full a list as possible," she
added. "So we do not seem to be singling out any particular company. That
would not do."

Reluctantly Lamb
reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out a small key. He rose, opened a
file cabinet, and from one of the drawers took out a folder of papers. He
returned to the desk and read from them selectively. "I cannot see what
use this will be in the House of Commons," he said finally.

He had described
accidents and injuries in the blandest terms, using laymen's words, making them
seem slighter than they were. Rose might not know that he was being evasive,
but Hester did. She spoke for the first time.

"There was
an Albert Vincent. His right leg was crushed when a load overturned on him,
breaking his femur, I think you said in two places."

"That is
correct," he agreed, frowning at her, puzzled as to why she had spoken at
all. He had assumed her to be there merely as chaperone, or perhaps a maid of
some sort.

"You did
not mention the treatment given him. Was that because he died?"

"Died?"
He looked appalled. "Why ever should you think that, Mrs.... ?"

"Mrs.
Monk," she supplied. "Because from the description, the load have
torn the femoral artery, which would have meant he bled to death in a matter of
minutes. If there had been anyone there on the scene to amputate the limb and
rescue him, surely it would have been mentioned?"

He was clearly
flustered. "The details are not there, young lady, and I hardly think it
is something about which you would have any knowledge, even if you can read a
little and bandy words around as if you understood them."

"Oh, she
does!" Rose said with a sweet smile. "Mrs. Monk was in the Crimea
with Miss Nightingale. She is acquainted with battlefield surgery, in the most
distressing circumstances."

"You didn't
say so!" he accused, the color now hot in his face. "That is, if I
may be candid, most deceiving of you!"

"Is
it?" Rose said ingenuously. "I'm so sorry. I had imagined you would
say exactly the same to whomever you spoke to. Had she been of a delicate
disposition and likely to faint, I would not have brought her, of course. But
that is quite different. I cannot imagine what you would have said differently
had you known Mrs. Monk is very practiced in such tragic and terrible
things."

He glared at her
but apparently could think of nothing to escape from the pit he had unwittingly
dug for himself.

"I shall
just make a few notes so that we cannot find ourselves mistaken. It would be
dreadful to quote figures that are not true. And embarrassing," Rose
continued, keeping her smile fixed. She looked straight at him; his face was
tight-lipped, but he did not argue.

Outside on the
steps, with the wind tugging at their skirts, victory seemed already fading.
Rose turned to Hester. "Now what do we do?"