'Burned?'
'Gas. There's 'ouse'old gas pipes in 'em sewers as well. Get a shift in the clay an' one o' them cracks, an' first spark you'll 'ave not only the gas from the sewage, but back up inter every 'ouse as 'as gaslight. See wot I mean?'
'Yes.' Hester saw only too well. It could be a second Great Fire of London if he was right. 'Surely they've thought of that, too?' They had to have. No one was irresponsible enough not to foresee such a catastrophe. A few navvies drowned or suffocated, she could believe. There had been a cave-in when the crown of the arch of the Fleet sewer had broken. The scaffolding beams had been flung like matchwood into the air, falling, crashing as the whole structure subsided and the bottom of the excavation moved like a river, rolling and crushing and burying.
Sutton was watching her too. 'Yer 'memberin' the Fleet?' he asked.
She was startled. Of course he had told her about the Fleet River running under London in the tales his father had told him. Now she knew why. He had described the whole network of shifting, sliding, seeping, running waters.
'Doesn't everybody know this?' she said incredulously.
It was Lu Collard who answered. 'Course they do, Miss. But 'oo's gonna say it, eh? Lose yer job? Then 'oo feeds yer kids?'
Collard shifted uncomfortably in his imprisoning chair. His face was more wasted with pain than Hester had appreciated before. He was probably in his mid-thirties. He had been a good-looking man when he was whole.
'Aw, Andy, she can see it!' his wife said wearily. 'In't no use pre-tendin'.' That's wot them bastards count on! Everyone so buttoned up wi' pride, nob'dy's gonna say they're scared o' bein' the next one 'urt.'
'Be quiet, woman!' Collard snapped. 'Yer don't know nothin'. Their men in't-'
'Course they is!' She turned on him. 'They in't stupid! They know it's gonna 'appen one day, an' Gawd knows 'ow many'll get killed. They don't say nothin 'cos they'd sooner get crushed or drownded termorrer than starve terday, an' let their kids starve! Shut yer eyes, an' wot yer don't see don't 'urt yer!'
'Yer gotta live!' he said, looking away from her.
Sutton was watching Hester, his thin face anxious.
'Of course you have,' Hester answered. 'And the new sewers have got to be built. We can't allow the Great Stink to happen again, or have typhoid and cholera in the streets as we had before. But no one wants another disaster like the Fleet sewer, only worse. There's too much money involved for anyone to do it willingly. There needs to be a law involved, one that can be enforced.'
'They won't never do that,' Collard said bitterly. 'Only men wots got money can vote, and Parliament makes the laws.'
Hester looked at him gently. 'Sewers run under the houses of men with money more than they do under yours or mine. I think we might find a way of reminding them of that. At least we can try.'
Collard sat perfectly still for a moment. Then very slowly he turned to look at Sutton, to try to read in his face if Hester could possibly mean what she said.
'Exactly,' Sutton said very clearly, then turned to Mrs. Collard. ' 'Ow about a cup o' tea, then, Lu? It's colder'n a witch's-' He stopped, suddenly remembering Hester's presence. ' 'Eart,' he finished.
Collard hid a smile.
Lu glared at him, then smiled suddenly at Hester, showing surprisingly good teeth. 'Yeah. O' course,' she replied.
That evening Hester spent a couple of hours cleaning and tidying up after the plasterer, who was now finished. Not only were the walls perfectly smooth, ready for papering, there was also elegant molding where the wall met the ceiling, and a beautiful rose for the pendant lamp. But all the time her hands were busy with brooms, dustpans, scrubbing brushes, and cloths, she was thinking about her promise to Andy Collard and, more important, to Sutton. As Collard had observed, Parliament made the laws. That was the only place worth beginning. She must find out who was the member most appropriate to approach.
When Monk came home she proudly showed him how the house decorating was going, and asked after the success of his day. She said nothing about Sutton or her interest in the building of the new sewers. It was not difficult to conceal it, nor did she feel deceitful. She was deeply concerned over the apparent suicide of Mary Havilland, the young woman who had so recently lost her father in a way Hester could understand far more than she cared to remember. She had thought her own loss had been dealt with in her mind and the wound of it healed over. Now it was like a bone that was broken long ago but aches again with the cold weather, a pain deep inside, wakening unexpectedly, too covered over with scars to reach again, and yet sometimes hurting as sharply as when it had been new.
She wanted to hide it from Monk. She could see in the shadow in his eyes, the line of his lips, that he was aware of the memory in her, and that he was pursuing the Havilland case at least in part because Mary made him think of Hester. Inside he was reacting to the old injustice as well as the new.
She wanted to smile at him and tell him that it did not hurt anymore. But she would not lie to him. And it was going to hurt more in the loneliness of the house with only chores to keep her busy, no challenge, nothing to fight. She reached out to touch him, to be close to him and say nothing. Sometimes explanations intruded into understanding that was better in silence.
In the morning Hester visited a gentleman she had once nursed through a serious illness. She was delighted to see that he was in much improved health, although he tired more quickly than earlier. She had gone principally for the purpose of learning from him which member of Parliament to seek out regarding the method and regulations of the new construction of sewers.
She came away with the conviction that it was unquestionably Morgan Applegate. She even obtained a warm letter of introduction so that she might call upon him immediately.
Since she was already dressed in the best clothes she had, and incidentally the warmest, she bought herself a little luncheon from a street peddler-something she had become used to lately. By early afternoon she was at the front door of the home of Morgan Applegate, M.P.
It was opened by a short, extremely plump butler who took her letter of introduction. He showed her into a morning room with a roaring fire that gleamed red and gold on the polished furniture and in the copper globes that decorated the handsome fender.
It was a full quarter hour before Morgan Applegate himself appeared. He was a most agreeable-looking man, of average height, with an aquiline face that yet managed to look mild in spite of a very obvious intelligence. His fairish hair was receding, and he was clean-shaven.
He greeted Hester courteously, invited her to sit, then asked what he might do to be of assistance to her.
She told him of her visit to the excavations the previous day, without mentioning Sutton's name or occupation.
He stopped her in midsentence. 'I am aware of this problem, Mrs. Monk.'
Her heart sank. The fear of typhoid was everywhere, and the queen was in the grip of a desperate, almost uncontrollable grief since Prince Albert 's death from typhoid. If Applegate was a man of any ambition, he would not risk his career by stating an opinion that must be bound to anger and offend many.
'Mr. Applegate,' she said earnestly, 'I do understand the very immediate need for new and adequate sewers. I nursed men dying of typhoid in the Crimea, and it is something I could never forget or take lightly. But if you had seen the dangers-'
'Mrs. Monk'-he interrupted her again, leaning forward a little in the chair he had taken opposite her-'I am aware of the matter because it was drawn to my attention by someone else, someone even more disturbed by the possibility of disaster than you are. She gave her whole time and attention to it, and I fear perhaps even her sanity.' His face was very grave, and there was an acute consciousness of pain in his eyes. 'My wife was very fond of her, and I held her in high regard myself.'
'Held?' Hester said with a chill. 'What happened to her?'
Now there was no mistaking his distress. 'Of that I am not certain. I was informed only of the merest details, and since they are unclear, I prefer not to repeat them. It is no slight upon you, Mrs. Monk, it is a respect for the dead. She was a young woman of great courage, a kind of high daring. In spite of personal loss and forfeit of much chance of happiness, she placed honor first, and it seems to have exacted from her a terrible price. Please do not press me to say more.'
But it was impossible for Hester to leave it. She was the equal of anyone on earth for compassion, and had the
