‘im to scare off some of ‘is custom. And that in't all. There's the other thing to think about, an’ I can't protect you from that, ‘cause no one can.”
“What thing?” she asked immediately. She trusted Sutton; he had proved both his friendship and his courage. If he feared something, then it was dangerous.
“The way I heard it, it wasn't just you and Mr. Monk who proved a bit sloppy,” he said reluctantly. “It was Mr. Durban as well. You trusted in what ‘e'd done, so you didn't take care to prove everything so not even a clever beggar like Mr. Rathbone could undo it. But what about Mr. Durban, eh? Why'd he slip up?”
“Because…” She had been about to say that he could not have realized how clever Rathbone would be, but that wouldn't do. He should have been prepared for anyone. “He was emotional about it too,” she said instead.
Sutton shook his head. “That in't good enough, Miss Hester, an’ you know that. He stopped an’ started all over the place, way I heard it. You sure you want to know why?” His voice was gentle. “What do you know about him, for sure?”
She did not answer. There was no point in being defensive and saying that she knew he was good. She did not know it, she believed it, and she did that only because Monk did.
Sutton sighed. “Sure you want to?” This time he was not arguing, just waiting to allow her space to retreat, if she needed to.
But there was no point; Monk would go ahead regardless of whether she went with him or not. He could not leave it alone now. Something of his belief in himself, in his value as a friend, depended upon Durban being essentially the man he supposed him to be. And if he were to be disillusioned, he would need Hester's strength all the more. Standing apart would leave him bitterly alone.
“Better to know,” she replied.
Sutton sighed and finished the last of his sandwich, still standing, then drained his glass. “Then we'd better go,” he said with resignation. “C'mon, Snoot.”
“What about your rats?” she asked.
“There's rats… an’ rats,” he replied enigmatically. “I'll take you to see Nellie. What she don't know in't worth the bother. Just follow me, and keep your ears open an’ your mouth shut. It in't nice places we're goin’. By rights I'd rather not even take you, but I know you'll insist, and I ‘aven't got time for an argument I in't goin’ to win.”
She smiled bleakly and followed after him along the narrow street, the dog between them. She did not ask what Nellie's occupation might be, and he did not offer any further information.
They took a bus eastwards into Limehouse. After walking with him another further half mile on foot through tangled lanes and cobbles, with awkward roofs almost meeting above them, she had lost her sense of direction entirely. She could not even smell the incoming tide of the river above the other odors of dense, swarming city life: the drains, the stale smoke, the horse manure, the sickly sweetness of a nearby brewery.
They found Nellie in a dim back room behind a public house. She was a small, tidy woman dressed in black that had long ago faded to a variety of grays. She wore a widow's lace cap on hair that sat in absurd little-girl ringlets down the sides of her creased face. Her eyes were small, narrow against the light, and-when Hester met them almost accidentally-as sharp as gimlets. She could probably see a pin on the floor at twenty paces.
Sutton did not introduce them, he merely told Nellie that Hester was all right, that she knew when to speak and when not to.
Nellie grunted. “That's as may be,” she said curtly. “What d'yer want?” The last was addressed to Sutton; Hester was already dismissed.
“Like to know a bit more about some o’ the river police,” Sutton replied.
“Wot for?” Nellie regarded him suspiciously. “They in't never gonna cross your path.”
“For a friend of mine,” Sutton said.
“If your ‘friend’ is in trouble, better ter deal wi’ the reg'lar cops,” she told him unequivocally. “River Police is right bastards. Not many of ‘em, an’ not much way round ‘em.”
“Straight?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Mostly,” she conceded.
“Monk?”
“Used ter be reg'lar p'lice, so I ‘eard. Mean bastard, an’ clever. ‘Ang on ter a case like a bleedin’ bulldog.” She glanced at Snoot sitting at Sutton's feet. “Bulldog,” she repeated.
“But straight?” Sutter insisted.
“Yeah. Leave ‘im alone. Best ‘e never ‘eard of yer.”
“Orme?”
“Straight as a stair rod,” she replied with a sniff.
“ Durban?”
“Don't matter. ‘E's dead. Blew ‘isself up on a ship.”
“But was he straight?”
She tilted her head to one side and twisted her mouth until it looked like she had tasted a bad egg. “If yer after Jericho Phillips again, ye're a fool. ‘E ‘ad summink on Durban, same as Durban ‘ad on ‘im. Dunno wot it were, an’ reckon I'm best ter keep it that way. Although I like ter know things. Never say when it might come in useful. But someone ‘ad the bite on Durban. Dunno if it were Phillips ‘isself or just that ‘e knew about it. But I do know that Mr. Durban weren't nothin’ like wot ‘is precious river police thought ‘e were. Got secrets, that one, an’ I never found out wot they were, so it in't no use askin’ me, Mr. Sutton, no matter wot yer thinks I owe yer.”
Sutton had to be content with that, at least from her.
Even when they were outside again, he said nothing to Hester, except to ask her if she wished to continue.
“Certainly,” she replied, although the misery was knotting up inside her. The word of one woman who might be a fence of stolen goods, a brothel keeper, or worse, should not tarnish the reputation of a good man. It was not Nellie's word that disturbed her, it was her own fear as to why Durban had pursued Phillips so relentlessly, then suddenly stopped. Then why had he taken it up again, when nothing they knew of had changed? Rathbone, with his skill, had revealed weaknesses in her reasoning, questions and doubts that she needed to have answered. She was ashamed of it, but that did not still the voices in her mind.
And she was afraid for Monk, because she knew how much of the peace within him that he had finally gained had come because a man like Durban, honest, wise, and possessed of his own inner strength, had bequeathed him the task he himself could no longer perform. Durban had trusted Monk to lead his men, and leading men was something Monk had never done successfully. He was brave, intelligent, imaginative, sometimes ruthless, but never before likable. He had never before inspired loyalty or the ultimate trust of others.
Over the years since the accident, flashes of memory had lit up individual scenes for him, and deduction had filled in many of the surrounding blanks. The picture that emerged was of a man he did not always like. It was too vividly easy to see why others had not.
He had tried hard to change. Durban was the one man who had seen the best in him and placed his trust in it. Now that Oliver Rathbone had suddenly become a stranger, a man they no longer understood, Durban was even more a key to trust.
Hester was afraid of what Monk was going to learn about him, and how deeply it would hurt. Therefore she needed to be the first to know, so she could protect him-or, if that were not possible, at least walk beside him through whatever lay ahead.
She followed Sutton along the dark alley towards the next person he would question on her behalf.
FIVE
Monk left home and walked down towards the ferry landing. He was also weighed down with anxiety, and even more with guilt. The view across the river was bright and busy. Heavily laden barges passed in both directions, dark against the sun on the water. All he could think of was that Phillips was free, not only from prison and execution, but from ever being charged again with the murder of Fig. No matter what proof Monk might find now, it could not be used against him. How could failure be more complete?
He crossed Rotherhithe Street and went down the narrow alley to Princes Stairs. The smells of salt and mud
