“For heaven’s sake, man!” Claudine exploded. “Bend your knees! Straighten your back! What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you ever picked up anything before?” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Here!” She bent down carefully and with surprising grace, keeping her back perfectly straight, and picked up the dead woman’s feet. “Come on!” she ordered.
Squeaky copied her exactly, his face twisted in concentration, then lifted the other end of the corpse. He did it with comparative care, hesitated, transparently doubting within himself whether to thank her or not, and very graciously decided to do so. “Yeah!” he said. “It in’t so ’ard.”
“Oh, get on with it!” Claudine told him impatiently. “What are you waiting for, a round of applause?”
He glared at her and set off backwards down the candlelit corridor towards the stairs.
Hester followed, calling out and warning just as Squeaky reached the top of the stairs and looked like he’d fall backwards down them.
“You fool!” Claudine said in utter exasperation, probably because she had not thought to warn him herself.
“I dunno why we bother wi’ Sutton an’ ’is bleedin’ dogs!” Squeaky said indignantly. “Got a mouth like a rattrap, you ’ave! Catch all the bleedin’ rats in the place, yer would! Mebbe that’s wot’s wrong wi’ yer! Swallowin’ too many bleedin’ rats!”
“Stop complaining and carry this poor woman to her grave,” Claudine responded, apparently unmoved.
Squeaky steadied himself and started backwards down the stairs. Claudine went gently, with considerable regard for his balance and speed, waiting whenever it was necessary, and without further criticism. When they reached the bottom she told Squeaky when to go left, when right, and when he seemed lost, she waited.
Finally they reached the back door and Sutton, who was standing beside it, opened it on to the rain-soaked night. The lamplight gleamed on the stones, and the gutters were awash. Under the eaves two men were waiting, dogs sitting patiently at their heels. Two more detached themselves from the shadows, ready to come forward for the body when the door was closed. The rat cart would be waiting at the curb, but it was out of sight.
Squeaky let go of the body with relief and then Claudine let go of her end in turn. To everyone’s amazement she stood quite still, in the rain, her head bowed.
“May the Good Lord have mercy on her soul and remember only what was good in her,” she said quietly. “Amen.” She jerked her head up. “What are you staring at?”
Squeaky glowered at her, his body hunched and tight, shivering in the cold.
“Amen!” he replied, then splashed back over the cobbles to the kitchen door, scattering water everywhere, Claudine immediately behind him.
Hester smiled, thanking them both, just as Bessie appeared, announcing her arrival to take over for a while. Hester excused herself and went upstairs again to find a quiet place and snatch a few hours of sleep, sinking into oblivion with immeasurable gratitude.
She awoke what seemed only a few minutes later, but it must actually have been several hours, because the thin, winter daylight came in through the window. Flo was standing beside her, her long, freckled face filled with misery.
Hester dragged herself into consciousness and forced herself to sit up. The air was cold and her head ached. “What is it, Flo?” she asked.
“I went ter waken Miss Mercy,” Flo replied. “She looks ’orrible pale, an’ I can’t get ’er ter waken proper.”
“She’s probably exhausted,” Hester answered, pulling the bedclothes around herself. “She’s been working almost without a stop for days. We can leave her for a little longer. I’ll get up. Has anything happened during the night? How is everyone?” As she straightened up she touched her fingers to the skin under her armpits, dreading to feel the tenderness and only half believing it was not there.
“That Minnie looks worse,” Flo replied, pretending she had not noticed the gesture. She understood it perfectly. “Coughin’ fit to bring ’er guts up, she is,” she went on. “But still got plenty ter say fer ’erself, so I reckon’s she’s good fer another day or two, poor little cow. Kettle’s on when yer ready.”
“Thank you.”
Flo went out, closing the door behind her. Stiffly, shivering as the air hit her skin, Hester got up. She dressed again and splashed her face from the small dish of cold water she had spared herself. Then she started to go downstairs for the tea Flo had offered and a slice or two of toast. Thanks to Margaret’s constant efforts, they had sufficient food and fuel. She pushed the thought of Margaret out of her mind because she missed her company, her encouragement, just the knowledge that she could glance at her and know that they understood each other in unique ways. The loneliness might cripple her if she allowed it.
If she thought of Monk, she would find herself in tears. She could not bear to think of being with him again—his voice, his touch, the feel of his lips on her face—because the sweetness of it was everything she longed for. Nor could she think of the possibility that she would not, because that robbed her of hope. He was the only reward that mattered and it was enough to drive her through exhaustion and pity and grief.
She was halfway down the stairs when she thought she had better have a look at Mercy. She was probably just exhausted. She was a young woman of good birth and a fairly sheltered upbringing. This kind of physical labor, let alone the constant fear, would have crippled most girls like her.
Hester knocked lightly on the door, and there was no answer. She pushed it open and went in. Mercy looked to be sound asleep, but not motionless. She moved slightly, took an unsteady breath, then turned her head.
“Mercy?” Hester said quietly.
There was no answer.
Hester walked over to her. Even in the dim daylight through the curtains she could see that Mercy was not awake. She was tossing and turning in fever, her cheeks flushed, a beading of sweat on her lip.
Hester felt a slow settling of pain inside her and fear took hold of her stomach, knotting it tight. With a trembling hand she reached over and pulled the bedclothes back. Her fingers rested lightly over the place where the sleeve of the nightgown met the bodice. She felt the hard lumps. Perhaps it was going to happen to all of them. It was only sooner or later, that was all. Now for Mercy it was a terrible certainty.
