It was a bright, cold morning as Monk turned onto Copenhagen Place to continue knocking on the doors of Zenia Gadney’s neighbors to see what he could learn about her. Orme was working the area closer to the river, searching for anyone who had seen her there, not only on the night of her death, but possibly at any other time. Why had she been on Limehouse Pier on a winter evening? It must have been cold, open to the wind off the water. Was she there as a prostitute, earning a quick shilling or two with someone who turned out to be a madman? The thought of it knotted Monk’s stomach with revulsion, as well as anger for the desperation of both the man and the woman.
A group of men passed him, trudging along the road toward the docks. A vegetable cart passed the other way, piled with carrots and greens of one sort and another, and a few ripe apples.
Monk knocked on the door of number twelve, next to Zenia Gadney’s house, and no one answered. He tried the next over and was sent briskly on his way by a woman in a long apron, already soiled and wet at the edges from the scrubbing of a floor. Now she was about to get busy with the front step, and told him smartly to take his great feet off it and let her get on with her job. No, she had never heard of Zenia Gadney and did not want to.
He retraced his steps and tried number sixteen, on the other side of where Zenia had lived, and found an old woman sitting in a room crowded with ornaments and mementos. She had been looking out the window at the street, and he had noticed her curious glance. Her name was Betsy Scalford; she seemed lonely, happy to have a much younger man wanting to talk to her, and-even better-to listen when she reminisced about the past.
She offered him a cup of tea, which he accepted because it gave him the excuse to stay at least half an hour. The longer they spent together, the more at ease she would feel.
“Thank you,” he said appreciatively as she set the tray down and poured the steaming tea for him.
“Welcome, I’m sure,” she answered, nodding vigorously. She was a gaunt woman, her bony shoulders making her look taller than she was. “In’t seen you before.” She looked him up and down, her eyes examining his face, the clean white collar of his shirt, the cut of his suit.
He had always spent too much on his clothes. When he had first woken from the accident a decade ago, robbed of all his memory, he had had to learn everything about himself from the start, including his character in the eyes of others. He had been appalled at the evidence of his vanity presented by his tailor’s bills. At that time, necessity had made him trim them drastically. Now that he was head of the Thames River Police in Wapping, he indulged himself again. He smiled as he saw in the old woman’s eyes approval of his well-polished boots.
“I haven’t been here before,” he said in answer to her question. “I’m River Police, not regular.”
“River don’t flood this far,” she said with amusement in her eyes.
“Sometimes its events do,” he countered. “And the currents of disaster it carries. You look to me like a very observant woman. I need information.”
“An’ you think I got nothing to do but sit here an’ look out me window?” she retorted. She sat down opposite him. “You’re right. Used not to be that way, mind. Time was I did all kinds o’ business. Not now. Ask away, young man. But I’ll be careful wot I tell you, all the same. Don’t want a name fer tittle-tattle.”
“Do you know the woman who lives next door at number fourteen?”
“I know where number fourteen is,” she said a trifle sharply. “I ’aven’t lost me wits yet. That’d be Mrs. Gadney. Nice enough woman. Widow, I think. What about ’er?”
Monk considered telling her immediately and decided against it. It might shock her too much to get any further help from her.
“Do you know her?” he began. “Can you tell me what she is like?”
“Why don’t you go an’ ask ’er yerself?” she asked. There was no criticism in her voice, just incomprehension and a sharpening curiosity.
He was prepared for that. “We can’t find her. She seems to be missing.”
“Missing?” Her white eyebrows rose. “She in’t been anywhere else since she come ’ere, fifteen year ago. Where would she go? She in’t got no one.”
Monk felt the tension mounting. “How does she live, Mrs. Scalford? What does she do? Does she work at a shop, or a factory?”
“No. I know that ’cos she’s at ’ome most days. I dunno wot she does, but she don’t beg, an’ she don’t ask no favors.” She said that with a slight lift of her chin, as if she identified with the pride of it. “An’ far as I know, she don’t owe no one,” she added, nodding her head.
Monk looked at the old lady more carefully, meeting the washed-out blue eyes without flinching. Could this old woman possibly be ignorant of the fact if Zenia Gadney had been a prostitute? It was far more likely she was protecting the reputation of a neighbor, possibly a younger woman who reminded her in some way of herself, thirty years ago.
“To be admired,” he said gravely. “Do you know of any family she has?” He intentionally spoke of her still as if she were alive.
Mrs. Scalford considered that for several moments, sipping her tea.
“She did ’ave a man,” she said finally. “Come reg’lar, until a couple o’ months ago. Dunno if ’e were a brother, or mebbe ’er dead ’usband’s brother, or wot. Could be ’e looked after ’er.”
“But he stopped coming about two months ago?” Monk pressed. In spite of himself, he sat forward a little.
“In’t that wot I jus’ said?”
“Do you know why?”
“I told yer, young man. I don’t know ’er ter ’ave ’er explain all ’er business to me. I jus’ see people come an’ go along the street. I spoke to ’er ’alf a dozen times, mebbe. Good morning, an’ nice day, that kind o’ thing. I see ’er go past ’ere an’ I know ’ow she’s feeling ’cos yer can see that much in a person’s face.”
“And how was she feeling, Mrs. Scalford?”
“Most times she were neither good nor bad,” she replied with a sigh. “Like most folks, I s’pose. Some days she ’ad a really pretty smile. I reckon as she were ’andsome when she were younger. Got a bit tired-looking now. S’pose we all do.” Without thinking she put her hand up and smoothed her own white hair.
“And the last two months?” he asked.
“Yer mean since ’e stopped coming? Sad. Terrible sad, she were, poor thing. I seen ’er walking along ’ere with ’er ’ead ’angin’, an’ draggin’ ’er feet like she lost all ’er spirit.”
“Could he have been someone close to her? A brother, maybe?” he asked.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why d’yer want to know all this, then? Yer ’unting for summink? Wot’s she got ter do with the River Police?”
“She’s missing, Mrs. Scalford,” Monk said grimly. “And we’ve found the body of a woman we think may be her.”
She went pale and her shoulders stiffened as if she hardly dared breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. He meant it. “We could be wrong.” He pulled the constable’s drawing out of his inside pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to her.
She took it and held it in gnarled hands, which trembled a little.
“That’s ’er,” she said huskily. “Poor little beggar! What she ever do ter deserve bein’ cut up?” Her voice dropped even lower. “That’s ’oo yer talking about, in’t it? ’Er wot was cut open an’ left on the pier?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She looked up at him. “Yer goin’ ter get ’oo did it and ’ang ’im, ain’t yer?” It was a demand as much as a question. She was shaking now, her cup clattering in its saucer.
“If you help,” he answered, taking the cup from her and putting it down. “Tell me more about this man who visited her, and stopped coming two months ago. Can you describe him for me? And don’t tell me you don’t remember him. Of course you do. I’d lay odds you could describe me, if someone else came and asked you.”
She smiled as if in some bleak way it amused her. “Course I could. Ain’t many around ’ere as looks like you.” There was approval in her voice and he saw a glimpse of the young woman she must have been half a century ago.
“So tell me,” he prompted.
She gave a deep, weary sigh. “I s’pose I better ’ad. I dunno, mind, but I reckon as she were one o’ them tarts that ’as just one customer, like, an’ either ’e got tired of ’er, or ’e died.” She nodded toward the window. “I saw ’er goin’ up and down ’ere a few times since, an’ I thought, yer poor cow, yer ain’t going ter find much lookin’
