Hester felt the cold grasp her as if the outside door had been opened onto the night. “Is that what you call winning, Flo?”
“Well. .” Flo started, then she froze. “Geez! I din’t do nothin’ to ’er, Miss ’Ester!”
The cold deepened inside Hester, gripping like ice. “Why would I think you did, Flo?” she asked very quietly.
“ ’Cos she called me a thief, an’ I i’nt!” Flo said indignantly. “That’s a nice thing ter say! If yer’d believed ’er yer could a put me out on the street, fer Gawd’s sake! I could die out there!” A wry, miserable smile flickered across her face. “Come ter think on it, I could die in ’ere too. But in ’ere I’m wi’ friends, an’ that counts.”
“I never thought you were a thief, Flo,” Hester said, surprised how completely she meant it.
Flo’s face lit with amazement and joy. “Din’t yer? Really?”
Hester felt tears prickle in her eyes. It must be tiredness. She could not remember when she had last slept more than an hour at a time. “No, I didn’t.”
Flo shook her head, still smiling. “Then I’m glad I never fetched the poor sod in the chops, an’ b’lieve me, I thought of it! D’yer want some more towels, then?”
“Yes, yes please,” Hester accepted. “Bring them next time you come.”
Another woman died, and Hester and Mercy tied her in one of the dark blankets as a winding sheet. When they were finished Hester looked across and saw how white-faced Mercy was, and when Mercy turned her head, hearing footsteps on the stairs, the candlelight accentuated the hollowness around her eyes.
“We’ll get Squeaky to help us carry her down,” Hester said. “Don’t you do it.”
Mercy started to argue, then gave up. “Perhaps you’re right,” she conceded. “It would be terrible to drop her-poor soul.” Her face was filled with pity and there was also a note of anger. Hester wondered why, but she was too tired to pursue it.
Claudine stood in the doorway. She looked at Hester for a moment, then at the bundle on the bed. It was a woman she had despised, but even a glance at her face showed that death had cleansed judgment from her and left only a common humanity.
“I’ll tell the men,” she said. She turned from Hester to Mercy. “You don’t look as if you could lift your own feet, let alone anyone else’s. I’d better fetch that useless man away from his books!” And without asking Hester’s agreement she withdrew. They heard her feet going down the passageway, still sharp-heeled on the wood, but slower than before. She too was on the edge of exhaustion. It would soon be time for Bessie and Flo to take over for the rest of the night.
“We can manage,” Hester said to Mercy. “Go to bed now. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
For once Mercy didn’t demur.
Claudine returned with Squeaky a step behind her, grizzling all the way.
“In’t my job ter be a bleedin’ undertaker!” he complained. “Wot if I get the plague, eh? Wot then? Carryin’ bodies! Mr. Bleedin’ Rathbone din’t say as I ’ad ter be carryin’ bodies-that weren’t part o’ the agreement. Wot if I get it, eh? Yer don’t answer me that, did yer?”
“You didn’t hold your tongue long enough to give me the chance,” Claudine responded tartly. “But if you can’t work out the answer for yourself, then I’ll tell you. You’ll die of it, that’s what. Exactly the same as the rest of us.”
“Yer’d like that, wouldn’t yer!” he accused her, glaring at her where she stood just inside the door, her head high, hair untidy, hands on her wide hips.
“Of course I wouldn’t like that!” she snapped. “If you were dead I would have to carry all the water myself, instead of just most of it, as I do now. Apart from that, who’d carry you out?”
“Yer a cold and ’eartless woman,” he said miserably. “An’ yer don’ carry most o’ the water, yer carries ’alf, just like I does.”
“Well, carry half that poor woman’s body,” she ordered. “Not the bottom half, the top!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s heavier, of course. Use the wits you were born with, man.”
“Poor woman, is it?” he sneered. “That’s not wot yer called ’er a couple o’ days ago. Nothin’ weren’t bad enough for ’er then, ’cos she made ’er livin’ on ’er back, like most of ’em ’ere. Yer just despises ’er ’cos yer wouldn’t a made an ’a’penny yerself, not even in the dark!”
Hester tensed, ready to stem the onslaught she expected in reply to this insult.
But Claudine remained perfectly calm. “Don’t put words in my mouth, you stupid little man,” she said wearily. “Just pick her up and help me carry her down the stairs. And do it discreetly! She’s not so much dirty laundry to be slung about.”
Squeaky obeyed. “You’ve changed yer tune, ’aven’t yer? So tarts off the street are all right again, as long as they’re dead, eh?” He bent and picked up the wrapped bundle approximately where her shoulders were, and staggered a little under the weight.
“Well there isn’t much point in criticizing the dead, is there?” Claudine challenged him. “Poor soul is God’s problem now.”
Squeaky let out a high-pitched expletive. “She’s my bleedin’ problem if I rips me guts out carryin’ ’er! D’yer put a couple o’ lead bricks in wi’ ’er?”
“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.
