by Anne Perry
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Myers conceded. She appeared to hesitate, then came to a decision. “I will leave Mrs. Monk to talk with you. You may be able to think of something else. Excuse me.” And she walked away, gathering speed, and they could hear her footsteps fading away.
Hester looked at Stella, wondering if the blind girl were aware of her scrutiny. Did she read voices as other people read expressions on a face?
“Miss Myers,” Hester began. “It really is of very great importance to several other people, as well as to me. I did not tell your mother the full extent of how much this matters. If I can find her, she may be able to clear away certain suspicions I believe to be urgent, but without her help I cannot prove it. If there is anyone at all you can think of to ask, I have no other source left to try.”
Stella turned towards her, her brow puckered. She was clearly struggling with some decision she found intensely difficult. There was pity in her expression as sharp as if she had not just seen Hester's face but also read the emotions behind her eyes. It was strange to be looked at so perceptively by someone who had no sight.
“Mrs. Monk, if … if I take you to see Mrs. Cordwainer, will you be discreet about anything you may see or hear in her house? Will you give me your word?”
Hester was startled. It was the last sort of request she had expected. What on earth could Mrs. Cordwainer be doing that required such a promise? Was Hester going to be asked to do something that would trouble her conscience? Was the old woman being cheated or abused in some way? Looking at Stella, she did not think that likely.
“If I give you such a promise, am I going to regret it?” she asked.
Stella's lip trembled. “Possibly,” she whispered. “But I cannot take you if you don't promise.”
“Is Mrs. Cordwainer suffering in some way? Because if she is, I should find it very hard indeed not to do what I could to help.”
Stella almost laughed, but she choked on the sound. “She is not, that I can say absolutely.”
Hester was even more puzzled, but the only alternative to accepting the conditions was to give up altogether. “Then I give you my word,” she replied.
Stella smiled and stood up. “Then I shall take you to see Mrs. Cordwainer. She lives in a small house on the hospital grounds. She'll be asleep at this time of day, but she won't mind being woken up if it's to ask questions about the past. She likes to tell tales of times back then.”
“Can … can I ‘elp yer?” Scuff offered hesitantly.
It was her turn to consider her answer. She decided to accept, although Hester realized she must know her way around the hospital more easily than Scuff. She followed as side by side they made their way out of the room and down the corridor, Stella pretending she did not know where she was going, and Scuff pretending that he did.
They left the main building of the hospital and made their way along a well-worn path, up a short flight of steps, and to a row of cottages. Stella knew her way by the exact number of paces. Never once did she hesitate or miss her footing. She could have done it in the pitch-dark. Then Hester realized with a jolt that in fact that was what she was doing, always, and she felt almost guilty for the bright sunlight and the color she could see.
Stella knocked on the door of one of the cottages and it was immediately opened by a man in his middle forties, shy and plain, but with an acute intelligence in his eyes, and his whole countenance lit with pleasure when he saw Stella. It was a moment before he even realized that there was anyone else with her.
Stella introduced them, and explained their purpose. The man was Mrs. Cordwainer's son. If she were as old as Mrs. Myers had suggested, then he must have been born to her late in life.
“Of course,” he said, smiling at Hester and Scuff. “I'm sure Mama will be pleased to tell you whatever she can.” He led them through into a small, sunlit room where an ancient woman sat in an armchair, wrapped around with a light shawl, quite obviously asleep. Mr. Cordwainer's book, a translation of the plays of Sophocles, was lying faceup where he had left it to answer the door.
It was only as Stella sat down in one of the other chairs that Hester realized with amazement, and then a wave of understanding, that Cordwainer had not guided her in here, nor had he indicated to her where the chair was. She must be sufficiently familiar with the room not to need such assistance, and he knew that. Perhaps for her, they were careful never to move anything even a few inches from its accustomed place.
Was that the secret that she must not tell? Cordwainer was perhaps twenty years older than she, and quite clearly he loved her.
There was no time to think of such things. Mrs. Cordwainer had woken up and was full of interest. With very little prompting, she recalled Mary and her mother, and the birth of the baby.
“‘Ard thing it were,” she said sadly, blinking sharp gray eyes. “She weren't the last I seen die, but she were the first, an’ I dint never forget ‘er, poor soul. Just young, she were, for all that the little girl were about five, near as we could tell.” She sighed. “Got ‘er adopted out in a year or so. Nice family as were keen to ‘ave ‘er. Webb, they was called, or something like that. But they couldn't take the babe, couldn't manage a babe. Woman were crippled. We don't like ter split ‘em up, but we got too many mouths ter feed as it were, an’ they really wanted ‘er.”
“What happened to the little boy?” Hester asked softly. She could imagine him, growing up motherless, one of many, cared for but not special to anyone; fed, clothed, possibly even taught, but not loved. It was so desperately easy to see why he had invented a happiness that had never existed.
“Nice little lad, ‘e were,” Mrs. Cordwainer said dreamily. “Curly ‘air, ‘andsome enough, even if ‘e were a bit of a scrapper now an’ then. But that int something I mind in a boy. Bit o’ spirit. Used ter make me laugh, ‘e did. I were young—then. Got away wi’ all sorts, ‘cause ‘e made me laugh. An’ ‘e knew it.”
“What happened to him?” Hester said again.
“I dunno. ‘E stayed ‘ere till ‘e were eight, then we let ‘im go.”
“Where to? Who took him?”
“Took ‘im? Bless you, nobody took ‘im. ‘E were old enough to work for ‘isself I dunno where ‘e went.”
Hester glanced at Scuff, who seemed to understand perfectly. He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. She realized he had almost certainly been more or less alone since he was that age. Perhaps Durban had been a mudlark as well.
“Was Durban his mother's name?” she asked aloud.
“We never knew ‘is mother's name,” the old lady replied. “Can't recall as we ever asked ‘er. We called ‘im Durban after a man from Africa ‘oo gave us money one time. Seemed like a good enough name, an’ ‘e din't mind.”
“Did he ever come back?”
“Went ter Africa again, far as I know.”
“Not the man, the boy?”
“Oh. Not as I can think of. Went to look fer ‘is sister, little Mary, but she'd gone. ‘E did tell us that. Don't know nothin’ else. Sorry. Were all a long time ago.”
“Thank you so much. You've been very helpful,” Hester said sincerely.
Mrs. Cordwainer looked at her, her face puckered. “Wot ‘appened to ‘im then? D'you know?”
“He grew into a fine man,” Hester replied. “Joined the River Police, and died about six months ago, giving his life to save others. I'm looking for Mary Webber, to tell her, and give her his things, if she's his sister. But she's hard to find. He was looking for her before he died, but he never found her.”
Mrs. Cordwainer shook her head, but she said nothing.
They declined a cup of tea, not wishing to put them to trouble, and Mr. Cordwainer escorted them to the door. When they reached it and Scuff and Stella were already outside, he put his hand on Hester's arm and held her back.
“You'll not find Mary,” he said very softly. He looked acutely unhappy. “It's a long story. Carelessness a bit, lonely, wanting to please, and maybe a bit too trusting, but no
t fault, not really.”
Hester was lost again. “What are you talking about?” She found that she was whispering in turn.
“Mary,” he replied. “She's in prison. My mother kept up with her, for the boy's sake. Then when she got old, I kind of took her place.”
“Which prison is she in?” Hester felt the knot of pain tighten inside her. No wonder Durban had not found her. Or had he? And the end of his search was tragedy? How that must have hurt him. Was that how she was connected to Jericho Phillips? Suddenly she wished with a passion that she had not asked Mrs. Myers, or old Mrs. Cordwainer. It was too late now.
“Holloway,” he replied. He was watching her, seeing the hurt and the disillusion in her face. “She's not a bad woman,” he said gently. “She married a chandler named Fishburn. He was killed when a dray came loose and crushed him. Left her the house, but not much else. She sold it and bought another one miles away, in Deptford. Turned it into a lodging house. Called herself Myers, to get away from Fish-burn's debts. Seems he'd been a bit of a gambler.” He sighed. “One of her lodgers was a thief. She didn't know it, but when he slipped, she got caught with the things he'd taken. She'd kept them against his rent, but the police wouldn't believe that. She got six months for it, and lost the house, of course.”
“I'm sorry.” She meant it. “What'll happen to her when she gets out?”
The sadness in his expression answered her.
“Maybe I can find a job for her,” she said before thinking what it would involve. She might not like her. She had only Cordwainer's word that she was not really a thief or a receiver.
He smiled, and nodded slowly.
Stella and Scuff were waiting. She thanked Cordwainer again, and followed after them.
Back in the hospital she thanked Stella, who looked at her anxiously, and reminded her of her promise. Hester assured her that she had not forgotten, and took her leave.
But as she approached the main door out she encountered Mrs. Myers again. She hoped profoundly that she was not going to have to lie to her, but she was perfectly prepared to if necessary. She had given Stella her word not to disclose anything of her romance. However, she had been gone so long she could not pretend not to have seen old Mrs. Cordwainer. She was also acutely aware of Scuff at her elbow, and his opinion of her honesty, which she found mattered to her even more than she had expected it would.
Mrs. Myers smiled. “Did Stella take you to see old Mrs. Cordwainer after all?” she asked.
“I prevailed upon her,” Hester replied, thinking how she could word her reply so that it would sound as if the old lady had given her all the information, and not even suggest that Mr. Cordwainer had been present at all. Nothing clever came to her. She was left with simply lying. It would have been so much easier had Scuff not been there.
Mrs. Myers nodded. “I don't imagine it was difficult.”
Hester said nothing. It was more uncomfortable than she had expected.
“Was she able to help?” Mrs. Myers asked.
Another lie. But it was either that, or admit that he had been there. The lie was the better of the two evils. “Yes, thank you. I now have a better idea at last where to look.”
“I don't mind, you know,” Mrs. Myers said gently.
“I beg your pardon?” Now Hester was at a loss and knew she must look foolish.
“I think John Cordwainer is a very decent man, and exactly right for Stella,” Mrs. Myers said frankly. “I just wish she would stop assuming I disapprove, and accept him. She is quite old enough not to mind what I think. She owes me no more than to make the very best of her life.”
Hester felt a great weight slip from her, and found herself smiling idiotically. “Really?” she said with feigned innocence, as if she had no idea what they were talking about.
“Your smile gives you away,” Mrs. Myers said drily. “But I am glad you kept your word. Although if you hadn't, it would make it easier for me to broach the subject. How on earth do I say something, without letting her know I have intruded on her privacy?”
Hester thanked her again for her help, and went down the steps, smiling even more widely.
Of course it was not so easy to gain admittance to Holloway Prison, or permission to see any particular person held there. Her first instinct was to ask Monk to obtain it for her, then she bit the words back and grasped for something else to say. Her whole purpose was to protect him.
She asked instead what he expected to do the following day, and when he told her, she chose a time when he would be alone, away from the Wapping Station, in which to go there and see if she could speak with Orme. She could explain to him exactly what she wanted, and he would understand why.
Orme chose to go with her and ask permission on the spot. It might have been out of kindness to her, but she felt that his own curiosity was also urgent. And perhaps he wanted to meet the only sister of a man he had known, respected, and cared for for a great deal of his adult life.
It was this last that troubled Hester. She did not know how to say to him that she preferred to see Mary alone, and his presence might inhibit her from being open. Also, as deeply felt, if not as important to the case, she was afraid that it would be an emotionally distressing experience for him. She had seen his face when they had uncovered facts about Durban that were ugly, that threw doubt on his honesty, his morality, even the kindness that had long been part of his character. Orme had tried desperately to hide such unpleasantness, to drown it out with loyalty, but it was there, growing slowly.
She turned to face him in the bleak stone corridor.
“Thank you, Mr. Orme. I could not have done this without you, but I need now, at least the first time, to speak with her alone. You knew Mr. Durban for years. Far better than she ever did. Think how she will feel. She may care too much what you think of her to be frank. We need the truth.” She said that firmly, emphasizing the last word, holding his gaze. “If we lose this chance, there will not be another. Please let me speak to her alone the first time.”
He gave a funny, lopsided little smile. “Are you protecting me too, ma'am?”
She realized that perhaps she had been. Would he be pleased, or offended? She had no idea. The truth had at least the advantage of easing her conscience. “I'm sorry,” she admitted. “I suppose I was.”
He blinked very faintly; she could barely see it in the flat light, but she knew he was not displeased.
She was shown into a plain cell with a wooden table and two chairs, and a moment later the wardress brought in a woman in her middle fifties. She was of average height and a little gaunt in the face, causing Hester to look a second time before realizing that she was handsome beneath the pallor and the fear, and her eyes were golden brown, just as Durban's had been.
She sat down when Hester invited her to, but slowly, stiff with anxiety.
Hester sat also, as the wardress said she would be immediately outside the door, if she were needed, and they had thirty minutes. Then she left.
Hester smiled, wishing she knew of a way to ease the woman's fear without at the same time jeopardizing her mission.
“My name is Hester Monk,” she began. “My husband is now head of the Thames River Police at Wapping, the position your brother held.” Then suddenly she wondered if Mary knew of his death. Had she been incredibly clumsy? How long was it since she and Durban had met? What were the emotions between them?
Mary moved her head minutely, less than a nod.
It was time to stop prevaricating. She lowered her voice. “Did anyone tell you that he died, heroically, at the turn of last year? He gave his life to save the lives of many others.” She waited, watching.
Mary Webber nodded, and her eyes filled with tears, running unchecked down her thin cheeks.
Hester took her handkerchief out of her small purse and placed it on the table where Mary could take it. “I'm sorry. I wish I did not have to bring this up. He was looking for you, frantically, but as far as I know he didn't find you. Did he?”
&
nbsp; Mary shook her head. She reached out to the white cotton handkerchief, then hesitated. It was dazzlingly clean compared with her gray prison sleeve.
“Please …” Hester urged.
Mary picked it up and pressed it to her cheek. It was faintly perfumed, but such a thing may have been far from her mind now.
Hester continued, mindful of the minutes ticking into oblivion. “Mr. Durban was a hero to his men, but there are other people now who are trying to destroy the River Police, and they are blackening his name to do it. I already know where he was born and spent the first eight years of his life. I spoke to Mrs. Myers …” She saw a smile touch Mary's lips, but dim, struggling against grief. “I know that you saved money and sent him all you could. Do you know what happened to him after he left the hospital?”
Mary blinked and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Yes. We kept in touch for a long time.” She gulped. “Until I realized what kind of man Fishburn was.” She looked down. “After that, I was ashamed, and I kept out of my brother's way. When Fishburn was caught stealing and went to prison, I changed my name and moved away. When he died I sold the house. I didn't dare before that, in case he got out, or he had one of his friends come and find me.” Her voice was very low and she did not once look up at Hester.
Then I kept a lodging house, an’ …”
“You don't need to tell me,” Hester stopped her. “I know how you came to be here. I imagine that was why your brother couldn't find you.”
Mary looked up. “I didn't want him to know I was here. I s'pose the few people that knew me lied to him to cover it up. They'd have known how I didn't want him even to … to know I'd come to this. He used to look up to me … when he was little. We …” she looked down again. “We were close then … close as you can be, when we scarce saw each other. But I never stopped thinking of him. I wish …”
Without thinking, Hester reached out and put her hand on Mary's where it lay on the rough tabletop. “I think he might have understood. He was a good man, but he knew none of us were faultless. He hated cruelty, and he wasn't above bending the law a little to stop people hurting women, or especially children. A lot of people admired him, but there were some who hated him, and a good few were scared half silly if you even said his name. Don't put him on a pedestal, Mary, or think that he put you on one.”
