Anne Perry - The Shifting Tide

Mr. Taverner was still scarlet in the face. Mrs. Taverner wished them good evening and turned away, leaving her husband to follow.

“You are worse than Hester!” Margaret said between her teeth, but now it was not laughter she was stifling; it was fear. If her mother forbade her, it would be very difficult to continue seeing Rathbone, and perhaps impossible to work in the clinic. She had no independent means, not even a home apart from that of her parents.

He looked at her and saw the sudden change in her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I have indulged my anger at your expense and made it impossible for you, haven’t I.” It was an acknowledgment of fact, not a question.

“It was impossible before that,” she admitted, refusing ever to think of the meaning far deeper than the loss of tonight’s contribution. “I have a strong feeling that Mr. Taverner may already make his contribution to their keep and Mrs. Taverner is quite aware of it.”

“I daresay it is her acceptance of it that she resents the most,” he agreed. Then he hesitated. “Margaret, will your mother listen to Lady Hordern and believe her? Do I need to make myself a great deal more respectable in her eyes in order to be permitted to see you again? Should I”-he swallowed-“apologize?”

“Don’t you dare!” She lifted her chin a little higher. “I shall speak to Mama myself.”

It was exactly the sort of thing Hester would have said-brave, angry, and unwise, but so intensely from the heart. Did Margaret feel that in some way she was standing in for Hester in his regard, that she was here as a substitute and not as herself? It was untrue. He knew it with overwhelming conviction. He loved the courage and the honesty in Margaret that were like Hester’s, but there were also other qualities of gentleness and honor, modesty and inner sweetness that had nothing to do with anyone else at all. One did not love people because they reminded one of somebody else!

She looked away again, her eyes bright. “I am afraid we have not been very successful at inspiring donations, have we?”

“I have been a liability so far,” he confessed. “I shall endeavor to do better.” He offered her his arm and she took it. Together they walked towards a large group of people, ready to try again.

Hester arrived at Portpool Lane by half past eight on the third morning after Monk accepted the job for Clement Louvain. The first thing she did was sit down with Bessie in the kitchen and have a hot cup of tea and a slice of toast while she listened to the report of what had happened during the night.

In its time as a brothel very little cooking had been done there. Most of the prostitutes who inhabited the place had eaten what meals they had somewhere in the street, before their working hours began. There had seldom been more than three or four people to cater for at any one time: just Squeaky Robertson himself and a few women kept on and off for cleaning and laundry; and a couple of men to deal with any customer who got rough and needed throwing out, or who was a trifle slow in settling his bill. It had never been necessary to enlarge what was essentially a family kitchen. The laundry was another matter; that was enormous, and excellent, with two boiling coppers for the vast numbers of sheets used, and a separate room for drying them.

Bessie looked profoundly tired. Her hair was scraped back so tightly it looked painful, but large strands were looped over her ears carelessly, as if she had pushed them back in irritation, simply to get them out of her way. Her skin was pale, and every now and then she could not stifle a yawn.

“Been up all night?” Hester said, more as a statement than a question.

Bessie took a third mouthful of her tea with a sigh of satisfaction. “Them two from a couple o’ nights ago are gettin’ better,” she replied. “One poor little cow only needed a spot o’ food an’ a couple o’ nights’ proper kip. Put ’er out again termorrer. Knife wounds ’ealin’ up nice.”

“Good.” Hester nodded. However, she expected the woman Louvain had brought in to be worse-in fact, she was afraid she might be one of those they could not help beyond giving her as much comfort as possible in her last hours. At least she would not have to die alone.

“But we got up of a dozen in, an’ there’s a bleedin’ lot o’ washin’ ter do,” Bessie answered. “I bin up all night wi’ that Clark woman. In’t much yer can do fer ’er, ’ceptin’ cool towels like yer said, but it seems ter ’elp. She still looks like the undertaker should ’ave ’er, but ’er fever in’t so bad, so I s’pose she’s on the mend. Temper in ’er, mind! Ruth’s too good a name for ’er. I’d a called ’er Mona if it’d bin up ter me.”

Hester smiled. “I expect she was christened long before she could speak.”

Bessie grunted. “Pity we can’t take ’er back ter then!”

“Rechristen her?”

“Nah-just keep ’er mouth shut!”

“Finish your breakfast and get some sleep,” Hester advised. “I’ll do the laundry.”

“Yer can’t do that all on yer own!”

“I won’t need to; Margaret will be in later. I’ll just get it started.”

“Yeah? An’ ’oo’s gonna fetch the water fer yer?” Bessie asked.

Hester smiled more widely. “Squeaky. It’ll do him good. A bit of fresh air and exercise.”

Bessie laughed outright. “Then tell ’im if ’e squawks I’ll come an’ beat ’im over the ’ead wi’ a saucepan!”

When Hester spoke to Squeaky ten minutes later he was horrified.

“Me?” he said incredulously. “I’m a bookkeeper! I don’t fetch water!”

“Yes, you do,” she answered, handing him two pails.

“But it’ll take ten loads o’ that to fill the bleedin’ copper!” he said furiously.

“At least,” she agreed. “And another ten for the other one, so you’d better get started. We need them washed today, and dry by tomorrow or the day after.”

“I in’t a bleedin’ water carrier!” He stood rooted to the spot, indignation filling his face.

“Right, then I’ll fetch the water,” she said. “And you change the beds. Remember to pull the bottom sheets straight and tight, and tuck in only the ends of the top ones. You’ll have to work around the sick women, but I expect you know how to do that. Then you can mix the lye and potash and-”

“All right!” he said angrily. “I’ll get the water! I in’t dealin’ wi’ sick women in bed!”

“Bit modest, aren’t you, for a brothel-keeper?” she asked mockingly.

He gave her a filthy look, picked up the two pails, and stormed out.

Smiling to herself, Hester went back upstairs with a pile of clean sheets and pillow slips to begin changing the beds. Fevers made people sweat, and it was inevitable that linen soiled quickly.

She began with the girl who had come in exhausted, and who was already so much better she could be sent back out again today or tomorrow.

“I’ll ’elp yer,” she offered straightaway, rolling over and getting to her feet. She steadied herself with one hand on the bed frame, then wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

Hester accepted. All such duties were a great deal easier with two. They changed the linen on that bed, then went to the next room, in which rested the woman with more severe congestion. She was feverish and in considerable discomfort. They took off the damp and crumpled sheets, easing her from one position to another and replacing the old with new. It was an awkward task, and at the end of it, when the woman sank back, dizzy and gasping for breath, Hester and the girl were also glad of a moment’s respite.

Hester helped the sick woman to take a few sips from the beaker of water on the table. The water had once been hot and was now tepid. Then they left her and went to the next room, and so on until they were all finished.