Page 56 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

She found Sutton in the kitchen. Snoot was sitting obediently at his heels, his bright little face full of attention, waiting to begin his job.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Hester said straightaway. “May I show you the laundry, where I think they are?”

He sensed something wrong. His face puckered in concern. “Yer all right, miss? Yer look rotten poorly yerself. Yer comin’ down wi’ summink? ’ere, sit down. I can find the rats meself. It’s me job. Me an’ Snoot ’ere”-he gestured to the little dog-“we ’ave all we need.”

“I. . I know you have.” Hester pushed her hand over her brow. Her head was pounding. “I need to speak to you. I. .” She gulped and swallowed hard, feeling her stomach knot.

Sutton took a step toward her. “Wot’s the matter?” he said gently. “Wot ’appened?”

She felt the tears come to her eyes. She wanted to laugh, and to cry; it was so much worse than anything he was imagining. She wished passionately that she could tell him some quarrel, some domestic tragedy or fear, anything but what was the truth. “Downstairs,” she said. “In the laundry, please?”

“If yer want,” he conceded, puzzled now, and worried. “C’mon, Snoot.”

Hester led the way to the laundry, Sutton and the dog behind her. She asked him to close the door, and he obeyed. She left the one candle burning, and sat down on the single hard-backed chair because she felt her legs weak. Sutton leaned against the wooden tub, his face masklike in the flickering light.

“Yer got me scared for yer,” he said with a frown. “Wot is it? Wot can be that bad, eh?”

Telling him was a relief so intense it was almost as if it were a solution. “One of our patients is dead,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Someone suffocated her.”

His face tightened, but there was no horror in it; in fact, she saw almost an easing of the fear. He had expected something worse. “It ’appens.” He pursed his lips. “Yer wanna tell the rozzers or get rid of it quiet? I think gettin’ rid of it quiet’d be better. It in’t a good thing ter do, but ’avin’ the place buzzin’ wi’ bluebottles’d be worse. I could ’elp yer?”

“She would have died anyway.” She heard her voice wobbling. “You see, that isn’t the real problem. . I mean, someone suffocating her.”

“Gawd! Then wot is? If she were goin’ ter die anyway?” He was confused.

Hester took a deep breath. “I thought she had pneumonia. When I came to wash her and prepare her for the undertaker, I. . I discovered what was really wrong with her.”

He frowned. “Wot could be that bad? So she got syphilis, or summink like that? Jus’ keep quiet about it. Lots o’ folk do, an’ some as yer wouldn’t think. We’re all ’uman.”

“No, I wouldn’t care if it were that.” Suddenly she wondered if she should tell him. What would he do? Would he panic, let everyone know, and run out spreading it everywhere? Would a quarter of England die-again?

He saw the terror in her. “Yer better tell me, Miss ’Ester,” he said, dropping into sudden, gentle familiarity.

She knew of nothing else to do. She could not reach Monk, and certainly not Rathbone. Even Callandra was gone. “Plague,” she whispered.

For a second there was incomprehension in his face, then paralyzing horror. “Jeez! Yer don’t mean. .” He gestured to his chest, just by the armpit.

She nodded. “Buboes. The Black Death. Sutton, what am I going to do?” She closed her eyes, praying please God he would not run away and leave her.

He leaned against the wooden tub, his legs suddenly weak as well. His face had lost all its color except a sickly yellow in the candlelight, and slowly he slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

“Gawd ’elp us!” he breathed out. “Well, fer a start, we in’t tellin’ nobody, nobody at all! Then we in’t lettin’ nobody out o’ ’ere. It spreads like”-he smiled bitterly, his voice catching in his throat-“like the plague!”

The tears ran down her face, and she took several seconds to control them and to stop her breath from coming in gasps and choking her. He was going to help. He had said we, not you. She nodded. “I want to give her a decent burial, but I can’t afford to let anyone see her body. Nothing else causes dark swellings like that. Anyone would know.”

He rubbed the heel of his hand across his cheek. “We gotter stop that at any price at all,” he said hoarsely. “If folks know, there’d be some as’d mob this place, others as’d put a torch ter it, burn yer down, ’ouse an’ everyone in it! It’d be terrible.”

“It would be better than having the plague spread throughout London,” she pointed out.

“Miss ’Ester. .”

“I know! I’ve no intention of being burned alive! But how can we ke

ep everyone here? How do I stop Claudine from going home if she wants to, or Flo from leaving, or anyone who gets better. . if they do?” Her voice was wavering again. “How do I get food in, or water, or coal. . or anything?”

He said nothing for several seconds.

Hester waited. The laundry was strangely silent. It smelled of fat and potash and the steam that filled it during the day. The one candle with its yellow circle of light made the darkness seem endless.

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