Page 85 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Oliver admitted.

“Is there any reason to believe this man, Louvain?”

“None at all.”

“Then you had better appeal to his interest rather than his honor.”

“Now that Margaret is no longer able to raise money for food, coal, medicines, it is up to me. There is a fear of immorality and disease in our midst. We don’t like to be reminded of such things so close to home. We feel guilty that it happens while we are perfectly well and comfortable ourselves. Africa is too far away to be our fault.”

“Personally,” Henry agreed dryly, “it is too far away for us to feel accountable for it and it is equally too far away for them to be accountable to us.”

Oliver was too tired to grasp his meaning. He was cold and exhausted deep to his bones. “What do you mean?”

“That we give money and feel our duty is discharged,” Henry replied. “There is no probability of seeing that it goes to the cause we have been told, so we feel virtuous and ignore the rest.”

“Well, of course it-” Oliver stopped.

Henry reached for the teapot and topped up his cup. “I shall help. It will not be difficult for me to raise money for you. You attend to rescuing the thief from the gallows. I shall bring money for you tomorrow. For today I have about seven pounds in the house. Take that and begin. I shall get more, however I do it.”

“However?” Oliver said sharply.

He glanced around the room at various pieces of pewter, silver, a couple of wooden carvings. “Can you think of anything better I could do with whatever I have?” Henry asked.

“No. No, of course not.” Oliver rose to his feet stiffly. “I must get back to town. Thank you.”

As darkness shrouded the river on the evening Rathbone took Margaret to dinner, Monk was standing on the shore at Wapping Stairs waiting for Durban. He heard the boat scraping against the stones and moved forward out of the shadows.

Durban came up the steps slowly, coughing in the raw night air. For a brief moment he was silhouetted against the water where the riding lights of a moored boat shimmered behind him, then he was in the dark. But Monk had seen him for that moment, and knew from the hunch of his shoulders that he had found nothing.

“Neither did I,” he said quietly. He voiced the thought that had been in his mind for some time. “Do you think they could have died at sea and simply been put overboard, and that’s why there is no trace?”

“Of plague?” Durban asked, standing close beside Monk so he did not have to raise his voice. “And the rest of the crew got the ship here?”

“Why not? Couldn’t four men do it if they had to?”

“Probably, and they wouldn’t all go at once. But that isn’t the issue. If the men died of an ordinary illness they’d report it. Why not? And Louvain would know.”

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nbsp; “Yes,” Monk agreed. “But if they died of plague, they wouldn’t. The ship would be barred from landing and Louvain would lose his cargo, and we already know he can’t afford that.”

“You saw Newbolt and the others,” Durban responded. “Do you think they’d stay on a plague ship out of loyalty to Louvain?”

“No.” There was no argument; the idea was ludicrous. “So where are they?”

“Paid off, as Louvain said, and either lucky enough not to have got the plague, or died of it by now,” Durban answered, his voice soft in the darkness and the gentle slurping of the tide against the stones.

“Gould goes to trial tomorrow,” Monk said. “I believe Hodge died of plague, and someone beat his head in to hide the fact. They didn’t dare put him over the side once they were in port, which means Gould had nothing to do with it. We can’t prove that, and wouldn’t even if we could. We daren’t even suggest it was one of them, or the whole thing could come out. We daren’t give any cause to dig up the body, so we can’t call any medical evidence.”

Durban did not ask if Monk knew anything from the clinic; they had spent enough time together that he would have heard it in Monk’s voice, in what he didn’t say as well as what he did. He never once offered pity, just a quiet understanding of pain.

“It wasn’t any of the crew,” he agreed. “If they knew it was plague they’d have been off that ship if they’d had to swim. It must have been Louvain himself. But we’ll not get him to testify to that.”

“What would be reasonable doubt?” Monk was thinking aloud. “Dead drunk and fell?”

“It would mean Louvain would have to go back on his word,” Durban warned. “He’d not like that.”

“He’d not like the alternative either,” Monk said with growing conviction. “I need to make it sufficiently unpleasant so he’ll be glad to say he was mistaken. Hodge was drunk and he fell and hit his head so hard it killed him. There was more blood around Hodge’s than he first realized.”

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