Page 32 of A Sunless Sea (William Monk 17)

Hester went in to the clinic in the morning, but only to ask the help of Squeaky Robinson, the reformed bookkeeper who had owned the buildings of the clinic when they had been one of the most profitable brothels in the area. A clever trick of Oliver Rathbone’s had manipulated Squeaky into saving himself from prison by giving the buildings to charity. Highly aggrieved, Squeaky had been suddenly made homeless, and with careful supervision and no trust at all, he had been permitted to remain in residence and manage the property in its new function.

Over the years since then he and Hester had come to respect each other, and now-at least in certain areas-Squeaky was both liked and trusted. This was a circumstance he enjoyed very much, to his own confusion. He would have denied it indignantly had anyone suggested such a thing.

Hester walked into the office where Squeaky had his files and ledgers. He was sitting at the desk looking almost like a clerk. Lack of anxiety and now regular nights had filled out some of the hollows in his face, but he was still long-nosed, slightly gap-toothed, and his hair was as straggly as always.

“Morning, Miss Hester,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about money, we’re not doing bad.”

“Good morning, Squeaky.” She sat down in the chair opposite him. “It isn’t about money today. I need information about someone. Not here-in Limehouse. Who should I go and ask?”

“You shouldn’t,” he said instantly. “I know you. It’s about that poor cow as was found on the pier, isn’t it? Don’t even go looking. A lunatic like that is trouble you don’t need.”

Hester had expected an argument and was prepared.

“She lived in the area,” she told him conversationally, as if he had asked. “Someone must have known her apart from Dr. Lambourn. If she worked the streets at all, the other women would at least have known something about her. They won’t tell the police, but they’ll talk to each other.”

“What is there to know?” Squeaky said reasonably. He looked her up and down and shook his head. “She was a tart, knocking on a bit and just about past it. Her steady bloke topped hisself, Gawd knows why, so she were broke, and she got careless. What else is there to know?”

“Maybe why he went to her in the first place?” she suggested.

“Now that’s something you really don’t want to know,” he said sharply. “If he were bent enough that he had to go all the way from Greenwich over the river to Limehouse to get whatever it was he wanted, then it’s something no lady needs to know about, nurse in the army or not.” He frowned. “Which does make you wonder why she wasn’t fly enough to deal with some bleeding lunatic what wants to cut her up, don’t it? I mean you’d think she’d smell he was a bad ’un and leave him alone, not go clarting off onto the pier with him. She got real, real careless. Damn stupid place to go fornicating, anyway! But that still don’t matter to you.”

“Or she was desperate,” she said quietly. “Who do I ask, Squeaky?”

He sighed with exasperation. “I told yer! Leave it alone. Yer can’t help her, poor cow. What’s Mr. Monk going to do if you go and get yerself cut up, eh? For that matter, what are we all going to do? Sometimes I think you haven’t got the wits of a tuppenny rabbit!”

She smiled at him, ignoring the insult. “Then come with me, Squeaky.”

He sighed heavily and put away everything on his desk with more care than necessary. Then he followed her out of the door into the hallway, and then the street.

He grumbled all the way to the omnibus, and when they got off on Commercial Road in Limehouse he stayed so close to her she all but tripped over him half a dozen times. But, walking along the narrow, dank, rain-chilled backstreets, she was very pleased to have his presence.

“Told yer,” he said after the fifth person they had spoken to had, like all the others, denied ever having seen or heard of Zenia Gadney. “They’re all too scared to say anything. Want to pretend they never heard of her.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hester retorted sharply. “They worked in the same streets. They have to have heard of her. And what do they think I want to know for, except to help catch the man?”

They continued for several more hours, but all they could learn of Zenia Gadney was what Monk already knew. She had been a quiet woman, well spoken. If you listened to her, she did not sound like the local prostitutes, or even like the shopkeepers, laundresses, and slightly more respectable housewives. No one they spoke to owned to particularly liking or disliking her. Certainly none of the prostitutes considered her a threat.

“ ’Er?” one coarse-faced blond woman said indignantly. “Too old, fer a start. I’m not sayin’ as she were downright ugly or nothin’. In fact, not bad, if yer took the time ter look, but dull. Dull as a bucket o’ mud, if yer know wot I mean?” She put her hands on her hips. “Got no fight in ’er, an’ no fun. A man wants yer ter more’n just stand there! If yer ain’t got looks, yer gotta ’ave something else, ain’t yer?” She looked Hester up and down, making her judgment. “Ye’re too skinny by ’alf, but yer’ve got fire. Yer might make enough ter get by.”

“Thank you,” Hester said drily. “If I need to fall back on it, it’d better be soon.”

The woman’s face split into a wide grin. “Ye’re right about that, love. Yer in’t got too many years left ter ’ang around.”

“Did she use opium much?” Hester asked suddenly.

The woman was startled. “ ’Ow the ’ell do I know? But if she did, what of it? P’raps she’d got pains. ’Aven’t we all? She don’ sell it, if that’s wot yer mean. Quiet, she was. I ’eard someone say she read books. If yer want the truth, I think she were all right once, an’ she fell on ’ard times. I’d say ’er ’usband died, or went ter jail. Left ’er ’igh an’ dry. Got by the best way she could, poor cow. Until some bleedin’ madman got to ’er. If the rozzers were any good at all, they’d ’ave ’anged the bastard by now.”

Squeaky nodded as if he understood perfectly.

Hester glared at him, and he smiled back, showing crooked teeth, several of them dark with decay.

“Well, even if you ain’t got nothin’ ter do,” the woman went on, “I ’ave.” And without adding anything more, she swirled her skirt and walked away, swaying invitingly.

Hester returned to see Dr. Winfarthing and found him sitting hunched up in his office, his expression one of deep gloom. He barely managed a smile as he hauled himself out of his chair to welcome her.

“What did you find?” she said without preamble.

“Barely scratched the surface,” he answered. “But enough to know there’s a devil of a lot going on underneath. This is a rats’ nest, girl. Hundreds of rats in it, including some very big, fat ones with sharp teeth. Lot of money in opium. I asked enough to get some idea of how they bring the raw stuff into the country, which I suppose we all know, if we thought about it. They cut it with God knows what. But it goes back a lot further than that. Back to the Opium Wars in China, ’39 to ’42, then ’56 to ’60. There’s a whole lot of that you don’t want to know about. Lot of death, lot of cheating, lot of profit.”

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