William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

see. Would that be a London church, sir, or somewhere in the country?”
    “Country.” Did his Northumbrian heritage show so transparently? Even after his years of careful diction to eradicate it? Why had he not said London: it would have been so much easier, and it did not matter. He was not going to buy a hat anyway.
    “I see. Perhaps you would care to look at a few of these?” She led him to several very plain shapes in straw and fabric. “We can, of course trim them as you please,” she added, seeing the look on his face.
    The color rose up his cheeks. He felt like a complete fool. Again he cursed Hester. Nothing except his rage against Sir Herbert would have kept him here. “What about something in blue?”
    “If you like,” she said with disapproval. “Rather obvious, don’t you think? What about green and white?” She picked up a bunch of artificial daisies and held them against a pale green straw bonnet with a green ribbon, and suddenly theeffect was so fresh and dainty it took him back with a jolt of memory to childhood days in the summer fields with Beth as a little girl.
    “That’s lovely,” he said involuntarily.
    “I’ll have it delivered,” she said immediately. “It will be ready by tomorrow evening. Miss Liversedge will see to the details. You may settle the account with her.”
    And five minutes later Monk found himself in the street, having purchased a bonnet for Beth and wondering how on earth he would post it to Northumberland for her. He swore profoundly. The bonnet would have suited Hester, but he certainly was not going to give it to her—of all people.
    The next shop was less expensive, busier, and his by now blazing temper saw him through the difficulty of actually expressing approval of any particular bonnet.
    He could not waste all day looking at hats. He must broach the subject of his call, however difficult.
    “Actually the lady in question is with child,” he said abruptly.
    “So she will shortly be remaining at home for some time,” the assistant observed, thinking of the practicalities. “The hat will be worn only for a few months, or even weeks?”
    He pulled a face.
    “Unless she is able to …” He stopped, shrugged slightly.
    The woman was most perceptive. “She already has a large family?” she suggested.
    “Indeed.”
    “Unfortunate. I assume, sir, that she is not—happy—with the event?”
    “Not happy at all,” he agreed. “In fact, it may well jeopardize her health. There is a limit….” He looked away and spoke very quietly. “I believe if she knew how to—take steps …”
    “Could she afford … assistance?” the woman inquired, also very quietly.
    He turned to face her. “Oh yes … if it were anything within reason.”
    The woman disappeared and returned several moments later with a piece of paper folded over to conceal the writing on it.
    “Give her this,” she offered.
    “Thank you. I will.” He hesitated.
    She smiled. “Have her tell them who gave you the address. That will be sufficient.”
    “I see. Thank you.”
    Before he went to the address she had given him, which was in one of the back streets off the Whitechapel Road, he walked some distance in that general direction, thinking long and carefully about the story he would present. It crossed his mind with some humor that he should take Hester and say that she was the lady in need of help. But dearly as he would have liked to do that—the poetic justice of it would have been sweet—she was too importantly occupied as she was at the hospital.
    He could no longer pretend to be going for a sister. The abortionist would expect the woman herself; it was not something which could be done at one removed. The only case where she might accept a man making the inquiries would be if the woman were too young to come in person until the last moment—or too important to risk being seen unnecessarily. Yes—that was an excellent idea! He would say he was inquiring for a lady—someone who would not commit herself until she knew it was safe.
    He hailed a cab, gave the driver directions to the Whitechapel Road, and sat back, rehearsing what he would say.
    It was a long journey. The horse was tired and the cabby sullen. They seemed to stop every few yards and the air was loud with the shouts of other frustrated drivers. Peddlers and costers called their wares, the driver of a dray misjudged a comer and knocked over a stall, and there was a brief and vicious fight, ending with