William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

cesspool. The police went there only armed, and in numbers, and even then rarely. If a man disappeared into the rookeries he might not be seen again for a year. It hid its own, and trespassers went there at their peril.
    How long ago had that been? Stunning Joe’s public house had gone. He knew that much. He had passed the corner where it used to be. At least he thought he knew it. The Holy Land itself had certainly opened up. The worst of the creaking tenements were gone, collapsed and rebuilt. The criminal strongholds had crumbled, their power dissipated.
    Where had the memory come from, and how far back was it? Ten years, fifteen? When he and Runcorn had both been new and inexperienced, they had fought there side by side, guarding each other’s backs. It had been a comradeship. There had been trust.
    When had it gone? Gradually, a dozen, a score of small issues, a parting of the paths of choice, or one sudden ugly incident?
    He could not remember.
    He followed Vida Hopgood across a small yard with a well in it, under an archway and then across a surprisingly busy street and into another alley. It was bone-achingly cold, the fogan icy shroud. He racked his brain, and there was nothing there at all, only the present, his anger with Runcorn now, his contempt for him, and the knowledge that Runcorn hated him, that the hate was deep and bitter and that it governed him. Even when it was against his own interest, his dignity and all that he wanted to be, the hate was so passionate in him he could not control it. It consumed his judgment.
    “ ’Ere! Wot’s the matter wiv yer?” Vida’s voice cut across his thoughts, dragging him back to Seven Dials and the rape of the sweatshop women.
    “Nothing!” he said sharply. “Is this Bella Green’s?”
    “ ’Course it is. Wot the ’ell d’yer think we’re ’ere fer?” She banged on the rickety door and shouted Bella’s name.
    It was several minutes before the door was answered by a girl somewhere between twelve and fifteen. Her long hair was curling and knotted, but her face was clean and she had nice teeth.
    Vida asked for Bella Green.
    “Me ma’s busy,” the girl replied. “She’ll be back in a w’ile. You wanna wait?”
    “Yeah.” Vida was not going to be put off, even had Monk allowed it.
    But they were not permitted in. The child had obviously been warned about strangers. She slammed the fragile door and Monk and Vida were left on the step in the cold.
    “The gin mill,” Vida said immediately, taking no offense. “She’ll ’a gorn ter get Jimmy a bottle. Dulls the pain, poor sod.”
    Monk did not bother to enquire whether the pain was physical or the bleak despair of the mind. The difference was academic; the burden of living with either was the same.
    Vida’s guess was right. Inside the noise and filth of the gin shop, the sound of laughter, the shards of broken glass and the women huddled together for warmth and the comfort of living flesh rather than the cold stones, they found Bella Green. She was coming towards them cradling a bottle in her arms, holding it as if it were a child. It was a few moments’ oblivion for her husband, a man she must have seen answer his country’scall whole and full of courage and hope, and received back again broken in body and fast sinking in mind as he looked at the long, hopeless years ahead, and daily pain.
    Beside her a woman wept and sank slowly to the floor in the maudlin self-pity of gin drunkenness.
    Bella saw Vida Hopgood and her tired face showed surprise—and something that might have been embarrassment.
    “Need ter see yer, Bella,” Vida said, ignoring the gin as if she had not seen it. “Din’ wanner. Know yer busy wi’ yer own troubles, but need yer ’elp.”
    “Me ’elp!” Bella could not grasp it. “Fer wot?”
    Vida turned and went out into the street, stepping over a woman fallen on the cobbles, insensible to the cold. Monk followed, knowing the uselessness of trying to pick anyone up. At least on the ground a person could fall no farther. The woman would be colder, wetter, but less bruised.
    They walked quickly back to the door where Monk and Vida had knocked. Bella went straight in. It was cold and the damp had seeped through the walls. The air inside smelled sour, but there were two rooms, which was more than some people had. The second had a small black stove in it, and it gave off a faint warmth. Sitting beside it was a man with one leg. His empty trouser hung flat over