William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

said decisively. “Went north, I ’eard. Up city way. Lookin’ fer a soft billet, I shouldn’t wonder. She were pretty enough ter please any man, long as she didn’t ’ave them two little one’s wif ’er.”
    “That’s a downright cruel thing ter say!” Ted criticized.
    Alf’s face showed resignation. “It’s true. Poor Sam. Turnin’ over in ‘is grave, I shouldn’t wonder,”
    As Monk had foreseen, the public house had changedhands, and the present landlord, with the best will in the world to oblige, had no idea whatever what had happened to two little girls fifteen years ago, nor could he make any helpful suggestions.
    Monk had acquitted his obligations, and he left with thanks.
    The obvious course was to tell Martha Jackson that he had done what he could and further pursuance was fruitless. He would not tell her his fears, only phrase things in such a manner she would not wish to waste his time on something which could not succeed.
    He arrived in Tavistock Square early in the afternoon and was admitted by Martha herself. The moment she recognized him, her face filled with eagerness, hope that he had come for her battling with fear that it was only to see Hester again and dread that he had something discouraging to tell her after all.
    He wished he could free himself from caring about it. It was just another case—and one which he had known from the beginning could only end this way, or worse. And yet the feeling was sharp inside him, not only for Hester but for Martha herself, and above all for Sam Jackson’s children.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Jackson,” he said quickly. He should not keep her in even a moment’s false hope. “I traced them as far as working in a public house kitchen in Putney, the Coopers Arms. But after that no one knows where they went, except it was to another job. They weren’t abandoned.” They might very well have been abandoned, but there was nothing to be served by telling her that.
    The stiffness relaxed out of her body and her shoulders drooped. She blinked, for an instant fighting tears. Only then did he realize how much she had truly hoped, in spite of all his warnings. He felt painfully helpless. He tried to think of anything to say or do to ease her distress, and there was nothing.
    She gulped once and swallowed.
    “Thank you, Mr. Monk. It was very good of you to try for me.” She blinked several times more, then turned away, her voice thick with unreleased weeping. “I’m sure you’d like tosee Miss Latterly. Please …” She did not finish, but led him wordlessly across the hall and up the stairs towards the sitting room which she and Hester shared. She opened the door and stood back for him to enter, retreating immediately.
    Hester put down her book. He noticed it was on Indian history. She stood up, coming towards him, searching his face.
    “You couldn’t find them,” she said softly. It was not a question, but her eyes were full of disappointment she could not hide.
    He hated having let her down, even though she had never expected the impossible. He realized with a jolt how much her feelings mattered to him, and he resented it. It made him dependent upon her and hideously vulnerable. That was something he had tried all his life to avoid. It had not even happened in a way he could have foreseen and over which he had control. It should have been some gentlewoman in love with him, over whom he could exercise a decent influence and whose effect upon him he could control.
    “Of course I couldn’t find them!” he said sharply. “I told you that in the beginning. I tried hard, I questioned everyone who had anything to do with it, but there was never any reasonable chance of success. Dammit, it was twenty years ago. What did you expect?” He took a breath, looking at the pain in her eyes. “You were irresponsible leading Martha to hope,” he went on.
    “I didn’t!” she retorted with a sudden flare of temper. “I always said there was very little chance. She can’t help hoping. Wouldn’t you? No—perhaps you wouldn’t. Sometimes I think you don’t understand ordinary feelings at all. You haven’t got any.” She turned away, her body rigid.
    It was so untrue it was monstrous. As usual, she was being utterly unjust. He was about to say so when there was a heavy footstep in the corridor outside. A moment later, after the merest hesitation, the door opened and Athol Sheldon stood in the threshold. He was dressed in a smart checked jacket of