William Monk 12 - Funeral in Blue

“Coats!” she ordered. “Give me your coats to put around her!” And instantly Monk and Charles threw their coats off and handed them to her. The moment after, the cabbie offered his, struggling to keep the light high at the same time.
    Hester felt very gently under Imogen’s head, exploring, terrified to find broken bone, more blood, a soft indentation of the skull, but there was only a swelling. Her heart beating faster and faster, her mouth dry, she covered the last few inches. Still no splintered bone.
    “She’s struck her head,” she said hoarsely. “But her skull seems whole.” She looked up at the cabbie. “You’ll take her home, won’t you? Now . . .”
    “Yeah! Yeah, o’ course!” he said quickly. “But wot abaht all that blood, Miss? If she ain’t stabbed . . . ’oo is?”
    Charles let out a long, shuddering sigh.
    Monk stepped forward and took the lamp from the cabbie and held it high. It was Hester who saw the green umbrella lying on the pavement beside the bridge rails. It was still rolled up, and the long, sharp spike of it was thick with blood, and more had fallen in spots along the path.
    “Oh, God!” Charles burst out in horror.
    “Pendreigh . . .” Monk gasped. “Why?”
    “He must be very badly hurt.” Hester tried to gather her wits. Whatever had happened, someone was severely injured.
    “I can’t do anything more for Imogen,” she said, climbing to her feet. She turned to Charles. “Take her home, keep her as warm as you can, and when she comes to, try to get her to take a little beef tea. Call the doctor, of course. Don’t put her into sheets, put her straight into blankets, and sit with her.” She watched to make sure he had understood, then she faced Monk. “We must find Pendreigh, if he is still alive. I may be able to help.”
    “We’ve no idea where he is!”
    “We’ll begin at his home. That’s where most people go when they’re badly hurt.” She started towards the roadway again.
    “No!” Monk said instinctively.
    She ignored him. “And we must take a constable or someone with us! Apart from anything else, you haven’t any authority. And . . .” She gulped, the ice-cold vapor hurting her chest. “We have to know what happened, for Imogen’s sake. We have to protect her!” It was hideous, and still totally inexplicable. Why had she attacked Pendreigh? There had to be a reason, something that would excuse her in law.
    “I’ll get Runcorn,” he answered. “But you’re going home.”
    “No, I’m not! It’s my duty to help the injured, just as it’s yours to answer the law. Don’t stand here wasting time. We need a cab, and we need Runcorn!”
    Charles had already bent and picked up Imogen very carefully. Now he straightened his back and his legs to carry her across to the waiting cab. The cabbie suddenly galvanized into life and scrambled after them, waving the light, leaving Hester and Monk alone in the darkness.
    “Don’t argue!” Hester said.
    Monk swore, then bit it back and started to run towards the near end of the bridge, where he could see a cab looming up from New Bridge Street. He shouted at the driver, and saw the man turn in surprise and disapproval, silhouetted in his high-collared coat and stovepipe hat.
    “It’s an emergency!” Monk said breathlessly as he reached the cab, half lifted Hester in, then scrambled in behind her. “Take me to Superintendent Runcorn’s house in Lamb’s Conduit Street, and go as quickly as you can.”
    After only the slightest indecision the driver obeyed, and Monk sat beside Hester shivering, praying that Runcorn was at home. If he had to direct the cab to go looking for him, he had no idea where else to search but the police station, and even that was time wasted. Pendreigh must be badly wounded—from the amount of blood on Imogen, perhaps even fatally.
    “What on earth had they been doing on the bridge? Why did she go with him?” Monk said in the darkness as they sat together and the cab moved forward.
    Hester did not bother to answer. Nothing made sense, except that they had fought, wildly, desperately, leaving Imogen senseless on the footpath and Pendreigh bleeding so terribly he surely could not get far.
    The fog was thinning away from the river, and the cab picked up speed.
    “He must have attacked her,” Monk said in the fitful light as they moved from lamp to lamp. “But why? In what way could she possibly have threatened him? And don’t say to blame him for Elissa.