William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

concerned for the disruption to the neighborhood. “Why would any woman kill a client?” she asked. “Surely she would realize it had to end like this?”
    Betty shrugged. “ ’Oo knows? Even soused out of ’er mind, yer’d think she’d ’ave’ad more sense, wouldn’t yer?” She bit into the toast and cheese and spoke with her mouth full. “Bring the wrath o’ God down on all of us, stupid bitch.” But there was more resignation in her voice than anger, and she turned her full attention to the food and said no more.
    Hester did not raise the subject again until close to morning. She had slept in one of the beds herself, and was roused by Constable Hart knocking on the door.
    She got up and let him in. He looked mithered and unhappy. He glanced around the room and saw only the one bed occupied.
    “Quiet?” he said without surprise. Perhaps involuntarily his eyes went to the stove and the kettle.
    “I’m going to have a cup of tea,” Hester remarked. “Would you like one?”
    He smiled at her tact, and accepted.
    When the tea and toast were made and they were sitting at either side of the table, he began to talk. It was light in the street outside but there was hardly any traffic yet. The huge mass of the Coldbath prison stood silent and forbidding to the north, the sun softening its walls only slightly, the cobbles of the road still damp in the crevices. Light glinted on a pile of refuse in the gutter.
    “So I don’t suppose you’ve ’eard anything?” he said hopefully.
    “Only that there are police all over the streets, and none of the women are doing much trade,” she replied, sipping her tea. “I imagine that’ll go for a lot of other occupations as well.”
    He laughed without humor. “Oh, yeah! Burglaries are down—and robberies! It’s so bleedin’ safe to walk around now you could wear a gold Albert in your waistcoat an’ go from Coldbath to Pentonville, an’ still find it there! The reg’lars like us almost as much as a dose o’ the pox.”
    “Then maybe they’ll help,” she suggested. “Get things back to normal. Do you know who he was yet?”
    He looked up at her, his eyes solemn and troubled. “Yeah. ’Is son got worried ’cos ’e were supposed to be at a big business meeting, an’ ’e never come ’ome that night. Seems ’e weren’t the kind o’ man to miss something like that, so everyone got upset. Asked the local station about accidents an’ so on.” He spread black currant jam liberally on his toast. “He lived up Royal Square, opposite St. Peter’s Church, but the station put the word about, an’ we was askin’ around too, knowin’ as ’e wasn’t from our patch. Son came over and looked at’im in the morgue last evening.” He bit into the toast. “Knew’im, right enough,” he said with his mouth full. “ ’Ell of a stink ’e kicked up. Streets not safe for decent men, what’s the world coming to, and all that. ’E’ll write to his Member of Parliament, ’e said.” He shook his head wonderingly.
    “I think for his family’s sake he would be wiser to say as little as possible, at least for the moment,” she replied. “If my father were found dead in Abel Smith’s place, I would tell as few people as I could. Or found alive either, for that matter,” she added.
    He smiled at her for an instant, then was grave again. “ ’E were called Nolan Baltimore,” he told her. “Rich man, ’ead of a company in railways. It was ’is son Jarvis Baltimore who came to the morgue. ’E’s ’ead o’ the company now, an’ going to make sure ’e raises Cain if we don’t find who killed ’is father an’ see ’em ’anged.”
    Hester could imagine the reaction of shock, pain, outrage, but she thought young Mr. Jarvis Baltimore would live to regret his actions today. Whatever his father had been doing in Leather Lane, it was extremely unlikely to be anything his family would wish their friends to know about. Because it was murder, the police would have to do all they could to establish the facts, and if possible bring someone to court, but it might have been better for the Baltimore family if it could simply have remained a mystery, a disappearance tragic and unexplained.
    But that choice was no longer open to them. It was only a passing thought, a moment’s pity for the disillusion and then the public humiliation, the laughter suddenly hushed when they entered a room, the whispered words, the invitations that stopped, the friends