William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

attention away. “Now, Mrs. Monk, I dislike having to discuss my affairs in front of these unfortunates, but I cannot wait around for you to have time to spare.” He put his thumbs in the pockets of his red brocade waistcoat.
    “As I am sure you are aware, it is quarter to one in the morning and I have a home to go to. We need to reconsider our arrangements.” He freed one hand and flicked it at the room in general. “This is not the best use of property, you know. I am doing you a considerable service in allowing you to rent these premises at such a low rate.” He rocked very slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet. “As I say, we must reconsider our arrangement.”
    Hester held the needle motionless and looked at him. “No, Mr. Jessop, we must keep precisely to our arrangement. It was made and witnessed by the lawyers. It stands.”
    “I have my reputation to consider,” he went on, his eyes moving for a moment to each of the women, then back to Hester.
    “A reputation for charity is good for anyone,” she returned, beginning very carefully to stitch again. This time Nell made no sound at all.
    “Ah, but there’s charity . . . and charity.” Jessop pursed his lips and resumed the very slight rocking, his thumbs back in his waistcoat pockets. “There’s some as are more deserving than others, if you take my meaning?”
    “I’m not concerned with deserving, Mr. Jessop,” she replied. “I’m concerned with needing. And that woman”—she indicated Lizzie—“has broken bones which have to be set. We cannot pay you any more, nor should we.” She tied the last stitch and looked up to meet his eyes. The thought passed through her mind that they resembled boiled sweets, to be specific, those usually known as humbugs. “A reputation for not keeping his word is bad for a man of business,” she added. “In fact, any man at all. And it is good, especially in an area like this, to be trusted.”
    His face hardened until it was no longer even superficially benign. His lips were tight, his cheeks blotchy. “Are you threatening me, Mrs. Monk?” he said quietly. “That would be most unwise, I can assure you. You need friends, too.” He mimicked her tone. “Especially in an area like this.”
    Before Hester could speak, Nell glared up at Jessop. “You watch yer lip, mister. You might knock around tarts like us.” She used the word viciously, as he might have said it. “But Mrs. Monk’s a lady, an’ wot’s more, ’er ’usband used ter be a rozzer, an’ now ’e does it private, like, fer anyone as wants it. But that don’t mean ’e in’t got friends in places wot counts.” Admiration gleamed in her eyes, and a harsh satisfaction. “An’ ’e’s as ’ard as they come w’en ’e needs ter be. If ’e took ter yer nasty, yer’d wish as yer’d never bin born! Ask some o’ yer thievin’ friends if they’d like ter cross William Monk. Garn, I dare yer! Wet yerself at the thought, yer would!”
    The dull color washed up Jessop’s face, but he did not reply to her. He glared at Hester. “You wait till renewal time, Mrs. Monk! You’ll be looking for something else, and I’ll be warning other propertied men just what sort of a tenant you are. As to Mr. Monk . . .” He spat the words this time. “He can speak to all the police he likes! I’ve got friends, too, and not all of them are so nice!”
    “Garn!” Nell said in mock amazement. “An’ ’ere was us thinkin’ as yer meant ’Er Majesty, an’ all!”
    Jessop turned, and after giving Hester one more icy stare he opened the door and let the cold air in off the cobbled square, damp in the early-spring night. The dew was slick on the stones, shining under the gaslight twenty yards away, showing the corner of the end house—grimy, eaves dark and dripping, guttering crooked.
    He left the door open behind him and walked smartly down Bath Street toward the Farringdon Road.
    “Bastard!” Nell said in disgust, then looked down at her arm. “Yer improvin’,” she said grudgingly.
    “Thank you,” Hester acknowledged with a smile.
    Nell suddenly grinned back. “Yer all right, you are! If that fat sod gives yer any trouble, like, let us know. Willie might knock me around a bit, wot’s out o’ place, but ’e’d be good fer beatin’ that slimy pig, an’ all.”
    “Thank you,” Hester said seriously. “I’ll keep it in mind. Would you like more tea?”
    “Yeah! An’ a drop o’ life in it, too.” Nell held