William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

out her cape so it would dry. “We need to know if Baltimore went there regularly or if it was his first visit. If he went there often, then someone will know something about him, who else he knew, what kind of a man he was away from his home and family. I would like to know whether he went there simply to use the women or if he could have had some other business. Maybe somebody from his life at home followed him there? His death might have nothing to do with the people who live in the Coldbath area.”
    Bessie’s face brightened. “Cor! That’d be summink, eh?”
    “But the people of Leather Lane might not know his name,” Margaret pointed out. “I don’t suppose he used it.”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” Hester agreed, realizing her point. “What we need is a picture to show people.”
    Margaret’s eyes widened. “A picture! How on earth could we get a picture? Only the family would have one, and they’re hardly likely to give it to us.”
    Hester took a deep breath and plunged in. “Actually . . . I have an idea for that. I am not very good at drawing, but you are.”
    “Oh!” Margaret’s voice shot up in denial, and she started shaking her head, but her eyes did not leave Hester’s. “Oh, no!”
    “Do you have an idea which would serve better?” Hester asked with an attempt at innocence.
    Bessie understood with dawning horror. “You never are!” she said to Hester. “The morgue! Yer gonna draw a dead body?”
    “Not I,” Hester corrected her. “Nobody would recognize their own mother from anything I drew, but Margaret is very good. She can really catch a likeness, even if she is too modest to say so herself.”
    “It’s not that . . .” Margaret began, then tailed off, staring at Hester as disbelief slowly turned into understanding. “Really?” she whispered. “Do you think . . . I mean . . . would they allow us to . . .”
    “Well, we may require one or two embellishments of fact,” Hester admitted wryly. “But I intend to try as hard as possible.” She became very grave. “It really does matter.”
    “As long as you do the embellishments,” Margaret said, making a last attempt at reason.
    “Of course,” Hester agreed, not yet with any very clear idea of what she would say. There would be plenty of time to think about it as they walked the mile or so to the closest morgue, where Baltimore would have been taken.
    “I don’t have a pencil or paper,” Margaret said. “But I’ve got a couple of shillings of my own . . . I mean, not supposed to be for the house . . .”
    “Excellent,” Hester approved. “We’ll get what you need at Mrs. Clark’s shop on the corner of the Farringdon Road. And I daresay an eraser as well. We may not have time to start over and over again.”
    Margaret shrugged, then gave a nervous laugh, almost a giggle. Hester heard a note of hysteria in it.
    “It’s all right!” Margaret said quickly. “I was just thinking what my drawing master would say if he knew. He was such an old woman it would be worth it just to see his face. He used to like me to draw demure young ladies. He made my sisters and me draw each other. He wasn’t even sure if we should draw gentlemen. The idea of that would be bad enough—he’d have a seizure if he knew I was going to draw a corpse! I do hope he’ll be wearing a sheet, or something?”
    “If not, you have my express instruction to draw one in,” Hester promised with an answering bubble of laughter, not because she found any pleasure in it, but because to think of the absurd was the only way to make it all bearable.
    They put on their outdoor clothes again and set off, walking briskly in the rain. They purchased a block of paper, pencils and an eraser, and hurried on to the morgue, an ugly, slab-sided building set a little back from the street.
    “What do you want me to say?” Margaret asked as they went up the steps side by side.
    “Agree with me,” Hester replied under her breath. As soon as they were through the door they were faced almost immediately by an elderly man with white whiskers and an alarmingly high voice, almost falsetto.
    “Good mornin’ to you, ladies. ’Ow can I be of ’elp?” He bowed very slightly, blocking their way as completely as if he had held out his arms. He fixed his eyes on Hester’s face, unblinking, waiting for her to explain herself.
    Hester stared back at him without flinching. “Good morning, sir. I am hoping you will accommodate our request, out of