William Monk 13 - Death of a Stranger

fingers on her handkerchief, then drinking the last of her cider. “If we show people that, they will certainly know whether they have seen him or not.”
    Margaret looked up at her, her eyes bright with pleasure for the praise. “I had better do another,” she said gravely. “If we were to lose it we should be in difficulty.” And immediately she set about depicting Baltimore from a slightly different angle, more three-quarter face.
    Hester fetched her another glass of cider, and one more for herself, and watched patiently while Margaret did a third drawing as well, in remarkable detail, and shaded to show an almost three-dimensional likeness.
    Then, before they ran even greater risk of attracting anyone’s attention, they put the drawings away and left, going out into the damp streets, but with a clear sky above and a mild breeze promising to keep it so.

    They had a very quiet afternoon at Coldbath. Hester deliberately took a short sleep in preparation for her plans, which might involve much of the night. She knew Monk would not be at home, and therefore needed no explanation as to why she was not either. She had no intention of taking Margaret with her. Margaret had already done magnificent work today.
    Also, of course, it was necessary to have two people here, just in case there should be some need for help from Mr. Lockhart. Someone had to go for him, and that was almost always Bessie. She seemed to have a great ability to find him at any time. Perhaps his friends sensed her affection for him, and her own past had taught her neither to question nor to judge.
    Margaret argued a little, but Hester could see in her eyes a certain relief when it was pointed out that Bessie could not manage alone should someone seriously injured come in.
    “Yes, I suppose so,” she said with genuine reluctance. “But what about you? You shouldn’t go alone either! Anything could happen to you, and we wouldn’t even know. Why don’t you—” She stopped.
    Hester smiled. “Why don’t I what? You can’t think of a better idea any more than I can. I shall be very careful indeed, I promise you. I look pretty much like the women who live in the area, and they go around by themselves. There are police all over the streets just now. We know that as well as anyone. As long as I don’t look as if I am soliciting for trade, which I shall take care not to, I shall be as safe as anyone.” And without waiting for further argument from Margaret, Bessie, or a voice of caution inside her own head, she took an old shawl from the cupboard of spare clothes and went out into the street. The evening was fine now, and quite warm. Looking straight ahead of her, she walked quickly in the direction of Leather Lane.
    She intended to begin with the place where Nolan Baltimore’s body had been found, but she must be careful. She did not wish to draw the attention of any police patrolling the streets and alleys, and particularly not of Constable Hart, who would recognize her in an instant, and probably have a very good idea of her purpose.
    She slowed her step to something more like that of the middle-aged woman in front of her, keeping about twenty feet between them, and trying to appear to a casual eye to be much the same sort of person. She reached the angle where Bath Street becomes Lower Bath Street, then crosses the wide thoroughfare of Theobald’s Road and becomes Leather Lane.
    There was a constable on the corner, looking tired and dispirited. How was she going to show anyone a picture without drawing his attention? It would have to be done under one of the few street lamps. One could hardly be expected to recognize anybody in the dusk and shadows closer to the walls, or in a doorway or alley.
    The constable watched her without speaking and without apparent interest. Good. That meant he took her for an ordinary resident. That was not flattering, but it was what she needed at the moment. With a tight little smile to herself, she walked on down Leather Lane.
    There was a girl standing close to the next lamppost. The light shone on her bare head, making a bright mass of her hair. She was probably well under twenty, not particularly pretty, but there was still a certain freshness to her. She was not someone Hester knew, and she found herself suddenly very nervous about asking a complete stranger the questions she needed to.
    But the answers might be known only by strangers, and she was not going back to Coldbath to tell them that she had