William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

terrier, Snoot, with his face half brown, half white, who came scampering in, wagging his tail, Sutton close behind him. Hester breathed out in relief, realizing she should have known it would be he. The men with the dogs would not have permitted anyone else to pass.
    Sutton glanced around the room, but if he sensed the tension, he did not show it. He was carrying beef bones, two bottles of brandy, and a pound of tea. “Miss Margaret must a brung ’em,” he said, setting them down on the table. He ran his hand gently over the little dog. “That’s it fer the night,” he said gently. “Now go ter bed.”
    The anger in the room subsided, and everyone returned to their duties.
             
    It was in the middle of the night when the incident occurred. Hester had had a few hours’ sleep and was going around to the more seriously ill of the women when she heard a noise on the landing a short distance away. She knew Bessie was doing the rounds as well, so at first she took no notice. Then she heard a long wail, rising into a note of sheer terror, and she put down the cup of water in her hand. She excused herself to the languid, feverish woman she was with, and went out into the passage.
    Bessie was struggling with a woman called Martha who had come in with severe bronchitis which had seemed to be getting a little better. Bessie was broad and strong, but Martha was young and handsomely built as well, and she seemed to have a remarkable strength. Bessie’s arms were clasped around her in a bear hug; Martha was leaning away from her, her arms free, her fists beating against Bessie’s chest. As Hester took a step towards her, Martha’s right fist caught Bessie in the face and Bessie let go of her with a yell of pain, blood spurting from her nose.
    Martha half fell against the wall, banging herself and twisting awkwardly.
    Hester started towards her, but Martha scrambled upright again and charged off along the passage towards the stairs.
    “Don’t bother wi’ me!” Bessie shouted, grasping her apron to her bleeding nose. “Stop ’er! She’s makin’ a run fer it! She’s got them black swellin’s.”
    Hester barely hesitated. Bessie would have to wait; Martha must be stopped, at any cost. She was already at the top of the stairs and lurching down them, still screaming.
    Flo came out of one of the other bedrooms and saw Bessie, her face and bosom scarlet. She screamed as well and ran floundering forward towards her.
    “I’m all right!” Bessie yelled at her. “Stop that stupid cow from runnin’ off! Get ’er! Go ’elp Miss ’Ester, fer Gawd’s sake.”
    Flo stopped with a jolt as Hester started down the stairs. Martha was already halfway down and Squeaky Robinson was on the way up, holding on to the railings at both sides.
    “Stop her!” Hester shouted. “Martha! Stop! You can’t leave!”
    But Martha was beyond listening to anyone or anything. She charged Squeaky and carried him right off his feet, knocking him backwards down the stairs, his legs in the air. She tried to avoid him and tripped, pitching headlong after him, landing heavily, almost smothering him. He screeched furiously, then started howling with pain.
    Hester clung to the banister and went down as fast as she could without risking breaking her legs.
    Martha was still clambering to her feet when Hester reached the bottom. Squeaky was clutching his right leg and cursing vigorously.
    “You can’t leave, Martha!” Hester said loudly and very clearly. “You know that! You’ll spread the plague all over London! Come back upstairs and let us look after you. Come on!”
    Squeaky was still swearing.
    “Shut up!” she said to him furiously. “Get up and hold on to Martha!”
    Squeaky tried to do as he was told, grabbing a handful of Martha’s nightgown skirts to haul himself up. She lashed out at him and sent him sprawling backwards to land with a thud against the wall. Whether she thought he was molesting her, or she simply was not going to let anyone prevent her escape, was irrelevant.
    Squeaky lay where he fell.
    Martha blundered away, gathering speed, and Hester ran after her. Martha knew her way and was heading for the kitchen and the back door. Hester called out, desperation making her voice high and shrill. She was not even sure if she was trying to stop Martha or to warn Sutton and call for help. Would she have the nerve to order the dogs set on her? Even with the plague, could she cause the death of someone in such a