William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

be hard to persuade when they can excuse themselves by a nice moral judgment.” There was a bitter humor in his eyes, and he appeared to know that Hester understood his meaning precisely. He was speaking to her as an equal, at least on the subject of irony.
    “It would be welcome,” she agreed, warming to the intelligence in him, and the dry wit. “Without money we can help no one.”
    He nodded. “What would be fair?”
    She thought rapidly. She must not pitch it too high or he would be angry and refuse to pay, but she wanted as much as possible—at least sufficient to look after the woman well, feed her, give her clean linen, sit up with her if necessary, and give her such medicines as would ease her distress. “Two shillings a day,” she replied.
    He seemed pleased. “Good. I will give you fourteen shillings and come back again in a week, although I imagine it will be unnecessary. She has family who will come for her before then. It is simply a matter of caring for her in the meantime. And I shall donate five pounds to your charity, so you can care for others as well.”
    It was an enormous sum. Suspicions flickered in her mind as to why he would give so much, and who the woman really was. But the money would keep them open for another week at least, and she could not afford to refuse it. After that surely Margaret would have succeeded in persuading at least one benefactor from Callandra’s list who would give something.
    “Thank you,” she accepted. Equivocation or a refusal for the sake of courtesy would be absurd. “What can you tell me about her, so that we can do the best for her we are able?”
    “Her name is Ruth Clark,” he replied. “She is . . . was . . . the mistress of a colleague of mine. She has become ill, and he is no longer interested in her.” His voice carried emotion, but no anger that she could see. There was an intense pity in him, just for a moment; then he realized she was watching him, and he controlled it until it was hardly discernible. He was not a man who wished to have any softness seen in him, even here.
    “He put her out,” he added. “I have sent letters to her family, but it may be a few days before anyone can send for her. They live in the north. And at present she is too ill to travel.”
    Hester looked at the woman again. Her face was flushed deep red, and she seemed to be so consumed by her suffering that she was almost oblivious of her surroundings.
    “Can you tell me any history of her illness?” Hester asked quietly. Even though she thought the woman was not listening to her, she still disliked speaking of someone as if they were not present. “Anything you can tell me may help.”
    “I don’t know when it began,” he replied. “Or if it was slow or sudden. She seems to be feverish, barely able to stand, and since last night when I took her from his keeping, she has had no desire to eat.”
    “Is she sick, vomiting?” she asked.
    He looked at her quite steadily. “No. It seems to be a matter of fever and dizziness, and difficulty in breathing. I daresay it is pneumonia, or something of the sort.” He hesitated. “I don’t wish her in a hospital with their rigid moral rules. They would despise her for her circumstances, and rob her of any privacy.”
    Hester understood. She had worked in hospital wards and knew the pages of directions, the things patients must do, and could not do without removal of privileges, freedoms. Many of them were to do with morality, in someone’s strict opinion.
    “We’ll do everything for her that we can,” she promised. “Rest and warmth, and as many hot drinks as we can persuade her to take, will help. But if it is pneumonia, it will have to run its course, until the fever breaks. No one can tell whether that will be for good or ill, but we will do all that can be done. And I can promise you that at least she will be eased in her distress.”
    “Thank you,” he said quietly, and with a suddenly intense feeling, “You are a good woman.” He put his hand into the pocket inside his jacket and pulled out a handful of money. He placed five gold sovereigns on the back of the couch, and then counted out four half crowns and four separate shillings. “Our agreement,” he said. “Thank you, Mrs. Monk. Good day to you.”
    “Good day, Mr. Louvain,” she replied, but already her attention was on the sick woman. She picked up the money and put it in the pocket of her dress, then rearranged her apron over it.