William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

“Bessie, you’d best help me get Miss Clark along to a room and into bed. The poor soul looks fit to pass out.”
    And indeed Ruth Clark seemed so deep in her distress as to be beyond helping herself. When Hester bent to half lift her on one side, with Bessie on the other, it was all they could do to get her as far as the first bedroom. Bessie propped her up, sagging against the door frame, while Hester freed one hand to open the door, and then together they half lifted, half dragged her across to the bed. She fell on it heavily. Her eyes were still open, but she did not seem to see anything, nor did she speak.
    She was dead weight, and with considerable difficulty, in spite of much practice, Hester took her outer clothes off while Bessie went to get half a cup of hot tea with a drop of brandy in it.
    When she had removed all but Ruth’s undergarments and had eased her into the bed, Hester took the pins out of Ruth’s hair so she would be more comfortable. She touched the woman’s forehead. It was very hot, her skin dry. She studied her patient’s face, trying to assess what sort of woman she was and how long she had been ill.
    It must have come on very rapidly. Had it been slow—a sore throat, then a tight chest, then fever—surely Louvain would have brought her sooner. She did not look to be a woman of delicate constitution, or prone to infection. The skin of her arms and body was firm and her neck and shoulders had a good texture, not the loose, thin, slightly bluish look of someone frequently ill. Her hair was thick; indeed, it was very handsome, a dark brown with heavy wave, and when she was well it probably had a gloss to it. Her features were regular and pleasing. What kind of a man would have cast her off like this, simply because she was ill? It was certainly not chronic! If she recovered she would again be a healthy, vital woman; she was not beyond her mid-thirties.
    Was she some shipowner’s mistress whose circumstances made it impossible for him to give her the care she needed? Was he afraid she was going to die, and he would be unable to explain the presence of her body in his house?
    Or was she Louvain’s own mistress, and for some reason he was unwilling to admit that?
    Had the reputation of the clinic spread so far that even on the dockside Louvain had heard of it? Or had Monk mentioned something of it when accepting his new job?
    Perhaps none of that mattered now. She did not ask questions of the others in her care. Their recovery was all that concerned her. Why should this woman be different?
    Bessie came with the tea, and between them they propped Ruth up. A teaspoonful at a time, they managed to persuade her to take it. Finally they eased her down again, put the covers right up to her chin, and left her to sink into a sleep so profound she seemed close to unconsciousness.
    Outside the room Hester fished in her pocket and took out the money. She gave one of the sovereigns and the fourteen shillings to Bessie. “Go and get food, coal, carbolic, vinegar, brandy, and quinine,” she ordered. She added another sovereign. “Enough for the rest of the week. Thank God there isn’t rent to pay! I’ll give this to Squeaky. That should make him smile!” And with a lift of hope she followed down the corridor after Bessie.

THREE
    Monk left the house before daylight, so he was on the wharfside by sunrise just before eight o’clock. It was a blustery day with a sharp wind from the fast-flowing tide. The barges going slowly upstream were dark. Grays, silvers, and looming shadows were cut by the dense blackness of masts sweeping the sky lazily, barely in motion, yardarms lumpy with sails lashed to them. The hulls of the ships were indistinguishable except for size, no features clear, just a shape: no gun ports, no figureheads, no timbers.
    He had learned a little yesterday, but most of it only emphasized how different the river was from the city—and that he was a stranger with no old debts or favors to call on.
    People stole for many reasons, he realized. Where Louvain’s ivory was concerned, Monk assumed the thief could sell it for profit—or he had some personal quarrel with Louvain and took it merely to make him suffer, possibly knowing that he had already committed it to a particular buyer.
    Monk needed to know more about the receiving of stolen goods on the river, and even more than that: about Louvain himself, his friends, his enemies, his debtors and creditors, his rivals.
    He had