William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

that.”
    “No one left to . . . want payment for it?” Monk pressed.
    “Not for that bleedin’ lot o’ sods.” The man upended the glass to drain the last of his beer. “Reckon as Mr. Louvain’s ’ealth were drunk right well in a few ’ouses up an’ down the river that night.” He took his mug and pushed it an inch closer to Monk without looking at him. “River’s full o’ tales,” he added.
    Monk took the hint and fetched them both another pint, although he had no capacity or wish to drink any more himself. He was prepared to listen for another hour at least.
    His companion settled down to picking from his memory tales of violence, failed robberies and successful ones, and eccentric characters in the last fifty years along the river.
    “Most o’ ’em back then,” he said gleefully. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Monk had bought him a second pie. The color with which he painted the river life contained many warnings that might prove useful, and it gave Monk a far better understanding of the intricacies of illicit trade, of light-horsemen, heavy-horsemen, lumpers, plunderers, and crooked Revenue men. Monk heard stories, some of the legendary receivers, including the present-day Fat Man, the most famous opulent receiver along this stretch of the water.
    Monk did not arrive home until after nine o’clock, by which time Hester was concerned. The dinner she had made was far past its best and barely edible.
    “I’m all right!” he assured her, holding her as closely as he could until she pushed him away to search his face. “Really!” he repeated. “I was in a public house down by the docks, listening to an old sailor telling me tales.”
    Her face was very serious. “Mr. Louvain came to the clinic today—”
    “What?” He was incredulous. “Clement Louvain? Are you sure? What for?” It disquieted him, although he did not know why. He did not want Louvain anywhere near Hester. And even as the thought was in his mind he knew it was absurd. Hester dealt with the ugliest and most tragic elements of life every day.
    “What did he want?” he demanded, taking his coat off and hanging it up.
    She recounted the story of Ruth Clark and mentioned Louvain’s generous donation. She bit her lip. “We’re finding it hard to get people to give.”
    He heard the anger in her voice and he understood it. “Why didn’t he take her to a hospital?”
    “He would have to register her there and tell them his own name. Anyway, he might be known. He’s an important man. They would ask who she was, and they might not believe he brought her for someone else.”
    He smiled, touching her cheek gently. “Did you?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t care. And I won’t repeat it to anyone except you. Did you learn anything more about the ivory?”
    “Not specifically, but I gained an informant.”
    “Good. You’re cold. Are you hungry?”
    “Not very, but I’d like some tea.”
    He followed her into the kitchen, telling her about Scuff as she filled the kettle and put it on the stove, fetched milk from the pantry and set out the teapot and cups on a tray. He told her many of the things he had seen and heard, but not about Louvain and the river pirates. There was no need to waken fears in her that she could do nothing about.
    She laughed at some of the descriptions: the eccentricity, the ingenuity, and the will to survive. They went to bed, tired from the work of the day and happy to be close not only in mind but in the warmth of touch.
    In the morning he woke before she did. He slipped out of bed, and washed and dressed without disturbing her, not shaving in order to keep his image for the dockside. Downstairs, he riddled the stove and carried out the ashes. It was not a job he was accustomed to doing, but it was heavy, and he knew she had dismissed the woman who came to help. Louvain’s payment was generous, but it must be made to last as long as possible. He had no idea where the next reasonable sum was coming from.
    He filled the kettle and set it on the hob, then went back upstairs to waken Hester and say good-bye to her. He had given a great deal of thought to how next to proceed, and only one answer pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. He needed to find the receiver. Reluctantly, he went to the drawer of his dresser and took out the gold watch Callandra had given him. He slipped it into the top pocket inside his jacket.
    Ten minutes later he was out in the gray light of the