William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

closer?”
    “No,” Durban said honestly. “They seem to have vanished.” He did not elaborate his fears that they had taken other ships out straightaway, or that they were already dead, but the same thoughts raced through Monk’s mind.
    “We haven’t checked the deaths,” Monk said aloud.
    “I did,” Durban answered. “When you were talking to the brothel up in Thames Street. The police have identified everyone that might have been ours.”
    “How can you know?” Monk challenged.
    “Because they know the ones they have,” Durban said simply. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t dead, though, just not found and not buried.” He looked at Monk and his face was rueful. “C’mon, let’s try the next one.”

TEN
    On the day that Monk was visited by Sutton, Margaret was in her bedroom preparing to return to the clinic. She meant to give Hester at least one night’s uninterrupted sleep. She was sitting at her dressing table when her mother knocked very briefly, and without waiting, came in.
    “Margaret, my dear,” she said, closing the door behind her. “You must not give up hope, you know. You have a difficult nature, and you certainly have an unfortunate tongue, but you are not unpleasing to look at, and at the moment your reputation is unmarked.” Her tone altered very slightly. “You are from an acceptable family whose reputation is unblemished. Just a little care, a great deal more discretion about your opinion, a degree of becoming meekness, and you could be very happy. Your intelligence does not need to be your undoing, although I admit I am worried. You seem to have unusually little sense as to when you should display it, and concerning what!”
    Margaret would have liked to pretend that she had no idea what her mother was talking about, but since it seemed Lady Hordern had carried out her threat, she could not hope to be believed. She could not think of any answer that her mother would like, so she said nothing, just continued to pin up her hair, a trifle crookedly and too tightly at the back. She could feel the pins digging into her head. She would end up having to take them out again, which was a waste of time.
    Her mother’s voice became sharper. “I assume from the fact that you are wearing that shabby blue dress again that you are thinking of going to that miserable institution in the slums! Good works are very worthy, Margaret, but they are no substitute for a social life. I would greatly prefer that you did something connected with the church. They have lots of suitable endeavors where you could work with people, well-bred people whose backgrounds and interests are like your own.”
    We are not discussing it, Margaret thought. You are telling me your views, as usual. But she did not say so. “We may have backgrounds in common, Mama, but no interests. And I am more concerned with where I am going than where I have come from.”
    “So am I,” Mrs. Ballinger said tartly, meeting her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “And where you are going, young lady, is onto the shelf, if you do not look to your behavior and bring Sir Oliver to the question very soon. He is eminently suitable—most of the time. You will not do better, and obviously he is very taken with you, but it is fast becoming time he declared his intentions and spoke to your father. All it requires is for you to spend less time at that wretched clinic and more paying attention to him. Now, take off that unbecoming dress, put on something of a nice color and a proper cut for this season—your father provides you with sufficient means—and go to some social event where you may be seen.” She drew in her breath. “Nothing concentrates a man’s mind so much as the realization that he is not the only one to appreciate your qualities.”
    Margaret turned around, stung to an anger almost beyond her ability to bite her words back. “Mama . . .”
    “Oh! And there is a most reprehensible-looking person to see you,” Mrs. Ballinger went on. “I have had him wait in Mrs. Timpson’s sitting room.” She was referring to the housekeeper. “Please ask him not to call again. I would not have permitted him to remain this time, but he insisted he had some kind of message for you from Mrs. Monk. I think you should restrict your association with that woman. She is not entirely respectable. Your father agrees with me. Mr. . . . whatever his name is . . . is waiting for you. Don’t detain him. I am sure he has drains to clean, or