William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

anymore.”
    Jenny turned to look at him, frowning. “Christian?” she challenged him. “If anyone is so sunk in despair that they feel death is the only answer for them, can’t we have a little…pity?” There was anger in her eyes.
    “I’m sorry!” Argyll said quickly, but without looking at her. “I did not mean to imply blasphemy against your father. We shall never know what demons drove him to such a resort. Even Mary I could forgive, if she had not taken Toby with her! That…that is…” He was unable to continue. The tears spilled over his cheeks and he turned away, shadowing his face.
    Jenny stood up, stiff and unsteady. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Monk. I think there is little of any use that we can tell you. Perhaps you would excuse us. Pendle will see you to the door.” She went to the bell rope and pulled it. The butler appeared almost immediately and Monk and Orme took their leave, after having given Mr. Argyll a card and requested that he formally identify the bodies the following day, when he was a little more recovered.
    “Poor devil,” Orme said with feeling when they were outside on the icy footpath again. Mist was veiling the streetlamps as if in gauze. A frail sickle-shaped moon sailed between the stars, high above the rooftops. “Both of ’em lost family in the one night. Funny ’ow an instant can change everything. D’you think she meant to?”
    “Go over herself, or take him?” Monk asked, beginning to walk down towards the Westminster Bridge, where they would be more likely to find a hansom. He was still hoping it had been an accident.
    “Not sure as I know,” Orme replied, keeping step with him. “Din’t look to me as if she were trying to jump. Facing the wrong way, for a start. Jumpers usually face the water.”
    Monk felt a rush of warmth even though the slick of moisture on the footpath was turning to ice under his feet. He was not going to let go of hope, not yet.
     
    Monk reached home before nine o’clock. His return was far later than it would have been on a more usual day, but there was little that was routine in his new job. Even his best effort might not be enough; second best certainly would not. Every day he learned more of the skills, the knowledge, and the respect that Durban had had. He admired the qualities that had earned that respect, and they awed him. He felt continually a step behind Durban. No, that was absurd. He was yards behind him.
    He knew people and crime; he knew how to smell fear, how to probe lies, when to be confronting, and when to be oblique. However, he had never known how to inspire the love and loyalty of men under his command. They’d admired his intelligence, his knowledge, and his strength, and they’d been frightened of his tongue, but they did not like him. There’d been none of the fierce honor and friendship he had sensed from the beginning between Durban and his men.
    He had crossed the river by ferry—there were no bridges this far down—and he was on the south bank now, where he and Hester had moved after accepting the new job. They could hardly live in Grafton Street anymore. It was miles from police headquarters in Wapping.
    He walked up Paradise Street. The lamps misted and he could smell the river and hear the occasional foghorn as the mist drifted across the water. There was ice on the thin puddles in the street. It was still strange to him, nothing familiar.
    He put his key into the lock in the door and pushed it open.
    “Hester!”
    She appeared immediately, apron tied around her waist, her hair pinned hastily and crookedly. She was carrying a broom in her hand but she dropped it as soon as she saw him, and rushed forward. She drew in breath, perhaps to say that he was late, then changed her mind. She studied his face and read the emotion in it.
    “What happened?” she asked.
    He knew what she was afraid of. She had understood why he had to accept the job in Durban’s place, both morally and financially. With Callandra gone to Vienna they could not afford the freedom or the uncertainty of taking on only private cases. Sometimes the rewards were excellent, but too often they were meager. Some cases could not be solved, or if they were, then the clients had the means to reward him only modestly. They could never plan ahead, and there was no one to whom they could turn to in a bad month, as they had before. Nor, it must be said honestly, at their ages should they need to. It was time to provide, not be