William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

smiled, realizing she had given in. She hoped profoundly that he did not know why.
    “If anyone’d said ter me a year ago as a lady oo’d bin ter the Crimea would take ol’ Squeaky Robinson’s place an’ turn it inter an ’ospital fer tarts off the street,” he answered, “an’ then get other ladies ter cook and clean in it, I’d ’a throwed a bucket o’ water at ’em till they sober’d up. But if anyone can do somethin’ ter get them builders ter be’ave a bit safer, it’s you.” He finished his tea and stood up. “If you can come wi’ me, I can show you the machine’s wot I’m talkin’ about.”
    She was startled.
    “It’ll be quite safe,” he assured her. “We’ll go ter one o’ ’em that’s open, but yer can think wot it’d be like underneath. Some tunnels is dug down, then covered over. Cut and cover, they call ’em. But some is deep down, like a rat’ole, under the ground all the way.” He shivered very slightly. “It’s ’em that scares me. The engineers might be clever wi’ all kinds o’ machines an’ ideas, but they don’t know ’alf o’ wot’s down there, secret for ’undreds o’ years, twistin’ an’ seepin’.” She felt a chill at the thought, a coldness in the pit of her stomach. The daylight was coming in brighter now through the windows into the scullery. There was a sound of footsteps across the cobbled yard where deliveries were made.
    She stood up. “How close will they let me come?”
    “Borrer a shawl from one o’ yer patients an’ keep yer eyes down, an’ yer can come right up close wi’ me.”
    “I’ll go and speak to Miss Ballinger.”
    But it was Claudine she met just outside the kitchen door. She began to explain that she was going to be away for a few hours. The books would have to wait. She was happy enough to stretch out the task as long as she could.
    “I heard,” Claudine said gravely, her face puckered into lines of concern. She was unaware of it, but her anger was so fierce that her sense of social class had temporarily ceased to register. “It’s monstrous. If people are being injured by hasty work, we must do what we can to fight it.” Unconsciously she had included herself in the battle. “We can manage perfectly well here. There’s nothing to do but the laundry and the cleaning, and if we can’t manage that, then we need to learn. Just be careful!” This last warning was given with a frown of admonition, as if Claudine were somehow responsible for Hester’s safety.
    Hester smiled. “I will,” she promised, aware for the first time that Claudine had become fonder of her than perhaps she herself knew. “Sutton will look after me.”
    Claudine grunted. She was not going to admit to trusting Sutton; that would be a step too far.
     
    In spite of there being little wind, it was fiercely cold outside. The narrow streets seemed to hold the ice of the night. Footsteps sounded loud on the stones, and the brittle crack of puddles was sharp in the close air. This was the time of year when people who slept huddled in doorways could be found frozen to death at first light.
    She walked beside Sutton, Snoot trotting at their heels, until they came to Farringdon Road and the first omnibus stop. The horses were rough-coated for winter and steamed gently as they stood while passengers climbed off and on. Hester and Sutton went up the winding steps to the upper level, since they were going to the end of the line. Snoot sat on Sutton’s knee, and she envied him the warmth of the little dog’s body.
    They talked most of the way because she asked him about the rivers under London. He was enthusiastic to tell her, his face lighting up as he described the hidden streams such as the Walbrook, Tyburn, Counter’s Creek, Stamford Brook, Effra, and most of all the Fleet, whose waters once ran red from the tanneries. He talked of springs such as St. Chad’s, St. Agnes’, St. Bride’s, St. Pancras’ Wells, and Holywell. All had been reputed as sacred at one time or another, and some became spas, like Hampstead Wells and Sadler’s Wells. He knew the underground courses and bridges, some of which were believed to date back to Roman times.
    “Walbrook’s as far up as yer could get a boat when the Romans was ’ere,” he said with triumph.
    He animatedly recounted earlier travels, including the danger of highwaymen, until they reached their stop.
    They alighted into a busy street, workmen crowding around a peddler selling sandwiches