William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

in ’em sewers as well. Get a shift in the clay an’ one o’ them cracks, an’ first spark you’ll ’ave not only the gas from the sewage, but back up inter every ’ouse as ’as gaslight. See wot I mean?”
    “Yes.” Hester saw only too well. It could be a second Great Fire of London if he was right. “Surely they’ve thought of that, too?” They had to have. No one was irresponsible enough not to foresee such a catastrophe. A few navvies drowned or suffocated, she could believe. There had been a cave-in when the crown of the arch of the Fleet sewer had broken. The scaffolding beams had been flung like matchwood into the air, falling, crashing as the whole structure subsided and the bottom of the excavation moved like a river, rolling and crushing and burying.
    Sutton was watching her too. “Yer ’memberin’ the Fleet?” he asked.
    She was startled. Of course he had told her about the Fleet River running under London in the tales his father had told him. Now she knew why. He had described the whole network of shifting, sliding, seeping, running waters.
    “Doesn’t everybody know this?” she said incredulously.
    It was Lu Collard who answered. “Course they do, Miss. But ’oo’s gonna say it, eh? Lose yer job? Then ’oo feeds yer kids?”
    Collard shifted uncomfortably in his imprisoning chair. His face was more wasted with pain than Hester had appreciated before. He was probably in his mid-thirties. He had been a good-looking man when he was whole.
    “Aw, Andy, she can see it!” his wife said wearily. “In’t no use pretendin’! That’s wot them bastards count on! Everyone so buttoned up wi’ pride, nob’dy’s gonna say they’re scared o’ bein’ the next one ’urt.”
    “Be quiet, woman!” Collard snapped. “Yer don’t know nothin’. Their men in’t—”
    “Course they is!” She turned on him. “They in’t stupid! They know it’s gonna ’appen one day, an’ Gawd knows ’ow many’ll get killed. They don’t say nothin’ ’cos they’d sooner get crushed or drownded termorrer than starve terday, an’ let their kids starve! Shut yer eyes, an’ wot yer don’t see don’t ’urt yer!”
    “Yer gotta live!” he said, looking away from her.
    Sutton was watching Hester, his thin face anxious.
    “Of course you have,” Hester answered. “And the new sewers have got to be built. We can’t allow the Great Stink to happen again, or have typhoid and cholera in the streets as we had before. But no one wants another disaster like the Fleet sewer, only worse. There’s too much money involved for anyone to do it willingly. There needs to be a law involved, one that can be enforced.”
    “They won’t never do that,” Collard said bitterly. “Only men wot’s got money can vote, and Parliament makes the laws.”
    Hester looked at him gently. “Sewers run under the houses of men with money more than they do under yours or mine. I think we might find a way of reminding them of that. At least we can try.”
    Collard sat perfectly still for a moment. Then very slowly he turned to look at Sutton, to try to read in his face if Hester could possibly mean what she said.
    “Exactly,” Sutton said very clearly, then turned to Mrs. Collard. “ ’Ow about a cup o’ tea, then, Lu? It’s colder’n a witch’s—” He stopped, suddenly remembering Hester’s presence. “ ’Eart,” he finished.
    Collard hid a smile.
    Lu glared at him, then smiled suddenly at Hester, showing surprisingly good teeth. “Yeah. O’ course,” she replied.
     
    That evening Hester spent a couple of hours cleaning and tidying up after the plasterer, who was now finished. Not only were the walls perfectly smooth, ready for papering, there was also elegant molding where the wall met the ceiling, and a beautiful rose for the pendant lamp. But all the time her hands were busy with brooms, dustpans, scrubbing brushes, and cloths, she was thinking about her promise to Andy Collard and, more important, to Sutton. As Collard had observed, Parliament made the laws. That was the only place worth beginning. She must find out who was the member most appropriate to approach.
    When Monk came home she proudly showed him how the house decorating was going, and asked after the success of his day. She said nothing about Sutton or her interest in the building of the new sewers. It was not difficult to conceal it, nor did she feel deceitful. She was deeply concerned over the apparent suicide of Mary Havilland,