William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin

remembered. In the long hallway she smelled again the forced cleanliness masking the odors of sickness, alcohol, coal dust, and blood. Almost immediately she saw junior doctors, excited, self-conscious, walking with a mixture of arrogance and terror that betrayed the fact that they were on the verge of actually practicing surgery, cutting into human flesh to heal—or kill.
    She found herself smiling at her own innocence in the past, imagining she could change everything except for a few individual people here and there.
    It took them half an hour to gain access to the appropriate person. Rose was magnificent. Standing a little behind her, Hester could see her hands knotted with tension, and she already knew Rose well enough to be very aware of how much she cared, however much she might lie with candid and superb ease, at least on the surface.
    “How kind of you, Dr. Lamb,” she said charmingly when they were in the chief surveyor’s office. “My husband wished me to learn a few facts so that he will not be caught out if asked questions in the House.”
    Lamb was a middle-aged man with a quiff of sandy-gray hair and rimless eyeglasses, and not quite as tall as Rose, so he was obliged to look up at her. “Of course, Miss…Mrs. Applegate. What is it the honorable gentleman wishes to know?”
    “It’s really fairly simple,” Rose replied, still standing in front of his desk, thus obliging him to remain on his feet also. “It is a matter of the nature and frequency of serious injuries to men involved in the work on the new sewer system.”
    “Absolutely vital!” Lamb said earnestly. “The state of public hygiene in the city of London is a disgrace to the Empire! Anyone would think we were the edge of the world, not the center of it!”
    Rose drew in her breath, then let it out again. “You are quite right,” she agreed diplomatically. “
Quite
right. It is so very important that we must be absolutely certain that we are correct in all we say. To mislead the House is an unpardonable sin, you know?”
    “Yes, yes.” He nodded, pushing his eyeglasses up to the bridge of his nose. “What is it you wish from me, Mrs. Applegate? I am sure figures are already known from the companies concerned.”
    Rose and Hester had already decided on the answer to that. “Naturally, but they have a powerful interest in the number of injuries being as low as possible. And there is the world of difference between an engineer’s estimate of an injury and a surgeon’s.”
    “Of course. Please be seated, Mrs. Applegate. And Miss…Mrs….?” He waved at Hester without looking at her.
    “We would like specifics,” Rose continued, sitting upright with a ramrod-stiff back and smiling at him. “Descriptions of actual injuries, and the names of the men concerned, so that it is apparent that we have investigated the matter more than superficially.”
    Lamb looked uncomfortable.
    Rose waited with an air of expectancy, eyes wide, her mouth in a half smile, ready to beam upon him if he should do as she wished. “As full a list as possible,” she added. “So we do not seem to be singling out any particular company. That would not do.”
    Reluctantly Lamb reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out a small key. He rose, opened a file cabinet, and from one of the drawers took out a folder of papers. He returned to the desk and read from them selectively. “I cannot see what use this will be in the House of Commons,” he said finally.
    He had described accidents and injuries in the blandest terms, using laymen’s words, making them seem slighter than they were. Rose might not know that he was being evasive, but Hester did. She spoke for the first time.
    “There was an Albert Vincent. His right leg was crushed when a load overturned on him, breaking his femur, I think you said in two places.”
    “That is correct,” he agreed, frowning at her, puzzled as to why she had spoken at all. He had assumed her to be there merely as chaperone, or perhaps a maid of some sort.
    “You did not mention the treatment given him. Was that because he died?”
    “Died?” He looked appalled. “Why ever should you think that, Mrs….?”
    “Mrs. Monk,” she supplied. “Because from the description, the load have torn the femoral artery, which would have meant he bled to death in a matter of minutes. If there had been anyone there on the scene to amputate the limb and rescue him, surely it would have been mentioned?”
    He was clearly