William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

shining, and her face was a little flushed.
    Hester was assailed by a terrible thought. It was adventure in Ruby's eyes. Claudine had gone to do something Ruby held in supremely high regard, something wonderful. She found herself almost choking on her own breath. “Ruby, you have to tell me. She may be in terrible danger! Jericho Phillips tortures people and murders them!” She saw Ruby's face go white. “Tell me!” She lifted her hands as if to take Ruby by the shoulders and shake her, and only just restrained herself in time.
    “I promised!” Ruby said in a whisper. “I gave ‘er me word!”
    “You are released from it,” Hester said urgently. “Honorably released. Where did she go?”
    “Ter find out where they sell ‘em pictures wot Phillips takes,” she answered huskily.
    “What?” Hester was appalled. “How? Where did she go to? You can't just walk into a shop and ask if they sell pornography! Has she lost her wits?”
    Ruby sighed impatiently. “‘Course not. She went dressed like a match seller, all scuffed up an’ dirty, like. She dressed proper, old boots an’ all. I got ‘er an old skirt and shawl from one o’ the women wot comes in ‘ere, an’ greased ‘er ‘air an’ blackened ‘er face, an’ ‘er teeth. Yer'd never ‘ave known ‘er from the real, I promise yer.”
    Hester let her breath out slowly, her mind filled with horror. “Oh, God help us!” she said. There was no point in blaming Ruby. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Count the rest of the carrots.”
    “She goin’ ter be all right, Miss ‘Ester?” Ruby asked nervously.
    Hester looked at her. Her face was twisted with fear, her eyes dark.
    “Yes, of course,” Hester said quickly. “We'll just have to go and find her, that's all.” She turned again and left, going rapidly back to her office, her heels clicking on the wooden floor with a sharp, hasty sound.
    She was almost at the end of explaining to Squeaky what she had learned when Margaret Rathbone came in. It was obvious from her expression that she had overheard a good deal of the conversation.
    “Good morning, Margaret,” Hester said with surprise. “I didn't know you were there.”
    “So I gathered,” Margaret replied coolly. She was wearing a flattering green muslin dress and looked as if she had come to do no morethan deliver messages. Her clothing contrasted strongly with Hester's blouse and blue-gray skirt, which was obviously made for working in. Margaret came further into the room, nodding to Squeaky but not speaking to him. “Were you going to tell me that Claudine is missing?”
    Squeaky looked at her, then turned back to Hester, eyes wide.
    Hester was caught off guard. “I hadn't thought about you at all,” she replied honestly. “I was wondering what best to do to find Claudine. Have you some suggestion?”
    “My suggestion would have been not to take Claudine into your confidence about your obsession with Jericho Phillips,” she replied. “She admires you so much she would do anything to earn your friendship. She is a Society lady, bred to be charming, entertaining, obedient, and a good wife and hostess. She has no idea about your world of poverty and crime, except the bits she overhears from the street women who come here. She didn't come to the trial, she was too busy keeping the clinic working, and she certainly wouldn't read about it in the newspapers. Decent women don't read such things, and most street women can't read anyway. She is naive about your world, and if you'd taken any proper responsibility you would know that.”
    Hester could think of no defense for herself. To argue whether the streets were “her world” was to evade the point. Claudine was naive, and Hester knew it, or she would have, had she bothered to take any thought. She was just as guilty as Margaret had accused her of being.
    “Let us hope to hear that it does not end in tragedy,” Margaret added.
    There was a movement at the door and they all swiveled round to see Rathbone come in. Presumably he had accompanied Margaret. Perhaps they had come from some function together, or were intending to leave for one.
    He looked at each of them in turn, his face grave. His eyes rested on Hester for a moment, then he spoke to Squeaky. “Mr. Robinson, would you be good enough to leave us for a few moments? Thank you.” The last was an acknowledgment as Squeaky glanced at Hester, and at her nod went out of the room, closing the door behind him.
    Hester