William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

waited for Rathbone to endorse Margaret's accusation. Instead, he turned to Margaret. “Your criticism is unhelpful, Margaret,” hesaid quietly. “And I think it is also unfair. Mrs. Burroughs took whatever action she did from her own belief, and from her desire to help. If it turns out to have been foolish, that is tragic. All we can usefully do now is set out to look for her in the hope that she may be rescued from whatever discomfort or distress she is in. Of course Hester is determined to do whatever is possible within the law to stop Jericho Phillips. It is her fault that he is free from the noose for having killed the boy Figgis. I understand her compulsion to put right that error. We would all do better if we acknowledged our mistakes, instead of making excuses for them, and did everything within our power to put them right. Occasionally we need help in that, which Claudine Burroughs realized. The fact that her assistance may be of more harm than use is regrettable, but it is not stupid, nor is it evil.”
    The color drained from Margaret's face, and she stared at him in astonishment.
    His expression did not alter. “It takes courage,” he went on. “I think those who have never made any grand mistakes do not realize how much that costs. It is to be admired, not criticized.”
    Margaret slowly turned from him towards Hester. Her eyes filled with tears. She swung around and walked out, her head high, her back stiff. She did not speak to either of them.
    Rathbone did not go after her. “I know that, because I have made a few myself,” he said with a slightly twisted smile, his voice gentler than before. “Phillips was one of them, and I don't know how to put it right.”
    Hester blinked, confused, her mind racing. What he had said was true, but she was astounded that he had expressed it aloud.
    She looked at his face, remembering all the battles they had fought together in the past, before ever knowing Margaret. It had been more than friendship; there had been understanding, loyalty, and a belief and a cause shared. It was a bond too deep to break easily. He had made a mistake over Phillips; the thing that mattered was that he had owned up to it. Forgiveness was instant and complete.
    She smiled at him, and saw the answering warmth in his face, and a flare of intense gratitude, bright and sweet.
    “We must find Claudine,” she said aloud. “Before we think of anything else. Squeaky should be the best person for that.”
    Rathbone cleared his throat. “Can I help?”
    She looked away. “Not yet, but if you can, I'll ask you.”
    “Hester …”
    “I will! I promise.” Before he could say anything more, and she was suddenly afraid of what that might be, she brushed past him and went to look for Squeaky.

TWELVE
    hen Squeaky Robinson left Hester's office he went straight to his own office, intending to wait for her. The discussion between her and Rathbone sounded as if it might become personal, and rather heated. Squeaky had not thought about it much before, but it seemed to him now as if there was a bit more to that friendship than he had supposed. He hoped Hester was not going to get hurt by it. She had already been hurt more than enough by her meddling in the Jericho Phillips affair. Women would be a lot better off, and a lot less trouble, if they had smaller hearts, and bigger brains.
    And that certainly went for Claudine Burroughs too. Stupid mare! Now he would have to go and look for her, wherever she had gotten to. And the sooner that was done the better. Dress up as a match seller! Hadn't the wits she was born with! No wonder her husband was as cross as a wet hen. Not that Squeaky knew anything about hens, wet or dry. It was just something he'd heard someone say, and it seemed to fit the kind of pointless and ineffectual temper he imagined of Wallace Burroughs.
    It was up to Squeaky to do something sensible. He would do it right now, before Hester could come and tell him differently. He wrote a short note to her and left it on the very top of the ledgers on his desk. “Dear Miss Hester, I know where Mrs. Burroughs might be. Gone to look for her. S. Robinson.”
    He went to his bedroom and changed into some far scruffier and more disrespectable clothes than the ones he had taken to wearing inhis office recently, and set out from the back door. He picked up a cab in Farringdon Road and asked to be taken to Execution Dock. That was as good a place to start as he could think of.
    On the way he