William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

sympathy.
    “Made a mess of it,” he observed, without specifying whom he meant. “Pity that. Bastard should've ‘ad ‘is neck stretched, an’ no mistake. The fact we got a lot o’ money in't much comfort, is it! Not today, any'ow. Mebbe termorrer it'll feel good. Yer can ‘ave five pounds ter get more sheets, if yer like.” That was an extraordinarily generous offer from a man who begrudged a penny, and regarded sheets for street women as being about as necessary as pearl necklaces in the farmyard. It was his oblique way of trying to comfort her.
    She smiled at him, and he looked away, embarrassed. He was slightly ashamed of himself for being generous; he was letting his standards slip.
    She sat down in the chair opposite him. “I shall do that. Then we can launder them more often, and keep infection down.”
    “That'll cost more soap, and more water!” he protested, horrified at the extravagance he had apparently let himself in for. “An’ more time to dry ‘em.”
    “And fewer people infected so they'll leave quicker,” she elaborated. “But what I really want is your help. That's why I came.”
    He looked at her carefully. “You seen Mrs … Lady Rathbone?” His face was carefully expressionless.
    “Yes I have, and dealt with the kitchen accounts,” she replied, wondering how much all of them knew about the trial and the verdict. It seemed to be quite a lot.
    “Wot can I do? The swine is free!” He said the words with a sudden savagery, and she realized with new pain how much she and Monk had let them all down. They had used every avenue they knew and given Hester the information, and she had failed to get Phillips hanged.
    “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “We were so sure he was guilty we weren't careful enough.”
    Squeaky shrugged. He had no compunction about hitting a man when he was down. Indeed, it was the safest time to do it! But he could not hit Hester; she was different. He did not want to think how fond he was of her; it was a decidedly serious weakness.
    “Oo'd've thought Sir Rathbone'd ‘ave done that?” he demanded. “We could see if we got enough money to ‘ave someone stick a shiv in ‘is gizzard. It'd cost, mind. Get bedsheets for ‘alf the ‘ores in England.”
    “Oliver?” She was horrified.
    He rolled his eyes. “Gawd, woman! I mean Jericho Phillips! Wouldn't cost nothin’ ter do Sir Rathbone. Except yer'd ‘ave every cop in London after yer, so I s'pose yer'd dance on a rope in the end. An’ that's kind o’ costly. But Phillips'd be another thing. Like as not ‘e'd get yer first. Right nasty piece o’ work, ‘e is.”
    “I know that, Squeaky. I'd rather get him legitimately.”
    “Yer tried that,” he pointed out. He pushed a pile of papers across the desk, further out of his way. “Don't want ter rub it in like, but yer didn't exactly get ‘im justice, did yer? ‘E's better off now than if yer ‘adn't bothered. Free, ‘e is, the piece o’ turd. Now even if yer could prove it an ‘e confessed, yer can't touch the sod.”
    “I know.”
    “But mebbe wot you in't thought of, Miss ‘Ester,” he said very seriously, “is that ‘e knows yer after ‘im, an’ ‘e knows ‘oo can tell yer wot, an’ they're gonna ‘ave ter tread very careful from now on. ‘E's a nasty piece o’ work, is Jericho Phillips. ‘E in't gonna forgive them wot spoke out o’ turn.”
    She shivered, chilled in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps that was the most serious failure of all: the danger to others, lives now shadowed with fear of Phillips's revenge, when they had been promised safety. She did not want to meet his eyes, but it was cowardly to look down. “Yes, I know that too. It is going to be even harder to do it again.”
    “In't no point in doin’ it again, Miss ‘Ester!” he pointed out. “We can't ‘ang the bastard anymore! We know ‘e should be ‘ung, drawn, and quartered an’ ‘is guts fed ter the birds! But the law says ‘e's as innocentas them kids wot ‘e sells! Thanks ter Sir bloody Rathbone! Now none o’ them wot spoke agin’ ‘im in't safe, poor sods.”
    “I know, Squeaky,” she agreed. “And I know we let them down. Not you, Mr. Monk and I. We took too much for granted. We let our anger and pity guide us, instead of our brains. But Phillips still needs dealing with, and we owe it to everybody to do it. We'll have to put him away for something else, that's all.”
    Squeaky shut his eyes and sighed in exasperation, but