William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

bin any-thin’. ’Eard it were bad. ’Alf killed the stupid sod. Broke ’is arms an’ ’is face, an’ cracked ’is ’ead. Told yer, ’e’s got a temper like yer wouldn’t credit someone wot acts the gentleman most o’ the time. Treats yer right, like yer worth summink. Please an’ thank yer. On the other ’and, never takes less than his money’s worth neither! ’Ealthy as an ’orse.” She gave a shrug and a smile, woman to woman.
    Hester nodded, trying to keep her expression one of mild interest, no more. There were things she would prefer not to have known. It was peculiarly embarrassing. “Does he drink a lot?”
    “Pretty fair. Seen worse.”
    “Do you know other girls he’s … been with?”
    “Dozen or so. Wot’s this about? Wot’s ’e done?”
    “He’s accused of killing someone.”
    “If it’s a pimp, then I reckon as they’re probably right. Never growed up, that one. Loses ’is ’ead an’ smashes things, like a child wot no one ever walloped when they should ’ave. My pa’d ’ave tanned me backside till I ate standin’ up fer a week if I carried on like ’e does sometimes. Sorry, miss, but yer wanted the truth, an’ that’s it.”
    “He used lots of different women? Why, do you think? Why not stick to the same ones?”
    “Bored, I s’pec. Some o’ them toffs bore easy.”
    “Ever like little girls, really young?”
    “Wot?” Phoebe looked horrified. “Not as I knows of. Perhaps go fer older, ’e would. More experience. Filthy temper, like I said, but ’e could be kind too. Wouldn’t do nothin’ filthy with little girls, like. Never took advantage o’ no one new or scared, far as I know. An’ yer get to ’ear who ter be careful of. We got ter take care o’ each other.”
    “And boys?”
    “Wot yer mean, ‘boys’? Jeez!” She looked genuinely shocked. “Yer never sayin’ ’e’s doin’ it wi’ boys. ’Ell, not ’im! It’s against the law, but that don’t stop them as want ter—girls or boys. But not ’im.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Course I’m sure! Jeez!”
    Hester thanked her, and went to ask several other patients for their opinions also. Then, armed with names, she went to other street corners where she found old patients who knew her name and reputation, and were willing to speak to her.
    Most had never heard of Rupert Cardew, but those who had bore out what Phoebe had said: funny, honest, at times kind, but with an uncontrollable temper, for which he seemed to take no responsibility. They believed him perfectly capable of killing in a rage, but no one had heard even a murmur that his taste ran to anything except women: well-endowed ones rather than thin, and certainly not childlike. He appreciated laughter, a little spirit, and most definitely good conversation. All of that she reluctantly recognized in them, and thus she could not help but believe them.
    She went home late in the evening, tired and hungry, her feet sore. She had a whole lot more information, but she was not sure that she was really any wiser. Rupert could certainly have killed someone in a rage; in fact he was very fortunate that he had not already done so. But the more she learned of him, the less he seemed to have any reason to kill Mickey Parfitt in particular. Lord Cardew had paid his son’s debts when they must have outgrown his allowance. Time and time again he had rescued Rupert from the consequences of his self-indulgence and lack of discipline. Surely Parfitt, of all people, he would have paid off?
    Or had there been some quarrel between Rupert and Parfitt that was deeper than blackmail money? Parfitt made his living from pornographyand blackmail; he would know just how far to push before he drove any of his victims to despair. And after Jericho Phillips’s death, wouldn’t he have been even more careful, erring on the side of caution rather than ruthlessness? A blackmail victim driven to either murder or suicide is of no use.
    Monk was quiet and sunk in his own thoughts over their late supper. He mentioned only that he was still trying to examine the trade on the boat and see if there were any other witnesses who would be useful. Under Orme’s supervision, the Foundling Hospital matron had spoken to the boys from the boat, but they were too frightened and bewildered to say anything of use, and she had very quickly drawn the interviews to a close. The matron understood what was in the balance, but her first care was to the children she had there,