William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

not future victims. White-faced and holding a child in her arms, she had told Orme to leave.
    He had understood and had gone out silently, sick with grief.
    Now Hester cleared away the dishes and said nothing. Scuff looked from one to the other of them, troubled, but he asked no questions. He went upstairs to bed early.
    M ONK HAD ALREADY GONE the next morning by the time Hester served breakfast for Scuff and herself. She had made porridge because she knew he liked it, and it kept him from being hungry, well up to midday.
    “Did ’e do it, then?” he asked when his bowl was empty and he was ready for the toast, jam, and tea. His face was earnest. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand, looking for something to stop the fear growing inside him.
    She hung up the striped dish towel she had been drying the dishes with and came back to the table. She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.
    “You know, I’m still not sure,” she said honestly. “It’s very difficult to be certain that you know all the things you need to in order to be right.”
    Scuff nodded slowly, as if he understood, but she could see from the trouble in his eyes that he didn’t.
    “Wot’s Mr. Monk doin’? Why’s ’e all angry?” His voice dropped. “Did I do summink?”
    “No,” Hester said, keeping her voice level with difficulty, trying to swallow back the emotion. “We’re all upset because we like Rupert, and we don’t want him to have done it, but we can’t help thinking that he did.”
    “Oh!” His face cleared only slightly. “Would yer still like ’im, even if it turns out ye’re right, an’ ’e did?”
    “Yes, of course we would. You don’t stop caring about people because they make mistakes. But that wouldn’t save him from the law.”
    “They’ll ’ang ’im?”
    “Probably.” The idea was so horrible, she found her throat tight and the tears stinging hard behind her eyes. She tried to force the picture out of her head, and failed.
    Scuff took a deep breath. “Then we’d better do summink, eh?” he said, his eyes steady on her face.
    “Yes. I’d intended to start this morning.”
    He stuffed the rest of his toast into his mouth and stood up.
    She started to say that he shouldn’t come because it could be dangerous, and because he really couldn’t help. Then she knew that both were wrong. Instead she took the last swallow of her tea and stood up as well. He needed to be part of this.
    She already knew all she could learn of Rupert, and none of it helped. Now she needed to know more of Mickey Parfitt, the business in general and his part in it in particular. Her first instinct was to protect Scuff from the details of such a trade. Then she remembered with misery that he was already more familiar with them than she was. The only question was how much reminding him of them might increase his nightmares.
    Or would he ever get over them if he always looked the other way? Might they even grow larger and larger, fed by her belief that they were too terrible to be faced?
    “Where are we gonna begin?” he asked, standing by the front door.
    “That’s the problem,” Hester admitted. “There are a lot of ‘maybes’ and not much certainty. It might be useful to speak to Rupert’s friends, but I doubt they would say anything to me if it made them look bad, which most of it would.”
    Scuff’s face was creased up with disgust.
    “We can try other prostitutes,” she suggested. “There may have been talk that we could follow up, but I think that could take a long time. Squeaky Robinson gave me a few names we can begin with.”
    Scuff looked at her guardedly. “Wot kind o’ people?”
    “People who owe Squeaky a favor or two. And I know some like that myself—a couple of brothel-keepers, an abortionist, an apothecary.”
    “I could go an’ ask Mr. Crow? If yer like?” he offered.
    “We could go and ask,” she corrected him. “I think that’s an excellent idea. But do you know where to find him?”
    “Course I do, but it in’t no decent place fer a lady ter come.” Now he looked worried.
    “Scuff,” she said seriously, “I’ll make a bargain with you …”
    He stared at her dubiously.
    “I’ll look out for you, but not look after you, if you do the same for me.” She held out her hand to shake on it.
    He considered for a moment or two, then gripped it in his small, thin fingers and shook. “Deal,” he confirmed.
    They went straight from Paradise Place to Princes Stairs