William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

around your fingers. I’m a wishful fool. But I’ll help with this—for Joel Lambourn, not because you backed me into it!”
    “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “If you were looking for information to make the kind of report he did, what would you look for? Can you write it down for me, please?”
    “No I cannot!” he said with sudden vehemence. “One Tree Hill is quite big enough for both of us. I’ll do most of it. I’ve got excuses, reasons. You can try the ordinary apothecaries and common shops, midwives—peddlers in the street. Just see what you could buy. Ask, do you understand? Don’t get it.”
    Hester nodded, and left him a quarter of an hour later with their plans made and agreed.
    S HE BEGAN THAT DAY , walking the busy streets of the Rotherhithe area in the sharp winter sun. She was close to the river and she could smell the salt and fish odors on the wind, and hear the cry of the gulls. Occasionally as she turned north she saw the light on the water, glinting sharp between the rows of houses, or the dark lines of masts and spars against the sky.
    She asked at small grocery shops, apothecaries, and tobacconists, and was surprised at the number of people who sold some preparation that contained an unspecified amount of opium. Of course she herself had used it at the clinic in Portpool Lane, but they had bought it in pure form and given it out very carefully measured, and as sparingly aspossible. She would not have argued with anyone that it was not only the best remedy for pain, but in most cases the only one.
    She began to ask the shopkeepers for advice as to how much to take, and how often. She inquired whether age or weight of the patient made any difference, and what other circumstances might alter its effect. Was there anything that would make it dangerous, such as taking other medicines at the same time, or having certain illnesses?
    “Look, lady, either take it or don’t,” one busy man said to her exasperatedly, glancing at the queue of customers behind her. “Please yerself, just don’t stand ’ere arguing wi’ me. I in’t got time. Now do yer want it or not?”
    “No thank you,” she replied, and went out of the cramped shop, past several strings of onions, dried herbs, and bins of flour, wheat, and oatmeal.
    She did not need to spend a second day walking up and down the streets and calling at every likely shop. If it was so easy to buy opium in Rotherhithe, it would be the same anywhere else in London, and probably in every other city and town in England.
    S HE DID NOT MENTION her activities to Monk when he came home late in the evening, having spent most of the day on the river dealing with thefts, and the murder of a sailor during a brawl. It was one of those senseless, drunken arguments that got out of hand. Abuse had been shouted, tempers high and out of control. The next moment a broken bottle had slashed a man’s artery and he had bled to death before anyone could gather their wits and even think of helping him. The guilty man had run, and it had taken Monk and three of his officers most of the afternoon to catch him and arrest him without any further injury.
    It had been late when he joined Orme, still searching for the “Limehouse Butcher,” as the newspapers were calling him.
    H ESTER WENT IN TO the clinic in the morning, but only to ask the help of Squeaky Robinson, the reformed bookkeeper who had ownedthe buildings of the clinic when they had been one of the most profitable brothels in the area. A clever trick of Oliver Rathbone’s had manipulated Squeaky into saving himself from prison by giving the buildings to charity. Highly aggrieved, Squeaky had been suddenly made homeless, and with careful supervision and no trust at all, he had been permitted to remain in residence and manage the property in its new function.
    Over the years since then he and Hester had come to respect each other, and now—at least in certain areas—Squeaky was both liked and trusted. This was a circumstance he enjoyed very much, to his own confusion. He would have denied it indignantly had anyone suggested such a thing.
    Hester walked into the office where Squeaky had his files and ledgers. He was sitting at the desk looking almost like a clerk. Lack of anxiety and now regular nights had filled out some of the hollows in his face, but he was still long-nosed, slightly gap-toothed, and his hair was as straggly as always.
    “Morning, Miss Hester,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t