A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [166]
“Mr. Monk … I—I can’t…” She shook her head. “I just don’t know how to say what you’ve done for me. You’re … the best man I know. I never truly thought it was possible … but you found them. I wish I could give you more….” She was clearly embarrassed, feeling nothing she had was sufficient reward for him.
“I don’t need any more payment, Miss Jackson,” he said without even having to think about it. “You already gave me sufficient for all my expenses.” That was not quite true, but close enough.
She hesitated.
“Except the tea,” he added.
She remembered and poured it immediately. It was steaming and fragrant.
“Are they all right?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, nodding. “Oh, yes … they will be. Everyone’s very good. Finding them clothes and boots and so on. Tillie gave Phemie one of her dresses, and Agnes found one for Leda, and a petticoat with frills on it. Sarah gave them both stockings.” She blinked hastily. “And she was looking for sheets and blankets for them, and deciding which room would be best. Put them in together, in case they get lonely, or frightened in a new place. And then Miss Perdita came down and she was so nice to them.” She said it as if she hardly dared believe it was true. “She said they could stay here all the time.”
Monk smiled back at her. “I know.”
She hesitated only a moment longer, then excused herself and turned back to the kitchen and the excitement again.
Monk sipped his tea gratefully.
“I wonder what would have happened if Samuel Jackson hadn’t died….” Hester said thoughtfully.
“They would have lived ordinary, uncomfortable lives, laughed at by their peers, and possibly found service of some sort,” he answered. “Possibly not. He would have loved them, perhaps taught them to read and write. But he did die, so it makes no difference now. We can’t undo that. They’ll be all right here.” He said it with assurance, thinking of the kindness in the kitchen already, everyone trying to help, willing to give of their own few possessions.
“That’s not what I meant.” Hester was frowning, hardly listening to him. “They would have been laughed at, wouldn’t they? I mean, it would have been hard for them, for their family … for Dolly Jackson.”
“Of course. But she’s done very well indeed. She’s a wealthy woman in society, beautiful, respected, has a husband who loves her and a beautiful daughter no one knows is not hers, except us.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, looking at him.
“Hester …?” A thought began in his mind.
“What did he die of?” she asked softly.
“Bleeding … bleeding in the stomach.”
“What caused it?”
“I—I don’t know. Illness?” His mouth was suddenly dry.
“How convenient for Dolly Jackson,” Hester said, looking at him very steadily.
He put his cup down. His hands were clumsy, stiff. “Poison?”
“I don’t know. But I want to know. Don’t you?”
“Yes … and I’m going to find out.”
“I’m coming with you….”
“I don’t know that I—I don’t know what…” he began.
“I can help.” Her face was set in immovable determination. “We’ll start tomorrow. When I tell Gabriel he’ll insist.” She stood up.
“I’m not sure you should. We may be wrong.”
She looked at him with eyes wide, her mouth twisted in a mixture of urgency and anger. “We’ll need money. I haven’t any. Have you?”
“No.” He was too tired to argue. And anyway, she was right.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll go and talk to Gabriel about it, and he’ll give us some. We’ll start tomorrow morning—early!” She wrinkled her nose at him, and she went out of the room with a swish of skirts, held high. He heard her heels light and rapid along the corridor.
They did start out very early the following day. By half past eight on a blustery spring morning they were in a hansom on the way east and south to Putney. Gabriel had been generous with all he could spare, his only regret being that he was not yet well enough to come with them, and an acute awareness that his disfigurement might prove a hindrance. Meeting strangers was a difficulty he had yet to overcome. It would always be painful. No matter how many times he did it, for