Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [120]
“Yeah! Yer takes in street women wot are sick, or beat up.”
She had no idea from his expression whether he thought that was good or bad. But there was no point in denying it.
“That’s right. I’m looking for one now who left Tuesday of last week and is now missing. She’s still pretty sick, and I’m worried about her.” Hester was not sure how much of the truth she should tell. Panic was rising inside her, and she had to force it down, refuse to follow the fears of what would happen if she failed. Perhaps she was almost as afraid of what knowledge success would bring, things she would not be able to ignore.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, love,” the sandwich man said kindly. “She’ll come back fast enough, if she needs ter.”
Hester was momentarily at a loss. She fished out two threepenny pieces. “May I have another sandwich, please? That ham’s extremely good.” Actually, she did not want it; she had eaten enough.
He gave her one with pleasure, and tuppence change.
“I don’t think she knows how ill she is,” she improvised. “Some of those things are catching. I think she wasn’t alone. She could give it to others.” The story was getting wilder as she tried to interest him. “Maybe someone with children. Children get sick so quickly.”
He shook his head. “Well, I dunno ’ow yer gonna find ’er. The street is full o’ girls.”
“This one was unusual-looking. She had very fair hair, almost white, and a lovely skin. She wasn’t terribly pretty, but sort of … innocent-looking. Very clean, if you know what I mean.” She looked at him hopefully.
“Tuesday last week, yer said?”
“Yes. Did you see her? About this time of day, or a little earlier.”
“Who did yer say she were with?”
“I don’t know. Another woman, maybe …”
“Older, eh? Sort o’ respectable-lookin’. Bit dumpy. Brown ’air.”
“Yes! Yes, that could be right.” She had no idea who it could have been, but she had nothing else to follow. “You saw them? Where did they go?”
“ ’Ow do I know? Up that way?” He pointed north again, past the church.
“To the church? To St. Bartholomew’s?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, sweet ’eart, to the cabbies wot usually wait around there. Best place ter get one.”
“Oh.” She felt the heat rush up her face. “Yes, of course. What did the other woman look like, did you say? Can you remember? What was she wearing?”
“Wot d’yer think I am? Course I can’t remember. It weren’t nothing special, I can tell yer that. ’Cept ’er gloves. She ’ad real good gloves on. Leather. ’And-stitched, wi’ a little piece o’ toolin’ on the cuff, about ’ere.” He pointed to his wrist. “Must a lifted ’em, or ’ad a customer wi’ a lot o’ money.”
“Can you describe her a bit more? What was her skin like? Her teeth?”
“Wot?”
“Her skin? Her teeth?” Hester repeated.
“ ’Ow do I know?” the peddler said indignantly. “ ’Er teeth were just like … teeth! Kind o’ good, come ter think of it.”
Hester felt her heart racing. “Little bit crooked at the front, but nice?”
“Yeah. That’s right. Yer know ’er? She one o’ yours, then?”
“Perhaps.” Was he right, or had she put the idea into his mind and he was simply trying to please her, and get rid of her questions? “Thank you.” She finished the sandwich and thanked him again, then walked quickly toward the place he had pointed to for the hansom cabs.
The description he had given fitted one of the women who had been in the courtroom with Margaret and her mother. Or any other woman in London with pretty and slightly crooked teeth, and enough money to buy good gloves. But Margaret’s sister was the one who would help her, and her father, by taking Hattie Benson away to—where? Had Margaret’s sister known it was to her death, or had she imagined it would be simply a house where Hattie could be kept until it was too late to testify?
It took Hester the rest of the day—and more money than she could really spare in cab fares, sandwiches, cups of tea, and petty bribes—before she found as many of the answers as she was going to so long after the event. Two women, answering the descriptions of Hattie and Gwen, or Celia, had taken a hansom from near St. Bartholomew’s