Dark Assassin - Anne Perry [59]
“Be careful!” Rose warned.
“I will,” Hester assured her.
But she did not tell Monk anything other than that she had visited some of those injured in past cave-ins and other machine accidents. She certainly did not reveal her plans. And she lost no time in composing a brief letter to Sutton, telling him of her need to learn more from the toshers who knew the old system best. Only after she had sent it did she realize that she had no idea whether Sutton could read or not! He did all his business in cash. Perhaps even the best houses did not wish a bill or a receipt from a ratcatcher.
She waited all day for an answer, busying herself with chores, cleaning up after the plasterer.
Sutton came just after dark, at about half past four.
“Yer sure?” he asked carefully, studying her face in the kitchen gaslight. He sipped a steaming cup of tea, and had accepted a piece of fruitcake. He was scrupulous to give Snoot a tiny portion, just so he felt included. It probably amounted to no more than a couple of raisins. Snoot took them delicately and licked his chops, waiting hopefully for more.
“That’s yer lot!” Sutton told him, shaking his head, then turned back to Hester.
“Well if yer sure yer really want ter know wot’s ’appened, someone as’ll tell yer the truth, we’d best go under the Thames Tunnel an’ find some o’ the folks wot’s not still ’opin’ fer work, or got loyalties to them as is.” He looked her up and down anxiously. “But yer can’t come like that. If I take yer with me, yer gotta look like yer belong. If I bring yer the clothes, can yer come as me lad wot I’m teachin’?”
She was taken aback for a moment, amusement replaced by the sudden jar of reality. “Yes,” she said soberly. “Of course I can. I’ll tie my hair back and put a cap on.” It was an unreasonably displeasing thought that with a change of attire she could be taken for a ratcatcher’s apprentice. And yet had she been more buxomly built, with a rounder, more womanly face, then she would not have been able to go at all.
Then she thought of the faces of the women she had seen yesterday, worn out and old long before their time, color and softness taken from them. Suddenly self-regard seemed not only ridiculous but disgusting. “I’ll be ready,” she said firmly. “What time shall we begin?”
“I’ll come ’ere,” he said, still uncertain of himself. “At breakfast. We’ll start early. Not as it makes much difference under the…ground.”
She knew he had been going to say river but stopped himself at the last moment, in case the thought should be too much for her, especially since they had been talking of cave-ins, floods, and gas.
“I’ll be here,” she said with a smile, catching his eye and seeing the answering humor in it, and a flicker of admiration that pleased her quite unreasonably.
He nodded and rose to his feet.
By the next morning the clothes that Sutton provided had been laundered. They were still shabby and badly patched; however, Hester found them more comfortable than she had expected. It was an oddly naked feeling to have no skirts. Even on the battlefield she had been used to the nuisance of skirts around her legs, making striding difficult, especially in wind or rain. Trousers were marvelous, even if she did feel indecent.
Scraping her hair back into a knot and clipping it tight so it appeared short was not difficult, but it was certainly unflattering. But there was no help for it. A flat cap on her head covered most of it anyway, even down over her ears. Sutton had been thoughtful enough to provide a thick woollen muffler that made her feel considerably warmer. The coat, which came almost to her knees, was the last item, apart from a pair of weather-beaten and awkwardly fitting men