Dark Assassin - Anne Perry [60]
She left the room where she had changed and walked self-consciously along the passage towards the staircase.
“Yer done wonders,” Sutton said approvingly. “Come on, Snoot! We got business.”
She explained to him as they walked what she and Rose had learned about Mary Havilland.
“That’s funny,” he said, considering it carefully. “Were she lookin’ fer streams an’ the like, or trying ter find out wot ’er pa knew, if ’e knew summink ter kill ’im for? But why fer? Streams in’t no secret, leastways if they cross one an’ it makes a cave-in, the ’ole world’s gonna know!”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she agreed, walking quickly in order to keep up with him. “There’s something major in this that we don’t know. Either that, or somebody is very stupid.”
They traveled by omnibus again, until they reached the northern entrance at Wapping. Hester was startled to see that the building in which it was situated was large and very handsome, so much so that she felt as if she were entering the hall of some concert chamber. She glanced sideways at Sutton, who bent and picked up Snoot, then solemnly carried him down the long, circular steps to the level below, where the tunnel itself opened onto something rather like a hallway. With a dawning of amazement she realized that no vehicle could get out into the open air. The only way up or down was the great stair.
Sutton put Snoot down and the little dog trotted obediently at his heels across the paved floor to the tunnel entrance. Because of the many windows there was plenty of light in this part, but Hester realized that as soon as they were any distance inside, there would be only such light as was afforded by gas jets.
“Stay close to me,” Sutton warned. “There’s lots o’ folk down ’ere, an’ most is ’armless enough, but the livin’ is ’ard an’ people fight for a scrap o’ food or a yard o’ space, so don’t do nothin’ but look.”
She kept pace with him obediently. The light became dimmer as they progressed. The air took on a hazy quality, and she was acutely aware of the damp on her skin and the changed smell. The ceiling was far higher than she had expected and after a few yards it was lost from sight, giving a sensation of being closed in that was felt rather than seen. She knew that only a little farther on above it was the teeming, filthy water of the Thames. She refused to dwell on how the arch resisted the weight of earth and then the river itself, not to mention the currents and the tides.
The air smelled stale and was bitterly cold. But then one would hardly heat the tunnel with fires. There was no possible ventilation here. To create any sort of outlet to the open air would undermine the safety of the tunnel. If it fell in, they would be entombed here forever!
Hester chided herself for the ridiculous thought. If you were dead, they buried you anyway, so what difference would it make? Or perhaps Dante was right: death was not a ceasing to exist, but an endless journey through hell—a pit like this, full of strange, half-heard noises, whispers without words, not human anymore.
All senses were distorted. Damp clung in the nose and on the skin. There were gas jets on the walls, and in the dusklike light she could see people moving like shadows, most of them women. They seemed to be buying and selling, by touch as much as by sight in the flickering gloom, as if it were one nightmare arcade of stalls, a sort of hell’s market. Sound was heavy and unnatural, a susurration of feet and skirts and snatches of voices.
“Don’t stare!” Sutton warned her under his breath. “Yer ’ere ter catch rats, not sightseein’, Miss ’Ester.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Who are they all? Do they come down here every day?”
“Most of ’em don’t never go up,” he answered. “We might ’ave ’alf a mile ter go.”
“Whom are we looking for?”
They were keeping to the middle of the way, but as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she was more aware of alcoves to the side. Those hollows must be where people might eat and sleep and—from the rank odor that now filled the air—conduct other aspects of their lives.