Execution Dock - Anne Perry [109]
“What happened to the little boy?” Hester asked softly. She could imagine him, growing up motherless, one of many, cared for but not special to anyone; fed, clothed, possibly even taught, but not loved. It was so desperately easy to see why he had invented a happiness that had never existed.
“Nice little lad, ‘e were,” Mrs. Cordwainer said dreamily. “Curly ‘air, ‘andsome enough, even if ‘e were a bit of a scrapper now an’ then. But that int something I mind in a boy. Bit o’ spirit. Used ter make me laugh, ‘e did. I were young—then. Got away wi’ all sorts, ‘cause ‘e made me laugh. An’ ‘e knew it.”
“What happened to him?” Hester said again.
“I dunno. ‘E stayed ‘ere till ‘e were eight, then we let ‘im go.”
“Where to? Who took him?”
“Took ‘im? Bless you, nobody took ‘im. ‘E were old enough to work for ‘isself I dunno where ‘e went.”
Hester glanced at Scuff, who seemed to understand perfectly. He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. She realized he had almost certainly been more or less alone since he was that age. Perhaps Durban had been a mudlark as well.
“Was Durban his mother's name?” she asked aloud.
“We never knew ‘is mother's name,” the old lady replied. “Can't recall as we ever asked ‘er. We called ‘im Durban after a man from Africa ‘oo gave us money one time. Seemed like a good enough name, an’ ‘e din't mind.”
“Did he ever come back?”
“Went ter Africa again, far as I know.”
“Not the man, the boy?”
“Oh. Not as I can think of. Went to look fer ‘is sister, little Mary, but she'd gone. ‘E did tell us that. Don't know nothin’ else. Sorry. Were all a long time ago.”
“Thank you so much. You've been very helpful,” Hester said sincerely.
Mrs. Cordwainer looked at her, her face puckered. “Wot ‘appened to ‘im then? D'you know?”
“He grew into a fine man,” Hester replied. “Joined the River Police, and died about six months ago, giving his life to save others. I'm looking for Mary Webber, to tell her, and give her his things, if she's his sister. But she's hard to find. He was looking for her before he died, but he never found her.”
Mrs. Cordwainer shook her head, but she said nothing.
They declined a cup of tea, not wishing to put them to trouble, and Mr. Cordwainer escorted them to the door. When they reached it and Scuff and Stella were already outside, he put his hand on Hester's arm and held her back.
“You'll not find Mary,” he said very softly. He looked acutely unhappy. “It's a long story. Carelessness a bit, lonely, wanting to please, and maybe a bit too trusting, but not fault, not really.”
Hester was lost again. “What are you talking about?” She found that she was whispering in turn.
“Mary,” he replied. “She's in prison. My mother kept up with her, for the boy's sake. Then when she got old, I kind of took her place.”
“Which prison is she in?” Hester felt the knot of pain tighten inside her. No wonder Durban had not found her. Or had he? And the end of his search was tragedy? How that must have hurt him. Was that how she was connected to Jericho Phillips? Suddenly she wished with a passion that she had not asked Mrs. Myers, or old Mrs. Cordwainer. It was too late now.
“Holloway,” he replied. He was watching her, seeing the hurt and the disillusion in her face. “She's not a bad woman,” he said gently. “She married a chandler named Fishburn. He was killed when a dray came loose and crushed him. Left her the house, but not much else. She sold it and bought another one miles away, in Deptford. Turned it into a lodging house. Called herself Myers, to get away from Fish-burn's debts. Seems he'd been a bit of a gambler.” He sighed. “One of her lodgers was a thief. She didn't know