Execution Dock - Anne Perry [77]
“Oh, I in't the only one.” Mina found that amusing. “I just mebbe know'd ‘im longer. But I got more sense'n ter say so. Don't like bein’ reminded o’ the past, ‘e don't. Rotten poor, ‘e were. Always cold an ‘ungry, an’ knocked about summink wicked. ‘Is ma were a bad one. Temper like one o’ them rats wot comes out o’ the sewers sometimes. Fight anyone.”
“What about his father?” Hester asked.
Mina laughed. “Came off some ship, an’ then got right back on it,” she answered drily, keeping her eyes tightly closed in case she accidentally caught sight of the wound. “Lived down by the river, almost in the water, ‘e did. Always cold, poor little sod. Now ‘e goes barmy if ‘e ‘ears anythin’ drippin’.”
“But he lives in a boat!” Hester protested.
“Yeah. Daft, in't it?” Mina agreed. “I knew a feller once ‘oo were scared stiff o’ rats. Dreamed about ‘em, ‘e did. Woke up sweatin’ like a pig. ‘Ear ‘im screamin’ sometimes. Send yer blood cold, it would. Made ‘isself keep a rat in a cage, right there in ‘is room. Could ‘ear the bleedin’ thing scrapin’ its silly little feet an’ squeakin’.” She shivered convulsively without realizing it, moving her arm so that Hester momentarily held the scissors away.
“Do you think that's what Jericho Phillips does, with the water?” she asked curiously. She imagined a man forcing himself to live with his haunting fears until he had inured himself to them and no longer panicked. It was the ultimate control. In some ways that might be the most frightening thing about him.
She started to rebandage the wound as gently as she could, while thinking of the bullied child, afraid of the cold, afraid of dripping water, who had grown into a cruel man steeled against every weakness, above all his own. She was not sure if she could pity him or not.
“Are you frightened of him?” she asked Mina when she was nearly finished.
Mina kept her eyes closed. “Nah! Keep me mouf shut, do wot ‘e wants, an’ ‘e pays good. In't me ‘e ‘ates.”
Hester put a few stitches in to keep the bandage from unraveling. “Who does he hate?” she asked.
“Durban,” Mina replied.
“He was only doing his job, like all the River Police,” Hester pointed out. “You can open your eyes now. I've finished.”
Mina looked at it with admiration. “Yer make shirts an’ all?” she asked.
“No. I only stitch skin, and bandages. I'm not very good at anything more than mending.”
“Yer talk like yer ‘ad servants ter do it for yer,” Mina remarked.
“I used to.”
“On ‘ard times, are yer?” There was sympathy in Mina's voice. “Yer want money fer that?” She indicated her arm. “I in't got none. But I'll pay yer when I ‘ave.”
“No, I don't want money, thank you. You're welcome to a little help,” Hester replied. “Did Phillips hate Durban in particular? I think Durban hunted him pretty hard.”
“‘Course ‘e did,” Mina agreed. “‘Ated each other, dint they?”
Hester felt the chill back inside her.
“Why?”
“Natural, I s'pose.” Mina gave a slight shrug on her uninjured side. “Grew up together, dint they? Durban done good, an’ Phillips done bad. Gotter ‘ate each other, don't they?”
Hester said nothing. Her mind was whirling, crowded with lies and truths, dishonor and light, fear, and gaping, unanswered questions.
Gently she finished the rebandaging, putting the old gauze and linen aside to be washed.
SEVEN
onk sat quietly in the parlor and went through all Durban's notes yet again, and found nothing in them that he had not seen before. So many pages held just a word or two, reminders in a train of thought that was gone forever now The only man who might be able to make sense of it was Orme, and so far his loyalty had kept him silent about all except the most obvious.
Hesitantly and with deep unhappiness, Hester had told Monk what the prostitute, Mina, had said about Jericho Phillips, and finally, white-faced, she had added that Durban had grown up in the same area. The whole story of the schoolmaster and the happy family living in a village on the Estuary was a dream, something he created out of his own hungers for things