The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [139]
Hester’s throat was thick with tears. She found it suddenly hard to breathe. Looking down at the flushed face and the fair, tangled hair, she realized how much she liked Mercy. She was angry that this should happen to her, and not someone who had less to lose or who would not be missed so much. It was a stupid emotion, and she should have known better than to allow herself to feel it, but all the reason in the world made no difference.
Slowly she turned and walked away, closing the door of the room behind her and going down the stairs as if in a dream. She must get something to eat, stay strong. She would nurse Mercy herself, make sure she never woke alone. No one could help; no one could remove the physical pain, the horror or the inevitability of death. Lies would be no comfort, only dig a gulf between them. She could do nothing but simply be there.
She walked into the kitchen. They all turned to look at her, but it was Sutton who spoke. He came over to her, his face pinched with concern.
“Tea!” he ordered Flo. “Then get yerself off.” To Claudine he just waved a hand, and, white-faced, she went to resume the endless laundry. There was little water left, but she did not mention it, and certainly did not complain. She would reuse what was there if it proved necessary. Squeaky was nowhere to be seen. Fear was in the air, like the cold.
Flo poured the tea and excused herself. Hester sat down, still without having spoken. She placed her hands around the steaming mug and let the warmth run through them.
“D’yer know ’oo did it?” Sutton said quietly.
“Killed Ruth?” She was surprised. It seemed to matter so little now. “No, I don’t. I’m not sure how much I care. The poor woman was dying anyway, she just took longer than some of the others. Partly it was because of the way the disease went, and partly because she was strong, not living on the streets half starved. I think if I had plague, I wouldn’t mind a lot if someone just snuffed me out a little faster. And don’t bother to tell me you shouldn’t do that. I know. I’m just admitting that I haven’t even thought about it lately. Have you?”
“Not much,” he replied. “She quarreled a lot with Claudine and Flo. Mercy was the only one ’oo ’ad the measure of ’er, but then seems it were Mercy ’oo looked after ’er. As it were ’er brother ’oo brung ’er ’ere, so mebbe she know’d plenty about ’er. Could bin ’er as done it.” He pulled his face into a gruesome expression of disbelief. “Or it could a bin anyb’dy else. She were a nasty piece o’ work, Gawd rest ’er.”
“I don’t think it’s going to matter if Mercy did,” Hester said quietly, her voice flat.
Sutton caught the tone, and he looked at her with intense sorrow. “She got it too?”
Hester took a shuddering breath. “Yes . . .” It ended in a sob.
He put out his hand, automatically, to touch hers, very lightly, as if he did not want to intrude. She felt the warmth of it and ached to be able to hold on to him. But it would have embarrassed him. She was there to be a leader, not to turn to others for comfort as if she were just as terrified as they were. They might guess it, but they must never know.
She sat there silently for a moment longer, forcing her breathing to become even again, and the tears to choke back out of her throat. Then she brought her head up and began to drink her tea.
Ten minutes later she went back upstairs to sit with Mercy. She spoke to her every so often, not certain if she was awake enough to hear or understand. She talked about all sorts of things: past experiences, things she had seen, like the first Christmas in the Crimea, the beauty of the landscape, snowbound under a full moon. And she described other things, closer to home, wandering in her memories at random, simply for the sake