The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [56]
He traced his steps to the end closest to the buffers, pushing his way through the thickening crowd, and boarded the train, looking into every compartment to see if Monk were there. Every so often he glanced out of the window as well, and it was on one of those occasions, about halfway along the length of the train, and already seven minutes past nine, that he saw Monk’s face for an instant as he passed by, outside, hurrying along the platform.
Rathbone swore in a mixture of anger and relief, and pushing past a large gentleman in black, flung open the carriage door and almost fell out.
“Monk!” he shouted loudly. “Monk!”
Monk turned. He was dressed as elegantly as if he were on the way to dine out. His coat was beautifully cut, slender and hanging without a wrinkle, his boots were polished to a satin gleam. He looked surprised to see Rathbone, but not discomforted.
“Have you found something?” he said in surprise. “Already? You can’t have heard back from Edinburgh, so what is it?”
“I haven’t found anything,” Rathbone said, wishing passionately that he had. “I merely came to see if there was anything else upon which we should confer while there is still the opportunity.”
A shadow of disappointment crossed Monk’s eyes, so slight that had Rathbone been less perceptive he would have missed it altogether. He almost forgave the perfect coat.
“I know of nothing,” Monk replied coldly. “I shall report to you by mail, whatever I learn of use. Impressions I shall keep until I return. It would be useful if you would do the same for me, assuming you do find anything. I shall inform you of my address as soon as I have lodgings. Now I am going to take my seat, before the train leaves without me. That would serve neither of us.” And without any further form of farewell, he turned and walked towards the nearest carriage door and climbed in, slamming it behind him, leaving Rathbone standing on the platform swearing under his breath, feeling offended, inadequate, and as if there were something else he should have said.
5
MONK DID NOT ENJOY the journey in any respect at all. The encounter on the platform with Rathbone gave him some sense of satisfaction because it demonstrated how acutely concerned Rathbone was. It would have taken an emotional involvement of extraordinary depth to cause him to abandon his dignity sufficiently to come on such a completely pointless errand. Normally, if nothing else, his awareness of Monk’s perception of it would have been enough to keep him at home.
But the comfort all that gave him very quickly wore off as the train steamed and rattled its way out of the station and through the rain-soaked darkness of the London rooftops and the occasional glimpse in gaslight of emptying streets, wet cobbles gleaming, lamps haloed in mist, here and there a hansom about to do business.
He imagined Rathbone returning to his office to sit behind his desk shuffling papers uselessly and trying to think what to do that would help, and Hester alone in the narrow cell in Newgate, frightened, huddling beneath the thin blankets, hearing the hard sound of boot heels on the stone floor and the clang of keys in the lock, seeing the hatred in the wardresses’ faces. And he had no illusions about that. They thought her guilty of a despicable crime; there would be no pity. The fact that she had not yet been tried would weigh little with them.
Why couldn’t Hester be like other women, and choose a more sensible occupation? What normal woman traveled all over the place, alone, to nurse people she had never even met? Why did he bother himself with her? She was bound to meet with disaster some time or other. It was only extraordinary good luck she had not encountered it already in the Crimea. And he was stupid