Blind Justice: A William Monk Novel Page 2

  Monk was confused. She had, in a way, closed a door between them. But what had she imagined he might do? He started to rise to go after her, realized he had no idea what to say, and sat down again. He thought of all the years he had known her and the battles they had fought together against fear, injustice, disease, grief … and then memory washed over him, not like a tide so much as a breaking wave, battering and submerging him. Hester’s own father had committed suicide because of a debt he could not honor. She spoke of it so seldom he had allowed himself to forget.

  He stood up quickly; he was still not sure what he would say, but it was imperative he find something. How could he have been so stupid, so clumsy as to forget?

  He found her in the kitchen, standing by the stove with a saucepan in her hand, but her attention somewhere in the middle distance. She was not moving, and her eyes were filled with tears.

  There was no honest excuse to give, but even if there were, it would only make things worse.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I forgot.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  She turned and looked at him at last. “No, it doesn’t. I’d rather you didn’t think of him that way anyhow. But I know how Josephine feels, exactly as if it were me all over again. Except that I wasn’t there when I should have been. Maybe I could have done something if I had been there.”

  Monk knew there was nothing she could’ve done, but he also knew she would not believe him if he said so; she would think he was lying automatically to comfort her, although that was something neither of them had ever really done. They had always faced the truth together, however bitter; gently, perhaps slowly—but they had never lied.

  “I’ll see if I can find out anything about the people involved.” He said it knowing it was a rash offer, and probably of no use, except to prove that he cared about what troubled her.

  She smiled at him, and he saw that she knew exactly what he was doing, and why. However, she was still grateful that he understood and had not evaded helping her.

  “I’m going to church on Sunday,” she replied, straightening up a little and replacing a saucepan on its rack. “It’s time Scuff learned something about religion. It’s part of our job as … as parents”—she chose the word deliberately, as if testing it—“to teach him. What he decides to believe is up to him. But I don’t think I’ll go to the Church of England. I’ll find a Nonconformist one.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Monk asked uncertainly.

  That was one of the gaps from his amnesia he had never attempted to fill. He knew what he believed about many things, good and evil. Perhaps even more importantly, he understood that an entire lifetime was insufficient to answer all the questions that each new situation raised. It was clear to him that humility was not just a virtue, it was a necessity; but he had not bothered to consider a formal religion. He did not really want to now, but he would if she wished him to.

  A glance at her face answered that.

  “No, thank you!” she said vehemently, as if for him to come were the last thing she wished. Then she smiled. “But thank you all the same.”

  SCUFF AMAZED HIMSELF AT how easily he had become used to living in Monk’s house in Paradise Place. Occasionally he dreamed he was still back on the docks, sleeping wherever he could find a sheltered place out of the wind or rain and avoid being trodden on or tripped over. He was even used to being warm enough almost all of the time, and clean!

  He was still always hungry; but now he ate at regular times, as well as in between, when he could, and he didn’t have to find the food himself, either buy it or steal it. He had become used to the fact that no one would steal it from him.

  It was not that he was an orphan, but after his father died his mother had been unable to support her children alone. The new man she had taken in was happy enough with the girls, but he was not willing to house another man’s son, so for the survival of the rest, who were not much more than babies, Scuff had left to look after himself.

  He had met Monk when Monk was new to the dockside area and pitifully ignorant of its ways. For the price of an occasional sandwich and a hot cup of tea, Scuff had taken care of him and taught him a few things.

  Then together they had taken part in some very unpleasant adventures. After one, when Scuff had come far too close to being killed, he had spent a few nights in Monk’s home. Those few nights had stretched into a few more, and then a few more. Gradually, a step at a time, he had even become used to Hester. He was far too grown up to need a mother, but now and then he didn’t mind pretending that wasn’t the case. Actually, he was not sure if being a mother was even what Hester wanted. She seemed rather more to be a really good friend—but one with considerable authority, of course. He would not have told her so, but he was more in awe of her than he was of Monk himself. She never backed off from anyone. Scuff knew, even if she didn’t, that she needed him to keep an eye out for her.

  He should have been more suspicious when she suddenly decided to take him to buy a new suit, a proper one with jacket and trousers that matched, and two white shirts. It was quite true that the clothes he had were rather short. He had grown a lot lately. It must have been all that food, and having to go to bed early. But even so, they would have done a few more months.

  Perhaps he should have had a clue when, the same day, she bought herself a new hat. It had flowers on it, and it made her look pretty. He told her so, and then felt awkward. Perhaps it had been too personal a thing to say. But she looked pleased. Maybe she was.

  Understanding came like a flash of lightning on Saturday evening.

  “Tomorrow morning I am going to church,” she told him, facing him squarely and not even blinking. “I would like you to come with me, if you don’t mind.”

  He stood motionless, as if rooted to the kitchen floor. Then he turned to Monk, who was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Monk raised his eyes and smiled.

  “You coming?” Scuff asked nervously. What did it mean? They had never taken him to church before. What would happen there? Some kind of ceremony?

  “I can’t,” Monk replied. “I have to go to the station at Wapping. But I’ll be back for Sunday dinner. You’ll be all right. You might find it quite interesting. Do as Hester tells you, and if she doesn’t say anything, copy her.”

  Scuff felt panic well up inside him.

  “You don’t have to do anything at all,” Hester assured him. “Just come with me, so I don’t have to go by myself.”

  He let go his breath—a sigh of relief. He could do that. “Yeah, all right,” he conceded.

  THEY SET OUT ON Sunday morning, first across the river, then on an omnibus for what seemed like a considerable distance. Scuff wondered why they were going so far, when he could see they were passing churches much closer. They were rather obvious buildings; apart from having towers that you could see from a quarter of a mile away at least, a lot of them had bells ringing, just to make certain you couldn’t miss them. A couple of times he drew in his breath to point this out to Hester, who was sitting very upright beside him and staring forward. She did not seem like her usual self at all, so he changed his mind and did not ask.

  But he did ask a number of the other questions that rose in his mind.

  “Does God live only in churches?” he said very quietly to her. He did not want the other people in the omnibus to hear him. They probably all knew the answer and would think he sounded stupid.

  She looked a little surprised and instantly he wished he had said nothing. If he paid attention, he would probably have learned the answer anyway.

  “No,” she replied. “God is everywhere. I think it’s just that we give him more thought inside churches. Like learning at school. You can learn to read and write anywhere, but school makes it easier to concentrate.”

  “Do we have a teacher at church too?” That seemed a reasonable question.

  “Yes. He’s called a minister
.”

  “I see.” That was a bit worrying. “Is he going to make me answer questions at the end?”

  “No. No, I won’t let him do that.” She sounded very sure.

  He relaxed a little. “Why do we have to go?”

  “We don’t have to. I would like to.”

  “Oh.” He sat in silence for almost half a mile.

  “Will he tell us about heaven?” he asked finally.

  “I expect so,” Hester answered. Now she was looking at him, smiling.

  He felt encouraged. “Where is heaven?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think anybody truly does.”

  That troubled him. “Then how are we going to get there?”

  She looked awkward. “You know, that’s something we’d all like to know, and I have no idea. Perhaps if we go to church often enough and really pay attention, we will figure it out eventually.”

  “Do you want to go there? To heaven, I mean?”

  “Yes. I think everybody does. It’s just that too many of us don’t desire it enough to do the things that are necessary to get there.”

  “Why not? That seems silly,” he pointed out.

  “We don’t think about it, or believe in it, hard enough,” she answered. “Sometimes we decide it’s too hard to get there to be worth the trouble, or that we won’t make it anyway, no matter what we do.”

  He thought about it for several minutes while the omnibus went up a slight incline, slowing as it did so. The horses must have struggled a bit.

  “Well, if you’re not going to heaven, then I don’t think I want to either,” he said at last.

  She blinked suddenly, as if she were going to cry, only he knew she wouldn’t because Hester never cried. Then she put her hand on his arm for a moment. He could feel the warmth of it, even through the sleeve of his new jacket.

  “I think we should both try to get there,” she told him. “In fact, all three of us should.”

  He thought about that and made a note of several other questions he wanted to ask. He would save them for another time—he felt like he had bothered her enough for now. So they rode in silence until the omnibus pulled up at their stop. They walked about fifty yards along the pavement to what looked like a meetinghouse. It was not really a proper church, the kind he had expected with the tower and the bell, but Hester seemed quite sure, so he went in beside her through the large open doors.

  Inside there were rows of seats, all very hard, with the sort of backs that made you sit up straight, even if you didn’t want to. There were crowds of people there already. All the women he could see had hats on: big ones, small ones, ones with flowers, ones with ribbons, pale colors, dark colors, but nothing particularly bright, no reds or pinks or yellows. All the men wore dark suits. It must be some kind of uniform, like at school.

  They had been there only a few moments when a handsome man came forward, smiling. He had fair, wavy hair touched with silver at the sides. He held his hand out, looking for an instant beyond Hester. Then, realizing there was no man with her, he withdrew his hand and bowed very slightly instead.

  “How do you do, ma’am? My name is Abel Taft. May I welcome you to our congregation?”

  “Thank you,” Hester said warmly. “I am Mrs. Monk.” She turned to introduce Scuff, and his heart almost stopped beating. Who was she going to say he was? An urchin she and Monk had picked up from the dockside, who knew no other name but Scuff? Would they make him leave?

  Taft turned to meet Scuff’s eyes.

  Scuff was paralyzed, his mouth as dry as dust.

  Hester smiled, her head a little to one side. “My son, William,” she said, with only the barest hesitation.

  Scuff found himself smiling so widely his face hurt.

  “How do you do, William?” Taft said formally.

  “How do you do?” Scuff’s voice came out scratchily. “Sir,” he added for good measure.

  Taft was still smiling too, as if his smile were almost fixed on his face. Scuff had seen expressions like that before, on the riverbank, when people were trying to sell you something.

  “I hope you will feel uplifted by our service, Mrs. Monk,” Taft said warmly. “And please feel free to ask any questions you care to. I shall hope to see you often and perhaps get to know you a little better. You will find the entire congregation friendly. We have some very fine people here.”

  “I am sure,” Hester agreed. “I have already heard so from others.”

  “Indeed?” Taft had started to move away but stopped, his attention suddenly renewed. “May I ask whom?”

  Hester lowered her eyes. “I think it might embarrass them if I were to say,” she replied modestly. “But it was most sincere, I assure you. I know, at least, that you do a great deal of truly Christian work for those who are not nearly as fortunate as we are.”

  “Indeed we do,” he said eagerly. “I am delighted to see that you are interested. I shall look forward to telling you more after the service.”

  She looked up at him very directly. “Thank you.”

  Scuff regarded her with confusion. He had never seen her behave like this before. Of course, lots of women looked at men like that—but not Hester! What was wrong with her? He did not like the change in her. She had been perfect just as she was.

  Hester led him toward a couple of seats near the back of the hall, and they took the rather squashed places as other people moved along a bit to make room. There were certainly far more people present than he had imagined would want to be here. What was going to happen that was worth all this jostling and shoving, not to mention dressing up and wasting a perfectly good Sunday morning? The sun was shining outside, and hardly anybody had to go to work!

  He started to pay attention when the service began. Mr. Taft was in charge, telling everybody when to stand, when to sing, and saying prayers on everyone else’s behalf. All they had to do was add “Amen” at the end. He seemed to be full of enthusiasm, as if it were all rather exciting. He waved his arms about a bit, and his face was alight. It was a bit like it was his birthday party and all of them his guests. Scuff had seen a party once for a rich boy whose parents had hired a pleasure boat. There were colored ribbons everywhere and a band playing music. It had stopped at one of the docks and Scuff had crept close enough to watch.

  There was music here in this church as well, a big organ playing, and everybody sang. They seemed to know the words. Even Hester did not have to do more than glance at the hymnbook that she held open so he could see it as well. But he had never heard the tune before and got lost very quickly.

  Hester gave him a little nudge now and then, or put her hand gently on his arm, to warn him they were about to stand up or sit down again. He noticed that she looked around rather a lot. He thought she was watching to see what they were doing, so she could copy them. Then he realized she knew what to do; she just seemed to be interested, almost as if she were looking for someone in particular.

  When it was finished and Scuff assumed they were free to go home again, Hester started speaking to the people around them. That was a bit of a blow, but there was nothing he could do except wait patiently. On the way home he would ask her what it was all for. Why did God want what seemed to be such a pointless exercise? Was the real reason something else altogether, like maybe to keep them all from going out and getting drunk, or to make sure they didn’t just lie around in bed all day? He used to know people who did that.

  Hester was talking to Mrs. Taft, who was a very pretty lady, in a fair-haired, soft-blue-eyed sort of way. Scuff had seen a little china statue of a lady like that and been told not to touch it because he might break it.

  “It is a marvelous work,” Hester was saying enthusiastically.

  Scuff tried to listen. If she cared about all this, there had to be a reason, and he should pay attention too.

  “Indeed it is,” Mrs. Taft agreed with a sweet smile. “And we find so much support, it is most heartening. You would be amazed how much even th
e poorest people manage to give. Surely God will bless them for it. They will have joy in heaven.” She looked as if she really meant it. Her eyes were shining, and there was a faint flush of pink in her cheeks. She wore a lovely hat decked with flowers in all sorts of colors. Scuff knew they weren’t real, but they almost looked it. Hester would look prettier than this woman in a hat like that, but it probably cost more than a week of dinners for all of them.

  “Do you not worry about them though?” Hester asked anxiously.

  Mrs. Taft looked puzzled.

  “What will happen to them, between here and heaven, I mean,” Hester added in explanation.

  “God will take care of them,” Mrs. Taft replied with gentle reproof.

  Hester bit her lip. Scuff had seen that expression before. He knew she wanted to say something but had decided against it.

  They were joined by two girls, a few years older than Scuff and looking a lot like grown-ups already, proper ladies’ shapes, their hair in ringlets, and straw hats with ribbons on their heads. They were introduced as Mrs. Taft’s daughters, Jane and Amelia. The conversation continued about generous donations to the wonderful work the church was doing for the unfortunate, especially in some distant and unnamed part of the world.

  Scuff was extremely bored and his attention wandered again, this time toward some of the other members of the congregation. A lot of the women were older than Hester and rather fat. Those closest to him creaked a little when they moved, like the timbers of a ship on the tide. They looked unhappy. He supposed they might be late for luncheon and resented being kept in pointless conversations. He sympathized with them. He was hungry too—and tired of this. One of them caught his eye, and he smiled at her tentatively. She smiled back at him, then her husband glared at her and she stopped instantly.

  Why was Hester still here? She didn’t know these people, and she certainly wasn’t talking to God, or listening to him. Yet she still looked very interested.

  She looked even more interested when she was introduced to a good-looking man with thick, dark hair and a rather prominent nose. His name was apparently Robertson Drew, and he spoke to Hester in a condescending manner. His glance took in her costume and her new hat, and then her reticule and the fact that her boots were a little worn at the toes.