bandages left by the door, half covered with a cloth. He was shivering, although the blankets were up around his chest, and the fire was burning briskly.
"Shall I change your bed..." she began.
He glared at her with blazing eyes of such rage she stopped in mid-sentence. He looked so savage she thought he might even attempt to strike at her if she came close enough, and he would damage his broken hands again.
What had happened? Had Dr. Wade told him how seriously ill he was?
Had he suddenly realised there was a possibility he would not get better? Was this rage his way of concealing a pain he could not bear?
She had seen such rage before, only too often.
Or had Dr. Wade examined him and been obliged to hurt him physically in order to look more carefully at his wounds? Did the fury in his eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks spring from unbearable pain, and the humiliation of not having been able to live up to his ideal of courage?
How could she begin to help him?
Perhaps fussing was the last thing he wanted at the moment. Maybe even a rumpled bed, stale and uncomfortable, sheets smeared with blood, were better than the interference of somebody who could not share his pain.
"If you want me, knock the bell," she said quietly, looking to make sure it was still where his fingers could reach it. It was not there.
She glanced around. It was across on the tallboy. Dr. Wade had probably moved it because he had wished to use the bedside table for his instruments, or the bowl. She replaced it where it usually sat.
"It doesn't matter what time it is," she assured him. "I'll come."
He stared at her. He was still furious, still imprisoned in silence.
His eyes brimmed over with tears, and he turned away from her.
Chapter Eight
Monk walked briskly along Brick Lane, head down under the wind which was clearing the last of the fog. He must see Vida Hopgood again before he pursued the case any further. She had the right to know of Runcorn's refusal to involve the police in the case, in spite of the mounting proof that there had been a series of crimes of increasing violence. Memory of their encounter still angered him, the more so because part of his mind knew Runcorn was right, and in his place he might well have made the same decision. He would not have done it out of indifference, but a matter of priorities. He had too few men as it was. They only touched the surface of crime in areas like Seven Dials.
It was an easy excuse to ignore people like Vida Hopgood, but it was also unfair to all the countless other victims to put men where they could make no effective difference.
Thinking of it made him angrier still, but it was better than thinking of Hester, which was so natural to him, and at the same time so full of all kinds of discomfort. It was the same kind of temptation as pulling a bandage off a wound to see if it had healed yet, touching the place that hurt, in the hope that this time it would not. It always did...
and he did not learn by experience.
He turned the corner into Butcher's Yard and was suddenly sheltered. He almost slipped where there was ice on the cobbles. He passed a man shouldering a heavy load covered in sacking, probably a carcass. It was quarter past four and the light was fading. In late January the days were short.
He reached Vida Hopgood's door and knocked. He expected her to be in.
He had found this a good time to call. He looked forward to the warmth of her fire and, if he were fortunate, a hot cup of tea.
"You again," she said when she saw him. "Still got a face like a pot lion, so I s'pose yer in't found nothin' useful. Come on in, then.
Don't stand there lettin' in the cold!" She retreated along the passageway, leaving him to close the door and follow her.
He took his coat off and sat down uninvited before the fire in the parlour, rubbing his hands together and leaning towards the grate to catch the warmth.
She sat opposite him, her handsome face sharp-eyed, watchful.
"Did yer come 'ere ter warm yerself cos yer got no fire at 'ome, or was there sum mink in particular?"
He was used to her manner. "I put all we have before Runcorn