Blood on the Water by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

explode. It was a horrible way to die—he would have left the ship before that! But where? And how? Someone swimming in the river would surely draw attention. Apart from the fact that hardly anyone could swim, the water was filthy enough to poison you.
    And swim to where? They would’ve been out in the middle in thecurrent of the incoming tide. And the Thames tide was swift and strong.
    There would have been other boats around: ferries, barges, large ships coming in to anchor in the Pool of London. They could see each other because they carried lights—they had to. Law of the sea. But a swimmer didn’t! A swimmer could be struck, swamped in the wash, or, worst of all, caught in the paddles or the screws and hacked to pieces. Scuff shuddered at the thought of it and felt his legs go weak.
    He put it out of his mind and hurried the last few steps home. He wanted lights, warmth, people, even if they scolded him for being late. It was very nice to be wanted.
    “You’re late,” Hester said as soon as he was in the door. “Are you all right?”
    Perhaps he should have been penitent—it would have been wiser—but he could not keep the huge smile from his face.
    “Yes … I’m home.” He saw the irritation in her eyes and was not absolutely certain what it was. “And I’m hungry,” he added.
    Monk came in a few moments later, and spoke only of the usual sort of business on the river. He did not even mention the
Princess Mary
, so Scuff thought he had better not mention it either. Hester did not refer to the fact that he had been late, and he was too grateful for that to risk anything but enjoying the good food and comfortable silence. He did not allow into his mind those who would be sleeping outside on the dock, as he once had.

CHAPTER
 
3
    M ONK TRIED TO WORK as usual and put the atrocity of the pleasure boat loss at least to the back of his mind. Sometimes he succeeded for as much as half a day, but there was always something to remind him of it eventually. People were still talking about it. There was speculation in the newspapers and in fliers posted up on every wall and street corner, or passed from hand to hand. Even into June, wreckage was being washed up with each high tide: pieces of wood, broken furniture, waterlogged cushions, and the torn fabric of clothes. On the curved shore of the Isle of Dogs, three more bodies surfaced. A pall of grief hung over everything, in spite of the sunshine, and it was slowly hardening into anger.
    Monk saw the Metropolitan Police on the banks, at the docks, even at times on the river itself, talking to lightermen and bargees. He did not envy them. At first they were resented, interlopers in an alien territory. Now they were being blamed because they seemed to haveno idea who they were chasing, or even why the tragedy had happened.
    Who would do such a thing? Possibilities teemed in Monk’s mind. He could not think any ordinary river pirates or thieves could do anything so extreme. It would draw unwanted attention. But since the revolution that had swept Europe in 1848, some twenty years ago, London was full of refugees: people either fleeing the persecution that had followed the suppression of revolt, or simply looking for a different and better life. Occasionally old quarrels erupted into violence between groups; social change, overcrowding, strange languages and customs—all of it frightened people.
    And yet standing on the quayside watching the river traffic passing, hearing the familiar shouts and clangs of men working their trades, Monk could not believe that any of the immigrants would commit such an atrocity. Apart from any morality involved, it would be pointless. All they wanted was a little space, and the chance to earn a living.
    The speed with which Monk had been dismissed and Lydiate appointed smelled political, but to what end? Ships came and went from the Pool of London to every country on earth. Cargo included things as small as diamonds or as huge as