William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Perry
missing.”
“Missing?” Her white eyebrows rose. “She in’t been anywhere else since she come ’ere, fifteen year ago. Where would she go? She in’t got no one.”
Monk felt the tension mounting. “How does she live, Mrs. Scalford? What does she do? Does she work at a shop, or a factory?”
“No. I know that ’cos she’s at ’ome most days. I dunno wot she does, but she don’t beg, an’ she don’t ask no favors.” She said that with a slight lift of her chin, as if she identified with the pride of it. “An’ far as I know, she don’t owe no one,” she added, nodding her head.
Monk looked at the old lady more carefully, meeting the washed-out blue eyes without flinching. Could this old woman possibly be ignorant of the fact if Zenia Gadney had been a prostitute? It was far more likely she was protecting the reputation of a neighbor, possibly a younger woman who reminded her in some way of herself, thirty years ago.
“To be admired,” he said gravely. “Do you know of any family she has?” He intentionally spoke of her still as if she were alive.
Mrs. Scalford considered that for several moments, sipping her tea.
“She did ’ave a man,” she said finally. “Come reg’lar, until a couple o’ months ago. Dunno if ’e were a brother, or mebbe ’er dead ’usband’s brother, or wot. Could be ’e looked after ’er.”
“But he stopped coming about two months ago?” Monk pressed. In spite of himself, he sat forward a little.
“In’t that wot I jus’ said?”
“Do you know why?”
“I told yer, young man. I don’t know ’er ter ’ave ’er explain all ’er business to me. I jus’ see people come an’ go along the street. I spoke to ’er ’alf a dozen times, mebbe. Good morning, an’ nice day, that kind o’ thing. I see ’er go past ’ere an’ I know ’ow she’s feeling ’cos yer can see that much in a person’s face.”
“And how was she feeling, Mrs. Scalford?”
“Most times she were neither good nor bad,” she replied with a sigh. “Like most folks, I s’pose. Some days she ’ad a really pretty smile. I reckon as she were ’andsome when she were younger. Got a bit tired-looking now. S’pose we all do.” Without thinking she put her hand up and smoothed her own white hair.
“And the last two months?” he asked.
“Yer mean since ’e stopped coming? Sad. Terrible sad, she were, poor thing. I seen ’er walking along ’ere with ’er ’ead ’angin’, an’ draggin’ ’er feet like she lost all ’er spirit.”
“Could he have been someone close to her? A brother, maybe?” he asked.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why d’yer want to know all this, then? Yer ’unting for summink? Wot’s she got ter do with the River Police?”
“She’s missing, Mrs. Scalford,” Monk said grimly. “And we’ve found the body of a woman we think may be her.”
She went pale and her shoulders stiffened as if she hardly dared breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. He meant it. “We could be wrong.” He pulled the constable’s drawing out of his inside pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to her.
She took it and held it in gnarled hands, which trembled a little.
“That’s ’er,” she said huskily. “Poor little beggar! What she ever do ter deserve bein’ cut up?” Her voice dropped even lower. “That’s ’oo yer talking about, in’t it? ’Er wot was cut open an’ left on the pier?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She looked up at him. “Yer goin’ ter get ’oo did it and ’ang ’im, ain’t yer?” It was a demand as much as a question. She was shaking now, her cup clattering in its saucer.
“If you help,” he answered, taking the cup from her and putting itdown. “Tell me more about this man who visited her, and stopped coming two months ago. Can you describe him for me? And don’t tell me you don’t remember him. Of course you do. I’d lay odds you could describe me, if someone else came and asked
“Missing?” Her white eyebrows rose. “She in’t been anywhere else since she come ’ere, fifteen year ago. Where would she go? She in’t got no one.”
Monk felt the tension mounting. “How does she live, Mrs. Scalford? What does she do? Does she work at a shop, or a factory?”
“No. I know that ’cos she’s at ’ome most days. I dunno wot she does, but she don’t beg, an’ she don’t ask no favors.” She said that with a slight lift of her chin, as if she identified with the pride of it. “An’ far as I know, she don’t owe no one,” she added, nodding her head.
Monk looked at the old lady more carefully, meeting the washed-out blue eyes without flinching. Could this old woman possibly be ignorant of the fact if Zenia Gadney had been a prostitute? It was far more likely she was protecting the reputation of a neighbor, possibly a younger woman who reminded her in some way of herself, thirty years ago.
“To be admired,” he said gravely. “Do you know of any family she has?” He intentionally spoke of her still as if she were alive.
Mrs. Scalford considered that for several moments, sipping her tea.
“She did ’ave a man,” she said finally. “Come reg’lar, until a couple o’ months ago. Dunno if ’e were a brother, or mebbe ’er dead ’usband’s brother, or wot. Could be ’e looked after ’er.”
“But he stopped coming about two months ago?” Monk pressed. In spite of himself, he sat forward a little.
“In’t that wot I jus’ said?”
“Do you know why?”
“I told yer, young man. I don’t know ’er ter ’ave ’er explain all ’er business to me. I jus’ see people come an’ go along the street. I spoke to ’er ’alf a dozen times, mebbe. Good morning, an’ nice day, that kind o’ thing. I see ’er go past ’ere an’ I know ’ow she’s feeling ’cos yer can see that much in a person’s face.”
“And how was she feeling, Mrs. Scalford?”
“Most times she were neither good nor bad,” she replied with a sigh. “Like most folks, I s’pose. Some days she ’ad a really pretty smile. I reckon as she were ’andsome when she were younger. Got a bit tired-looking now. S’pose we all do.” Without thinking she put her hand up and smoothed her own white hair.
“And the last two months?” he asked.
“Yer mean since ’e stopped coming? Sad. Terrible sad, she were, poor thing. I seen ’er walking along ’ere with ’er ’ead ’angin’, an’ draggin’ ’er feet like she lost all ’er spirit.”
“Could he have been someone close to her? A brother, maybe?” he asked.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why d’yer want to know all this, then? Yer ’unting for summink? Wot’s she got ter do with the River Police?”
“She’s missing, Mrs. Scalford,” Monk said grimly. “And we’ve found the body of a woman we think may be her.”
She went pale and her shoulders stiffened as if she hardly dared breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. He meant it. “We could be wrong.” He pulled the constable’s drawing out of his inside pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to her.
She took it and held it in gnarled hands, which trembled a little.
“That’s ’er,” she said huskily. “Poor little beggar! What she ever do ter deserve bein’ cut up?” Her voice dropped even lower. “That’s ’oo yer talking about, in’t it? ’Er wot was cut open an’ left on the pier?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She looked up at him. “Yer goin’ ter get ’oo did it and ’ang ’im, ain’t yer?” It was a demand as much as a question. She was shaking now, her cup clattering in its saucer.
“If you help,” he answered, taking the cup from her and putting itdown. “Tell me more about this man who visited her, and stopped coming two months ago. Can you describe him for me? And don’t tell me you don’t remember him. Of course you do. I’d lay odds you could describe me, if someone else came and asked