Free The Dark Assassin by Anne Perry Page B

In turn, she was aware that
he had actually, against his better judgment, developed a fierce pride in the
whole enterprise.
    After the terrible
period during which Claudine Burroughs had come, and experienced such a change
in her life, Margaret Ballinger had also finally accepted Sir Oliver's proposal
of marriage. Both women were working at the clinic and fully intended to remain
so, leaving Hester with far less responsibility for its welfare, either in the
raising of funds to pay for the food, fuel, and medicines or in the day-to-day
chores.
    The same bitter
morning that Monk began investigating the death of James Havilland, Hester was
checking the account books in the office at the clinic for the last time.
    After the
appalling weeks of the previous autumn, when Hester had so nearly died, Monk
had demanded that she give up working at the clinic. Although it meant far more
to her than a simple refuge for street women who were ill or injured and it
filled a need in her to heal, she ultimately acquiesced to Monk's wishes. Even
so, she dragged out the last duties in the clinic, putting off the moment of
having to leave.
    She would
greatly have preferred to perform this task in the familiar kitchen, where the
stove kept the whole room warm and the lamps gave a pleasant yellow glow on old
pans polished with use, and odd china of varying colors and designs. Strings of
onions hung from the bare beams along with bunches of dried herbs, and at least
one airing rack was festooned with laundered bandages ready for use on the next
disaster.
    But the ledgers,
bills, and receipts as well as the money itself were all in the office, so she
sat at the table, feet cold and hands stiff, adding up figures and trying to
make the results hopeful.
    There was a
brisk knock on the door, and as soon as she answered it, Claudine came in. She
was a tall woman, narrow-shouldered and broad at the hips. Her face had been
handsome in her youth, but years of unhappiness had taken the bloom from her
skin and marked her features with an expression of discontent. A couple of
months of dedicated purpose and the startling realization that she was actually
both useful and liked had only just begun to change that. She still wore her
oldest clothes, which were of good quality but out of fashion now. The newer
ones were left at home to be worn on her increasingly rarer forays into
society. Her husband was annoyed and puzzled by her preference for "good
work" over the pursuit of pleasure, but she no longer believed he had
earned the right to inflict further unhappiness upon her, and very seldom spoke
of him. If she had any friends of her own aside from those at the clinic, she
did not refer to them, either, except insofar as they might be persuaded to
donate to the cause.
    "Good
morning, Claudine," Hester said, trying to sound cheerful. "How are
you?"
    Claudine still
did not take pleasantries for granted. "Good morning," she replied,
even now unsure whether to address Hester by her Christian name. "I'm very
well, thank you. But I fear we can expect a good deal of bronchitis in this
weather, and pneumonia as well. Got a stab wound in last night. Stupid girl
hasn't got the wits she was born with, working out of a place like Fleet
Row."
    "Can we
save her?" Hester asked anxiously, unintentionally including herself in
the cause.
    "Oh,
yes." Claudine was somewhat smug about her newly acquired medical
knowledge, even if it came from observation rather than experience. "What
I came about was new sheets. We can manage for a little longer, but you'll have
to ask Margaret about more funds soon. We'll need at least a dozen, and that'll
barely do."
    "Can it
wait another few weeks?" Hester regarded the column of figures in front of
her. She ought to tell Claudine that she was going, but she could not bring
herself to do it yet.
    "Three,
perhaps," Claudine replied. "I can bring a pair from home, but I
don't have