Execution Dock

Mrs. Myers's face was touched with pity. For a moment she looked younger, wearier, and more vulnerable. Hester felt a sudden warmth towards her, a momentary understanding of what her task must be to keep such a hospital functioning and not be overwhelmed by the enormity of her task. The individual tragedies were intensely real, the fear of hunger and loneliness; too many bewildered women were exhausted and at their wits’ end to find the next place to rest, the next mouthful to give their children. The searing loneliness of giving birth in such a place stu

“I'll ask my daughter,” Mrs. Myers said quietly. “I doubt she'll know, but it is the best place to try.

“Thank you,” Hester accepted immediately. “I would be very grateful indeed.”

“What year would that be?” Mrs. Myers inquired, turning to lead them through bare, clean corridors, sharp with the smell of lye and carbolic.

“About 1810, the best calculation I can make,” Hester answered. “But I am going on memory of neighbors of the family.”

“I will do what I can,” Mrs. Myers replied dubiously, her heels clicking sharply on the hard wooden floors. Maids with mops and buckets redoubled their efforts to look busy. A pale-faced woman hobbled out of sight around a corner. Two children with straggling hair and tearstained faces peeped around a doorway, staring as Mrs. Myers, followed by Hester and Scuff, striding past without looking to either side.

They found Stella in a warm room facing the sun, sharing a large, enamel pot of tea with three other young women, all dressed in what looked like a simple uniform of gray blouse and skirt, and short black boots. All of their boots were dirty and worn lopsidedly at the heels. It was one of the younger women who stood up to lift the heavy pot and refill all the cups, while Stella remained seated.

Hester assumed that was the privilege of being the matron's daughter until they were level with the table and she saw that Stella was blind. She turned at the sound of unfamiliar footsteps, but she did not speak or rise.

Mrs. Myers introduced Hester without mentioning Scuff, and explained what she had come for.

Stella considered for several moments, her head raised as if she were staring at the ceiling.

“I don't know,” she said at last. “I can't think of anyone who would remember that far back.”

“We have our people the right age,” her mother prompted.

“Do we? I can't think who,” Stella said very quickly.

Mrs. Myers smiled but Hester saw a sadness in it that for a moment was almost overwhelming.

“Mr. Woods might recall…”

“Mina, he barely remembers his name,” Stella cut in, her voice gentle but very definite. “He gets terribly confused.”

Mrs. Myers stood quite still. “Mrs. Cordwainer?” she suggested.

There seemed to be a complete silence in the room. No one moved.

“I don't know her well enough to ask her such things,” Stella replied huskily. “She's very… old. She might…” She did not finish the sentence.

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Myers conceded. She appeared to hesitate, then came to a decision. “I will leave Mrs. Monk to talk with you. You may be able to think of something else. Excuse me.” And she walked away, gathering speed, and they could hear her footsteps fading away.

Hester looked at Stella, wondering if the blind girl were aware of her scrutiny. Did she read voices as other people read expressions on a face?

“Miss Myers,” Hester began. “It really is of very great importance to several other people, as well as to me. I did not tell your mother the full extent of how much this matters. If I can find her, she may be able to clear away certain suspicions I believe to be urgent, but without her help I ca

Stella turned towards her, her brow puckered. She was clearly struggling with some decision she found intensely difficult. There was pity in her expression as sharp as if she had not just seen Hester's face but also read the emotions behind her eyes. It was strange to be looked at so perceptively by someone who had no sight.

“Mrs. Monk, if… if I take you to see Mrs. Cordwainer, will you be discreet about anything you may see or hear in her house? Will you give me your word?”

Hester was startled. It was the last sort of request she had expected. What on earth could Mrs. Cordwainer be doing that required such a promise? Was Hester going to be asked to do something that would trouble her conscience? Was the old woman being cheated or abused in some way? Looking at Stella, she did not think that likely.

“If I give you such a promise, am I going to regret it?” she asked.

Stella's lip trembled. “Possibly,” she whispered. “But I ca

“Is Mrs. Cordwainer suffering in some way? Because if she is, I should find it very hard indeed not to do what I could to help.”

Stella almost laughed, but she choked on the sound. “She is not, that I can say absolutely.”

Hester was even more puzzled, but the only alternative to accepting the conditions was to give up altogether. “Then I give you my word,” she replied.

Stella smiled and stood up. “Then I shall take you to see Mrs. Cordwainer. She lives in a small house on the hospital grounds. She'll be asleep at this time of day, but she won't mind being woken up if it's to ask questions about the past. She likes to tell tales of times back then.”

“Can… can I ‘elp yer?” Scuff offered hesitantly.

It was her turn to consider her answer. She decided to accept, although Hester realized she must know her way around the hospital more easily than Scuff. She followed as side by side they made their way out of the room and down the corridor, Stella pretending she did not know where she was going, and Scuff pretending that he did.

They left the main building of the hospital and made their way along a well-worn path, up a short flight of steps, and to a row of cottages. Stella knew her way by the exact number of paces. Never once did she hesitate or miss her footing. She could have done it in the pitch-dark. Then Hester realized with a jolt that in fact that was what she was doing, always, and she felt almost guilty for the bright sunlight and the color she could see.

Stella knocked on the door of one of the cottages and it was immediately opened by a man in his middle forties, shy and plain, but with an acute intelligence in his eyes, and his whole countenance lit with pleasure when he saw Stella. It was a moment before he even realized that there was anyone else with her.

Stella introduced them, and explained their purpose. The man was Mrs. Cordwainer's son. If she were as old as Mrs. Myers had suggested, then he must have been born to her late in life.

“Of course,” he said, smiling at Hester and Scuff. “I'm sure Mama will be pleased to tell you whatever she can.” He led them through into a small, sunlit room where an ancient woman sat in an armchair, wrapped around with a light shawl, quite obviously asleep. Mr. Cordwainer's book, a translation of the plays of Sophocles, was lying faceup where he had left it to answer the door.

It was only as Stella sat down in one of the other chairs that Hester realized with amazement, and then a wave of understanding, that Cordwainer had not guided her in here, nor had he indicated to her where the chair was. She must be sufficiently familiar with the room not to need such assistance, and he knew that. Perhaps for her, they were careful never to move anything even a few inches from its accustomed place.