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Barges! On the river!
He charged across the street, colliding with a costermonger's cart, extricating himself with difficulty amid an array of curses from several passersby. He yelled an apology over his shoulder and sprinted down Dowgate Hill and along the narrow cut down to the stairs just as the last barge drew level. He yelled, waving both his arms, signaling the barge to slow down.
The bargee must have thought it was some kind of warning. He eased a little, dropping back all the weight that his ships would allow. It was enough for Monk to run and leap. He barely made it. Without the bargee's frantic help he would have fallen back into the icy water. As it was, he was soaked from the waist down and had to be hauled sodden and shaking onto the deck.
"Wot the 'ell's the matter?" the bargee demanded.
"Got to get to the S-Surrey D-Dock!" Monk stuttered, shaking with cold. "Before the tide…"
"Missed yer ship, 'ave yer?" the bargee said with a laugh. "Yer'll be lucky if they 'ave yer. Were yer bin? Some 'ore'ouse up Devil's Acre? Gaw' lummy, yer look like 'ell! Wot ship d'yer want, mate?"
"S-Summer R-Rose!" Monk found he could not control the shaking.
"That ol' bucket! Yer'd be better missin' it, believe me." The bargee bent his back and pushed harder on his heavy pole, steering with almost absentminded skill.
Monk debated for a few moments whether to tell the man the truth or not. He might help… he might not give a damn. He might even make his own extra money in the trade.
They were passing under London Bridge.
He was weary of lying. He hated being tired and cold and filthy, and pretending he was something he was not.
"They've taken two girls to sell in France, or wherever they send them after that."
The bargee looked at him curiously, trying to read his face.
"Oh, yeah? What are they ter you, those two girls, then?"
"Their father died and their mother discarded them. They are disfigured, and deaf. Their father's sister is a friend of mine. She's been looking for them for years." It was a slight bending of the truth-in fact, but not in essence.
"Left it a bit late, 'aven't yer?" The bargee looked sympathetic, almost believing.
"They're shipping them out because they know I'm after them," Monk explained. "It's my fault!" he added bitterly.
The bargee regarded the comment critically. "Yer'd be better on something a bit faster'n me," he said with feeling.
"I know that!" Monk retorted. "But you're all I've got."
The bargee gri
Monk was so tense with the passion of frustration he could have screamed, punched something with all his strength as they seemed to move even more and more slowly.
A small, light fishing boat was coming up behind them, skimming rapidly almost over the surface of the water.
The bargee put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle.
A figure on the fishing boat cocked his head.
The bargee whistled again, waving his arms in what seemed to be some signal language.
The fishing boat changed course to come closer, then closer again.
"Go on!" the bargee shouted at Monk. "Tell 'em wot yer toP me-an' good luck to yer!"
"Thank you!" Monk said with profound sincerity, and took a flying leap for the fishing boat.
It was farther than he thought, and again he barely made it, being caught by strong hands and amid a good deal of ribald laughter. He told the men on the small boat his need, and they were willing enough to help, even eager. They put up more sail and tacked and veered dangerously through the current and across the bows of other ships, and were at the Surrey Docks half an hour before slack water and the turn of the tide.
They even helped him look for the Summer Rose.
It turned out to be a filthy two-masted schooner, low in the water but seaworthy enough to cross the Cha
Two of the fishermen came with him, armed with boat hooks and spikes.
Monk led them, facing the captain squarely as they were challenged on deck. He stood arms akimbo, a boat hook held crossways in front of him like a staff.
"You've got two girls on board. I want them. They're taken illegally. Ten guineas reward for you if you give them up… a spike in your gut if you don't."
The captain resented the force, but he looked at Monk's eyes, and the size and weight of the men behind him, and decided ten guineas was sufficient to save his honor.
"I'll bring 'em up, no need to be nasty about it. Ten guineas, yer said?"
"That's right."
"Before I sail? I'm goin' on the tide."
"After. You'll be back."
"How do I know you'll be back, eh?"
"I'll pledge it to the harbormaster. I'll leave it with him." Monk lifted the staff a little, and behind him one of the fishermen fingered his spike.
The captain shrugged. He would not have got much for the girls anyway; they were as ugly as sin, and stupider than cows.
He came back less than four minutes later half struggling with two girls of about twenty years of age or a little more. They were matted with filth, clothed in little more than rags, and obviously terrified. They both had mouths with twisted lips drawn back from their teeth in something close to a snarl or a sneer, but their eyes were wide and, even through the filth, clear and lovely. Above the twisted mouths their bones were delicate, with winged brows and soft, exquisite hairlines.
Monk stared at them in shattering, overwhelming disbelief. He was almost choked by it, his heart beating in his throat. He was looking at faces which were caricatures of Delphine Lambert's. Robbed of speech, almost of coherent thought, he simply held out his hands and let the staff fall.
"Come…" he croaked. "I've come to take you home… Leda… Phemie!"
Chapter 12
Monk thanked the fishermen, u
It was late afternoon and still raining hard. They were all filthy and shivering with cold. Perhaps it would have been more reasonable to go around to the back door, but Monk was so fired with triumph he did not even consider it. He paid the driver and helped the girls down onto the curb. He had actually given little thought as to what Martha would do with them, or what Gabriel Sheldon's reaction would be to these two ragged and all but uncivilized creatures brought una
All the journey from the Surrey Docks, as he had sought to comfort and reassure the girls, his mind had been filled with the shattering realization that Delphine Lambert must be the same person as Dolly Jackson. The turmoil of emotions in her heart he could barely guess at! Now he set all thought of her aside and knocked on the door, then stood, holding the girls on either side of him, his arms around their shoulders. They were thin, undernourished, nothing like Zillah Lambert. But then Zillah was no blood relative, as he knew.
The door was opened by Martha Jackson. At first she did not recognize Monk, let alone the two young women with him. Her face showed weariness and impatience, not unmixed with pity.
"If you go to the kitchen door Cook will give you a hot cup of soup," she offered with a shake of her head.