But no matter how hard he searched, nothing returned. There was no shred of memory there, not a face, a smell, or sound that was familiar. The only friends he knew were those of the present. The rest was a void.

Perhaps that was why when he reached Callandra's house he was absurdly disappointed to be told by the maid that she was not in.

“When will she return?” he demanded.

“I couldn't say, sir,” the maid replied gravely. “Maybe tonight, but more likely not. Maybe tomorrow, but I couldn't say so for sure.”

“That's ridiculous!” Monk snapped. “You must know! For heaven's sake, be honest with me. I'm not some social climbing lady friend she doesn't want either to see or to offend.”

The maid drew in her breath and let it out in a sigh of politeness. She knew Monk from many previous visits.

“There's an outbreak of the typhoid in Limehouse, sir. She's gone there to help with Dr. Beck, and I expect a good few others. I really couldn't say when she'll be back. No one can.”

Typhoid. Monk had no personal knowledge that he could recall, but he had heard the fear and the pity in other people's voices, and saw both in the maid's face now.

“Limehouse?” It must have been typhoid the cabby had meant, not typhus. He knew where it was, down by the river along the Reach. “Thank you.” He turned to leave. “Oh ...”

“Yes sir?”

“Is there anything I could take for her, a change of clothes perhaps?”

“Well . . . Yes sir, if you're going that way, I'm sure it'd be appreciated. And per'aps for Miss Hester too?”

“Miss Hester?”

“Yes sir. Miss Hester went as well.”

“Of course.” He should have known she would be there. It was an admirable thing to do, and obvious, with her professional training. So why was he angry? And he was! He stood in the porch entrance while the maid went to fetch the articles and put them in a soft-sided bag for him to carry, and his body was stiff and his hands clenched almost to fists. She rushed into things without thought. Her own opinions were all that mattered. She never listened to anyone else or took advice. She was the most willful and arbi- trary person he knew, vacillating where she should be firm, and dogmatic where she should be flexible. He had tried to reason with her, but she only argued. He could not count the quarrels they had had over one issue or another.

The maid returned with the bag and he took it from her smartly with a brief word of thanks. A moment later he was back in the street, striding out towards the square, where he knew there would be a hansom.