She stood up, tidying back a few strands of hair and making a poor job of it. In spite of her determination not to care for the boy, she cared intensely. If he knew, he would resent it and feel trapped. She must not allow it to show. She went to the door without looking back, then forgetting at the last moment, she turned. He was lying in her place, white-faced, the skin pinched around his mouth, shadowed around his eyes. He looked very small. It was Monk's opinion he cared about, not hers.

"I'll be back," she said, feeling foolish, and went down the stairs.

She returned half an hour later having made an egg custard, something at which she was not skilled. She had had to work hard to get it right. She had it now in two bowls on a tray. She set them down on the dresser and closed the door, then offered him one dish.

He stared at it, no idea what it was, and raised his eyes to hers, uncertain.

She put some on a spoon and held it to his lips.

He ate it, tasting it slowly, carefully. He might never admit it, but it was clear in his expression that he liked it very much.

Slowly she fed him the rest, then ate her own. She had a ridiculous feeling of success, as if she had won a great prize. She looked forward to making something else for him.

"Is that wot yer feed soldiers when they're 'urt?" he asked.

"If we have the supplies, yes," she replied. "Depends where we're fighting. It can be hard to get things over great distances."

"Wot kind o' things? Yer gotter 'ave food. D'yer 'ave guns an' things too?"

"Yes, and ammunition, and medical supplies, and more boots and clothes. All kinds of things." Then she elaborated on army life, and he sat with his eyes never leaving hers. They were still talking when Monk came back in the late afternoon.

He came up to the room quietly. He looked exhausted, but the moment he saw Scuff sitting up against the pillow he smiled.

Hester rose, anxious for him now. It was already darkening outside, and he was spattered with rain even after having taken his coat off downstairs.

"Are you hungry?" she asked gently, trying to read from his face what he needed most.

"Yes," he answered, as if surprised by it. "Rathbone thinks they may all be convicted, including Sixsmith."

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

"Navvies' evidence," he explained. "Perhaps we shouldn't have started this, but it's too late to undo it now."

"What about tomorrow?"

"More navvies, clerks, people who probably had no idea of any of it," he answered. "Let's eat. I've done all I can. Are you hungry, Scuff?"

Scuff nodded. "Yeah, I am."

ELEVEN

ELEVEN