"Of course you have," Hester answered. "And the new sewers have got to be built. We can't allow the Great Stink to happen again, or have typhoid and cholera in the streets as we had before. But no one wants another disaster like the Fleet sewer, only worse. There's too much money involved for anyone to do it willingly. There needs to be a law involved, one that can be enforced."

"They won't never do that," Collard said bitterly. "Only men wots got money can vote, and Parliament makes the laws."

Hester looked at him gently. "Sewers run under the houses of men with money more than they do under yours or mine. I think we might find a way of reminding them of that. At least we can try."

Collard sat perfectly still for a moment. Then very slowly he turned to look at Sutton, to try to read in his face if Hester could possibly mean what she said.

"Exactly," Sutton said very clearly, then turned to Mrs. Collard. " 'Ow about a cup o' tea, then, Lu? It's colder'n a witch's-" He stopped, suddenly remembering Hester's presence. " 'Eart," he finished.

Collard hid a smile.

Lu glared at him, then smiled suddenly at Hester, showing surprisingly good teeth. "Yeah. O' course," she replied.

That evening Hester spent a couple of hours cleaning and tidying up after the plasterer, who was now finished. Not only were the walls perfectly smooth, ready for papering, there was also elegant molding where the wall met the ceiling, and a beautiful rose for the pendant lamp. But all the time her hands were busy with brooms, dustpans, scrubbing brushes, and cloths, she was thinking about her promise to Andy Collard and, more important, to Sutton. As Collard had observed, Parliament made the laws. That was the only place worth beginning. She must find out who was the member most appropriate to approach.

When Monk came home she proudly showed him how the house decorating was going, and asked after the success of his day. She said nothing about Sutton or her interest in the building of the new sewers. It was not difficult to conceal it, nor did she feel deceitful. She was deeply concerned over the apparent suicide of Mary Havilland, the young woman who had so recently lost her father in a way Hester could understand far more than she cared to remember. She had thought her own loss had been dealt with in her mind and the wound of it healed over. Now it was like a bone that was broken long ago but aches again with the cold weather, a pain deep inside, wakening unexpectedly, too covered over with scars to reach again, and yet sometimes hurting as sharply as when it had been new.