Rider sighed, his face crumpled with regret. “I’m sorry, Mr. Monk, but I cannot break the confidences, even of the dead. You already know from the baptismal record more than I would have told you. Apart from my personal regard, these people were my parishioners, and their trust was my charge. If the young man is innocent, then the law will find him so, and for poor Katrina’s sake, find the one who was guilty. Perhaps for his sake also, although it is not ours to judge.” He took a long, deep breath. “I am deeply sorry to hear of her death, Mr. Monk, but I cannot help you.”

Monk did not pursue it. He could see in Rider’s gentle, sad face that his conviction would not waver.

“I am sorry to have brought you such news,” he said quietly. “Thank you for your time.”

Rider nodded. “Good day, Mr. Monk, and may God guide you in your quest.”

Monk hesitated, steeling himself, and turned back.

“Mr. Rider, did Katrina have a friend named Emma?” His heart was beating so wildly he could feel it lurch inside him. He saw the answer in Rider’s face before he spoke.

“Not that I am aware of. I am sorry. To my knowledge there was only herself and her mother—and her aunt, Eveline Austin. But she died some ten or twelve years ago. But of course I shall mention her death in church next Sunday, and no doubt word will pass.” He smiled sadly. “Bad news so quickly does.”

Monk swallowed, his mouth dry. He could feel everything precious, all the life he knew, infinitely precious, slipping away like water between his fingers, and there was nothing he could do to hold on to it.

“Are you all right, Mr. Monk?” Rider said anxiously. “You look a little unwell. I am so sorry to be of . . . of so little assistance.”

“No!” Monk steadied himself. This was an escape, but he was far from free yet. “Thank you. You have simply told me the truth. Thank you for your time. Good day.”

“Good day, Mr. Monk.”

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The arrangement with Squeaky Robinson, at least so far, was working very well. It had been a major undertaking to move all the beds, other furniture, and medicines and equipment from Coldbath Square to Portpool Lane, but the women who were now released from debt were mostly overjoyed to find a way of earning their living which was completely admirable and required of them no lies or evasions. Nor was there fear of being dismissed for not meeting with the moral standards of some mistress because of a past which must be hidden.

Squeaky complained bitterly, but Hester believed that at least part of it was because he thought it was expected of him. His most urgent concern was gone, and he was immensely relieved, even if he refused to admit it.