"But you're going to find out," she said, watching him.
"Yes, I have to. She'll be buried in unhallowed ground if she meant to do it."
"I know." Tears filled Hester's eyes.
Instantly he wished he had not uttered this bit of truth. He should have lied if necessary.
Hester saw that too. "There's no such thing as unhallowed ground, really." She swallowed. "All the earth is hallowed, isn't it? It's just what people think. But some people care very much about being buried with their own, belonging even in death. See what you can find. Her sister may need to know the truth, poor woman."
TWO
The tide was high the next morning and the river, with its smells of mud and salt, dead fish and rotting wood, seemed to be lapping right at the door as Monk walked across the dockside. The wind had fallen and it was calm, the surface of the water barely rippled as it seeped higher around the pier stakes and up the stone steps that led to the quaysides and embankments. The rime of ice overnight had melted in places, but there were still patches as slippery as oiled glass.
"Morning, sir," Orme said briskly as Monk came into the station. The stove had been burning all night and the room was warm.
"Good morning, Orme," Monk replied, closing the door behind him. There were three other men there: Jones and Kelly, busily sorting through papers of one kind or another, and Clacton, standing by the stove, his clothes steaming gently.
Monk greeted them and received dutiful acknowledgment, but no more. He was still a stranger, a usurper of Durban 's place. They all knew that it was in helping Monk that Durban had contracted the terrible disease that had brought about his death, and they blamed Monk for it. That Durban had gone on the mission both because he wished to, understanding the enormity of the danger, and because he considered it his duty, was irrelevant to their anger and the sense of unfairness that lay behind it.