ELEVEN

Claudine Burroughs arrived early at the Portpool Lane Clinic. It was not that there was a particularly large amount to do, it was more that she wanted to tidy up linens, make certain of supplies, and put things in order. She had started working there because she needed something to occupy herself that left her feeling less empty than time spent with her acquaintances. She could not call any of them friends. She felt that hardship had a warmth to it, an implicit trust in kindness, even a common purpose or dream. She found none of these things in the visits, tea parties, dinners, and balls she attended. Even church had seemed more a matter of discipline than of hope, and of obedience rather than kindness.

She had chosen this particular charity because no one else she knew would ever involve themselves in anything so vulgar, or so practical. They wished to appear virtuous; they did not wish to put on old clothes, roll up their sleeves, and actually work, as Claudine was now doing, sorting out kitchen cupboards. Of course, at home she would not have dreamed of doing such a thing, nor even would her cook. Any respectable household had scullery maids for that kind of task.

Actually she found it rather satisfying, and while her hands were in the hot, soapy water, her mind was turning over the small signs of anxiety and unhappiness she had seen in Hester lately. She appeared to be avoiding Margaret Rathbone, who was also distant and on occasion a trifle sharp.

Claudine both liked and respected Margaret, but not with the same warmth she felt for Hester. Hester was more spontaneous, more vulnerable, and less proud. Therefore when Bessie came into the kitchen to say that Hester was here, and she was going to make her a pot of tea and take it to her, Claudine told Bessie to finish restocking the cupboards, and said that she herself would take the tea.

When she put the tray down on the table in the office she could see at a glance that Hester was still just as worried as before, if not more so. She poured the tea to give herself an excuse to stay. Right at this moment she wanted, more than anything else, to help, but she was not certain what was wrong, there were so many possibilities. The first was money, either personally or for the clinic. Or it might be a serious case of injury or health that they did not know how to treat. That had happened in the past, and no doubt would again. Or it could be quarrels with the staff, differences of opinion in management, or domestic trouble or unhappiness. But what she considered most likely was something to do with the criminal trial where Hester and her husband had given evidence. But she could not ask. It would be both clumsy and intrusive to do so.

“I think Mrs. Rathbone… I mean, Lady Rathbone… will not be in today,” she said carefully. She saw Hester stiffen, and then relax a little, and she went on. “But she looked at the finances yesterday, and we are really doing quite well.”

“Good.” Hester acknowledged it. “Thank you.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. However, Claudine would not give up so easily. “She looked concerned to me, Mrs. Monk. Do you think she may be not quite well?”

Hester looked up, giving it her full attention now. “Margaret? I hadn't noticed. I should have. I wonder if…” She stopped.

“She is with child?” Claudine finished for her. “Possibly, but I don't think so. To be honest, she looks anxious rather than sickly to me. I was being less than honest when I said ‘not well.’”

Hester did not bother to hide her smile. “Not like you, Claudine. Why don't you fetch another cup? There's enough tea here for two.”

Claudine did as she was asked and returned a few moments later. They sat opposite each other, and Hester spoke candidly. “This case of Jericho Phillips has divided us. Naturally, Margaret sides with her husband, as I suppose she should…”

Claudine interrupted. She was aware that it might be unseemly, but she could not hold her peace. “I do not believe that God requires any woman to follow her husband to hell, Mrs. Monk,” she said decisively. “I promised to obey, but I'm afraid that is a vow I could not keep, if it should go against my conscience. Maybe I will be damned for it, but I am not prepared to give my soul over into anyone else's keeping.”

“No, I don't think I am either,” Hester agreed thoughtfully. “But she is only recently married, and I think she loves Sir Oliver very much. Also, she may well believe that he is absolutely right. I have not troubled her with the investigation I have been making, or the horrors of the case that I have learned, because it would place her in a position where she might have to stand against him.”

Claudine made no reply but waited for Hester to explain.

Hester told her the barest outline of Phillips's business, and what she had since learned of the extent of his power to blackmail.

Claudine was disgusted but she was not greatly surprised. She had seen behind the masks of respectability for many years. Usually it was far pettier than this, but perhaps great sins start as simple weakness, and the consistent placing of self before others.

“I see,” she said quietly, pouring more tea for both of them. “What can we do about it? I refuse to accept that there is nothing.”

Hester smiled. “So do I, but I confess that I don't yet know what it is. My husband knows the name of at least one of the victims, but cutting them off is not much use. We need the head of it.”

“Jericho Phillips,” Claudine put in.

“He is central, certainly,” Hester agreed, sipping her tea. “But I have been thinking about it a lot recently, and I wonder if he is alone in his enterprise, or if perhaps he is only part of it.”

Now Claudine was surprised.

Hester leaned forward. “Why would one of Phillips's victims pay to have him defended and able to continue with his blackmail?”

“Because he also provides the pornography to which this wretched creature is addicted,” Claudine replied without hesitation.

“True,” Hester agreed. “But when Phillips was in custody, who went to this man and told him to pay for Phillips's defense? Phillips would hardly have sent for him, or the man's secret would be out, and he would have destroyed his power over him.”

“Oh!” Claudine was beginning to understand. “There is someone else with power who, for his own reasons, wishes Phillips to be safe and to continue to profit. One has to assume that if Phillips were found guilty, this man's loss would overall be greater than his gain.”

Hester winced. “Very direct. You've seized the point admirably. I am not sure how much we can succeed until we know who that person is. I am afraid that he may be someone we will not easily outwit. He has managed to protect Phillips very well up until now, in spite of everything either Durban or we could do.”

Claudine was chilled. “You surely don't think Sir Oliver was black mailed, do you?” She felt guilty even for having the thought, let alone asking. She knew the heat burned her face, but it was too late to retreat.

“No,” Hester said without resentment. “But I wonder if he wasn't manipulated into defending Phillips, without realizing what it really meant. The trouble is, I don't know what I can do now to reach Phil lips. We're all so…”-she sighed-”so… vulnerable.”

Claudine's mind was racing. Perhaps she could do something. In her time here in the clinic she had learned about sides of life she had not previously even imagined in nightmare. She understood at least something of the people who came and went through these doors. In clothes and manners they were different from the Society women she knew, and in background and hopes for the future; in health, ability, and the things that made them laugh or lose their temper. But in some ways they were also heartbreakingly the same. Those were the things that twisted inside her with a warmth of pity, and all too often of helplessness.