Dust and Shadow by Lyndsay Faye

way.”
    “Do you know where she was living at that time?”
    “She’d used to live in Thrawl Street, but two of the judies she shared digs with couldn’t cough up ha’pence between ’em for three nights running, so of course they were chucked out. Polly had slept rough before, but she knew if the law caught her in a park, she’d wind up back here straightaway, so she took a berth at the White House on Flower and Dean. They don’t take exception if a woman brings a friend home with her, if necessary.”
    “What sort of woman was Mrs. Nichols? Did she have enemies you are aware of?”
    Miss Monk sighed and tapped her severely abused man’s work boot against the chair leg. “Not a one. Polly weren’t the sort to have enemies. She swept her doss room and she kept herself tidy and she always had a kind word when she was about. She was a real good sort, Mr. Holmes, but you may as well know she was in the drink as often as she was out of it. Couldn’t bear the workhouse for more than a week at a time before the lack of gin and lack of food got to be too much for her. I don’t suppose you know it, but Polly took up as a maid in Wandsworth not long ago. She had her room and board all settled like and thought she’d get on well enough. But they were religious types, Mr. Holmes, and by the time she’d been without a drop for two months, she finally cut clear of the place.”
    “You learned this from Mrs. Nichols?”
    “It was plain enough to see,” she answered. “She’d a new frock, but no doss money. I soon had it out of her. She vamped the togs the next day.”
    “When she had run through the money from pawning the dress, she then returned to the workhouse?”
    “The workhouse,” Miss Monk returned amusedly, “as well as other means of employment what every woman has at her disposal.”
    “Quite so. And, to your knowledge, there is no reason why anyone would have wished her death?”
    At this our companion flushed vividly and replied, “Wish her death? That ain’t the way of it, Mr. Holmes. We all of us takes our risks to keep aboveground in the Chapel. ’Twon’t be long before I’ve had enough of Lambeth and shoved off myself. We’re not allowed so much as a match, gents, nor a scrap of cloth or mirror, nor even our own water for washing, begging your pardon. I’ll take to the streets again soon, same as Polly did. And when I does, I’ll take the same chances. There’s blokes in these parts would kill you soon as kiss your hand.”
    Holmes replied gently, “Should you ever in the future encounter such a man and wish to be rid of his company, I hope you will contact me. I only meant to inquire whether Mrs. Nichols was ever molested by a particular person, or if there was anyone of whom she was afraid.”
    My friend’s words and the sincerity with which he spoke them soon had the desired effect upon his subject. Releasing a laboured breath and twisting her hands in her lap, Miss Monk replied, “I don’t know nothing about it, Mr. Holmes, but Lord knows I wish I did. Killing Polly wouldn’t serve no one. Only the devil would do such a thing.”
    I found myself inexplicably moved by Miss Monk’s words, even jagged and rough as they were. There was something in the line of her jaw which demanded respect even as it defied judgment.
    “Here is my card, Miss Monk,” said Holmes as he rose to leave.
    “What use is it to the likes of me?”
    “Tut, tut, you can read as well as I can, Miss Monk. When you entered the room, your eyes skimmed that deeply inspirational quote so delicately embroidered and mounted upon the wall. Verse three of the Beatitudes, if I am not mistaken. The eyes of an illiterate are never drawn to text.”
    “Very well,” she acknowledged, smiling, “and what shall I do with it?”
    “If any detail returns to your memory, or if you find yourself worried over anything to do with the matter, please let me know.”
    She laughed, following us as we moved out into the hall.