The Dark Assassin by Anne Perry

you
do, Mrs. Collard, Mr. Collard," Hester said formally. She had long ago
decided to speak to all people in the same way rather than distinguish between
one social class and another by adopting what she felt would be their own pattern
of introduction. There was no need to wonder why Andrew Collard did not work in
the tunnels anymore.
    Collard nodded,
answering with words almost indistinguishable. He was embarrassed-that was easy
to see-and perhaps ashamed because he could not stand to welcome a lady into
his own home, meager as it was.
    Hester had no
idea how to make him at ease. She ought to have been able to call on her
experience with injured and mutilated soldiers. She had seen enough of them,
and enough of those wasted by disease, racked with fever, or unable even to
control their body's functions. But this was different. She was not a nurse
here, and these people had no idea why she had come. For an instant she was
furious with Sutton for the imposition upon them, and upon her. She did not
dare meet his eyes, or he would see it in her. She might then even lash out at
him in words, and be bitterly sorry afterwards. She owed him more than that,
whatever she felt.
    As if aware of
the rage and misery in the silence, Sutton spoke. "We just bin and looked
at the diggin'," he said to Andrew Collard. "Freezin at the moment,
and not much rain, but it's drippin' quite a bit, all the same. 'Ow long dyer
reckon it'll take some o' that wood ter rot?"
    Mrs. Collard
glanced from one to the other of them, then told Essie to go outside and play.
    "They're
movin' too fast for it ter matter," Collard answered. "In't the wood
rottin' as is the trouble, it's them bleedin' great machines shakin' everythin'
ter bits. Does it even more if they in't tied down like they should be. Only
Gawd 'isself knows what's shiftin' around underneath them bleedin' great
things."
    "Tied
down?" Hester asked quickly. "Aren't they dug in?"
    "Staked,"
he answered. "But they shake loose if yer don't do 'em real ard an'
careful, miss. Them machines is stronger than all the 'orses yer ever seen.
Stakes look tight ter begin wi', but arter an hour or two they in't. Yer need
ter move the 'ole engine a dozen yards or so ter fresh ground an' start over.
But that takes time. Means that-"
    "I
understand," she said quickly. "They're losing loads going up and
down when they take up the bolts and move the machine, then stake it and start
it up again. And the more firmly they bolt it, the longer it takes to move
it."
    "Yeah,
that's right." Collard looked slightly taken aback that she had grasped
the point so quickly.
    "Don't all
companies work the same way?" she said.
    "Most,"
he agreed. "Some's more careful, some's less. Couldn't all get engines the
same. But more'n that, the earth in't the same from one place ter 'nother. If
yer ever dug it yerself, you know Chelsea in't the same as Lambeth, an'
Rother'ide in't the same as the Isle o' Dogs." He was looking at her now,
his eyes narrow and tired with pain. "There's all sorts: clay, rock, shale,
sand. An' o' course there's rivers an' springs, but Sutton knows that. More'n
'em, there's old workings o' all sorts: drains, gutters, cellars, tunnels, an'
plague pits. Goes back ter Roman times, some of 'em. Yer can't do it
quick." He stared into the middle distance. Hester could only imagine what
it was like for him sitting helpless in a chair while the world narrowed and
closed in on him. He saw disaster ahead and was unable to do anything to
prevent it. He was telling her because she asked, and she had come with Sutton,
but he did not believe she cared, or could help, either.
    His wife lost
patience. "Why don't yer tell 'em straight?" she demanded, ignoring
the boiling kettle except for a swift movement to remove it from the heat. If
she had intended to make tea, it was forgotten now. "Were a cave-in wot
took my 'usband's leg," she said to Hester. "One o' them big beams
fell