The Twisted Root

his birth. But that is not now possible. Nor can Aiden Campbell any longer hide from his acts—or blame you for any part of them. I do not require you to relive a past which must be painful beyond our imagining, but justice necessitates that you tell the jury what you know of the deaths of James Treadwell and Verona Stourbridge."
    Miriam nodded very slightly, with just the barest acknowledgment, then in a quiet, drained voice she began.
    "I ran from the croquet lawn. At first I did not care where I went, anywhere to be away from the house, alone—to try to realize what had happened, what it was I had remembered— if it could really be true. More than anything on earth, I did not want it to be." She stopped for a moment.
    "Of course—it was, but I did not fully accept it then. I ran to the stables and begged Treadwell to take me anywhere. I gave him my locket as payment. He was greedy, but not entirely a bad man. I asked him to drive me to Hampstead Heath. I didn’t tell him why. I wanted to go back to where poor Mrs. Bailey was killed, to remember what really happened—if the flash of recollection I had on the croquet lawn was even some kind of madness."
    Someone coughed, and the noise made people start in the tingling silence.
    "Aiden Campbell must have seen my recognition," she went on. "He also remembered, and perhaps knew where I would go. He followed us, and found us near the tree where Mrs. Bailey’s body was hidden. He had to kill Treadwell if he was going to kill me, or he’d have been blackmailed for the rest of his life. He struck Treadwell first. He caught him completely by surprise.
    "I ran. I know the area better than he because I lived near the Heath for years. Perhaps desperation lent me speed. It was getting dark. I escaped him. After that I had no idea where to go or what to do. At last, in the morning, I went to Cleo Anderson ... again. But this time I could not bear to tell even her what I knew."
    "And the death of Verona Stourbridge, after you were released back into the Stourbridges’ custody," Rathbone prompted her.
    She looked at him. "I couldn’t tell anyone...."
    "We understand. What do you know about Verona Stourbridge’s death?"
    "I believe she always thought Lucius was... an abandoned baby. She hid the truth from Major Stourbridge, but she had no knowledge of any crime, only her own deception, made from her despair that she would never bear a child for her husband. I know now that she knew it was Aiden’s child, but not about me or how he was concerned. She must have asked Aiden about it—and although he loved her, he could not afford to let her know the truth." Her voice dropped. "No matter how close they were, and they truly were, she might one day have told someone—she would have had to—to explain—" In spite of herself her eyes went to Lucius, sitting on the front bench, the tears running down his cheeks.
    "I’m so sorry," Miriam whispered. "I’m so, so sorry..."
    Rathbone turned to the judge.
    "My lord, is it necessary to protract this any longer? May we adjourn for an hour or so before we conclude? I have nothing further to ask, and I cannot believe Mr. Tobias will pursue this anymore."
    Tobias rose to his feet. "I am quite willing, my lord. What little remains can be dealt with after an adjournment. Major Stourbridge and his family have my deepest sympathy."
    "Very good." The judge banged his gavel, and after a moment’s heavy stillness, people began to move.
    Rathbone felt bruised, exhausted, as if he had made some great physical journey. He turned to Hester and Monk, who were coming towards him from the body of the court. Just behind them was a man with scruffy black hair and a beard that went in every direction. He was beaming with satisfaction, his eyes shining.
    Hester smiled.
    "You have achieved the impossible," Monk said, holding out his hand to Rathbone.
    Rathbone took it and held it hard for a few moments.
    "We still have the matter of the medicines," he warned.
    "No, we don’t!" Hester assured him. "Mr. Phillips here is the apothecary at the hospital. He has persuaded Fermin Thorpe that nothing is missing. It was all a matter of natural wastage and a few rather careless entries in the books. No actual thefts at all. It was a mistake to have mentioned it."
    Rathbone was incredulous. "How in heaven’s name did you do that?" He regarded Phillips with interest and a growing respect.
    "Never enjoyed anything more," Phillips said, grinning broadly. "A