William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

labeled, with numbers anyone could read, so they would know what doses were safe to take.”
    “Is this a highly controversial matter, so far as you know?”
    Coniston stood up again. “My lord, the accused has no expertise on the subject, as my learned friend is well aware.”
    Pendock sighed. “Your objection is noted. Sir Oliver, please do not ask the witness questions you are perfectly aware she has no expertise from which to answer. I will not permit you to drag this trial out any further with pointless time-wasting exercises.”
    Rathbone bit back his anger. He turned to Dinah again.
    “Did Dr. Lambourn ever tell you that he had met with any criticism or obstruction from the government, or any medical authorities whilehe was seeking to gather information on the subject of accidental deaths from opium?”
    “No. It was the government who asked him to write the report,” she replied.
    “Who in the government, specifically?” he asked.
    “Mr. Barclay Herne.” Carefully she refrained from saying that he was her brother-in-law. She had been about to, and checked herself just in time.
    “Dr. Lambourn’s brother-in-law?” Rathbone clarified.
    “Yes.”
    Pendock was growing impatient. He scowled and his large-knuckled hands fidgeted in front of him on the polished surface of the bench.
    “Is Mr. Herne in charge of the project for the government?” Rathbone asked.
    “I believe so,” Dinah replied. “It was Barclay to whom Joel reported.”
    Aware of Pendock’s irritation, Rathbone hurried on, resenting the pressure. “So it was Barclay Herne who told him that his report was unacceptable?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Was Dr. Lambourn very distressed by this?”
    “He was angry and puzzled,” she replied. “The facts were very carefully recorded and he had all the evidence. He didn’t understand what Barclay considered the problem to be, but he was determined to rewrite it with some detail and notation so that it would be accepted.”
    “He did not feel himself rejected, or his career ruined?” Rathbone affected surprise.
    “Not at all,” she answered. “It was a report. The rejection distressed him, but it certainly did not drive him to despair.”
    “Did he mention to you having discovered anything else distressing during his research?” Rathbone asked.
    Coniston stood again. “My lord, the details of Dr. Lambourn’s research and what may have saddened him or not are hardly relevant. We are trying the accused for the murder of Dr. Lambourn’s first wife—”
    “I take your point, Mr. Coniston.” Pendock turned to Rathbone.
    Before he could speak, Rathbone swung around to face Coniston, as if he were unaware of the judge.
    “On the contrary,” Rathbone said loudly. “You claim that Dr. Lambourn took his own life in despair at something that occurred during this period of time. At first you said that it was some sexual deviancy and his consequent use of a prostitute in Limehouse, and the possibility that his wife would find this out. Now that you know the ‘prostitute,’ as you called her, was in fact a perfectly respectable woman who was once, and legally still was, Dr. Lambourn’s wife, you have had to withdraw that!”
    Coniston looked startled, even discomfited.
    “Then you said that the accused killed the victim out of jealousy because she had just discovered Dr. Lambourn’s visits to her,” Rathbone went on. “Only as soon as you said that, you discovered that she had known of his visits for the last fifteen years; so that reasoning was clearly absurd. Now you are saying that he killed himself because an important but very detailed report he made was refused, and he had to go back and write it again. I am trying to establish whether or not that was actually so. I intend to call other professional witnesses in that field to give evidence on the subject.”
    “Sir Oliver!” Pendock’s voice was so forceful there was a sudden, total silence in the courtroom. “We are trying the accused for the murder of Zenia Gadney Lambourn, not for the death of Joel Lambourn, which has already been ruled by the courts to be suicide. His reasons for taking his life, however tragic, are not relevant here.”
    “I submit, my lord, that they are acutely relevant, and I shall show the jury that that is so,” Rathbone said recklessly.
    “Indeed,” Pendock replied skeptically. “We wait impatiently. Please proceed.”
    Heart pounding, Rathbone turned back to Dinah.
    “I know that you