William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

afraid I am in very deep trouble and I need someone to speak for me.”
    He gestured for her to be seated, and when she was, he sat in the hard-backed wooden chair opposite her.
    “Monk told me some of what has happened,” he began. “Before I look further into it myself, or hear what the police have to say, I would like you to tell me yourself. I have heard your husband’s name, and know his reputation for professional skill. I even heard him testify once, and could not shake him.” He smiled very slightly to assure her that the memory was a pleasant one. “You do not need to fill in that background for me. Begin with what you know of Zenia Gadney, and how you learned it, and perhaps also with the last few weeks of your husband’s life, as you think it may be relevant.”
    She nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information and deciding how to tell her story. “It is very relevant,” she said in a low voice. “In fact it is the heart of all this. The government is planning to pass an act to regulate the labeling and the sale of opium, which is presently available just about anywhere. You can buy it at dozens of small shops on any high street. It is in scores of patent medicines, in whatever amount the manufacturer cares to use. There is no label on it to tell the user the strength, what it is mixed with, or what would be an appropriate dose, or a dangerous one.” She stopped, searching his face to make certain he was following her.
    “Your husband’s part in this?” he prompted.
    “Gathering research to make sure the bill passes. There is very heavy opposition to it, backed by those who make a fortune from selling opium as it is presently permitted,” she replied.
    “I see. Please go on.”
    She drew in a deep breath. “Joel worked very hard indeed to gather facts and figures, to verify them by checking and rechecking, visiting individual people and hearing stories. The more he learned, the worse the picture seemed to be. He came home almost in tears sometimes, having heard stories of babies dying. He was not a sentimental man, but so many unnecessary deaths distressed him profoundly.” Her face reflected her grief of the memory. “None of it was malice; it was all complete ignorance of what they were using. Just ordinary people: frightened, hurting, perhaps exhausted and at their wits’ end, desperate for anything to ease the pain—their own, or that of someone they loved.”
    Rathbone began to see the outline of something far larger than he had imagined, and he suddenly felt absurdly privileged by his own physical well-being.
    “Dr. Lambourn presented a report to the government?” he deduced. It was obvious, apart from what Monk had told him, but he must be careful not to leap to conclusions, or to put words in her mouth.
    “Yes. And they rejected it.” Clearly she still found it difficult to acknowledge. Monk had been right in his estimate of her loyalty to her husband.
    “On what grounds?”
    “They said incompetence, extreme bias toward his own opinions.” Her voice caught and she had trouble repeating the words. “They refused to accept his facts. He said it was because his facts disagreed with their financial interests.”
    “The financial interests of those in the government?” he clarified. He could see that she believed absolutely what she was saying, but it did sound as if it could well have been bias.
    She heard the inflection in his voice. Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “The interests of the government commission, of which Sinden Bawtry is the head and my brother-in-law, Barclay Herne, is a member.” Now her bitterness was undisguised. “There is a strong faction in the government who believe that the bill would make opiuminaccessible to much of the poorer part of the general public, and as such be highly discriminatory. And of course to measure and label accurately would cost a lot. It would reduce profit on each bottle or packet sold. Fortunes rest on that. All part of the legacy of the Opium Wars.”
    She leaned forward earnestly, her hands on the scarred table between them. “There is a great deal we don’t speak of, Sir Oliver, painful things that many people are desperate to conceal. No one likes to have to admit that things their country has done are shameful. Joel was as patriotic as the next person but he did not deny the truth, however horrible it is.”
    Rathbone was growing impatient. “What has this to do with the murder of Zenia Gadney, Mrs.