William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

interests you,” Hester retorted instantly.
    Agatha laughed very quietly, almost under her breath.
    “So I do, but madmen wot butcher women in’t my concern, less they’re after me. An’ if they do that …” She lifted up her big hands and deliberately cracked her knuckles. “An’ I got a big carving knife o’ me own, if I ’ave to use it! Mind your own business, lady. I’ll get yer opium for yer, best in the world. Fair price.”
    “And the needle?” Hester asked tentatively.
    Agatha blinked. “An’ the needle. But yer got ter be real careful with it!”
    “I will.” Hester stood up. She was glad the weight of her skirt hid the fact that her knees were trembling a little. She kept her voice very steady. “Thank you.”
    Agatha sighed and rolled her eyes, then suddenly she smiled, showing her big white teeth.

CHAPTER

14
    O LIVER R ATHBONE WAS EATING his breakfast when the maid interrupted him to announce that Mrs. Monk had called to see him regarding a matter she said was urgent.
    Rathbone put down his knife and fork and rose to his feet. “Ask her to come in.” He gestured toward his half-finished food. He had no taste for it anyway. He ate it at all simply because he knew he required the nourishment. “Thank you, I don’t need any more, but please bring fresh toast and tea for Mrs. Monk,” he requested.
    “Yes, Sir Oliver,” the maid said obediently, and left, taking the plate with her.
    A moment later Hester came in, her cheeks flushed from the wind.
    “I’m sorry,” she apologized, her eyes taking in the table and the obvious fact that she had interrupted. “I had to catch you before you left for court.”
    “Sit down. More tea is coming.” He gestured toward the chair where Margaret used to sit, then, as she took it, he sat also. “You must have left home very early. Has something happened? I’m afraid I have no good news to tell you.”
    “Bad news?” she asked quickly, anxiety shadowing her face.
    He had learned not to lie to her, even to soften a blow.
    “I’m beginning to think Mrs. Lambourn could be right, at least insofar as there being a government agreement not to allow Lambourn’s report to be given any credibility,” he answered. “I’ve tried to question his suicide, and the judge has cut me off every time. I think Coniston has also been briefed to head off any mention of it at all.”
    “But you’ll not let him get away with that.” It was half a question; the doubt was still there in her voice, and in her eyes.
    “We’re not beaten yet,” he said ruefully. “In a sense their possible agreement in keeping it out of the evidence suggests that there is something to hide. It certainly isn’t in order to spare anyone’s feelings, as they say it is.”
    The maid came in with fresh tea and toast, and Rathbone thanked her for it. He poured for Hester without asking, and she took it with a smile, then reached also for toast and butter.
    “Oliver, I’ve been doing a little asking around among people I know. I had a long talk with a prostitute near Copenhagen Place. She knew Zenia Gadney, possibly as well as anyone did.”
    He heard the pity in her voice and found himself knotted inside. He wished he were more convinced of Dinah Lambourn’s innocence. But even if Joel Lambourn had been murdered, it did not prove that Dinah had not killed Zenia out of revenge for her betrayal during all the years before.
    Except, of course, if anyone had betrayed Dinah, it was Joel himself. But he was already dead, and beyond her reach. The only things that made Rathbone question Dinah’s guilt at all were the senseless timing of Zenia’s death, and the fact that Pendock and Coniston both seemed so determined to block Rathbone from raising any doubt, however reasonable, about Joel’s suicide.
    Hester knew she did not have his attention.
    “Oliver?”
    He concentrated again. “Yes? I’m sorry. What did you learn that you need to tell me before I go into court again?”
    She spread marmalade on her toast. “That Zenia was a very quiet woman, kept very much to herself. She used to walk often, especially by the river. She stood and gazed southward, watching the water and the sky.”
    “You mean toward Greenwich?” he asked curiously.
    “Well, toward the south bank anyway. She had a past that she spoke of very seldom, once to Gladys, the girl I mentioned.”
    Rathbone felt a little chilled. “What kind of a past? Is it one that could provide another motive for