William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

forced publicly to expose his family’s very personal tragedy.
    Rathbone was surprised to feel a touch of pity for him. He turned as discreetly as he could to see if his wife had remained in the gallery, now that her own evidence was given. He saw her after a moment of searching, when a large man bent forward. Amity Herne was sitting immediately behind him, next to Sinden Bawtry. His handsome head was turned sideways, as if speaking to her.
    The next moment the man in front straightened up again, and Rathbone drew his attention back to the witness stand.
    “I wondered afterward if perhaps he had indulged in the use of opium far more than we guessed at the time.” Herne was answering the next question. “I’m sorry to say that. I feel very guilty that I did not take his whole breakdown far more gravely than I did.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Herne.” Again Coniston bowed to Rathbone. “Your witness, Sir Oliver.”
    Rathbone thanked him and took his place in the center of the floor, like a gladiator in the arena—exposed. “You mentioned opium, Mr. Herne. Were you aware that Dr. Lambourn was using it?”
    “Not until after his death!” Herne said quickly.
    “But you just said that you blamed yourself for not having realized that he was using it so much. How could you be expected to do that, if you were not aware that he was using it at all?”
    “I meant that maybe I should have been aware,” Herne corrected himself.
    “Could he have used more than he was aware of himself?” Rathbone suggested.
    Herne looked puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Wasn’t his research into the issue of opium being available in patent medicines, purchasable on any high street in the country, but without labeling to allow the person buying to know—”
    Coniston jerked up to his feet. “My lord, Dr. Lambourn’s work was confidential. This is not an appropriate place to debate what has not yet been proved as to its accuracy.”
    “Yes, your objection is noted, Mr. Coniston.” Pendock turned to Rathbone. “This kind of questioning is irrelevant, Sir Oliver. You cannot connect it with the murder of Zenia Gadney. Are you suggesting that Mrs. Lambourn was somehow affected by taking opium incorrectly labeled, to the extent that she is not guilty for her acts?”
    “No, my lord. But my learned friend raised the question of taking opium—”
    “Yes,” Pendock said quickly. “Mr. Coniston, Sir Oliver did not object to your reference, but I do. It has nothing to do with the murder of Zenia Gadney. Please restrict yourself to that subject. You are wasting the court’s time and patience, and run the risk of confusing the jury. Proceed, Sir Oliver, if you have anything more to ask the witness that has bearing on the issue at trial.”
    Rathbone stood in the middle of the floor and stared up at Pendock in his magnificent seat. His full-bottomed white wig and scarlet robes marked him out as a man set apart, a man with superior power. He saw in Pendock’s face that he was immovable on the subject. It was a strange, chill moment of understanding. Pendock was not impartial; he had his own agenda, perhaps even his orders.
    “No more questions, my lord,” Rathbone replied. He turned and walked back to his seat. It was at that moment, facing the gallery, that he saw Sinden Bawtry staring across the heads of the people in front of him, directly at Pendock.
    ————
    A T THE END OF the day Rathbone went to see Dinah in the prison. As her lawyer, he was allowed to speak to her alone. As soon as the cell door clanged shut, closing them into the narrow space with its echoing stone and stale smell, he began. Time was short, and precious.
    “When did you first know about your husband and Zenia Gadney?” he asked. “You are fighting for your life. Don’t lie to me now. Believe me, you cannot afford it.”
    She looked ashen pale, her eyes hollow, her whole body tense, but there was no wavering in her. He could not imagine what effort that cost her.
    “I don’t remember exactly. About fifteen years ago,” she replied.
    “And is what your sister-in-law said true? He wanted certain practices from you that you were not prepared to give?”
    A quick anger flared up in her eyes. “No! Joel was … gentle … perfectly normal. He would never have said anything like that to Amity. One does not discuss such a thing, even if it were true!”
    Rathbone looked at her closely. She was angry, defensive—but of Joel, or of