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Pendock looked at Rathbone with a faint smile on his face.
“You appear to have shot yourself in the foot, Sir Oliver,” he observed.
Runcorn drew in a sharp breath, looked at Rathbone, and then beyond him into the body of the gallery.
Rathbone understood instantly what Runcorn meant. He gave him the slightest of nods, then smiled back at Pendock.
“If Dinah Lambourn were the only one to have known the truth, that would be so, my lord. Perhaps you are unaware that both Barclay Herne and his wife, Amity Herne, Joel Lambourn’s sister, both knew of his first marriage.” Rathbone allowed his voice to take on a slightly sarcastic tone. “I believe they … forgot to mention this in their earlier testimony, though they have both confessed as much to me in the privacy of their own home.”
Again the color drained from Pendock’s face and he sat rigid, his hand in front of him, a closed fist on his great carved bench.
“Are you suggesting that one of them murdered this unfortunate woman, Sir Oliver?” he said very slowly. “I assume you have ascertained their whereabouts at the time in question?”
Rathbone felt as if he had been physically struck. In a matter of seconds victory had turned to defeat.
“No, my lord,” he said quietly. “I was pointing out that Dinah Lambourn was not the only person aware of the fact that Joel Lambourn was married to Zenia Gadney, and visited her once a month, that we know of. It is always possible that either Barclay or Mrs. Herne may have told other people, perhaps their acquaintances from that earlier time when Dr. Lambourn was still together with Zenia Gadney, or should I say Zenia Lambourn?”
“Why on earth would either of them do such a thing?” Pendock asked incredulously. “Surely it is something no one would wish to make public? It would be most embarrassing. Your suggestion is eccentric, to put it at its kindest.”
Rathbone made one last attempt.
“My lord, we are uncertain whether Dr. Lambourn’s report contained references to the sale of opium and these needles, with details of the horror of the addiction such methods cause. Whether the stories are entirely true or not we do not know. But it remains likely that people’s names are mentioned, either as dealers of this poison or addicts to it. Finding every copy of these papers and making certain they do not fall into the wrong hands could be regarded as a service to anyone mentioned in them-and perhaps the country in general. Opium, used properly, and under medical supervision, remains the only ease we have for mortal pain.”
Pendock was silent for a long time.
The court waited. Every face in the gallery and in the jury box was turned toward the judge. Even Runcorn in the witness box turned to watch and wait.
Seconds ticked by. No one moved.
Finally Pendock reached a decision.
“Do you have any evidence of this, Mr. Runcorn?” he said quietly. “Evidence, not supposition and scandal?”
“Yes, my lord,” Runcorn answered. “But it is all in bits and pieces, scattered among the accounts of tragic infant deaths that Dr. Lambourn was looking for. He came across this other evidence by accident and we think he only pieced together who was behind it in the last few days of his life.”
Rathbone took a step forward.
“My lord, if we might have the rest of the day to assemble it sensibly, and make certain that no innocent person is unintentionally slandered, we might be able to present it to the court, or to your lordship in chambers, and see what the value of it may be.”
Pendock sighed heavily. “Very well. The court is adjourned until Tuesday morning.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Rathbone inclined his head, suddenly almost sick with relief.
Runcorn came down from the stand and walked toward him.
“Sir Oliver, Mr. Monk would like to see you, as soon as possible,” he said quietly. “We have more.”
CHAPTER 21
While Rathbone was in court questioning Runcorn, and Monk was endeavoring to learn more about Barclay Herne and Sinden Bawtry, Hester quietly returned to see Dr. Winfarthing.
As always, Winfarthing was pleased to see her, but after he had greeted her with his usual warmth, he sat back in his chair and the heaviness of apprehension was too clear for her to miss.
“I assume you are here about that poor woman Dinah Lambourn,” he said bleakly.
“Yes. We haven’t long before they’ll bring in a verdict,” she replied. “You knew Joel Lambourn-you worked with him.”
He grunted. “So what do you want of me, girl? If I had any proof he didn’t kill himself, don’t you think I’d have said so at the time?”
