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“Did you go to see Mrs. Lambourn? Ask her about her husband’s connection with Mrs. Gadney?” Coniston said innocently. “It must have been unpleasant for you to have to inform her of her husband’s connection with the dead woman.” There was a touch of pity in his voice now.
“Yes, of course I did,” Monk answered him. His own expression was ironed clear of compassion as much as he could, and yet it still shone through.
The jury watched intently. Even Pendock in the judge’s seat leaned forward a little. There was a sigh of breath in the gallery, as if the tension had become too great.
“And her reaction?” Coniston prompted a little sharply, as if he was annoyed at having to ask.
“At first she said she did not know Mrs. Gadney,” Monk replied. “Then she admitted that she was aware that her husband had supported her until his death two months earlier.”
“She knew!” Coniston said loudly and clearly, even half turning toward the gallery so no one in the whole courtroom could have missed it. He swung back toward Monk. “Mrs. Lambourn knew that her husband had been visiting and paying Zenia Gadney for years?”
“She said so,” Monk agreed.
Rathbone made a small note on his paper in front of him.
“But first she denied it?” Coniston pressed. “Was she embarrassed? Angry? Humiliated? Afraid, even?”
Rathbone considered objecting on the grounds that such a judgment was not in Monk’s expertise, then changed his mind. It would be futile, merely drawing attention to his own desperation.
The shadow of a smile crossed Monk’s face, and then disappeared. “I don’t know. She was in the grip of some powerful emotion, but I have no way of knowing what it was. It could easily have been shock and horror at the manner of Zenia Gadney’s death.”
“Or remorse?” Coniston added.
Rathbone started to rise to his feet.
Pendock saw him. “Mr. Coniston, you are speculating inappropriately. Please restrict yourself to questions the witness can answer.”
“I apologize, my lord,” Coniston said contritely. He looked up at Monk again. “But it would be accurate to say that Mrs. Lambourn was in a state of extreme emotion, Mr. Monk?”
“Yes.”
“Considering what you had learned of Dr. Lambourn’s connection with the victim, and that Mrs. Lambourn at some point or other had become aware of it, did you take steps to find out if Mrs. Lambourn had ever visited Zenia Gadney herself?”
“Yes.” Monk’s face was tight with unhappiness, but he did not evade the answer. “Several witnesses saw someone answering her description in Copenhagen Place the day before Zenia Gadney’s corpse was found on the pier. They say she was making inquiries to find Mrs. Gadney, specifically in the shops.”
Coniston nodded slowly. “She was searching to find the victim. Did anyone mention her state of mind? Please be exact, Mr. Monk.”
“She was in great distress,” Monk replied. “Two or three people described her as behaving wildly. That was why they remembered her.”
“Did you ask Mrs. Lambourn about this?”
“Of course.”
“And her answer?”
“At first she told me that she had been at a soirée with a friend. I visited the friend, who told me otherwise.”
“Is it possible that this friend was mistaken-or worse, that she lied?” Coniston pressed.
“No,” Monk said flatly. “I merely asked her where she had been at that day and time, and she told me. She was in company with many other people, and we have since verified her whereabouts. There was no such soirée as Mrs. Lambourn said she attended.”
“So she lied?” Conis
ton said, again loudly and clearly.
“Yes.”
Coniston smiled very slightly.
