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“For God’s sake, Amity!” Herne burst out. “Do you need to-”
“Please do not blaspheme, Barclay,” she said quietly. “Especially on the Sabbath, and in front of our guest. I am not advocating such a course, only warning Sir Oliver what may happen in the prosecutor’s summing up of the case. Surely it is better he be prepared for it?”
Rathbone felt the coldness increase inside him. He hated what she had said, and the calm, intelligent way in which she had framed it, but it was true. In Coniston’s place he might do the same.
“I had not considered such a thing,” he admitted aloud. “But of course you are right. While I do not believe what you suggest, neither can I offer any proof that it is untrue.”
“I’m sorry. I wish we could help you,” Amity said more gently. “But in the end only the truth will serve.”
Barclay leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. Was he more deeply distressed than his wife? Or was he simply more overtly emotional? Lambourn had been Amity’s brother. Perhaps there was an element in her that could not forgive Dinah for the grief she had caused him.
“Did you know Zenia well?” Rathbone asked, looking at Amity. “I mean before whatever it was that caused her addiction, and her separation from Dr. Lambourn.”
A look of confusion crossed Amity’s face. Clearly she had not anticipated the question. She hesitated, searching for the right answer.
“No,” Herne put in for her. “We were not living in the same area then, and at that time my wife was not well enough to travel. Joel told us that Zenia was quiet, gentle, a very decent woman but somewhat ordinary.”
Amity turned to Rathbone, irritation marking two tiny lines between her fine brows. “What my husband means is that she was not eccentric, and she did not draw attention to herself.”
Unlike Dinah, Rathbone thought, but he did not say so. Against his will, he thought of Margaret, and then of Hester. There had been a time when he had found Margaret’s quiet dignity, her grace and composure, to b
e beautiful, and exactly what he most wished in a woman, particularly in a wife. The passion and energy of Hester had been too exhausting, far too unpredictable. But perhaps he had been in love with Hester in a way he never was with Margaret?
Then why had he not pursued Hester, before she married Monk? Had that been out of wisdom, knowing better than to imagine she would bring him happiness? Or had he just been a coward? Had Joel Lambourn left Zenia out of boredom, captured by the color and vitality of Dinah, and her obvious love for him? And had he grown to regret that?
Would Rathbone have grown tired of Hester? Would her fire and intelligence have demanded of him more than he was willing to give, perhaps more passion than he possessed?
He did not need to think about it. Monk had loved Hester when they were married-probably long before. Rathbone knew, merely by watching Monk’s face, that he loved her far more deeply now. Time, experiences-good and bad-had hollowed out a larger vessel of both of them, able to hold a more profound emotion. If he himself were worth anything at all, it would have done so of him as well.
He looked at Amity. “Did Dr. Lambourn confide his feelings to you, Mrs. Herne? I appreciate your sensitivity in protecting his privacy, especially since he is no longer able to do so himself, but I am in great need of understanding the truth.”
Herne lifted his eyes to watch Amity, waiting for her answer.
Amity seemed to be struggling with herself.
“I can judge only by his actions,” she said at last. “He visited Zenia more and more often, possibly more frequently than he allowed Dinah to know. Perhaps she found that out. Joel was a very quiet man. He hated emotional scenes, as I believe most men do. Some women use them as a weapon-implicitly, of course, not openly. Dinah had a tendency to dramatize. She was self-centered and demanding. Some beautiful women are very spoiled, and never learn that good looks are as much a burden as a gift. One can come to rely upon them.”
“And Zenia was … ordinary,” Rathbone put in softly.
Amity smiled. “Very. She was not plain, just-how can I say it without being cruel? — she was dull. But she was gentle and unselfish. Perhaps that is a different kind of beauty, one that improves with time, whereas superb coloring and fine features can do the opposite. Constant drama can become very wearing, after a while. One longs for an ordinariness, honesty without effort.”
Herne was staring at her, his face creased in distress. However, there was nothing in his expression to indicate what it was that hurt him.
“I see.” Rathbone heard his own voice sounding flat. “This would be before he became so distressed over the rejection of his report on the use of opium, and his recommendation for control of its sales?”
“We have already covered that,” Herne interrupted sharply. “The report was full of anecdotes, which was totally inappropriate. Joel allowed himself to become sentimentally involved with the tragedies of the issue, which is understandable; it would be inhuman not to pity a woman who has quite accidentally killed her own child.” He winced, and his emotion showed naked in his face. He drew his breath in with a gasp and continued hoarsely, “But such feelings have no place in a scientific study. I tried to explain that to him, to point out that the whole thing should be reduced to facts and figures, material details that could be measured, so we might calmly take the necessary measures to reduce the risks, without at the same time being overrestrictive and denying legitimate use of medicines. But he was … hysterical about it. He refused to listen.” He looked across at Amity, as if for her confirmation of what he said.
She gave it immediately, turning to Rathbone. “Joel was completely unreasonable. He seemed to have lost his balance. I respected him for his compassion for those who suffer, of course-we all do-but to allow yourself to become emotionally overwrought is of no help to the cause. We both tried …” She looked at Herne, who nodded quickly. “But we could not persuade him to take the hearsay out of his paper and keep it strictly to the numbers. He should have provided in each case the proper details and dates of all his witnesses, and of course the places where they lived, and the records of the products used, and such doctors’ or coroners’ reports as were reliable.”
Rathbone was surprised. What he had heard from others of Lambourn’s professional conduct was very different.
“I see,” he said grimly. “No court of law would accept only anecdotal evidence. I can quite see why Parliament would not, either. Do you think his health was affected by this time?” He asked this of Amity.
She weighed her answer for several moments. In the silence Rathbone could hear footsteps across the hall, and then voices.
Amity froze, upright and absolutely motionless in her seat.
Herne rose very slowly to his feet, his face stiff with apprehension. He turned to Rathbone.
