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What she said was perfectly true, but he wished she had not been quite so candid-although possibly Coniston would have made the same point if she had not. Now there was very little left for him to say.

Rathbone knew he must keep the questions going all morning. Better anything than silence, and Pendock putting the case to the jury. Had Hester really persuaded Winfarthing to come? What would he do if the man refused to testify?

“Were you happy?” he asked, looking up at Dinah.

Coniston rose to his feet. “My lord, my learned friend is yet again wasting the court’s time. If it will help to move the proceedings along, I shall willingly stipulate that the accused and Dr. Lambourn had an ideal life together, and until the last few weeks of his life they were as happy as any other husband and wife. There is no need whatever to call a procession of witnesses to that effect.”

“I had no intention of doing so, my lord,” Rathbone said indignantly.

Pendock was impatient. “Then please come to the point that you do wish to make, Sir Oliver.”

Rathbone kept his temper with difficulty. He must not allow himself to be distracted by anger or pride. “Yes, my lord.” He looked up at Dinah again. “Did Dr. Lambourn speak with you about his work, specifically that report he was asked to write on the sale and labeling of opium?”

“Yes, he did. It was something he cared about very deeply. He wanted to have all patent medicines clearly labeled, with numbers anyone could read, so they would know what doses were safe to take.”

“Is this a highly controversial matter, so far as you know?”

Coniston stood up again. “My lord, the accused has no expertise on the subject, as my learned friend is well aware.”

Pendock sighed. “Your objection is noted. Sir Oliver, please do not ask the witness questions you are perfectly aware she has no expertise from which to answer. I will not permit you to drag this trial out any further with pointless time-wasting exercises.”

Rathbone bit back his anger. He turned to Dinah again.

“Did Dr. Lambourn ever tell you that he had met with any criticism or obstruction from the government, or any medical authorities while he was seeking to gather information on the subject of accidental deaths from opium?”

“No. It was the government who asked him to write the report,” she replied.

“Who in the government, specifically?” he asked.

“Mr. Barclay Herne.” Carefully she refrained from saying that he was her brother-in-law. She had been about to, and checked herself just in time.

“Dr. Lambourn’s brother-in-law?” Rathbone clarified.

“Yes.”

Pendock was growing impatient. He scowled and his large-knuckled hands fidgeted in front of him on the polished surface of the bench.

“Is Mr. Herne in charge of the project for the government?” Rathbone asked.

“I believe so,” Dinah replied. “It was Barclay to whom Joel reported.”

Aware of Pendock’s irritation, Rathbone hurried on, resenting the pressure. “So it was Barclay Herne who told him that his report was unacceptable?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Was Dr. Lambourn very distressed by this?”

“He was angry and puzzled,” she replied. “The facts were very carefully recorded and he had all the evidence. He didn’t understand what Barclay considered the problem to be, but he was determined to rewrite it with some detail and notation so that it would be accepted.”

“He did not feel himself rejected, or his career ruined?” Rathbone affected surprise.

“Not at all,” she answered. “It was a report. The rejection distressed him, but it certainly did not drive him to despair.”

“Did he mention to you having discovered anything else distressing during his research?” Rathbone asked.

Coniston stood again. “My lord, the details of Dr. Lambourn’s research and what may have saddened him or not are hardly relevant. We are trying the accused for the murder of Dr. Lambourn’s first wife-”

“I take your point, Mr. Coniston.” Pendock turned to Rathbone.

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