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CHAPTER 10
Outside the prison, Rathbone stood on the icy pavement in the rising wind, astonished at his own rashness. He was stepping out into quicksand, and already it was too late to retreat. He had given his word.
Then perhaps rather than going to his chambers this early, to think on what he had committed to, he should continue on eastward and cross the river at Wapping, so he could go on to Paradise Place and tell Monk that he had taken the case. He would need more information from him than the minimum he had been given yesterday. Monk had talked Rathbone into this. Now Rathbone needed to talk him into helping untangle the almighty mess.
He walked briskly out to the main thoroughfare and took a hansom, directing the driver to go all the way to Wapping Stairs. He sat back as they weaved through the morning traffic and he thought about what he needed to know. How on earth could he raise reasonable doubt in any jury’s minds without another suspect? In the sane light of a winter day, would he even have reasonable doubt himself?
Was Dinah Lambourn a woman who loved her husband in spite of all his weaknesses, the betrayal with another woman over fifteen long years, and finally his preposterous story about the government’s refusal to acknowledge the truth about the use and abuse of opium? Surely if Lambourn’s facts were even close to the truth, about opium or any other medicine, there would be no way for the government to ignore that truth indefinitely. All Lambourn’s death would’ve achieved was a delay; an act would be passed eventually. Was that delay worth anyone’s death, let alone an insane murder like that of poor Zenia Gadney?
Did Dinah simply refuse to believe in failure, her husband’s or her own? The most likely answer of all was that she was touched by insanity herself, a victim of the facts she refused to acknowledge. Perhaps to survive she needed any answer at all that left her make-believe world unbroken.
He rode all the way to the ferry deep in other people’s delusions, his own credulity swaying one way, then the other. He was glad to get out and pay the driver, then stand for a few minutes in the wind, listening to the sounds of the water until the ferry came.
He went down the stone steps, which were wet and a little slippery. He was very careful. The last thing he wanted was a drenching in the cold, dirty water. He climbed into the boat and sat down.
The river was running fast as the tide ebbed. Choppy little waves made it a rough passage, but he welcomed the sharper wind in his face and the smell of salt and mud, and the scream of the gulls above.
At the far side he enjoyed the walk up from Princes Stairs, across Rotherhithe Street and on up in a few hundred yards and several turnings to Paradise Place.
Hester welcomed him at the door. She looked well. He found himself smiling, although he had nothing to celebrate. He had nothing even to feel certain about, except their friendship.
“Oliver!” she said with pleasure. “Come in. How are you?” They were not empty words. Her eyes searched his face, probing for truth. Did she see the disillusion in him, the loneliness he would very much rather have kept hidden?
“I’m well, thank you,” he replied, stepping inside. “But Monk has given me a near-impossible case. I will need his help. Please don’t tell me he has gone already?”
“He’s here,” she assured him. “Would you like to sit in the parlor where you can be private? I’ll bring you tea, if you wish, or even breakfast. It must be cold on the river.”
“Don’t you know about the case already?” he said with surprise.
She allowed a tiny smile to touch her lips. “He said he had been obliged to arrest Dinah Lambourn. Is that the case you have taken? So soon? How … rash of you.” Now the smile was larger. Long ago, when she had first realized that he was in love with her, she had teased him about his caution, that he was too careful and well ordered to be happy with anyone as impulsive as she was. At the time he had thought she was right. Perhaps at that time it had been true. It was not true now.
“What man who was not rash would even contemplate it?” he said wryly.
“Then come into the kitchen,” she invited him, leading the way down the hall.
Inside, the room was warm, a little untidy, very much the center of the house. Clean linen lay on one of the benches; the kettle was simmering gently just off the top of the stove. Dried herbs hung from hooks on the ceiling, as well as a couple of strings of onions. Blue-rimmed china lay waiting to be put away on the dresser.
Monk was sitting at the kitchen table and rose as soon as he saw Rathbone. He was eating a bowl of porridge and milk, which was presumably why it had been Hester who had answered the door.
Rathbone suddenly realized he had not eaten this morning and was extremely hungry.
Hester saw him glance at Monk’s plate. Without asking, she ladled him a bowl of porridge as well and set a place for him at the other side of the table. She did not ask if he wanted tea, but simply poured it.
“Well?” Monk demanded, his own food forgotten until he knew if Rathbone had accepted the case.
Rathbone gave a tight little laugh and met Monk’s cool gray eyes. He sat down opposite him. “If I hadn’t taken it I would have sent you a message at Wapping, and perhaps one here as well,” he said ruefully. “But I’m going to need your help.”
“I’m not sure what I can do.” In spite of his words, Monk looked pleased.
“Well, to begin with …” Rathbone paused and took a tiny sip of his tea. It was a little too hot to drink, but the fragrance of it soothed him. Hester was right; it had been cold on the river. He had not appreciated it at the time; He had been too eager to get to Monk. “Is there anything you can swear to that can help? What else could there be about Zenia that would mark her out as a victim?”
Monk thought for several moments before he replied. “I suppose the fact that she had never had any other clients but Lambourn, as far as anyone knows, would leave her in a very awkward position, in trying to seek out new business,” he said slowly.
“She was in her mid-forties, at least,” Rathbone added, pouring milk on his porridge and taking the first spoonful.
Monk looked surprised. “How do you know?”
“Dinah said so.”
