not imagine what effort that cost her.
“I don’t remember exactly. About fifteen years ago,” she replied.
“And is what your sister-in-law said true? He wanted certain practices from you that you were not prepared to give?”
A quick anger flared up in her eyes. “No! Joel was … gentle … perfectly normal. He would never have said anything like that to Amity. One does not discuss such a thing, even if it were true!”
Rathbone looked at her closely. She was angry, defensive-but of Joel, or of herself? Did she deny it so fiercely because it was a lie, or because it was horribly and painfully true? He wanted to believe her.
“Then why did he go to her for all those years, and pay her?” he asked. Everything might hang on that answer.
She blinked, but she did not lower her eyes. “She was a friend. She … used to be respectable, married. She had an accident, and was in a lot of pain. She became addicted to opium. She …” Dinah drew in a deep breath, and began again. “Her husband was a friend of Joel’s. When Zenia took to the streets, Joel helped her, financially. He did not tell Amity because she was living elsewhere at that time, and it was none of her concern. Anyway, she and Joel were never close, even growing up. He was seven years older than she and they had little in common. He was always studious, she was not.” She shook her head briefly. “And why would he tell her such a thing? He was a doctor. He kept confidences. He told me only to explain why he went to Limehouse, and why he gave her money to live on.”
He almost believed her. But there was something in the tension of her neck, the way her eyes never wavered from his, that left him fearing it was only part of the truth, and there was something vital that she had deliberately left out.
Yet Hester had told him that Zenia had said to Gladys that she had been married at one time, and her drinking had ended it. If the problem had been opium, why had she not said so? Or had Gladys simply assumed it was drink because of Zenia’s pity for the woman drunk in the street?
It fitted together perfectly-almost!
“Mrs. Lambourn,” Rathbone said earnestly, “you have no more time left to keep secrets, no matter how painful. You are fighting for your life, and believe me, the fact that you are a woman will not save you. If you are found guilty, three Sundays after the verdict is passed, you will walk to the gallows.”
She was so white he thought she was going to faint. He felt brutal, and yet she left him no choice if he was to have any chance at all of saving her.
“For God’s sake, tell me the truth!” he said desperately.
“That is the truth!” Her voice was so strangled in her throat he could barely hear it. “Joel took money to her every month, so she could survive without resorting to prostitution.”
“Can you prove that? Any part of it?” he demanded.
“Of course not. How could I?”
“Did you know the money went regularly?” He was clutching at straws.
Her eyes widened a fraction. “Yes. It was paid on the twenty-first of every month. It was in the household ledger.”
“Entered as what?”
“Under her initials-Z.G. He did not lie to me, Sir Oliver.”
He could see that that was what she believed. But then how could she bear to believe differently? What woman in her place would?
“Unfortunately there is no proof of that which we could show the court,” he said quietly. “The fact that he told you he gave her the money as an act of friendship does not prove that that was the truth. What happened to Zenia’s husband? Why did he not provide for her?”
“He’s dead,” she said simply, an unexpected finality of grief in her face.
“What was his name?”
“I … I don’t know.”
This time he was sure she was lying; he just could not understand why.
He changed the subject. “Why did you tell the police that you were at a soirée with Mrs. Moulton when you knew she would not support that? It was not only a lie; it was one you were bound to be caught in.”
She looked down at her hands. “I know.”
“Did you panic?” he asked more gently.
“No,” she whispered.
“What on earth did you hope to gain by speaking to Zenia?” he persisted. “What did you think she would tell you about your husband? Did you think he left papers from his report with her? Or that somehow she had helped him? Did she know something about opium that would have validated his findings?”
She faced him again. “I didn’t go to Copenhagen Place. I don’t know who that woman was. Clearly she tried to look like me. There’s not much point in bringing the shopkeeper and other people in to testify, because they’ll say what everybody expects them to-and what they will now believe is the truth. But I did not go. That I know as well as I know I’m sitting here.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “And I will never believe that Joel killed himself. He knew his report was right and he was determined to fight his detractors. You have no idea of the evil and the shame of the opium trade, Sir Oliver, or of the people who are involved in it.” Her voice was trembling now. “Joel wept for what we have done in China. It is a very hard thing to acknowledge that your own country has committed atrocities. Many people cannot do that. They will go on to create more lies to cover the first.” There was a curious look in her eyes, almost a challenge.
Suddenly a new truth became shatteringly clear to him, bringing the sweat out on his body and choking the breath in his throat. She had lied about being with Helena Moulton quite deliberately, knowing it would be exposed, and that Monk would have no choice but to charge her with Zenia’s murder-and she would stand trial for her life. She had meant it to happen. She had asked Monk to have Rathbone to defend her because she believed he would force the truth of Joel’s murder into the open, and clear his name. Perhaps his work would even be continued by someone else. That was the depth of her belief in him-and her love.
Ridiculously, he found his mouth dry and he had to swallow hard in order to speak. He looked away from her, blinking rapidly to stop the tears in his eyes.
“I’ll do everything I can.” It was a promise he would keep, but he had no idea if it would be enough to save her, let alone to restore Joel Lambourn’s reputation. She must have seen that Pendock was against them, just as he had. And yet she had not given in.
How different she was from Margaret! How brave, reckless, and loyal. Beautiful and a little frightening. What must Joel Lambourn have been like to be worthy of such a woman?
He stood up very slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said a little hoarsely. “I know somewhere I can at least try to get help.”
CHAPTER 15
Monk had received a message from Rathbone late the previous evening requesting him to be at his chambers at eight o’clock so that they would have time to speak before Rathbone was due in court. Consequently Monk was up at six. He ate breakfast with Hester, both of them saying little in a silent understanding of the growing desperation of the case. He was on the river by seven, sitting in the ferry from Princes Stairs across to Wapping, still aware of a steady ache in his shoulder from his battle in the street. Since then he and Runcorn had both been more careful.
He was not looking forward to the meeting. A brawl on one of the docks, in which a man had been killed, had kept him busy during the previous day, and in the little time he had been able to spare in the evening he had achieved nothing. He knew Hester had already told Rathbone about the nurse, Agatha Nisbet, but all that did was to confirm that Joel Lambourn had been investigating opium in patent medicines, which they already knew.
Orme was still questioning people in Limehouse, especially the area near the pier, but no one had seen
