homemade fudge, and his favorite nuts. Monk had found him a pair of really warm woolen socks and Hester had very carefully cut down one of Monk’s cravats to make it the right size for Scuff’s slender neck. And of course she had also chosen a book for him, one he would thoroughly enjoy reading.
About eight o’clock in the morning, when it was at last truly daylight, she heard the kitchen door open and Scuff put his head around nervously. Then he saw the holly and the ribbons, and his eyes widened.
“Is it Christmas?” he said a little breathlessly.
“Yes it is,” she replied with a wide smile. “Merry Christmas!” She put down the spoon she had been using to stir the porridge and walked over to him. She considered asking his permission to kiss him, then decided it would give him the opportunity to refuse, even if he actually wanted her to, so she just put both arms around him and hugged him hard. She kissed his warm cheek. “Merry Christmas, Scuff!” she said again.
He froze for a moment, then shyly he kissed her back.
“Merry Christmas, Hester,” he replied, then blushed scarlet at the familiarity of using her name.
She ignored it, trying not to let him see her smile. “Would you like breakfast?” she asked. “There’s porridge first, but don’t eat too much, because there are bacon and eggs after. And of course there’s a roast goose for dinner.”
He drew in a deep breath. “A real one?”
“Of course. It’s a real Christmas,” she told him.
He gulped. “I got a present for yer. Do yer want it now?” He was fidgeting on his seat, already halfway to standing up again.
She had not the heart to make him wait. His eyes were bright, his face flushed. “I’d love to see it now,” she answered.
He slid to the floor and ran out into the hall, and she heard his feet on the stairs. Only moments later he was back again with something in his hand that was small and wrapped in a piece of cloth. Watching her face intently, he held it out to her.
She took it and unwrapped it, wondering what she would find, and already anxious. It was a small silver pendent with a single pearl in it. It hung on a fine chain. In that moment it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen. And she was terrified as to where he had got it.
She looked up and met his eyes.
“D’yer like it?” he asked almost under his breath.
There was a lump in her throat she had to swallow before she could speak. “Of course I do. It’s perfect. How could anyone not love it?” Dare she ask where he got it? Would he think she didn’t trust him?
He relaxed and his face flooded with relief. “I got it from a tosher,” he said proudly. “I done errands fer ’im. ’E let me ’ave it.”
Suddenly he looked embarrassed and his gaze slid away from hers. “I said it were for me ma. Is that all right?”
Now it was she who felt the warmth wash up her face. “It’s … it’s more than all right,” she told him as she carefully put the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp. She saw his eyes shine with pleasure, and she couldn’t resist reaching down and hugging him gently.
“In fact it couldn’t be better,” she added, releasing him before he could feel uncomfortable. “We have a couple of things for you, when William comes down.”
“I got summink for ’im too,” Scuff said, reassuring her.
“I’m sure you have,” she replied. “Are you ready for porridge? We’ve got a very special, busy day ahead.”
“How long is it Christmas?” he asked, seating himself at the table.
“All day, actually until the middle of the night,” she answered. “Then it’s Boxing Day, and that’s a holiday, too.”
“Good. I like Christmas,” he said with satisfaction.
CHAPTER 22
On Tuesday the trial reopened with Coniston looking considerably more relaxed, as if the end of a long and weary journey were almost reached. There was something in his face that could even have been sympathy for Rathbone.
Pendock brought them to order very quickly.
“Have you a witness, Sir Oliver?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Rathbone replied. “I call the accused, known as Dinah Lambourn.”
Pendock looked slightly startled, as if he considered it a mistake, but he made no comment.
Dinah was brought down from the dock. Carefully, her whole body trembling, she climbed the steps to the witness stand, gripping the rails as if she was afraid of falling. Indeed, she might have been. She looked ashen; her face seemed to have no blood beneath the alabaster skin.
Rathbone walked out into the center of the court and looked up at her. How long would he have to keep her here? He must speak with Winfarthing before he put him on the stand. Any lawyer who did less than that was a fool. He trusted Hester, but he still needed his own preparation.
“You lived with Joel Lambourn for fifteen years as his wife?” he asked, his voice a little strained.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Did you ever marry him?”
“No.”
“Why not?” It seemed a brutal question, but he wanted the jury to understand her and be in no doubt whatsoever that she had always known of Zenia Gadney.
“Because he was already married to Zenia, his wife from before we met,” she answered.
“And he did not put her aside in order to marry you?” He tried to put surprise into his voice without cruelty, but it was impossible. He winced at the sound of it.
“I didn’t ever ask him to,” she replied. “I knew Zenia had had a bad accident and the pain had caused her to become addicted first to alcohol, and then to opium. She finally recovered from the gin, but never completely from the opium. There was a time when the one thing she clung to, and which saved her from suicide, was the fact that Joel did not abandon her. I loved him, I always will. I would not ask him to do something he believed to be cruel and wrong. I wouldn’t want him to be a man who wished to.”
“And was it not wrong to live with you, then?” he asked but only because he knew Coniston would if he did not.
“He didn’t ask me to live with him,” she replied. “I chose to. And yes, I suppose society would say that was wrong. I really don’t care very much.”
“You don’t care for right and wrong, or you don’t care what society thinks of you?” Rathbone asked.
“I suppose I care,” she replied with the ghost of a smile. “About society, I mean. But not enough to give up the only man I ever loved. We offended propriety, or we would have done, had they known. But we hurt no one else. Perhaps even they would not have cared a great deal. Thousands of people have mistresses or lovers. Thousands more make use of women of the street. As long as it is private, no one minds very much.”
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.
