A Sunless Sea

CHAPTER 21

While Rathbone was in court questioning Runcorn, and Monk was endeavoring to learn more about Barclay Herne and Sinden Bawtry, Hester quietly returned to see Dr. Winfarthing.

As always, Winfarthing was pleased to see her, but after he had greeted her with his usual warmth, he sat back in his chair and the heaviness of apprehension was too clear for her to miss.

“I assume you are here about that poor woman Dinah Lambourn,” he said bleakly.

“Yes. We haven’t long before they’ll bring in a verdict,” she replied. “You knew Joel Lambourn-you worked with him.”

He grunted. “So what do you want of me, girl? If I had any proof he didn’t kill himself, don’t you think I’d have said so at the time?”

“Of course. But things are different now. What do you know about opium and syringes?”

His eyes opened very wide and he let his breath out slowly.

“Is that what you’re thinking about? That he stumbled onto someone selling needles, and opium pure enough to put directly into the blood? Can kill people with that, if you don’t get it exactly right. At best, you’re likely to get them addicted unless you keep it to just a few days.”

“I know,” she agreed. “Some of the doctors in the American Civil War have used morphine to help the badly injured. Thought it wouldn’t be so addictive. They were wrong. But they were doing it for the best of reasons. What if someone was doing it for money, and worse, for power?”

Winfarthing nodded very slowly. “God Almighty, girl! Are you sure? What a monstrous evil. Have you ever seen what opium addiction does to a man? Have you seen the withdrawal, if he doesn’t get his supply?” His face was pinched with misery at the memory of it in his mind.

“No, I haven’t.”

“There’s pain,” he told her. “And nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, panic, depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, muscle twitching, cramps, chills, tremors, headaches, gooseflesh, lack of appetite-and other things as well, if you’re really unlucky.”

She felt her body clenching, as if she were threatened herself. “For how long?” she asked huskily.

“Depends,” he said, watching her with his face squashed up in pity. “As little as two days-as long as two months.”

She rubbed her hand over her face. “And it isn’t even illegal, what this person is doing! Getting people addicted. Taking away their free will.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he said wearily. “There’s a big profit in it for the seller. Once you’re on the opium you’ll pay anything you have or do anything you’re told to in order to keep on getting your supply. It’s the doing anything that’s the bigger problem. If you’re right, and that’s what Lambourn found, then you’re dealing with a very wicked man.”

She frowned. “But why did they kill Lambourn?” she asked. “What could he do to them?”

Winfarthing sat totally still, staring at her as if seeing her more clearly than ever before.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Did he see anyone in withdrawal?” he demanded.

“I don’t know …” Then she saw what he was thinking. “You mean that was what was in his report? A description of addiction to opium through the syringe, and then the severity of the withdrawal process-and the request that that be dealt with in the bill? Made illegal?”

“Exactly! It has to be possible to draft a bill to allow the use of a restricted and labeled amount in medicines to be swallowed, as it is now,” he agreed. “But against the law to give it or take it by needle, except when given by a doctor, and even then carefully watched. That would make our mystery man a criminal of the worst kind. Changes everything.”

“Then how can we get that into court to clear Dinah Lambourn?” she said urgently. “We have only days! Will you testify?”

“Of course I will, but we’ll need more than me, girl. We’ll need the man your nurse Agatha spoke of. Who is he? Do you know?”

“No … although I have a guess. But I don’t know how to make him come to court. He might … if …” She stopped, too uncertain to make it sound like a real hope.

“Do it,” he insisted. “I’ll come with you. God in heaven, I’ll do any damn thing I can to stop this. If you’d seen a man in withdrawal, heard him scream and retch as the cramps all but tore him apart, so would you.”

“To see Dinah hanged for a crime she didn’t commit is enough for me,” Hester answered. “But nobody believes that. We must make sense of it … and this will. I’ll see that Oliver Rathbone calls you to testify. Now I must go and see Agatha Nisbet.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered anxiously.

She considered for a moment. It would be safer, more comfortable if he did, and yet she knew that it would also make Agatha far less likely to agree.

“No, thank you. But I’m grateful.”

He scowled at her. “You’re a fool. I should insist.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You know as well as I do that this must be done, and she’ll refuse if you go.”

Winfarthing grimaced and eased his weight back into his chair. “Be careful,” he warned. “If she agrees, give me your word that you’ll take her with you? Otherwise I’m coming, regardless.”

“I give you my word,” she promised.

He gave her a sudden, beaming smile. “I’ll see you in court!”

Two hours later Hester stood in Agony Nisbet’s cramped office.

“No,” Agatha said flatly. “I’ll not do that to him.”

Hester stared at her, ignoring the fury in her eyes. “What gives you the right to make that decision for him? You said he was a good man once, and it was the opium seller with the syringe that changed him. Give him the chance to be that good man again. If he won’t take it, then there’s nothing we can do. Lambourn will go down as a suicide, Dinah will hang, and nobody will stop the opium sellers, or even punish the ones we catch.”

Agatha did not answer.

Hester waited.

“I won’t try to make ’im,” Agatha said at last. “You ’aven’t seen what the withdrawal’s like, or you wouldn’t ask. You wouldn’t put anyone through it, let alone someone you cared about … a friend.”

“Maybe not,” Hester conceded, “but I wouldn’t make the decision for them, either.”

“It’d be the man who gives ’im the opium ’e needs,” Agatha pointed out. “Without it ’e’ll be in withdrawal for months-maybe on an’ off forever.”

“Can’t you get it for him?”

“I’ve ’ardly got enough for the injured. You want me to give ’im yours? D’yer know ’ow much it takes ter keep an addict going?”

“No. Does it make any difference?”

“You’re a hard bitch!” Agatha said between her teeth.

“I’m a nurse,” Hester corrected her. “That means I’m a realist … like you.”

Agatha snorted, was silent for a few moments, then straightened her huge shoulders. “Well, come on then! By the sound of it, you ’aven’t got time ter waste!”

Hester relaxed and smiled at last, then turned for the door.

Alvar Doulting knew as soon as he saw Agatha what they had come for. He shook his head, backing into the room as if there were a form of escape in the stacks of shelves behind him.

Agatha stopped and her raw-boned hand clasped Hester so hard it bruised the flesh of her arm. She had to bite her lip not to cry out.

“You don’t ’ave ter do it,” Agatha said to Doulting.

“If you don’t, Dinah Lambourn will hang,” Hester told him. “And Joel Lambourn’s report will never be seen. In particular the part about opium needles. There’ll still be people addicted, whatever we do, but if it’s made illegal, there’ll be fewer. It’s time to decide what you want to do … to be.”

“You don’t ’ave ter!” Agatha said again. Her face was pale, her voice strained. Her fingers were like a vise on Hester’s arm.

Doulting looked from one to the other of them as the seconds ticked by. He seemed beaten, as if he could no longer fight. Perhaps he knew there was nothing left that he could gain, except the last shred of the man he used to be.

“Don’t stop me, Agatha,” he said quietly. “If I can find the courage, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll testify that you told Joel Lambourn about the addiction that taking opium by needle causes, and he included it in his report?” Hester said it clearly. “And you’ll tell them what it’s like, and how it affects those it captures?”

Doulting looked at her and very slowly nodded.

She did not know whether she dared believe him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll tell Sir Oliver Rathbone.”

He sank back against the bench, turning to Agatha.

“I’ll get you enough,” she promised rashly, yanking at Hester’s arm. “Come on. We done enough ’ere.” She looked at Doulting again. “I’ll be back.”

Rathbone sat in Monk’s kitchen, untouched tea steaming gently in front of him. There were pastries cooling on a rack, sweetmeats ready for Christmas.

“Are you certain?” Rathbone pressed, looking at Monk, then at Runcorn. “Is the evidence absolutely irrefutable?”

Hester nodded her head. “Yes. Dr. Winfarthing will come first, then Alvar Doulting. They’ll confirm that Joel Lambourn came to Winfarthing, who told him about the selling of opium and needles, and then Doulting will tell the court that Lambourn came to him, and repeat what he told him. Lambourn put it in his report. That was why he was killed. If they made it illegal to take opium that way, the sellers would lose a fortune. It was worth murdering Lambourn for, and Zenia Gadney.”

“And hanging Dinah Lambourn,” Runcorn added grimly.

“Then who actually killed Lambourn?” Monk asked.

“The seller of opium pure enough to inject without killing people, and the needles to do it,” Hester said quietly. “Or someone he paid. Morally, it’s him.”

“Who? Barclay Herne?” Rathbone asked, looking from one to the other of them.

This time it was Monk who answered him. “Possibly, but from what we can tell, he hasn’t the sort of money such a trade would bring. Apart from the bestiality of it, it’s too dangerous to do for small reward.”

“Then who? Sinden Bawtry? My God, that would be appalling,” Rathbone exclaimed, the full enormity of it burgeoning to fill his imagination. “Word is that he’s about to fill a very high cabinet post. If that’s possible, then no wonder Joel Lambourn was desperate to expose him. He could have had the power to stop that provision from being included in the Pharmacy Act.” He took a deep breath, his tea still ignored. “But Bawtry and Herne were dining at the Atheneum that night. There are witnesses. And that was miles away, on the other side of the river.”

“Is Herne involved?” Rathbone asked doubtfully. “Organizing everything for Bawtry? For a suitable reward afterward?” He could not see Barclay Herne with the fire or the courage to do anything dangerous, or requiring that kind of ruthless and passionate greed, unless he was an addict, too. He remembered the confidence one day, and the pasty skin and nervousness the Sunday he had called unexpectedly. “We can’t afford a mistake. If I say something I have to be right and be able to prove it-at least as probable, even if not certain,” he finished.

Runcorn bit his lip. “That isn’t going to be easy. The judge may not know what he’s defending, but he’s been told there’s something. He may think it’s to do with England’s reputation, and nothing more personal than that, but I dare say his future’s dependent on keeping it quiet.”

“I’m damned sure of it,” Rathbone agreed. He turned to Hester. “Are you certain this Agatha Nisbet will turn up? And what about Doulting? He could be drugged out of his senses, or dead in an alley by then.”

They all looked at Hester, faces tense, bodies stiff.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We can only try.”

“We haven’t much to lose,” Rathbone said to all of them. “As it is now, they’re going to find Dinah guilty. I have no one else left to put on the stand. She’s lied to me before, and I’m not sure if she knew anything at all about what Lambourn found out. I don’t think her belief in him is going to be enough to change this outcome.”

He looked at Hester. “Do you believe this Agatha Nisbet?”

She did not hesitate. “Yes. But it won’t be so easy with Alvar Doulting. She’ll bring him if he’s all right, but she won’t force him. You may have to string it out at least another day. I’ll help her to get him as strong as we can.”

“I’ve no one else,” Rathbone told them.

“Then you must call Dinah,” Hester said, her voice uncertain, a little husky. “Immediately after Christmas.”

The more Rathbone heard of what Hester had learned, and the further disclosures it threatened, the more certain he was that both Coniston and Pendock knew at least of the existence of a scandal that they had been warned must be kept a secret, even at the cost of hanging a woman without exhausting the last possibility that she was innocent. Who else was addicted to the pervasive poison? Who else’s fortune relied on its sale?

He looked across at Monk. It was a gamble. They were all painfully aware of it.

“I’ll speak to Dinah,” he said. He had not had time to talk to her since the revelation that she had never actually been Lambourn’s wife. “But we’ve got to provide an alternative better than some shadowy form of an opium seller we also can’t name.”

Monk glanced at Hester, then back at Rathbone. “I know. We won’t stop trying to prove who’s behind it. But we need time. Can you stretch it out another day?”

Rathbone wanted to say yes, but he doubted it. If he could not, and the court could see that he was increasingly desperate, asking questions to which they all knew the answer, Coniston would object that he was wasting the court’s time, and Pendock would very justifiably uphold him. Most important, the jury would know he had no defense left, or else he would have used it.

They could very reasonably try to close the case on Tuesday to keep what was left of the Christmas season clear.

Hester was frowning. She had seen the indecision in his eyes.

“Call Dr. Winfarthing on Tuesday, after Dinah,” she suggested.

“Are you certain about him?” he asked.

She gave a very slight shrug. “Can you think of anything better?”

“I can’t think of anything at all,” he admitted. “Are you certain he won’t say anything damning, even unintentionally?”

“Almost,” she said.

“And this woman, Nisbet?” He realized when he heard the harshness in his voice how deeply afraid he was that in his own sense of loss and disillusion he would let Dinah Lambourn down, and she would pay with her life.

Hester smiled. “There are no certainties. We’ve been here before. We play the best hand we have. We’ve never been certain of winning. That’s not the way it is.”

He knew she was right; he was simply less brave than he used to be, less certain of the other things that mattered. Or maybe at the heart of it, he was less certain of himself.

Rathbone went back across the river by ferry, perversely enjoying the hard, cold wind in his face, even the discomfort of the choppy water. There seemed to be a lot of traffic in the Pool of London today, big ships at anchor waiting to unload cargo from half the ports on earth, lighters carrying freight down from the waterways inland, up from the sea, ferryboats weaving in and out, even a River Police boat making its way over to St. Saviour’s Dock. Everyone seemed to be working twice as hard, hurrying along the streets, laden with parcels, calling out good wishes, making ready for Christmas.

On the northern side he alighted and paid his fare. Then he walked quickly to the Commercial Road and caught a hansom back toward the Old Bailey, and the prison where Dinah Lambourn was housed.

Before he faced her he stopped at a quiet inn and had a large luncheon of steak and kidney pudding, with oysters and a thick suet crust, and a half bottle of really good red wine. He was too worried for the richness or the flavor of it to please him, but afterward he felt warmer and had a renewed sense of determination. A great deal of this was fueled by anger within himself that he was so nearly beaten.

He had thought hard about what to say to Dinah, and as he walked the last couple of hundred yards he made his final decision. At the prison he gave the jailer all the necessary information, identifying himself for the umpteenth time, as if they did not know him.

He was escorted along to the familiar stone cell where he waited alone until they brought Dinah to him. She looked thinner and even paler than the last time he had seen her here, as if she knew the fight was over, and she had lost. He felt the guilt of failure like a wound deep in his gut.

“Please sit down, Mrs. Lambourn,” he said. Then, as she lowered herself into the chair opposite him, he sat down also. He realized, watching her awkwardness, that she was stiff with fear.

“I have just been speaking with Mr. Monk,” he told her. “He and Mr. Runcorn have discovered many things about Dr. Lambourn, all of them bearing out what you yourself have told me. However, I cannot raise your hopes more than a little, because we have no proof that will stand up in court. To call those people who might be of help will be a very great risk, and I need to be certain that you understand that.”

“You’ve found people?” There was a sudden, wild, infinitely painful leap of hope in her face, her eyes almost feverishly brilliant.

He swallowed hard. “People who may not be believed, Mrs. Lambourn. One is a doctor who is, I am told, something of a renegade. The other is a self-proclaimed nurse running an unofficial clinic for dockworkers in the Rotherhithe area. She says that Dr. Lambourn consulted her when he was gathering information about the uses and dangers of opium. So far we have nothing whatever to substantiate what she says, and she is hardly a reputable person. However, she did tell these things to Dr. Lambourn, and as a result he then sought out others, who said the same things.”

Dinah was confused. “To do with opium? I don’t understand.”

“No, not merely to do with opium. That is the point. What she says is to do with the new invention of a hollow needle, and a syringe that can deliver pure opium directly into the blood. It is very much more effective for dealing with pain, but also it can create an addiction to opium that is terrible in its effects.” He grimaced. “A brief heaven, bought at the price of a life of hell afterward.”

“What does that have to do with Joel?” she asked. “Or with poor Zenia’s death? All Joel was reporting on was the need to label the quantity and dosage of opium in patent medicines.”

“I know,” Rathbone said gently. “We think he found out about the syringe and its effects by accident, and included it in his report. If that were so, then it might well have made its way into the Pharmacy Act; then sale in that way would probably be made illegal.”

“If it is as terrible as you say, then it has to be made illegal,” she said slowly, understanding filling her eyes, and then horror.

He nodded. “They destroyed the report, but in case he had told anyone, such as you, for example, he had to be discredited as well.”

Her eyes widened. “They killed him, so he couldn’t repeat it,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Yes.”

“And poor Zenia?”

“That was probably as you said, to get rid of you, and anything you might have been told.”

“Who is the doctor you spoke of?”

“Dr. Winfarthing? I don’t know him. Mrs. Monk says Dr. Lambourn consulted him. I want to question him mostly to hold the court’s attention until Monk can persuade Agnes Nisbet, the woman who runs the clinic, to come forward and testify. That might take a whole day. In fact I need to call someone on Tuesday morning immediately after Christmas and Boxing Day, until Winfarthing can be spoken to and forewarned, in fairness, that the prosecution will try to discredit him on the witness stand.”

“And then he might not testify?” she said shakily.

“Apart from being unfair, it might be very much against our interest to have him testify before I have had the opportunity to find out exactly what he will say, and possibly what to avoid asking him. Don’t forget, Mr. Coniston will have the chance to question him after I do. I think you have seen enough of Coniston to know that he will give Winfarthing, or anybody else, a very hard time indeed. He’ll try everything he knows to destroy his credibility, even his reputation, if he can.”

He lowered his voice, trying to be as gentle as he could. “It is not only your life or freedom that may rest on the outcome of this case. If you are not guilty, then someone else is.”

“I don’t know who.” She closed her eyes and the tears escaped under her lids. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I did?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Rathbone said softly. “All I have to do now is to make the jury see that there is such a person. But you have to decide if you want me to do this. It will be very rough. And before I can get Winfarthing on the stand, I shall have to fill Tuesday morning with something else, or the judge will declare the defense closed, and it will be too late. If I call you, you are all I have left, except your daughters. Believe me, Coniston will crucify them before he allows the truth to come out. I believe he really thinks you are guilty, and he won’t spare your children.”

“I’ll testify,” she said, cutting across everything else he might have added, although in truth there was nothing more. He had always known what she would say.

“And you understand what Coniston will try to do to you?”

“Of course. He will try to paint me as a hysterical woman trying to cling to the memory of a man who wouldn’t marry me, as a woman afraid of losing his money to live on and raise my illegitimate children with.” She gave a brief, forced smile, which was painful to see in its attempt at courage. “It will hardly be worse than facing the hangman in three weeks.”

He drew in his breath to argue, and then decided it would only be an insult to offer her false promises. He looked down at the scarred tabletop and then up at her. “I know you didn’t kill Zenia Gadney, and that you made it look as if you might have in order to stand trial so you could try to save Joel’s reputation and honor. We might lose, but we aren’t there yet.”

“Aren’t we?” she whispered.

“No-no, we aren’t. I will call you on Tuesday as my first witness, and keep you there until Winfarthing turns up.”

“Will he?”

“Yes.” It was a rash promise.

He hoped he could keep it. He stood up. “Now I must go home and think what to ask you, and then what to ask Winfarthing.”

She looked up at him. “And Miss Nisbet?”

“Ah, that’s different. I know very well what I will ask her.”

Perhaps that was overstating it a little, but it was whether Agatha Nisbet would come at all that troubled him, not what he would ask her. He could only rely on Hester for that. Monk and Runcorn he knew would still be working on the actual murder, and searching frantically for the person who had walked up One Tree Hill with Lambourn, and left him up there to bleed to death.

Both Hester and Monk had done all they could to keep the desperation of the trial away from Scuff, but he was far too observant for them to have succeeded. Christmas morning was bright and cold, at least to begin with, although it closed over and there was a promise of snow later on.

Hester was up very early, long before daylight, to put the goose in the oven, and to hang garlands of ribbons and holly up around the house.

She and Monk had in the end decided to get Scuff a watch, the best one they could afford, with his initials and the date engraved on the back. As well as that there were other small things, such as little bags of sweets, 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.