Page 26 of A Sunless Sea (William Monk 17)

“Why?”

Daventry’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” he said incredulously.

“Yes. What was he researching, and for whom?”

“The public’s use of opium, because it’s killing too many people. For the government, who else?” Daventry looked at Monk as if he were a particularly stupid schoolchild. He saw the confusion in Monk’s face. “The government is looking to pass a bill to regulate the use of opium in medicines,” he explained a little wearily, as if he had already said it too many times, to too many people who were apparently incapable of understanding.

“To stop people buying it?” Now it was Monk who was incredulous. A small dose of opium, as in a “penny twist,” was the only way to kill pain, other than to drink oneself insensible to it, and to everything else. “Why, for heaven’s sake?” he asked. “Nobody’ll pass an act like that, and it would be impossible to police. You’d have two-thirds of the population in jail.”

Daventry looked at him with heavy exasperation. “No, sir, just to regulate it, so that if you go to buy something with opium in it-such as Battley’s Sedative, which is much like laudanum, except it’s with calcium hydrate and sherry, not distilled water and alcohol-you’ll know for sure how much opium it contains. And that it’s pure opium, not opium cut with something else.”

“Opium cut with something else?” Monk was puzzled.

“Do you know what’s in Dover’s Powder, sir?” Daventry asked.

Monk had no idea. “Apart from opium? No,” he admitted.

“Saltpeter, tartar, licorice, and ipecacuanha,” Daventry told him. “What about chlorodyne?”

Monk did not bother to answer this time. He waited for Daventry to list that as well.

“Chloroform and morphine,” Daventry said. “But that’s not what matters the most. If your child is crying with toothache, or a bad stomach, which one are you going to give him: Godfrey’s Cordial, Street’s Infant Quietness, Winston’s Soothing Syrup, or Atkinson’s Infant Preservative? How much opium is in each of them, and what else is in them?” He shrugged. “You don’t know, do you? Neither does your average harassed mother who’s getting half the sleep she needs, and probably half the food, and maybe she can’t read well or understand figures, either. What would you say to having them regulated so she doesn’t have to worry about it?”

“Is that what they’re proposing?” Now Monk’s interest was sincere and sharp, almost as sharp as Daventry’s own.

“Part of it, yes.”

“And Lambourn was getting the facts for them?”

“Yes,” Daventry agreed, warming to it as he realized Monk’s understanding. “And on other things, but opium was the chief thing.”

“Why would anyone be against it?” Monk was puzzled.

“Lot of money in opium,” Daventry replied. “Start telling people what they can and can’t sell, you’ll get their backs up. Also it means the government knows about it all. Under the counter as well as over. People who sell opium-and you’d be surprised at who some of them are-are very happy to hear how many people’s lives are made easier by it, but not how many children die of overdoses, or how many people get dependent and then can’t do without it. They don’t want to be blamed for those unfortunate side effects.”

He waved his hands around to encompass everyone in general. “Nobody wants to remember the Opium Wars. You’d be surprised whose fortunes were built on the opium trade. Don’t want to rake all that up. Make yourself a lot of enemies.”

“Do you know this for yourself, or did Dr. Lambourn tell you?” Monk asked gently.

The blush burned hot up Daventry’s young face. “Dr. Lambourn told me most of it,” he replied, so quietly Monk barely heard him. “But I believe it. He never lied.”

“So far as you know …” Monk smiled to rob the words of some of their sting.

Daventry’s expression was bleak, but he did not argue.

“Why do you think he took his own life?” Monk asked.

Daventry’s face filled with a deep distress. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you know Mrs. Lambourn?”

“I’ve met her. Why?”

“She thinks he was murdered.”

Daventry’s eyes were brilliant. He caught his breath in sharply. “To hide his research? That would make sense. I can believe it. Are you going to find out who did it?” That was a very definite challenge, with all the sting of contempt if the answer were no.

“I’m going to find out if it’s so, first of all,” Monk told him. “Where is this research now?”