by Anne Perry
“I have no idea,” Monk replied. “I am agreeing with you that malicious supposition, whether true or not, can ruin a young person, and it would be natural for those who care for them to go to great lengths to prevent that.”
Lambert drew in a long, slow breath. “You are accusing me of murdering Melville to hide some damned indiscretion which was caught before it was anything! God Almighty, what kind of a man do you think I am?”
Monk glanced down and saw that Lambert’s hands on the desk were shaking and his knuckles were white. He would have sworn that the idea genuinely horrified him.
“I am not accusing you, Mr. Lambert,” Monk answered quietly. “I am trying to find out why Keelin Melville chose such an extraordinary time to kill herself, and how. She did not eat or drink anything during the time when the police surgeon says the poison entered her body … yet he says it was swallowed. It does not make sense, does it?”
Lambert frowned. He sat down again, this time behind the desk. “No … not that I can see,” he agreed. “But if she did not eat or drink anything, then how did anyone else poison her?”
“I don’t know that either,” Monk confessed. “I’m looking for a lot of things. I’ve seen Keelin Melville’s buildings, her dreams, something of what was in her soul. I can’t let this go without doing everything I can to understand what happened to her.”
Lambert swallowed, his throat convulsing. “Dammit! So am I! I’ll retain you if necessary. Nothing we do can bring her back. Nothing I do can alter my part in it. But I can find out what finally broke her, and learn to live with it … or if it was someone else, then I’ll see they pay.” He bent his head and put his hands over his face. “Listen to me! Am I going to find the man I want to punish is myself?”
Monk was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of empathy with him. They were as different as possible, physically, in pattern of life and fortune, in turn of mind and personality, and yet Monk had stood in exactly the same place: pursuing what he believed to be a monster and terrified that when he found him, it would prove to be his own face he saw.
“Are you not going to punish yourself anyway?” He did not move his eyes from Lambert, and slowly Lambert looked up.
“Yes. But either way I have to know the truth, if you can find it.”
“What happened to Hugh Gibbons?”
“What? I’ve no idea. Can it matter now?”
“I don’t know. Can you think of any other incident in Zillah’s life which anyone might fear my looking into?”
“I don’t fear that.” Some of the indignation came back into Lambert’s voice. “It could have been tragic, but it wasn’t. My wife dealt with it before it went too far. Took Zillah away.” There was no shadow in his face, not the slightest duplicity. If there had been anything more to it Monk would swear Lambert knew nothing of it. But then that was entirely possible. A wise mother might well not tell the father of any such thing. She might fear his reaction, his anger, his sense of outrage. He could all too easily lose his temper and, without realizing it, bring about the very disaster his wife was laboring to avoid.
Lambert saw the disbelief in Monk’s face. “It wasn’t!” he repeated fiercely.
“What about Hugh Gibbons?” Monk said again. “Might he have gone on to become involved with another young woman, and her mother not have acted so quickly, or so effectively?”
“I’ve no idea. What difference could it make?” Lambert’s eyes opened wide. “Are you suggesting Gibbons came to the courtroom and poisoned Melville to stop you from looking into it? That’s ridiculous. How? Why didn’t we see him? And how would he know about you anyway? What would you have done about it if you had found something? You would hardly have ruined some other young woman just for the sake of it. It wouldn’t have helped Melville’s cause.” His contempt for the idea was plain.
So was Monk’s, he had to admit. If it was this incident, then it was to do with Zillah.
The same thought must have occurred to Lambert. He rose to his feet.
“We’ll ask my wife and get the whole thing disposed of. Come.”
Monk followed obediently, catching up with him at the withdrawing room door. “Would you rather not discuss it with Sacheverall present?” he asked.
“Not at all. He is our family lawyer, and as you may have observed, extremely fond of Zillah. We have no secrets to hide from him.” He opened the door and walked in.
Delphine was sitting elegantly on the sofa with a piece of embroidery in her hands, although she was paying it little attention. Zillah and Sacheverall had returned from their walk in the garden. Perhaps it was a little cool. Now they stood over by the window close together, and Sacheverall was talking to her earnestly, gazing at her eyes, her lips. The sunlight caught the brilliance of her hair, shining bronze and gold. They all looked at Lambert as he came in.
Lambert went straight to the point. “Mr. Monk has told me some disturbing things about Melville’s death. It seems it is not as simple a suicide as it first appeared.”
Sacheverall made as if to interrupt, coming a step forward into the room.
Lambert overrode him. “There are things which need explaining, and we cannot let the matter go until that has been done.”
“With respect, sir,” Sacheverall argued, “to continue to go over the matter can only cause further distress to innocent people. That Melville should take her own life is easy enough to understand.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “She was obviously a person of—at its kindest—a disturbed mind and unnatural disposition. She realized the great wrong she had done both to Zillah”—he smiled at her and put his hand on her arm—“and to Isaac Wolff. To avoid further dishonor, she killed herself. What further explanation can be needed?”
“A great deal,” Lambert answered with a sharpness that surprised Monk, and from the look in his face, Sacheverall also. Only Zillah seemed happy with her father’s words.
Delphine looked merely annoyed. “Leave the wretched creature in peace.” She shook her head. “As Mr. Sacheverall so wisely says, she was only too obviously disturbed. Pursuing her reasons for taking her life can only distress you, my dear, and perhaps cause you to blame yourself where there is no justification. I have told you over and over that no fault lies with you. You believed what she told you, as did we all.” She placed her hand lightly on his arm. “It is not fair to hold yourself responsible in any way. I hate to see you suffer for this. Please … let us all put it behind us. No good can come of knowing any more, even if it were possible.” She regarded him very earnestly. “And truly, Barton, can we say that her inner turmoil is any of our business? Can we not allow her, at least in death, a little privacy?”
For the first time Lambert hesitated. He glanced at Monk, then back at Delphine.
“What things?” Zillah asked.
Lambert did not answer.
She looked beyond him to Monk. “What things need to be answered, Mr. Monk? Why do you care what happened? Please answer me truthfully. I am very tired of evasions and euphemisms told to protect me.”
“You don’t need to know, my dear….” Sacheverall said, reaching toward her with his hand.
She moved a step away from him. “I wish to know,” she said, still looking at Monk. “Did she kill herself over what we did to her? Was it because of what everyone said about Mr. Wolff?”
Delphine winced.
“We can’t blame ourselves for that!” Sacheverall said quickly, a flush of anger marking his cheeks.
Zillah appeared not even to have heard him. She remained looking at Monk.
“I don’t know what it was, Miss Lambert,” he answered. “If that was the cause, I don’t understand why she did not tell the truth. It would have ruined her professional reputation in this country, but there are other countries, and she had lived and studied in some of them. Surely that would have been better than death? The only crime she was accused of was so easily explained.”
“Easily!” Sacheverall said with amazement. “Perhaps in your ci
rcles, Monk, but hardly in the society in which he—she moved, and among the people who would be her patrons. I think you forget she practiced her profession among the very cream of society, not the sort of person who might regard that kind of … perversion … as acceptable.”
Zillah swung around to glare at him. “It was not a perversion!” she defended hotly. “She did nothing wrong or not … normal. She only dressed as a man; she didn’t behave as one in—in a personal sense.” The color was hot in her cheeks also, but for the embarrassment of having to seek words for something she was uncertain of and which it was indelicate to discuss. “You are trying to say that she was in some way mad, and that’s not true.”
“My dear Zillah, you have no idea what she may have done … in private!” Sacheverall expostulated.
“Neither have you!” she said instantly. “You are suggesting something ugly, but you don’t know.”
“We know she killed herself,” he said gently. “That is unarguable. Young people in good health, with sufficient funds and a stable character, do not take their own lives. It is a crime against God, as well as against the state.” He looked calm and satisfied with that answer.
Zillah looked back at Monk. “Is that true?”
“It is part of the truth,” he agreed.
“And the rest of it?”
“Zillah …” Delphine said warningly.
“The rest of it?” Her eyes did not deviate from Monk’s.
“The rest of it is that I wonder if she did kill herself, or if someone else did in order to bring the case to a conclusion before I investigated any further and uncovered something unpleasant,” he replied.
She looked completely confused, as if she could see no sense in what he had said.
Sacheverall let out a guffaw of ridicule.
“What were you investigating?” Zillah asked. “About Killian? I—I mean Keelin … I don’t understand a great deal about the law, but if there was something, surely if she told Sir Oliver, he would have kept it secret? Doesn’t he have to, if he was her barrister? Anyway, what could it be?” Her brow darkened. “And why were you investigating her? Sir Oliver was supposed to be defending her. He was on her side!” She was indignant. She felt a trust had been abused.
“No, Miss Lambert,” Monk said softly. “I was investigating you.”
“Me?” She was amazed. “I have nothing to hide.”
“What about Hugh Gibbons?”
“Oh!” She looked away and the color rushed crimson up her cheeks. “Well, that was all rather foolish. I suppose I was indiscreet—”
“Zillah!” Delphine said warningly.
Sacheverall frowned and stood perfectly still. It was the first time he had seemed uncertain of himself since Monk had come in.
Zillah ignored her mother. She was still facing Monk. “I did not behave very well. I should know better now. I would not permit myself to become so … emotional. Unless, of course, I were married.” She took a deep breath but did not lower her eyes.
Monk found himself feeling extraordinarily partisan towards her. Each time he saw her, it became easier to understand why Keelin Melville had liked her so much she had inadvertently allowed this tragedy to happen.
“Perhaps anyone who is capable of passion is indiscreet at some time or other,” he said quietly. He had no idea how he might have erred in his own youth. It was gone, with all his other memories. But he knew himself well enough to be sure it had occurred, and probably often. Not that it was the same for women, of course—at least not to society.
“That is hardly a worthy sentiment, Mr. Monk,” Delphine said, looking quickly at Sacheverall and away again. “I would be obliged if you would not express it here. It is not the way we believe—or behave. Zillah was fond of this young man and saw him more frequently than we desired. It was inevitable, since he moved in the same circles. Before he became too enamored of her and overstepped propriety, or we unintentionally encouraged hopes in him that would not be fulfilled, we went for a short holiday to Crickieth, in North Wales.” She forced herself to smile. “By the time we returned he had formed an attachment for another young lady, altogether more suitable to his age and situation. The word passion is far too strong for such a childhood fondness.”
Her words fell in silence, as if they all knew they were a gilding of the truth to such a point as to amount to a lie. Zillah was the only one who seemed unconcerned.
“What has it to do with Keelin’s death?” she persisted. “Hugh wouldn’t have harmed anyone over me, no matter how ardent he seemed at the time. He said a lot of things he didn’t mean. He was hotheaded, but there was no real violence in him.”
“Of course there wasn’t!” Delphine said urgently, looking at Zillah with warning in her eyes, then at Sacheverall. “It was all very young and innocent, and over with years ago.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Zillah contradicted. “He went on writing to me….” She disregarded Delphine’s obvious anger. “I collected the letters from a friend. And there is no use asking me who, because I shall not tell you….”
“You will do as you are told, young lady!” Delphine snapped, moving forward as if to restrain her physically.
“Was he jealous over your betrothal to Melville?” Lambert asked, holding up his hand to Delphine and looking steadily at his daughter, his expression hard and anxious. “Does he still care for you enough to have hated Melville for her insult to you? Tell me the truth, Zillah. He will not be blamed for anything he did not do, but I will not allow Keelin Melville’s death to go unavenged if anyone else is responsible for it but herself. We may be speaking of murder. I will have no false loyalties or soft ideas of romance. Your loyalty is to the truth, girl, before all else. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Papa.” She did not flinch. “I wrote to Hugh long after Mama took me to Wales, but I never saw him again, except by chance, and never alone. He says that he still cares for me. Of course, I don’t know whether that is true or just his idea of romance. But he wrote very well to me when the betrothal was announced, even if there was some regret in it.” She shook her head as if almost certain. “I cannot believe he has it in him to have hurt Keelin, whatever he felt.” Her voice was very earnest and she ignored everyone but her father. “He wrote that no matter how it grieved him to see me marry someone else, he still wished me happiness. I believe he meant it.” For the first time the shadow of a smile touched her lips. Something sweet had been remembered and it came through even present pain.
Sacheverall stared at her. Perhaps without being aware of it he took a step backward, opening a greater distance between them. The eagerness had gone from his face. Delphine had seen it. Zillah still had her back to him.
“I shall speak to you later about your disobedience,” Lambert said to her, but the coldness in his voice was pretense; there was no echo of it in his eyes. “It is up to Mr. Monk whether he chooses to investigate young Gibbons or judges it to be worth pursuing. I have engaged him to learn the truth of Melville’s death.”
“That, of course, is your choice,” Sacheverall said with noticeable chill. “I have discharged my duties in the matter. My final advice to you”—he looked at Lambert, not at Zillah—“is that you consider the matter ended and resume your lives and put it from your mind. You conducted yourselves both legally and morally in a perfectly upright manner and have nothing with which to reproach yourselves. Private mistakes of the past are no one else’s concern. I shall not mention them, and I presume Monk is bound by the same constraints, although of course I cannot answer for him.”
“You don’t need to!” Monk said savagely. “I consider Miss Lambert’s reputation to be without blemish.”
Sacheverall gave him a curious look, a mixture of contempt for his naïveté and amusement in the mistaken assumption that Monk admired her in a personal sense and would consider courting her.
In defense of Zillah, Monk did not disabuse him.
Sacheverall bade them farewell and took his leave.
&n
bsp; The moment he was gone Delphine rose to her feet, her face white, tight-lipped.
“You fool!” she said furiously, glaring at Zillah. “How could you be so unbelievably stupid? You didn’t have to say anything about that wretched Gibbons boy! You could have said I took you away because he was pestering you!” She was breathing hard. “You could have said anything at all. A dozen different things would have been perfectly believable and left you with a reputation. Look what you’ve done.” She flung her arm out. “You haven’t the wits you were born with! Or at least when you were a child! Sometimes I wonder where you got your stupidity from. It’s certainly nothing I’ve taught you.”
She jabbed her finger towards the closed door again. “He would have married you. He was utterly charmed. You were everything he wanted. He has an excellent family, intelligence, good manners and very fine prospects indeed. His reputation is perfect. Do you think I don’t look into these things before I let anyone pay court to you? Do you?”
Zillah drew in her breath.
“Well, do you?” Delphine demanded, her eyes blazing. “Haven’t I always taken the best care of you, done everything for your interest, for your welfare and your future? Now in one idiotic conversation you’ve sent another man off out of your life.” She gestured towards the door again. “And he won’t come back—don’t hold any hopes of that. He thought you lost your virtue to Gibbons, and nothing you say now is going to change his mind. He won’t look at you again, except with polite contempt. And do you imagine people won’t guess why?” Her voice was rising steadily and getting wilder, and unconsciously she was moving towards Zillah. “Two men attracted to you and then leaving you suddenly—in as many months! There’s only one conclusion anyone with a jot of sense will draw from that.”
“Delphine …” Lambert interrupted, moving towards her.
She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t be absurd, Barton! Face reality. People may like her, young men may desire her, heaven knows she’s beautiful enough, I’ve seen to that. But they won’t marry her. Their mothers won’t allow it, whatever they think.” She whirled around to Zillah again, her eyes burning in a white face. “Is that what you’ll settle for? Being liked and desired while all the eligible men marry other girls? I can tell you, it may be fine for another year or two, but in five years, when they have houses and families and you are still here with us, it will look very different. The invitations will stop coming. You will have more and more time to sit by yourself and consider your idiocy.”