William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

occurred to him. He made no trite or critical comments to Rathbone, who was apparently already castigating himself too fiercely. And for once Monk felt a sharp compassion for him. He understood guilt very well; it was a familiar emotion since rediscovering himself after the accident. It is a uniquely distressing experience to see yourself only through the eyes of others, too often those you have injured in some way, to know irrefutably what you have done but not why you did it, not the mitigating circumstances, the beliefs you held at the time which made your actions seem reasonable then.
    After Rathbone had gone, he took a hansom to Tavistock Square to tell Hester and—if he was interested—Gabriel Sheldon the outcome.
    He was welcomed at the door by the maid, Martha Jackson, and immediately remembered the impossible job he had promised her he would do. It was not the fruitless work that he dreaded, or even the waste of time he could have spent earning very necessary money, but the fact that anything he discovered, even supposing he was able to, would be distressing. Then he would have to make the decision what to tell her and what to tell Hester, who would be less easily deceived.
    “Good evening, Miss Jackson,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “The case of Mr. Melville”—he did not need to explain the truth here on the doorstep; it was simpler to say “Mr.”—“has concluded very tragically, and in a way we could not have guessed. I should like to tell Miss Latterly—and Lieutenant Sheldon, if he cares to know.”
    She looked surprisingly harassed, and less than interested herself. She stood in the doorway, hesitating as to how she should answer.
    “Is something wrong, Miss Jackson?” He felt a sudden wave of apprehension and realized with surprise how much Melville’s death had disturbed him. The whole story left him with a sense of loss he did not know how to dispel.
    “No!” she said too firmly. She made herself smile, and it was so painful he became more worried. “No …” she went on. “Lieutenant Sheldon is not very well today. He had a poor night, that is all. Please come in, Mr. Monk. I shall inform Miss Latterly that you are here. I hope you won’t mind if you have to wait a little while? The withdrawing room is quite warm.”
    “Of course not,” he answered; it was the only possible thing to say. He had called uninvited. He followed her obediently into the pleasant, rather ordinary withdrawing room, and she left him to possess himself in patience.
    The wait was indeed long, about half an hour, and when Hester finally arrived she too looked tired and a little flustered, her attention not wholly with him.
    “Martha told me the Melville case is over,” she said, coming in and closing the door behind her. She met his eyes and then saw the tragedy in them. Her expression changed. Now shewas filled with apprehension and pity. “Is he ruined? Could Oliver not do anything for him? What happened? Did he change his plea?”
    “I suppose so … in effect, yes.” He found the words suddenly difficult to say. “He killed himself. Isaac Wolff found him last night.”
    Her face crumpled as if she had been physically hit.
    “Oh, William … I’m so sorry!” She closed her eyes tightly. “How damnable! Why do we do that to people? If he loved another man, what business is it of ours? We’ll all answer to God in one way or another. If we are not hurting each other, isn’t that enough?”
    “He wasn’t homosexual,” he said with a jerky laugh. “He committed a greater offense than that, in most people’s view.”
    She opened her eyes. “What?” Then the tears spilled over. “What did he do? Jilt Zillah Lambert? He never accused her of anything. He was scrupulous not to. That was Oliver’s problem. What did he do?”
    “He deceived the world … man and woman,” he replied. “Totally effectively. All except Isaac Wolff … he knew. But the rest of them were completely fooled … all taken in. They can’t forgive that. Some of the women might be laughing, a very few, secretly, but none of the men.”
    “I don’t know what you are talking about. You aren’t making any sense.”
    “Killian Melville was a woman.”
    “What did you say?” she protested.
    “You heard what I said. Keelin was her real name, and she was a woman.” The anger rang through his voice. “She dressed as a man because no one would allow her even to study architecture, let alone