William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

taken without warning, all personalplans disrupted. A garden party—a ball which Delphine had been very eager to attend; indeed, for which she had gone to great trouble to acquire an invitation—had been abandoned. A marvelous gown had to be set aside, to be worn when it was no longer impressive, certainly no longer the forerunner of fashion but rather the trailer behind, seeming a copy instead of an original. Knowing a little about clothes and vanity himself, he appreciated what a sacrifice Delphine had made. There would have to have been a very compelling reason to leave at that time, and a very urgent one.
    To begin with, the friendship between Zillah and young Hugh Gibbons had seemed innocent enough, but if Delphine had been prepared to make such a sacrifice, then there must have been more to it. If he pressed he could find it.
    It was morning on the third day before he had gathered sufficient evidence to prove it beyond denial. Of course, there was no witness that the two had been lovers in any but a romantic sense. But they had spent much time alone together. Hugh was nineteen, an age when Monk knew the emotions were wild and the blood hot and disinclined to moderation and self-discipline. Zillah had apparently been a willful fifteen-year-old, full of dreams and certain no one else understood them, except Hugh. She had read the great romances in the schoolroom.
    By all accounts her parents had been generous and more inclined to indulgence than harshness. Any responsible mother would have done as Delphine had, possibly even sooner. The only answer to such a liaison was to leave the city for a while. Hugh was unsuitable socially—he had no means to keep a wife and no prospects; and Zillah was too young, and utterly impractical. The unplanned nature of the departure made it unarguable that Delphine had discovered a situation which could not be allowed to continue even another day or two, let alone weeks.
    Did Barton Lambert know of it? Had it been serious enough for public knowledge of it to ruin Zillah?
    But surely if it had, and Lambert knew about it, then he would not have begun the proceedings against Melville?
    Had anyone else been concerned? Was there something about Hugh Gibbons? If Monk had pursued him instead of Zillah, would he have found something ugly enough to prompt murder? It seemed highly improbable. He could not imagine what. Another affair, perhaps a child or a rape? What had happened to Hugh Gibbons since then?
    Before pursuing that, which might take a long time and be quite fruitless, he decided to speak to Barton Lambert.
    It was shortly before one o’clock, and he was admitted readily into the house and, after the briefest hesitation, was shown into the large, very comfortable withdrawing room. French doors opened onto a small lawn surrounded by hydrangea bushes carpeted underneath with tiny white flowers.
    The room was warmed by a handsome fire, and heavy brocade curtains framed the big windows and kept the draft from chilling the air. Delphine Lambert was sitting on one of the sofas. She was dressed in vivid blue, her enormous skirts gleaming in the light. She looked calm and happy. Wystan Sacheverall was standing closer to the window only a yard from Zillah; in fact, the frills of her dusky pink skirt covered the toes of his polished shoes. He was looking at her, disregarding Monk’s entry as if he were not even aware of it and in any case it held no interest for him whatever. His face was filled with eagerness and he was talking to her, and smiling.
    Zillah appeared to be absorbed by something in the garden beyond the glass, a flower or a bird. She did not take her eyes from it even when Sacheverall seemed to be asking a question. Her shoulder was lifted a little, pulling the fabric of her bodice, and Monk could only see the side of her head and the curve of her cheek. As soon as she heard his voice she turned and started towards him.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Lambert, Mrs. Lambert,” he said formally. “Miss Lambert…”
    “Good afternoon, Mr….” Delphine trailed off as if she had already forgotten his name.
    “Monk,” Lambert supplied. “Good afternoon, Monk. What can we do for you?”
    Sacheverall deliberately remained by the window. He stared at Monk but made no move to come forward. His coldness could hardly be misinterpreted.
    Zillah, on the other hand, seemed almost pleased to see him. Whatever had interested her in the garden was instantly forgotten.
    “Good