William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

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 wassomeone 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 havedone 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