William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

looked up at Monk he had an expression of candor.
    “Some of our relationships were a little difficult,” he confided. “When my wife and I were first married we lived in Scotland. To be honest we hardly ever saw Joel and Dinah. My wife was not close to Lambourn. There were several years between them so they grew up separately.”
    Monk waited.
    Herne was tense. His hands were rigid so that his knuckles shone white. “It is only recently that I myself began to appreciate that Joel wasa far more complicated person than he appeared to be to his friends and admirers. Oh, he was certainly charming, in a very quiet way. He had a phenomenal memory and could be most entertaining with bits and pieces of unusual information.” He smiled uncomfortably, as if it were some kind of apology. “And of course jokes. Not the sort you laugh loudly at, more quiet jests in amusement at the absurdity of life.” He stopped again. “He was very easy to like.”
    Monk drew in a breath to ask him what this had to do with either Joel’s or Zenia’s deaths, but then changed his mind. He might learn more if he allowed Herne simply to ramble a little longer.
    Then suddenly Herne looked very directly at Monk. “But he was not the man poor Dinah chose to see him as.” He lowered his voice. “He had a lonely, much darker side,” he confided. “I knew he had this woman he kept in Limehouse. He visited her frequently. I don’t know exactly when, or how often. I’m sure you will understand that I preferred not to. That was some ugly corner of his nature I would honestly have been happier not to know about.” He made a slight gesture of distaste, perhaps for what he imagined of Lambourn, or possibly only for the fact that he had unintentionally learned more of another man’s private life than he wished to.
    “How did you find out, Mr. Herne?” Monk asked.
    Herne looked rueful. “It was something Dinah said, actually. I only realized the implication afterward. It was really rather embarrassing.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Joel always seemed so … unimaginative—rather staid, in fact. I couldn’t even picture him with a middle-aged whore in the backstreets of a place like West India Dock Road.” He frowned. “But since the poor man died before this unfortunate creature was killed, he couldn’t possibly have been implicated in the horror. I can only presume she became desperate for money, and because he had looked after her for so long, she had lost her sense of self-preservation and become careless.”
    Monk was inclined to think the same thing, but he waited for Herne to complete what he wanted to say.
    “My family …” Herne seemed to be finding it difficult to ask. “I would appreciate it very much if you did not publicly make any connection between Joel and this woman. It is hard enough for Dinah that shehas to be aware of his … weakness, and, God help us, deal with his professional failure and his suicide. And of course for my wife; they were not close, but he was still her brother. Please … don’t make his connection with this woman public. It can have no bearing on her murder.”
    Monk did not have to weigh it in his mind. “If it has nothing to do with convicting her killer, then we would have no reason to mention Dr. Lambourn,” he answered.
    Herne smiled and appeared at last to relax. “Thank you. I … we are greatly obliged to you. It’s been hard for all of us, but most especially Dinah. She is a … a very emotional woman.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Thank you,” he repeated.
    I T WAS ONLY AFTER Monk had left the office and was in a hansom on his way back to the River Police Station at Wapping, stuck in heavy traffic where the Strand becomes Fleet Street, that he realized exactly what Barclay Herne had told him. Dinah Lambourn had admitted that she was aware that her husband had an interest in another woman, but she had deliberately chosen to know no more of it than that. She had told him that she did not know where he went, or the woman’s name.
    Herne had told Monk that he had learned of the affair from Dinah, and then gone on to speak not just of Limehouse in general, but quite specifically of the West India Dock Road, which was a matter of yards from where Zenia Gadney had lived. Unintentionally, he had betrayed that Dinah knew exactly where Zenia Gadney lived, and thus he had exposed Dinah’s lie.
    The thought was repulsive. He tried to shut it out of his