William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

persisted.
    “No. Joel and I didn’t discuss it.”
    “How did you know of her?”
    Her eyes flashed up at him, and then down again at her hands. “One does know such things, Mr. Monk,” she said quietly. “Small matters of behavior, distractions, explanations that you had not asked for, evasion of certain subjects. Finally I asked him outright. He admitted it but gave me no details. I didn’t want details. Surely you can understand that?”
    He nodded gravely. “But you didn’t have any idea where she lived?”
    She shook her head very slightly. “That was one of the things I didn’t wish to know.”
    “Or her name?”
    Her chin jerked up a little.
    “Of course not. I preferred her to be … gray, without form.” Her voice was tight. She was trembling very slightly.
    Monk was certain she was lying. “On the day before she was killed, where were you, Mrs. Lambourn?”
    Her eyes wandered. “Where was I?”
    “Yes, please.”
    She was silent for several seconds, breathing in and out slowly as if composing herself for some major decision whose consequences terrified her. There was a nerve twitching in her temple, close to the line of her dark hair.
    He waited.
    “I … I went to a soirée with a friend. We spent most of the day together,” she said at last.
    “Your friend’s name?”
    “Helena Moulton. Mrs. Wallace Moulton, I suppose. She …” Again the deep breath. “She lives on the Glebe, in Blackheath. Number four. Why does this matter, Mr. Monk?” Her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles shone when the skin was stretched. If she was not careful, her nails would leave bruises in the flesh.
    “Thank you.”
    “Why?” she said again. Her voice was so dry it rasped in her throat. “Joel couldn’t have had anything to do with her death.”
    “Could she have had anything to do with his?” he asked.
    “You mean …?” Suddenly her eyes were wide, filled with anger, glaring at him. “You mean did she threaten to tell someone of their affair? Was she that kind of woman? Was she greedy, conniving, and destructive? Joel wasn’t a very good judge of character. He often thought better of people than they deserved.”
    Monk recalled their earlier conversation vividly. “But you said that you believed he was murdered, because his report on the opium use wascorrect,” he pointed out. “That would have had nothing to do with Zenia Gadney, right?”
    She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. She remained frozen for several moments. The seconds ticked by on the clock above the fireplace. Her shoulders did not shake, nor did she make any sound.
    He waited, acutely unhappy. He would have to go to Blackheath and find Helena Moulton. He hoped intensely that she would agree that Dinah had spent the day with her—and that there would be others who would substantiate it. But he did not expect there to be.
    At last Dinah straightened up. “I don’t know, Mr. Monk. All that matters to me is that Joel is dead, and now this woman is dead also. You will have to find out how these things happened, and who is answerable.” She looked exhausted, too tired to even be frightened anymore.
    He rose to his feet. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have had to trouble you again.”
    Now she met his eyes fully, without flinching. “You have to do your job, Mr. Monk, whatever it entails. We must know the truth.”
    Monk walked some distance before he found a hansom and rode the rest of the way to the Glebe, on the edge between the town and the open country toward the Health itself. It was not a long road, and he soon found the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wallace Moulton.
    He had to wait a half an hour before Mrs. Moulton returned from visiting a friend and he was able to speak with her.
    “Mrs. Lambourn?” she said with some surprise. She was a pleasant-looking woman, carefully dressed. Her expression now showed complete puzzlement.
    “Yes. Did you see her on the twenty-third of November?”
    “For goodness’ sake, why? I shall have to look at my diary. Did something important happen?”
    “I’m not certain.” He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Your help would possibly answer that question for me.”
    She was very grave. “I’m not certain that I am willing to discuss my movements with you, Mr. Monk, or more particularly, Mrs. Lambourn’s movements. She is a friend of mine, and she has been through a greatdeal of tragedy lately. If something unpleasant has happened,