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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 was someone 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 have done 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 enough to understand.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “She was obviously a person of—at its kindest—a disturbed mind and unnatural disposition. She realized the great wrong she had done both to Zillah”—he smiled at her and put his hand on her arm—“and to Isaac Wolff. To avoid further dishonor, she killed herself. What further explanation can be needed?”
“A great deal,” Lambert answered with a sharpness that surprised Monk, and from the look in his face, Sacheverall also. Only Zillah seemed happy with her father’s words.
Delphine looked merely annoyed. “Leave the wretched creature in peace.” She shook her head. “As Mr. Sacheverall so wisely says, she was only too obviously disturbed. Pursuing her reasons for taking her life can only distress you, my dear, and perhaps cause you to blame yourself where there is no justification. I have told you over and over that no fault lies with you. You believed what she told you, as did we all.” She placed her hand lightly on his arm. “It is not fair to hold yourself responsible in any way. I hate to see you suffer for this. Please … let us all put it behind us. No good can come of knowing any more, even if it were possible.” She regarded him very earnestly. “And truly, Barton, can we say that her inner turmoil is any of our business? Can we not allow her, at least in death, a little privacy?”
For the first time Lambert hesitated. He glanced at Monk, then back at Delphine.
“What things?” Zillah asked.
Lambert did not answer.
She looked beyond him to Monk. “What things need to be answered, Mr. Monk? Why do you care what happened? Please answer me truthfully. I am very tired of evasions and euphemisms told to protect me.”
“You don’t need to know, my dear….” Sacheverall said, reaching toward her with his hand.
She moved a step away from him. “I wish to know,” she said, still looking at Monk. “Did she kill herself over what we did to her? Was it because of what everyone said about Mr. Wolff?”
Delphine winced.
