A Breach of Promise (42 page)

Delphine winced.

“We can’t blame ourselves for that!” Sacheverall said quickly, a flush of anger marking his cheeks.

Zillah appeared not even to have heard him. She remained looking at Monk.

“I don’t know what it was, Miss Lambert,” he answered. “If that was the cause, I don’t understand why she did not tell the truth. It would have ruined her professional reputation in this country, but there are other countries, and she had lived and studied in some of them. Surely that would have been better than death? The only crime she was accused of was so easily explained.”

“Easily!” Sacheverall said with amazement. “Perhaps in your circles, Monk, but hardly in the society in which he—she moved, and among the people who would be her patrons. I think you forget she practiced her profession among the very cream of society, not the sort of person who might regard that kind of … perversion … as acceptable.”

Zillah swung around to glare at him. “It was not a perversion!” she defended hotly. “She did nothing wrong or not … normal. She only dressed as a man; she didn’t behave as one in—in a personal sense.” The color was hot in her cheeks also, but for the embarrassment of having to seek words for something she was uncertain of and which it was indelicate to discuss. “You are trying to say that she was in some way mad, and that’s not true.”

“My dear Zillah, you have no idea what she may have done … in private!” Sacheverall expostulated.

“Neither have you!” she said instantly. “You are suggesting something ugly, but you don’t know.”

“We know she killed herself,” he said gently. “That is unarguable. Young people in good health, with sufficient funds and a stable character, do not take their own lives. It is a crime against God, as well as against the state.” He looked calm and satisfied with that answer.

Zillah looked back at Monk. “Is that true?”

“It is part of the truth,” he agreed.

“And the rest of it?”

“Zillah …” Delphine said warningly.

“The rest of it?” Her eyes did not deviate from Monk’s.

“The rest of it is that I wonder if she did kill herself, or if someone else did in order to bring the case to a conclusion before I investigated any further and uncovered something unpleasant,” he replied.

She looked completely confused, as if she could see no sense in what he had said.

Sacheverall let out a guffaw of ridicule.

“What were you investigating?” Zillah asked. “About Killian? I—I mean Keelin … I don’t understand a great deal about the law, but if there was something, surely if she told Sir Oliver, he would have kept it secret? Doesn’t he have to, if he was her barrister? Anyway, what could it be?” Her brow darkened. “And why were you investigating her? Sir Oliver was supposed to be defending her. He was on her side!” She was indignant. She felt a trust had been abused.

“No, Miss Lambert,” Monk said softly. “I was investigating you.”

“Me?” She was amazed. “I have nothing to hide.”

“What about Hugh Gibbons?”

“Oh!” She looked away and the color rushed crimson up her cheeks. “Well, that was all rather foolish. I suppose I was indiscreet—”

“Zillah!” Delphine said warningly.

Sacheverall frowned and stood perfectly still. It was the first time he had seemed uncertain of himself since Monk had come in.

Zillah ignored her mother. She was still facing Monk. “I did not behave very well. I should know better now. I would not permit myself to become so … emotional. Unless, of course, I were married.” She took a deep breath but did not lower her eyes.

Monk found himself feeling extraordinarily partisan towards her. Each time he saw her, it became easier to understand why Keelin Melville had liked her so much she had inadvertently allowed this tragedy to happen.

“Perhaps anyone who is capable of passion is indiscreet at some time or other,” he said quietly. He had no idea how he might have erred in his own youth. It was gone, with all his other memories. But he knew himself well enough to be sure it had occurred, and probably often. Not that it was the same for women, of course—at least not to society.

“That is hardly a worthy sentiment, Mr. Monk,” Delphine said, looking quickly at Sacheverall and away again. “I would be obliged if you would not express it here. It is not the way we believe—or behave. Zillah was fond of this young man and saw him more frequently than we desired. It was inevitable, since he moved in the same circles. Before he became too enamored of her and overstepped propriety, or we unintentionally encouraged hopes in him that would not be fulfilled, we went for a short holiday to Crickieth, in North Wales.” She forced herself to smile. “By the time we returned he had formed an attachment for another young lady, altogether more suitable to his age and situation. The word
passion
is far too strong for such a childhood fondness.”

Her words fell in silence, as if they all knew they were a gilding of the truth to such a point as to amount to a lie. Zillah was the only one who seemed unconcerned.

“What has it to do with Keelin’s death?” she persisted. “Hugh wouldn’t have harmed anyone over me, no matter how ardent he seemed at the time. He said a lot of things he didn’t mean. He was hotheaded, but there was no real violence in him.”

“Of course there wasn’t!” Delphine said urgently, looking at Zillah with warning in her eyes, then at Sacheverall. “It was all very young and innocent, and over with years ago.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Zillah contradicted. “He went on writing to me….” She disregarded Delphine’s obvious anger. “I collected the letters from a friend. And there is no use asking me who, because I shall not tell you….”

“You will do as you are told, young lady!” Delphine snapped, moving forward as if to restrain her physically.

“Was he jealous over your betrothal to Melville?” Lambert
asked, holding up his hand to Delphine and looking steadily at his daughter, his expression hard and anxious. “Does he still care for you enough to have hated Melville for her insult to you? Tell me the truth, Zillah. He will not be blamed for anything he did not do, but I will not allow Keelin Melville’s death to go unavenged if anyone else is responsible for it but herself. We may be speaking of murder. I will have no false loyalties or soft ideas of romance. Your loyalty is to the truth, girl, before all else. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Papa.” She did not flinch. “I wrote to Hugh long after Mama took me to Wales, but I never saw him again, except by chance, and never alone. He says that he still cares for me. Of course, I don’t know whether that is true or just his idea of romance. But he wrote very well to me when the betrothal was announced, even if there was some regret in it.” She shook her head as if almost certain. “I cannot believe he has it in him to have hurt Keelin, whatever he felt.” Her voice was very earnest and she ignored everyone but her father. “He wrote that no matter how it grieved him to see me marry someone else, he still wished me happiness. I believe he meant it.” For the first time the shadow of a smile touched her lips. Something sweet had been remembered and it came through even present pain.

Sacheverall stared at her. Perhaps without being aware of it he took a step backward, opening a greater distance between them. The eagerness had gone from his face. Delphine had seen it. Zillah still had her back to him.

“I shall speak to you later about your disobedience,” Lambert said to her, but the coldness in his voice was pretense; there was no echo of it in his eyes. “It is up to Mr. Monk whether he chooses to investigate young Gibbons or judges it to be worth pursuing. I have engaged him to learn the truth of Melville’s death.”

“That, of course, is your choice,” Sacheverall said with noticeable chill. “I have discharged my duties in the matter. My final advice to you”—he looked at Lambert, not at Zillah—“is that you consider the matter ended and resume
your lives and put it from your mind. You conducted yourselves both legally and morally in a perfectly upright manner and have nothing with which to reproach yourselves. Private mistakes of the past are no one else’s concern. I shall not mention them, and I presume Monk is bound by the same constraints, although of course I cannot answer for him.”

“You don’t need to!” Monk said savagely. “I consider Miss Lambert’s reputation to be without blemish.”

Sacheverall gave him a curious look, a mixture of contempt for his naïveté and amusement in the mistaken assumption that Monk admired her in a personal sense and would consider courting her.

In defense of Zillah, Monk did not disabuse him.

Sacheverall bade them farewell and took his leave.

The moment he was gone Delphine rose to her feet, her face white, tight-lipped.

“You fool!” she said furiously, glaring at Zillah. “How could you be so unbelievably stupid? You didn’t have to say anything about that wretched Gibbons boy! You could have said I took you away because he was pestering you!” She was breathing hard. “You could have said anything at all. A dozen different things would have been perfectly believable and left you with a reputation. Look what you’ve done.” She flung her arm out. “You haven’t the wits you were born with! Or at least when you were a child! Sometimes I wonder where you got your stupidity from. It’s certainly nothing I’ve taught you.”

She jabbed her finger towards the closed door again. “He would have married you. He was utterly charmed. You were everything he wanted. He has an excellent family, intelligence, good manners and very fine prospects indeed. His reputation is perfect. Do you think I don’t look into these things before I let anyone pay court to you? Do you?”

Zillah drew in her breath.

“Well, do you?” Delphine demanded, her eyes blazing. “Haven’t I always taken the best care of you, done everything for your interest, for your welfare and your future? Now in one idiotic conversation you’ve sent another man off out of your
life.” She gestured towards the door again. “And he won’t come back—don’t hold any hopes of that. He thought you lost your virtue to Gibbons, and nothing you say now is going to change his mind. He won’t look at you again, except with polite contempt. And do you imagine people won’t guess why?” Her voice was rising steadily and getting wilder, and unconsciously she was moving towards Zillah. “Two men attracted to you and then leaving you suddenly—in as many months! There’s only one conclusion anyone with a jot of sense will draw from that.”

“Delphine …” Lambert interrupted, moving towards her.

She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t be absurd, Barton! Face reality. People may like her, young men may desire her, heaven knows she’s beautiful enough, I’ve seen to that. But they won’t marry her. Their mothers won’t allow it, whatever they think.” She whirled around to Zillah again, her eyes burning in a white face. “Is that what you’ll settle for? Being liked and desired while all the eligible men marry other girls? I can tell you, it may be fine for another year or two, but in five years, when they have houses and families and you are still here with us, it will look very different. The invitations will stop coming. You will have more and more time to sit by yourself and consider your idiocy.”

“Delphine, stop it!” Lambert commanded.

But she would not be stopped; the heat of passion consumed any restraint. “And when you are thirty, and an old maid, and your beauty is gone, what then? Who’s going to keep you? What are you going to do with yourself?”

“I’ll keep her, should that arise!” Lambert responded angrily. “And she’ll do with herself whatever she chooses.”

“There won’t be anything to choose from,” Delphine pointed out. “Can’t you see what she’s done? Are you so blind you still don’t understand?” There were tears of grief and frustration in her eyes. “One suitor leaving her she might get over, but not two!” Her voice dropped to be deeply sarcastic. “Or are you going to suggest there is something wrong with Sacheverall? He’s a woman in disguise, perhaps?”

Lambert was momentarily lost for a reply.

“He was an opportunistic coward who did not love her,” Monk supplied with deep disgust. “And any woman is worthy of more than that.” He was so filled with loathing for the whole system of values where beauty and reputation were the yardsticks of worth that he did not trust himself to say more. “It is not a misfortune that he showed his nature before you could no longer extricate yourself from any connection with him gracefully.” He said this last to Zillah. He turned to Barton Lambert. “Thank you for your time, sir. I shall learn what more I can about Melville’s death, and advise you if it is of worth. Good day.” And he bowed to the women and left.

It was later in the afternoon when he was recalling the conversation that he realized how odd were the particular words Delphine had used regarding Zillah. She had almost sounded as if she had not known her in her first year or so of life. She had seemed to disclaim responsibility for Zillah’s inherited qualities. Had Barton Lambert been married before, and Zillah was his daughter but not hers? Zillah was apparently an only child, which was not a common circumstance.

Could that be relevant to anything? It hardly affected Melville’s death. If he found out, it would be simply from personal curiosity and because he wished an excuse not to go back to the letters and the grievance of the sister-in-law he had been working on before.

It should not be so difficult to find out. He had ascertained earlier that Zillah was not illegitimate because the Lamberts had publicly celebrated a wedding anniversary which ruled that out. But, of course, no one had required proof of the marriage. Perhaps he should have been more thorough then? Of course, it was completely irrelevant now.

Nevertheless, for his own satisfaction he would learn.

It took him the rest of the day, many judiciously placed questions and a lot of searching through papers, but he learned that Barton Lambert, aged thirty-eight, and Delphine Willowby, aged thirty-two, had been married exactly when they
had said. But in the parish where they lived there was no record of Zillah Lambert’s being born to them, or of any other child.

Some three years later they had moved, and arrived at their new address with a very lovely child of about eighteen months, a little girl with wide eyes and red-gold hair.