schoolroom at something inelegantly close to a dash.
Chapter 7
Monk was finding the Carlyon case, as Rathbone had said, a thankless one. But he had given his word that he would do all he could for as long as it was asked of him. There were over two weeks yet until the trial, and so far he had found nothing that could be of use in helping even to mitigate the case against Alexandra, let alone answer it. It was a matter of pride not to give up now, and his own curiosity was piqued. He did not like to be beaten. He had not been beaten on a serious case since the accident, and he thought seldom before it.
And there was also the perfectly practical fact that Rathbone was still paying him, and he had no other case pending.
In the afternoon Monk went again to see Charles Hargrave. He had been the Carlyon family doctor for many years. If anyone knew the truth, or the elements from which the truth could be deduced, it would be he.
He was received courteously, and as soon as he explained why he believed Hargrave could help, he was led through into the same pleasing room as before. Hargrave instructed the servants he was not to be interrupted except for an emergency, and then offered Monk a seat and made himself available to answer any questions he was free to.
"I cannot tell you any personal facts about Mrs. Carlyon, you understand," he said with an apologetic smile. "She is still my patient, and I have to assume that she is innocent until the law says otherwise, in spite of that being patently ridiculous. But I admit, if I thought there was anything at all that would be of help in your case, I should break that confidence and give you all the information I had." He lifted his shoulders a trifle. "But there is nothing. She has had only the very ordinary ailments that most women have. Her confinements were without incident. Her children were born normally, and thrived. She herself recovered her health as soon and as happily as most women do. There is really nothing to tell."
"Not like Sabella?"
His face shadowed."No - no, I am afraid Sabella was one of those few who suffer profoundly. No one knows why it happens, but occasionally a woman will have a difficult time carrying a child, during confinement, or afterwards. Sabella was quite well right up until the last week. Her confinement was long and extremely painful. At one time I was fearful lest we lose her."
"Her mother would be most distressed."
"Of course. But then death in childbirth is quite common, Mr. Monk. It is a risk all women take, and they are aware of it."
"Was that why Sabella did not wish to marry? "
Hargrave looked surprised. "Not that I know of. I believe she genuinely wished to devote her life to the Church." Again he raised his shoulders very slightly. "It is not unknown among girls of a certain age. Usually they grow out of it. It is a sort of romance, an escape for a young and overheated imagination. Some simply fall in love with an ideal of man, a figure from literature or whatever, some with the most ideal of all - the Son of God. And after all" - he smiled with a gentle amusement touched only fractionally with bitterness - "it is the one love which can never M short of our dreams, never disillusion us, because it lies in illusion anyway." He sighed. "No, forgive me, that is not quite right. I mean it is mystical, its fulfillment does not rest with any real person but in the mind of the lover."
"And after the confinement and the birth of her child?" Monk prompted.
"Oh - yes, I'm afraid she suffered a melancholia that occasionally occurs at such times. She became quite deranged, did not want her child, repelled any comfort or offer of help, any friendship; indeed any company except that of her mother." He spread his hands expressively. "But it passed. These things do. Sometimes they take several years, but usually it is only a matter of a month or two, or at most four or five."
"There was no question of her being incarcerated as insane?"
"No!" Hargrave was startled. "None at all. Her husband was very patient, and they had a wet nurse for the child. Why?"