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 nest 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.
So Zillah was adopted. Delphine had married later than most women, in spite of her beauty and intelligence, and perhaps had been unable to bear children. She would not be the only woman afflicted by such grief. It had happened throughout the ages, accompanied by pain and too often public condescension, the kind of pity that is touched with judgment.
Had she married late because she too had suffered some unjust rejection? Was her anger at Zillah rooted in her own experience of hurt?
Suddenly Monk's dislike of her evaporated and was overtaken by compassion. No wonder she had been angry with Melville and been determined, at any cost, to defend Zillah's good name.
Perhaps he owed it to Rathbone to give him this small piece of information and tell him that so far that was all he knew. It was no help, but it was at least a courtesy.
He arrived at noon the next day at Vere Street.
Rathbone was busy with a client, and Monk was obliged to wait nearly half an hour before he was shown into the office.
"What have you learned?" Rathbone asked immediately, not even waiting to invite Monk to be seated.
Monk looked at his anxious face, the fine lines between his brows and the tension in his lips. His sense of failure was acute.
"Nothing of importance," he said quietly, sitting down anyway. "Zillah Lambert was adopted when she was a year and a half old. It seems Delphine could not bear children. She was well over thirty when she married Lambert. That might explain why she is so desperate that Zillah should marry well, and so jealous for her reputation. She knows what it means to society." He added a brief summary of his visit with the Lamberts, and Sacheverall's sudden departure.
Rathbone used a word about Sacheverall Monk was not aware he even knew and Sacheverall would have resented profoundly. He sank back in his chair, staring across the desk. "If we can't find anything better than we have, the inquest on Melville will find suicide." He watched Monk closely, his eyes shadowed, questioning.
"It probably was suicide," Monk said softly. "I don't know why she did it then, or exactly how. We probably never will. But then, I don't know how anyone could have murdered her either. And what is more pertinent, I don't know of any reason why they would. The Lamberts had nothing to hide."
Chapter 11
The inquest on Keelin Melville was a very quiet affair, held in a small courtroom allowing only the barest attendance by the general public. This time the newspapers showed little interest. As far as they, or anyone else, were concerned, the verdict was already known. This was only a formality, the due process which made it legal, and able to be filed away as one more tragedy and