The coroner was a youthful-looking man with smooth skin and fair hair through which a little gray showed when he turned and his head caught the light. There were only the finest of lines at the sides of his eyes and mouth. Rathbone had seen him a number of times before and knew he had no liking for displays of emotion and loathed sensationalism. The real tragedy of sudden and violent death, and above all suicide, was too stark for him to tolerate exhibitions of false emotion.
He began the proceedings without preamble, calling first the doctor who had certified Melville as dead. Nothing was offered beyond the clinical and factual, and nothing was asked.
Rathbone looked around the room. He saw Barton Lambert sitting between his wife and daughter, and yet looking oddly alone. He was staring straight ahead and seemed to be unaware of anyone near him. Even Zillah's obvious distress did not seem to reach him. He did not move to touch her or offer her any comfort even by a glance.
Delphine, on the other hand, was quite composed, and even as Rathbone watched her, she leaned forward, smiled and said something to Zillah. A slight flicker of expression crossed Zillah's face, but it was impossible to tell what she was feeling. It could have been an effort to be brave and hide her grief; it could have been tension waiting for the pronouncement of the verdict expected by all of them. It could even have been suppressed anger.
Rathbone was feeling almost suffocating rage himself, partly directed towards the court, towards Sacheverall, who was sitting far away from the Lamberts and carefully avoiding looking towards them. But most painfully, Rathbone's anger was towards himself. He had failed Keelin Melville. Had he not, they would not now be here questioning her death.
He did not even now know how he should have acted to prevent the tragedy from playing itself out. He could think of no place or time when he could have done something differently, but taken altogether the result was a failure, complete and tragic. He had failed to win her trust. That was his shortcoming. He might not have saved her reputation or professional standing in England, but he would certainly have saved her legal condemnation and, without question, her life.
Why had she not trusted him? What had he said, or not said, so that she had taken this terrible step rather than tell him the truth? Had she thought him ruthless, dishonorable, without compassion or understanding? Why? He was not any of those things. No one had ever accused him... except of being a little pompous, possibly; ambitious; even at times cold-which was quite unjustified. He was not cold, simply not overimpulsive. He was not prejudiced-not in the slightest. Even Hester, with all her ideas, had never said he was prejudiced. And heaven knows, she would have said it had it crossed her mind!
The doctor's evidence was finished. It informed them of nothing new.
The police told of being called over the matter, as was necessary. Melville had apparently been alone all evening. There was no sign whatsoever of anyone else's having entered her rooms.
"Was there any evidence of Miss Melville's having eaten or drunk anything since returning home that evening?" the coroner asked.
"We saw nothing, sir," the policeman replied unhappily. "It seemed the young lady had no resident servant. There was nothing out of place. No food had been prepared and there was no crockery or glasses showing as been used."
"Did you search for any container for pills or powders, Sergeant?" the coroner pressed.
"Yes sir, an' we found nothing except a paper for a headache powder screwed up in the wastepaper basket in the bedroom. We looked very careful, sir. Fair turned the place inside out."
"I see. Thank you. You also looked for bottles, I presume? Even clean ones which might have been used and then washed out?"
"Yes sir. No empty packets, bottles, vials, papers, nothing. And we took away and had tested what was still in use. All harmless domestic stuff as you'd find in most people's homes."
"Very diligent. Have you any idea where Miss Melville obtained the poison which killed her, or where she administered it to herself?"
"No, sir, we have not."
"Thank you. That is all. You may step down."
Rathbone looked around again as the sergeant left and the police surgeon was called. Monk sat lost in gloom. He looked about as miserable and angry as Rathbone felt. There was a certain companionship in