Read Online William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea by Anne Perry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Perry
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and cause her the least pain possible? And yet he must learn the truth.
“Did you know a woman named Zenia Gadney, who lived in Copenhagen Place, in Limehouse?” he asked quietly.
She blinked, as if the question puzzled her. She stood still for several moments, as though searching her memory. “No, the name is not familiar,” she said at last. “But you said ’did I know.’ Has something happened to her?”
“I’m afraid it has. This is unpleasant, Mrs. Lambourn. Perhaps you would prefer to sit down.” He said it in a tone that made it more a request than merely a suggestion.
She complied, slowly, her face going even paler, her eyes fixed on his. “How does that concern me?” Her voice trembled.
“I regret to tell you that she is dead,” he answered.
“I’m sorry.” It was a quiet murmur, but conveyed a feeling that went far deeper than mere good manners would require.
“But you said you didn’t know her,” he responded, already a chill touching him.
“What has that to do with it?” She lifted her chin a little. “I am still sorry that she is dead. Why do you come here? Limehouse is miles away, and the other side of the river. I know nothing about it.”
“I believe your husband knew her.”
Her grief almost slipped out of control. “My husband is dead, Mr. Monk,” she said huskily. “And I have never met Mrs.… Gadney.”
“I know your husband is dead, Mrs. Lambourn, and I am deeply sorry for that.” He wanted to express condolences for what he was about to add to her grief, but it seemed shallow in the circumstances. “Those I spoke to said he was a remarkably fine man,” he went on. “However, it seems that he knew Mrs. Gadney quite well, and over a long period of time.”
She had to clear her throat before she could force herself to speak. Her slender white hands were locked around each other in her lap.
“What are you implying, Mr. Monk? When did this Mrs. Gadney die, and how? It must’ve been serious; if you came here despite the fact that you knew my husband has been dead for some little time?”
“It appears that your husband met with Mrs. Gadney in Limehouse at least once a month,” he replied. He watched her face for shock, disgust, defensiveness, but he saw only grief that he was certain of. There were other emotions there as well, but he could not read them.
“When did she die, and of what cause?” she asked very quietly.
“Nearly a week ago. She was murdered.”
Her eyes widened. “Murdered?” She could hardly say the word. Her tongue stumbled and there was horror in her eyes.
“Yes.” He felt brutal. “You may have heard word of it, by the papers. There was a woman killed and her body mutilated, near Limehouse Pier.”
“No. I had not heard.” Dinah Lambourn was now so pale he was afraid she might faint.
“Would you like me to ring for your maid, Mrs. Lambourn?” he offered. “She could bring water, perhaps smelling salts. I am afraid I have brought very ugly news for you. I’m sorry.”
“I shall … be all right.” She forced herself to sit more upright, but it was clearly an effort. Her voice wavered. “Please say whatever it is you have to say.”
“You did not know her?” Monk asked again.
She evaded the answer. “Do you know who did this thing?” she asked instead.
“No, not yet.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “But you think I can help you?”
“Possibly. So far Dr. Lambourn seems to have been her only friend. And judging by the patterns of her expenditure in the local shops, she seems to have had money each time after he visited her. Quite often she paid her bills then.” He left the implication in the air.
“I see.” Mrs. Lambourn folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. She had long fingers with elegant nails. Her skin was unblemished.
“Tell me something about Dr. Lambourn,” he requested. He wanted to keep her talking to make some judgment about what kind of woman she was. He still was not sure
“Did you know a woman named Zenia Gadney, who lived in Copenhagen Place, in Limehouse?” he asked quietly.
She blinked, as if the question puzzled her. She stood still for several moments, as though searching her memory. “No, the name is not familiar,” she said at last. “But you said ’did I know.’ Has something happened to her?”
“I’m afraid it has. This is unpleasant, Mrs. Lambourn. Perhaps you would prefer to sit down.” He said it in a tone that made it more a request than merely a suggestion.
She complied, slowly, her face going even paler, her eyes fixed on his. “How does that concern me?” Her voice trembled.
“I regret to tell you that she is dead,” he answered.
“I’m sorry.” It was a quiet murmur, but conveyed a feeling that went far deeper than mere good manners would require.
“But you said you didn’t know her,” he responded, already a chill touching him.
“What has that to do with it?” She lifted her chin a little. “I am still sorry that she is dead. Why do you come here? Limehouse is miles away, and the other side of the river. I know nothing about it.”
“I believe your husband knew her.”
Her grief almost slipped out of control. “My husband is dead, Mr. Monk,” she said huskily. “And I have never met Mrs.… Gadney.”
“I know your husband is dead, Mrs. Lambourn, and I am deeply sorry for that.” He wanted to express condolences for what he was about to add to her grief, but it seemed shallow in the circumstances. “Those I spoke to said he was a remarkably fine man,” he went on. “However, it seems that he knew Mrs. Gadney quite well, and over a long period of time.”
She had to clear her throat before she could force herself to speak. Her slender white hands were locked around each other in her lap.
“What are you implying, Mr. Monk? When did this Mrs. Gadney die, and how? It must’ve been serious; if you came here despite the fact that you knew my husband has been dead for some little time?”
“It appears that your husband met with Mrs. Gadney in Limehouse at least once a month,” he replied. He watched her face for shock, disgust, defensiveness, but he saw only grief that he was certain of. There were other emotions there as well, but he could not read them.
“When did she die, and of what cause?” she asked very quietly.
“Nearly a week ago. She was murdered.”
Her eyes widened. “Murdered?” She could hardly say the word. Her tongue stumbled and there was horror in her eyes.
“Yes.” He felt brutal. “You may have heard word of it, by the papers. There was a woman killed and her body mutilated, near Limehouse Pier.”
“No. I had not heard.” Dinah Lambourn was now so pale he was afraid she might faint.
“Would you like me to ring for your maid, Mrs. Lambourn?” he offered. “She could bring water, perhaps smelling salts. I am afraid I have brought very ugly news for you. I’m sorry.”
“I shall … be all right.” She forced herself to sit more upright, but it was clearly an effort. Her voice wavered. “Please say whatever it is you have to say.”
“You did not know her?” Monk asked again.
She evaded the answer. “Do you know who did this thing?” she asked instead.
“No, not yet.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “But you think I can help you?”
“Possibly. So far Dr. Lambourn seems to have been her only friend. And judging by the patterns of her expenditure in the local shops, she seems to have had money each time after he visited her. Quite often she paid her bills then.” He left the implication in the air.
“I see.” Mrs. Lambourn folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. She had long fingers with elegant nails. Her skin was unblemished.
“Tell me something about Dr. Lambourn,” he requested. He wanted to keep her talking to make some judgment about what kind of woman she was. He still was not sure
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