“Right. His lawyer advised him against it.” She fishes another paper out of another folder. “This was in a file in my great-grandfather’s business stuff, and maybe it’s what convinces me that I’m right in all this. I’ll go chronologically. Here’s what probably happened after Cyrus sent the boys away—that was on June 11, by the logbook. He took the train to Boston, saw the lawyer, and laid out the case, and then, that day, maybe the next, maybe the day after, confronted Elizabeth. I don’t picture a violent scene, for some reason, I picture him telling her what he’s found out in this spooky, icy way. He hates her so much he’s beyond hate. Before she has a chance to say one word, he says that he’s divorcing her, never wants to see her again, or hear her name, or have anything to do with her. He tells her that he’s sent the boys to sea, and maybe even says he doesn’t give a damn if they ever come back. Her precious boys, the issue of her unspeakable treachery. Now, it’s her turn to be shocked, and terrified, and in a panic she writes to Lockwood, and tells him what Cyrus is going to do and that the scandal will be horrendous, that she can never forgive him for opening his mouth. Lockwood reads the letter, he’s full of guilt, shame, and who knows what else. He broods for several days, and then the train platform.

“The sad thing,” Sybil goes on, “is that the lawyer sent the letter talking Cyrus out of it only the day before Lockwood did himself in. June 21, 1901.” (She reads aloud again.) “ ‘Dear Mr. Braithwaite,’ et cetera, blah, blah blah … ‘After discussing your case with my partner, I must urge you to reconsider.… To proceed with this action, you would need to identify the correspondent.… You must be aware of the perils such a course would entail. Confidentiality can be promised, but cannot be guaranteed. You are a prominent man. Were the yellow press to get wind of this, if you’ll excuse the phrase, it would create a sensation that would reach far beyond Boston.… I assure you that I am prepared to assist you in working out an arrangement that would give you a measure of satisfaction while avoiding all possibility of scandal.…’ And that’s it,” Sybil concludes. “All that I have. Evidence, witnesses, motive.”

“But I have to tell you, I’m not convinced beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Well, we’re not in court, are we? And all these people are gone and it doesn’t make much difference now, does it?”

“It must to you.”

“I’m here. I am who I am and what I am, no matter what went on almost a hundred years ago.”