A Breach of Promise

chapter 3
The Lamberts were not open to negotiation of any sort. Killian Melville was sued for breach of promise and the case came to trial very rapidly. It was naturally attended by a great deal of gossip and speculation. Such an event had not happened in society in some while, and it was on everyone's lips.

Oliver Rathbone had given his word to defend Melville, so although he still had no further information which he could use, he was in court with a calm face and a steady smile to face Wystan Sacheverall, acting for Miss Zillah Lambert but, of course, paid by and instructed by her parents.

The jury had already been selected: a group of men more embarrassed by their position than usual and-quite obviously to even the casual eye-wishing they were not involved in what was a private and domestic matter. Looking at them, Rathbone wondered how many of them had daughters of their own. Above half of them were of an age to be coasidering their own children's marriages.

How many of them had made rash promises in their youth and lived to regret them, or at least attempted to retract them? Were their own marriages happy? Were their experiences of domestic family life ones they would wish upon another? So much might hang upon things Rathbone would never know. They would remain two rows of well-to-do men of varying ages, different appearances and characteristics, with only two things in common: the reputation and the personal means to become a juror; and a degree of discomfort at finding themselves obliged to make a decision they would much rather not.

The judge was a smallish man with mild features and remarkably steady, candid blue eyes. He spoke very quietly. One was obliged to listen in order to hear what he said.

The first witness called was Barton Lambert. He looked angry and unhappy as he strode across the open space in the front of the room and climbed the steps to the witness-box. His cheeks were flushed and his arms and body stiff.

Beside Rathbone, Killian Melville bit his lip and looked down at the table. He had seemed thoroughly wretched throughout their preparation, but no matter what Rathbone had said, any argument or estimate he had offered about the probable outcome, Melville had refused to be swayed from his decision to fight.

Sacheverall moved forward. He was a plain man with rather large ears, but he had a confidence which lent him a certain grace, and he had a good height and broad shoulders. His fair hair was in need of cutting, and curled up at his collar. His voice was excellent, and he knew it.

Barton Lambert took the oath to tell the truth, the whole of it, and nothing else.

Sacheverall smiled at him. "We all appreciate that this is a most distressing experience for you, Mr. Lambert, and that you bring this action at all only to defend your daughter's good name. We realize that there is no animosity in your action, and no desire to inflict embarrassment or pain upon anyone-"

The judge leaned forward. "Mr. Sacheverall, there is no need to state your case. We require you simply to prove it, if you will be so good," he said gently. "If you will give us the facts, we shall draw our own conclusion. We assume all parties to be honorable, until shown otherwise. Please provide your evidence."

Sacheverall looked taken aback. Apparently he did not know Mr. Justice McKeever.

Rathbone knew him only by repute. He hid his smile.

"My lord," Sacheverall acknowledged. "Mr. Lambert, will you please tell the court how you first made the acquaintance of Killian Melville, and in what circumstances he was introduced to your daughter, Miss Zillah Lambert, upon whose behalf you are bringing this suit."

"Of course," Lambert said gruffly, and cleared his throat and then coughed, raising a large hand to his mouth. "I had a little capital i wanted to spend. Create something beautiful out of what I had earned." He looked at Sacheverall for approval and continued when he saw him nod. "I thought of a building... something real handsome... different... new. I had several architects recommended to me." He moved uncomfortably. "Saw all their plans. Young Melville was one of 'em. Liked his the best, by a long way. The others were adequate... but pedestrian compared wi' his." He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. "I sent for him. Liked him straight off. Modest enough, but sure of 'imself. Looked me straight in the eye." He coughed again. "He wanted the job, I could see that, but he wasn't going to curry favor for it. His designs were good, and he knew it."

"You commissioned him to draw the plans for your new building?" Sacheverall concluded.

"Yes sir, I did. And it was the admiration of all my acquaintances, and many strangers, when it was built. In Abercorn Place, it is, in Maida Vale." There was a ring of pride in Lambert's voice when he said it. Whatever his feelings for Melville currently, he still regarded his work with delight. "You may have seen it..." he added hopefully.

"Indeed I have," Sacheverall agreed. "It is very beautiful. Was it at this time that you came to know Mr. Melville socially and invited him to your home?"

"It was. Not at first, you understand," he explained, "but as the building was nearing completion. Naturally he had to come and consult with me from time to time. Very diligent, he was. Left nothing to chance."

"Not a careless man?" Sacheverall noted.

Rathbone knew what he was doing, but he could not stop him. He looked at the jurors' faces. They were all men of property, by definition, or they would not be jurors. They would understand Lambert's feelings and identify with them, even if their own estates were on a vastly smaller scale.

"Not at all," Lambert said vehemently. "Wouldn't employ a careless man. I couldn't have got where I am, sir, if I couldn't judge a man's ability in his profession." He took another deep breath, as if steadying himself. "Thought I could judge a man's personal character as well. Would have sworn Melville was as honorable as any man I've known. Looks as if I'm not as clever as I thought, doesn't it?"

"I am afraid it does, sir," Sacheverall agreed. "Did you introduce Melville to your family, most specifically to your daughter, Miss Zillah Lambert?"

"I did."

"Forgive me for asking you this, sir, when it must sound highly indelicate, but did you introduce Mr. Melville as a socially acceptable person, a fit companion for your daughter, a friend; or as an employee, a person of inferior rank?"

"Certainly not!" Barton Lambert was affronted. Of all things, he was not socially arrogant. No one impressed him by birth or rank, except Her Majesty the Queen. She was an entirely different matter. He was intensely patriotic, and she was the head of his country and the seat of his ultimate loyalty. "Killian Melville was good enough to speak to anyone, and I introduced him as such," he said sharply. "My daughter was brought up to respect a man who earned his way and left the world a better place than he found it." It was said with a note of challenge, and he swiveled around to look at the jurors as he spoke. If he had to parade his family's shame before the gentlemen of society, he would do it with his head high and his standards unmistaken by any.

Against his will, Rathbone liked the man already.

"Quite." Sacheverall nodded, inclining his head a trifle towards the jurors. "You introduced him to your home and family as an equal. You offered him complete hospitality."

That was a statement, not a question. He proceeded to the point. "And he became friendly with your wife and daughter?"

"He did."

"He visited regularly and was at ease in your company..." Sacheverall glanced at Rathbone. "Or should I say he appeared at ease?" he corrected.

"Yes sir."

"You became fond of him?"

"I always liked him," Lambert acknowledged. In all the time he had been on the stand he had not looked at Melville. Rathbone was acutely aware of it, and he was certain Melville was also.

"Did you take him with you to social events outside your home?"

"From time to time. He wasn't one for a lot of dining out and polite conversation, and I don't think he danced."

Rathbone stood up. "My lord, no one disputes that Mr. Lambert and his family were gracious and friendly towards Mr. Melville and showed him the greatest hospitality, and that Mr. Melville in rum was grateful to them and held them in the highest personal regard. The only matter of issue is whether he feels himself suited to marry Miss Lambert, desired to do so, and actually contracted such an agreement. Mr. Melville contends that Miss Lambert mistook the nature of his regard for her and Mrs. Lambert assumed something that was not in fact so. It is even imaginable that Miss Lambert herself knew this but did not feel able to extricate herself from what had become an embarrassing situation."

Mr. Justice McKeever smiled. "All manner of things are imaginable, Sir Oliver. We will restrict ourselves to what is demonstrable. However, Mr. Sacheverall, I take Sir Oliver's point that no one disputes the fact that a warm friendship developed between Mr. Melville and Mr. Lambert's family, especially his daughter. Such friendships do not always end in marriage. Please proceed with your case."

Sacheverall bowed, but he turned back to Lambert with perhaps a fraction less confidence in his stance and the set of his shoulders.

"During the course of their friendship, did Mr. Melville on occasion escort your daughter to certain functions, keep her company, walk and talk with her, tell her of his exploits, adventures, plans for the future? Did he share ideas with her, tastes in art, literature and music? Did he read poetry together with her, show her the drawings of his work, share jokes and humorous episodes? In general, did he pay court to her, Mr. Lambert?"

Rathbone glanced sideways at Melville, but he was staring straight ahead.

"He did all of those things, sir, as you well know," Lambert answered grimly. Sacheverall's words must have brought back memories to him, because now his reluctance was gone and he was plainly both hurt and angry. He no longer avoided Melville but looked straight at him, challengingly, all his bewilderment clear in his face.

Rathbone felt a sinking inside him. There was no defense against his kind of honesty. Had he been a juror he could have found only one way. Killian Melville was guilty, and it was almost impossible to believe well of him. No man could court a girl in the manner Lambert described and not expect that she would read it as a declaration of love. Anyone would. Not even a fool could mistake it.

He looked sideways again at Melville now. His fair head was bent forward and there was a flush in his cheeks. His eyes were filled with despair, as if he were trapped with no escape.

Rathbone was not sure whether he felt sorry for him or simply so overwhelmed with anger he wanted to slap him for his irresponsible cruelty.

"So it came as no surprise to you in the least when a betrothal followed, in the natural course of events?" Sachev-erall concluded.

"Of course not!" Lambert responded. "No one was surprised! It was as night follows day."

"Quite so." Sacheverall smiled sadly. He pursed his lips, frowning as he looked up at Lambert. "Arrangements were made for the wedding?"

"Yes. Announcement in the Times. All society knew." Lambert pronounced the words sharply, showing his pain and perhaps a certain feehng of alienation, as if he were only too aware of the whispers and the amusement which would be enjoyed at his family's expense.

"Naturally," Sacheverall murmured. "And then what happened, Mr. Lambert?"

Lambert squared his shoulders. "Melville broke it off," he said quietly. "No reason. No warning. Just broke it off."

"It was Killian Melville, not your daughter?" Sacheverall stressed, anger plain in his voice.

Rathbone looked at Melville, and he was sitting forward, one hand to his lips, biting his nails.

"It was." Lambert's face showed the strain. He was being publicly humiliated. He refused to look at anyone in the gallery. Rathbone was sharply aware of how much better it would have been for everyone if Zillah Lambert had consented to be the one to break the betrothal, regardless of whether she wished to or not. Apparently she had simply not believed Melville meant what he said.

Although, of course, Rathbone had only Melville's word for it that he had actually tried to approach her. Perhaps he had failed in courage when it came to the moment.

"Have you any idea whatever what caused Mr. Melville's extraordinary behavior, sir?" Sacheverall asked, his fair eyebrows raised, his whole stance conveying bewilderment.

"No idea at all," Lambert said, shaking his head. "Can't begin to understand it. Makes no sense."

"Not to me," Sacheverall agreed. "Unless there are things we do not know about Mr. Killian Melville____________________"

Rathbone rose to his feet.

Sacheverall waved at him airily. "Your witness, Sir Oliver." He smiled, knowing he was almost invulnerable, and returned to his seat.

Rathbone felt somehow wrong-footed. He had never opposed Sacheverall across a court before. He knew his reputation, but somehow he had underrated him. His plain, rather foolish-looking face was deceiving. The quality of his voice should have warned him.

He walked to the middle of the open space surrounded by the lawyers' positions, the witness-box, the judge and the high double row of jurors. He looked up at Barton Lambert. Apart from his own respect for the man, he knew better than to antagonize him. The jurors were already by nature and inclination in sympathy with him.

"How do you do, Mr. Lambert," he began. "I am sorry for the circumstance which brings us together again. I need to ask you a few questions about this affair, in order to clarify it and to do my duty by my client."

"I understand, sir," Lambert said graciously. "That's why we're here. Ask away."

Rathbone acknowledged this with a nod of courtesy.

"During this time that Mr. Melville called frequently at your home, sir, was he employed by you to design and oversee the construction of buildings you had commissioned?"

"He was."

"And he was friendly with all your family?"

"Not the way you're putting it, sir," Lambert argued. "You're trying to say he was equally friendly with all of us, and that's not so. He was civil and pleasant to Mrs. Lambert. He was always pleasant with me, but he would be, wouldn't he?" He raised his eyebrows. "I was his patron in his profession- his employer, in a sense. He'd have been a fool to be less than polite to me." But his eyes avoided Melville as he spoke. "Not that I didn't think he liked me, mind; and I liked him. Well-spoken, intelligent, decent-thinking young man, I thought him. But it is my daughter he spent time with, laughed and talked with, shared his ideas and his dreams with, and no doubt all of hers too."

His face was full of the sharpness of the regret and the sense of betrayal he felt. "I can see them clear in my mind's eye even as I stand here, heads bent together, talking and laughing, looking in each other's eyes. You can't tell me he wasn't courting her, because I was there!" His look defied Rathbone, or anyone, to contradict him.

Rathbone had nothing to fight with, and he knew it. It angered him more than he had expected that all this distress could have been avoided. The rows of avid faces in the gallery need never have witnessed these people's humiliation. Their private quarrels and griefs should have remained exactly that, known only to their own circle. It was no one else's concern. He hated what he was doing, what they were all doing here. The whole forced performance of grooming every young woman for marriage and parading her before what amounted to the market, judging her human worth by her marriageability, was offensive.

"Mr. Lambert," he said, rather more brusquely than he had meant to, "when did Mr. Melville ask you for your daughter's hand in marriage?"

Lambert looked startled.

Rathbone waited.

"Well... he didn't," Lambert admitted. "Not in so many words. He should have, I grant you. It was an omission of good manners I was willing to overlook."

"Possibly it was an omission of good manners," Rathbone agreed. "Or possibly it was an omission of intent? Is it possible he was very fond of Miss Lambert, but in a brotherly way, rather than as a suitor, and his affection was misinterpreted... with the best of intentions, and in all innocence?"

"By a man of our age, perhaps, Sir Oliver," Lambert said dryly. "Although I doubt it. A man of Melville's years does not normally feel like a brother towards a handsome and good-natured young woman."

There was a faint titter around the room, almost like the rustle of leaves.

Rathbone kept his composure with difficulty. He did not like being taken for Lambert's age-and was startled by how much it offended him. Lambert must be at least fifty.

"There are many young ladies I admire and find pleasant company," he said rather stiffly, "but I do not wish to marry them."

Lambert said nothing.

Rathbone was obliged to continue. He was not serving Melville's cause.

"So Mr. Melville did not ask you for your daughter's hand, and yet it was assumed by you all that he wished to marry her, and arrangements were made, announcements were given and so forth. By whom, sir?"

"My wife and myself, of course. We are the bride's parents." Lambert looked at him with raised eyebrows. He had a very broad, blunt face. "That is customary!"

"I know it is," Rathbone conceded. "I am only trying to establish that Mr. Melville took no part in it. It could have been conducted without his awareness of just how seriously his relationship with Miss Lambert was being viewed."

"Only if he was a complete fool!" Lambert snorted.

"Perhaps he was." Rathbone smiled. "He would not be the first young man to behave like a fool where a young lady is concerned."

There was a burst of laughter in the gallery, and even the judge had a smile on his face.

"Is my learned friend saying that his client is a fool, my lord?" Sacheverall enquired.

"I rather think I am," Rathbone acknowledged. "But not a knave, my lord."

The judge's bright blue eyes were very wide, very innocent. The light shone on the bald crown of his head, making a halo of his white hair.

"An unusual defense, Sir Oliver, but not unique. I hope your client will thank you for it, should you succeed."

Rathbone smiled ruefully. He was thinking the same thing. He turned to Lambert again.

"You say, sir, that the breaking of the betrothal came without any warning at all. Was that to you, Mr. Lambert, or to everyone?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lambert looked confused.

"Is it not possible that Mr. Melville, when he realized how far arrangements had progressed, spoke to Miss Lambert and tried to tell her that matters had proceeded further than he was happy with, but that she did not tell you that? Perhaps she did not believe he was serious, or thought he was only suffering a nervousness which would pass with time?"

"Well..."

"It is possible, is it not?"

"Possible," Lambert conceded. "But I don't believe it."

"Naturally." Rathbone nodded. "Thank you. I don't think I have anything more to ask you."

Sacheverall declined to pursue the subject. He was in a strong position, and he was thoroughly aware of it.

Rathbone wondered why he had not asked Lambert about the damage done to his daughter's reputation, and why indeed he was pursuing this case instead of allowing the matter to remain at least somewhat more private. The omission was not one he would have made himself.

The answer came immediately.

Sacheverall, looking extremely pleased with himself, called Delphine Lambert to the stand.

She came in looking harassed and distressed, but with a supreme dignity. She was a small woman, but carried herself so superbly she gave the impression of regality. She was dressed in deep blue, which flattered her complexion, and the huge skirts with their crinoline hoops emphasized her still-tiny waist. She mounted the witness-box with difficulty, because of the narrowness of the steps, and turned to face the clerk who swore her in.

Sacheverall apologized for the distress he would cause her in having to speak to her on so delicate a matter, with the implication that this too was Melville's fault, then proceeded with his first question.

"Mrs. Lambert, were you present during most of the growing relationship between Mr. Melville and your daughter?"

"Naturally!" Her eyes widened. "It is usual for a mother to chaperone her daughter at such times. I have only the one daughter, so it was easy for me."

"So you observed everything that took place?" Sachev-erall asked.

"Yes." She nodded. "And I assure you there was never anything in the least out of order. I thought myself a good judge of character, but I was completely duped." She looked lost, and innocent, as if she still did not fully understand what had happened.

Rathbone wondered if Sacheverall had schooled her brilliantly or if he had simply been given the perfect witness.

Sacheverall was too astute to belabor the point. The jurors had seen her. He even forbore from glancing at Rathbone.

"Mrs. Lambert," he continued, "would you be good enough to describe for us a typical encounter between Miss Lambert and Mr. Melville, one as like many others as you may be able to recall."

"Certainly, if you wish." She straightened her shoulders even more, but without the slightest exaggeration. She was not doing it for effect. This truly was an ordeal for her. Her bearing and her voice were full of fear, and she understood the darkness this cast over her daughter's future.

Again Rathbone felt himself cold with anger that Melville had allowed this to happen. He was not merely a fool, he was irresponsible. Rathbone had been instinctively sorry for him in the beginning, but now he was annoyed that Melville had not somehow managed to make his feelings plain enough that the Lamberts would have withdrawn from the betrothal themselves and avoided this fiasco. He looked at his client, in the chair next to him, avoiding Rathbone's eyes, staring at nothing. He seemed closed in a world of his own.

The court was waiting.

Delphine Lambert selected her occasion and began. "Mr. Melville had been to speak to my husband about some architectural matter-something to do with oriel windows, I believe. My husband went out, and Mr. Melville came down into the withdrawing room to take tea with Zillah and myself.

This was last autumn. It was one of those late, golden days when everything looks so beautiful and you know it cannot last____________________"

She blinked and made an effort to control emotions which were obviously raw.

Sacheverall waited sympathetically.

"We talked of all sorts of slight things, of no consequence," Delphine continued. "I remember Killian-Mr. Melville-sat in the chair next to the sofa. Zillah sat on the sofa, her skirts all swirled around her. She was wearing pink and she looked wonderful." Her eyes were soft with memory. "He remarked on it. Anyone would have. When you see her you will understand. We talked and laughed. He was interested in everything." She said it with the pleasure of surprise still in her voice. "Every detail seemed to please him. Zillah was telling him about a party she had been to and recounting several anecdotes which really were very funny indeed. I am afraid we were a trifle critical, and our amusement was sometimes not altogether kind... but we laughed so hard we had tears running down our cheeks." She smiled and blinked as if the tears came again, but this time of sorrow. "Zillah has a delicious turn of phrase, and Killian so enjoyed her observations. She was a perfect mimic! Perhaps it is not very ladylike," she apologized. "But we had such fun."

Sacheverall nodded in satisfaction. Even the jurors were smiling.

Rathbone glanced at Melville.

Melville bit his lip and moved his head an inch in acknowledgment. He looked wretched. Perhaps it was the look of innocence, but it had all the air of guilt. The jury could not have missed it.

"Please continue," Sacheverall prompted.

"We had tea," Delphine resumed. "Hot crumpets with melted butter. They are not easy to eat delicately. We laughed at ourselves over that as well. And toasted tea cakes. They were delicious." She made a little gesture of deprecation. "We ate them all. We were so happy we did not even notice.

Then Killian and Zillah got up and went for a walk in the garden. The leaves were turning color and the very first few had fallen. The chrysanthemums were in bloom." She glanced at the judge, then back to Sacheverall. "Such a wonderful perfume they have, earthy and warm. They always make me think of everything that is lovely... rich but never vulgar. If only we could always have such perfect taste." She sighed. "Anyway, Killian and Zillah remained outside for some time, but I was in every proper sense still a chaperone. Zillah told me afterwards they were discussing their ideas for a future home, all the things they would most like to have, and how it would be... colors, styles, furniture... everything two people in love would plan for their future."

Rathbone looked at Melville again. Could any man really be such a complete fool as to have spoken to a woman of such things and not know perfectly well she would take it as a prelude to a proposal of marriage?

"Ts that true?" he demanded under his breath.

Melville turned to him. His face was deep pink with the rush of blood to his cheeks, his eyes were hot, but he did not avoid looking straight back.

"Yes... and no..."

"That won't do!" Rathbone said between his teeth. "If you are not honest with me I cannot help you, and believe me, you are going to need every ounce of help I can think of- and more!"

"That may be how she saw it," Melville answered, looking down now, not at Rathbone. His voice was low and tense. "We did talk about houses and furnishings. But it wasn't for us! I'm an architect... houses are not only my profession, they are my love. I'll talk about design to anyone! I was making suggestions to her about the things she wanted in a home and how they could be achieved. I told her of new ways of creating more warmth, more light and color, of bringing to life the dreams she had. But it was for her-not for both of us!" He turned to face Rathbone again. "I would have spoken the same way to anyone. Yes, of course we laughed together-we were friends..." His eyes were full of distress. Rathbone could have sworn he held that friendship dear and the loss of it hurt him.

Delphine Lambert was still talking, describing other occasions when Melville and Zillah Lambert had been together, their easy companionship, their quick understanding of each other's thoughts, their shared laughter at a score of little things.

Rathbone looked across at the jurors' faces. Their sympathy was unmistakable. To change their minds it would take a revelation about Zillah Lambert so powerful and so shocking it would shatter any emotion they felt now so that they would be left angry and betrayed. And Melville had sworn there was no such secret. Was it conceivable he knew something of her which made it impossible to marry her, yet he still cared for her too deeply to expose it-even to save himself?

It would have to be something her parents did not know, or they would never have risked his revealing it. They could not rely on Melville's self-sacrifice.

And Zillah herself would not dare to tell them, even to save Melville, and thus this whole tragic farce.

Rathbone would have to press Melville harder, until he at last spoke of whatever it was he was still hiding. And Rathbone had felt certain from the first that there was something.

He turned his attention back to the court.

Delphine was describing some grand social event, a ball or a dinner party. Her face was alight with remembered excitement.

"All the girls were simply lovely," she said, her voice soft, her slender hands on the rail in front of her, lightly touching it, not gripping. She might have held a dancing partner so. "The gowns were exquisite." She smiled as she spoke. "Like so many flowers blown in the wind as they swirled around the floor. The chandeliers blazed and were reflected on jewels and hair. The young men were all so dashing. Perhaps it was happiness which made everything seem so glamorous, but I don't think so. I believe it was real. And Killian danced the whole evening with Zillah. He barely spoke with anyone else at all. He sat a few dances out, but I swear I did not see him pay the slightest heed to any other lady, no matter how beautiful or how charming." She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "And there were many titled ladies there, and heiresses to considerable fortunes. On that particular occasion Lady-"

Sacheverall held up his hand. "I am sure a great many people of note were there, Mrs. Lambert. What is important is that Mr. Melville paid very obvious court to your daughter, for everyone to see, and his intent could hardly be mistaken or misinterpreted. Now, madam, I must bring you to a far more painful area, for which I apologize. I most truly wish I could avoid it, but there is no way in which it is possible."

"I understand." Delphine nodded, the light going from her face, her body seeming almost to shrink as she dismissed past happiness and faced the present icy disillusion. "Do what is necessary, Mr. Sacheverall."

"You have just told me how publicly and how obviously Mr. Melville courted your daughter. It must have been common knowledge among all your acquaintances, indeed in all society, that they were to be married?"

"Of course." She raised her beautiful eyebrows. "She did not hide her joy. What young girl does?"

"Exactly." Sacheverall took several paces to one side, then to the other. He moved elegantly, and he was aware of it. He stopped and faced her again. "When Mr. Melville suddenly, and for no reason that we may observe, broke off the engagement and refused to go through with the ceremony, what effect did this have upon Miss Lambert's reputation, the way in which she is regarded by society, and her hopes for any future marriage?"

"Of course it will ruin her!" The panic rose in Delphine's voice, "How could it possibly do anything else? People will ask why, and when there is no answer, they will assume the worst. Everyone does, don't they?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lambert, I am afraid it is one of the less attractive characteristics of human nature," Sacheverall said with ardent sympathy. "Even when it is unjustified." He smiled ruefully. "And beauty has its disadvantages in that it increases envy among those less fortunate."

Delphine looked on the verge of tears. "And she is innocent of everything!" she said desperately. "It is so unfair!" Her eyes swept across the jury and then back to Sacheverall. "How could he do this to her-to anyone? It is wicked beyond belief! I can hear them already, beginning to ask each other what can be wrong with her. What does he know about her that he is not saying?" She looked at him defiantly. "And there is nothing! Nothing at all! She is modest; clever enough, but not too clever; lovely but not too proud or self-obsessed; and as honorable as it is possible to be." She gulped, and her voice dropped huskily. "And she was so in love with him. It is so wicked I just cannot imagine why he is doing it! You have to find out! You have to prove it is Killian Melville, not Zillah, who is evil and perverse."

"We shall do, Mrs. Lambert," Sacheverall said gently. "We will prove to the court, and to society, that Miss Lambert has been wronged without cause. Her reputation shall be restored. It would be monstrous that she should have her entire future ruined because of one young man's irresponsibility at best, dishonesty or immorality at worst. Will you be so good as to remain there in case Sir Oliver wishes to ask you anything? Thank you, Mrs. Lambert." He turned to Rathbone invitingly.

The expression of confidence in his face was sufficient warning. Rathbone knew he would get nothing from Delphine Lambert. Almost alone she had built the case. And she had done it without exaggeration. Such breaking of a betrothal after what seemed to everyone a natural love affair would suggest to even the well disposed that there was something profoundly wrong with Zillah Lambert but that Melville was too much of a gentleman to expose her.

Rathbone rose to his feet. He dare not fail to speak to her. That would be an open admission of defeat.

There was a rustle of anticipation in the room. The jurors were watching him.

"We sympathize with you in your concern, Mrs. Lambert," he said courteously, his mind racing for anything whatsoever to mitigate her testimony. "Perhaps you will tell me something more about these wedding arrangements that you mentioned..."

"All made!" Her voice rose again. "Of course, the official invitations had not gone out, but everyone knew who was invited, so it comes to virtually the same thing! I have never been so mortified in my life. You cannot imagine the humiliation of having to tell people!" She flung her arms out, hands graceful even in her extreme emotion. "How do I explain? What is there anyone can possibly say? Poor Zillah." She turned to the judge. "Can you begin to imagine how she feels? Every time anyone laughs, if we didn't hear the reason, we think it is at our misfortune."

Rathbone forced himself to remain friendly. "I am sure that is natural. We have all experienced such fears when we are aware of some..." What word could he use without seeming critical? He had given himself an impossible sentence to finish. She was looking at him again. "Self-consciousness is to be expected," he said instead. "But to these arrangements, Mrs. Lambert..."

"The dressmaker, the wedding attendants, the church, of course, the flowers in season," she listed them off. "I spent hours seeing that everything should be perfect. It is the most important, the most exquisitely beautiful day of a woman's life. I would have given anything T had to ensure that nothing whatever went wrong for her. No time, trouble or expense was to be spared. Not that it was the money. Never think for an instant that it was that." She dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

Curiously, he believed her. It was honor which concerned her. What should have been entirely happiness and beauty instead had become a source of embarrassment and cruel jests, the golden future tarnished beyond repair. She had not mentioned it, maybe she had not even thought of it yet, but it was not impossible that the sense of rejection which Zillah felt would make it hard for her to believe the next man who claimed to love her. No one could say what seeds of future misery had been sown.

"I am sure that is so, Mrs. Lambert," he agreed soothingly. "I do not doubt it. But my question is, how much did Mr. Melville participate in all these plans and decisions?"

She looked blank. "Mr. Melville? It is the bride's parents who make these arrangements, Sir Oliver. It was nothing to do with him."

"My point precisely." He was careful not to show any feeling of victory, however slight. It would offend the jury. He stood in the center of the open space, aware of everyone's eyes on him. "He did not agree to the style of the wedding gown, the amount or kind of flowers, or even the church..."

She looked completely bemused.

"My lord." Sacheverall rose to his feet with a gesture of disbelief. "Is my learned friend suggesting that Mr. Melville broke the engagement to marry in a fit of pique because he was not consulted on these matters? And further, that such absurd behavior is somehow justified? If that were so, my lord, no man would ever marry!" He laughed as he said it, turning towards the jury.

Rathbone kept his temper only through great practice.

"No, my lord, I am not suggesting anything of the kind, as my learned friend would have known had he waited a moment or two. What I am suggesting is that these arrangements, excellent as they no doubt were, were made without Mr. Melville's knowledge. He did not ask for Miss Lambert's hand in marriage, nor did he intend to. The matter was anticipated and, in all good faith, acted upon without his participation. He did not break his agreement, because he did not make one. It was assumed-perhaps with good cause, but nonetheless it was an assumption."

"Sir Oliver is making a clumsy argument!" Sacheverall protested. He stared at Rathbone. "Are you finished? Have you no better case than that to offer?"

Rathbone had not, but this was certainly not the time to say so.

"Not at all," he denied blandly. "I am explaining what I intended by the question, since you misinterpreted it."

"You are saying Mrs. Lambert organized a wedding without any assurance that there was a bridegroom?" Sacheverall challenged, the laughter of derision all but bubbling through his words.

"I am suggesting it was a misunderstanding, not villainy," Rathbone answered, aware how lame the argument was, in spite of its probable truth. Except that he was convinced Melville was holding something back so important it amounted to a lie. There was something elusive about the man, and he had no idea what it was. He had taken his case on impulse, and he regretted it.

Sacheverall dismissed the idea and returned to his seat, with his back half towards Rathbone.

"Sir Oliver?" the judge enquired.

There was nothing more to say. He would only make it even worse.

"No, thank you, my lord. Thank you, Mrs. Lambert."

Sacheverall had nothing more to add. He was wise enough not to press the issue. He was winning without having to try.

It was already late for luncheon. The court adjourned.

Rathbone walked out with Melville. The crowd stared at them. There were several ugly words said quite clearly enough to hear. Melville kept his eyes straight ahead, his face down, his cheeks flushed. He must have been as aware of them as Rathbone was.

"I didn't know about the wedding until it was all planned!" he said desperately. "I heard, of course, bits and pieces. I didn't even realize it was supposed to be me!" They were passing through the entrance hall of the courthouse. Rathbone held open the doors.

"I know that sounds ridiculous," Melville went on. "But I didn't listen. My mind was on my own ideas: arches and lintels, colonnades, rows of windows, depths of foundations, front elevations, angles of roofs. Women are often talking about fashion and who is going to marry whom. Half the time it is only gossip and speculation."

"How can you have been so stupid?" Rathbone snapped, losing his temper at the idiocy of it, all the unnecessary embarrassment.

"Because I suppose I wanted to," Melville answered with astounding honesty. "I didn't want it to be true, so I ignored it. If you care about one thing enough, you can exclude other things." Now they were outside in the sharp wind and sunlight. His eyes were the blue-green of seawater. "I care about buildings, about arches, and pillars and stone, and the way light falls, about color and strength and simplicity. T care about being able to design things that will long outlast me, or anyone I know, things that generations after us will look at and feel joy."

He pushed his hands into his pockets hard and stared at Rathbone as they walked along the street towards the busy restaurant where they could purchase luncheon. They brushed past people barely noticing them.

"Have you ever been to Athens, Sir Oliver?" he asked. "Have you seen the Parthenon in the sunlight?" His eyes were alight with enthusiasm. "It is pure genius. All the measurements are slightly off the true, to give an optical illusion of perfect grace to the observer... and it succeeds brilliantly." He flung his arms out, almost hitting a middle-aged man with a gray mustache. He apologized absently and continued to Rathbone. "Can you imagine the minds of the men who built that? And here we are two thousand years later struck silent with awe at its beauty."

Unconsciously he was walking more rapidly than before, and Rathbone had to increase his pace to keep up with him.

"And Tuscany!" he went on, his face glowing. "All Italy, really-Venice, Pisa, Sienna; but the Tuscan Renaissance architecture has a sublime simplicity to it. Classical without being grandiose. A superb sense of color and proportion. One could look at it forever. The arcades... the domes! Have you seen the round windows? It all seems part of nature, sprung from it, not vying against... there is a mellowness. Nothing jars. That is the secret. A unity with the land, never alien, never offending the vision or the mind. And they know how to use terraces, and trees, especially cypress. They lead the eye perfectly from one point to the next-"

"The restaurant," Rathbone interrupted.

"What?"

"The restaurant," the barrister repeated. "We must have luncheon before we return."

"Oh. Yes... I suppose so." Obviously it had slipped Melville's mind. It was an irrelevance.

The first witness of the afternoon was Zillah Lambert herself. She took the oath with a grave, trembling voice and looked up to face Sacheverall. She was very pale, but so far composed. She wore cream trimmed with palest green and it complemented her perfectly. Her glorious hair was piled richly on her head rather than tied severely back, and she looked vulnerable and very young. Yet there was a brightness about her like the glancing sunlight of April, as if she brought a breath of the spring countryside with her.

Without realizing, the jurors smiled at her. She was utterly unaware of them, looking only at Sacheverall. Not once did her eyes stray to Melville, as if she could not bear to look at him. No one could have failed to be aware of it.

"I regret the necessity for this, Miss Lambert," Sacheverall began, as Rathbone had known he would. "But it is absolutely unavoidable, otherwise I should not subject you to this embarrassment, and an ordeal which must be terribly distressing to you."

"I understand," she whispered. "Please do what you must."

Sacheverall smiled warmly at her. "Miss Lambert, has Mr. Killian Melville been a constant visitor at your home over the last two years?"

"Yes sir."

"To see only your father, or also your mother and yourself?"

"He spent a great deal of time with us too," she replied. "He often dined with us and would stay afterwards late into the evening. He and I would talk of all manner of things, our hopes and beliefs, our experiences, whatever we found beautiful or interesting, funny or sad." She blinked hard, trying to keep away the tears. She glanced momentarily at Melville, and then away again. "He was the best and gentlest companion I ever had. He was wise and honest and yet he could make me laugh more than anyone else I knew. He told me wonderful tales of some of the places he had visited, what he had seen and how he felt about them... and the things he planned to build. He knows a great deal about history, most particularly the history of art in Italy. I-I find it wonderful to listen to him, because he cares so much."

A certain tightness pulled Sacheverall's mouth and his eyes were sharp.

"Quite so," he said tensely. "In short, Miss Lambert, one might say he courted you." That was a conclusion, not a question. He went straight on. "He spoke of his feelings, he shared his hopes for the future, he showed an extraordinary trust in you that we may assume he did with no one else. Did he make it unmistakable that he cared for you deeply, whatever ways, or words, he chose to use?"

"Yes... I believed so." She was obliged to reach into her reticule for a handkerchief with which to dab her eyes. "Excuse me."

"Of course." Sacheverall was instantly tender. "I imagine every man in this room will understand how you feel-except for Melville, and possibly his counsel."

Rathbone considered objecting, but it was not worth the trouble. The remark had already been made, and its impact would be less than that of Zillah herself. One could feel the sympathy for her filling the room. Even the gallery was totally silent. If anyone had been disposed to laugh or feel any sense of satisfaction in her misfortune, either they had changed their minds or they had sensed the atmosphere and wisely concealed it.

"Miss Lambert," Sacheverall continued, "was Mr. Melville fully aware of all the wedding plans and arrangements?"

She sounded surprised. "Of course."

"He was present when you discussed such matters as the choice of church? He was consulted in that, wasn't he?"

"Yes, of course he was." She gazed back at him. "Do you imagine we would arrange such a thing without making certain of his feelings?"

"No, I do not, Miss Lambert, but Sir Oliver seems to have considered it the case." His very slight sneer derided it. "Did Mr. Melville at any time give you the slightest idea he was going to break your agreement?" He jerked his head in Melville's direction.

"No," she said simply.

"And has he since offered you any reason for his behavior?" Sacheverall persisted.

"No." She was having difficulty restraining her emotions and it was plain for everyone to see. Some of the jurors were staring at her intently, others were embarrassed for her and did not wish to seem to intrude into her distress. If Sacheverall was not careful he would risk losing their sympathy towards himself. Perhaps that did not matter to him, as long as he retained it for her. What Rathbone knew of his reputation suggested he was a man who wished to win, even if it should be at considerable cost.

Sacheverall bit his lip and made some show of reluctance.

"Miss Lambert, has he given you any reason for his actions, any reason at all?"

"No," she said so quietly it was barely audible.

The judge leaned forward but he did not ask her to repeat it.

"Only one more question, Miss Lambert," Sacheverall promised. "Have you any idea whatever why he has done this? Have you done anything at all to give him cause? Is there anything he could have discovered about your situation, your family or your personal conduct which could explain it or justify it?"

"That is at least three questions, Mr. Sacheverall," the judge pointed out.

"It will require only one answer, my lord," Sacheverall said with a wave of his hands. "After that the witness is Sir Oliver's."

"Miss Lambert?" the judge prompted.

"No, my lord, I know of nothing," she assured him.

Sacheverall shrugged and looked back towards the jury, then Rathbone. "Sir Oliver, your witness."

Rathbone rose to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Sacheverall. I feel you have made my point for me." He smiled, largely to unnerve Sacheverall and irritate him. Then he turned to Zillah, still smiling, but now gently. He walked towards her and looked up, his expression mild. "Miss Lambert, you have just told my learned friend that you know of no reason whatever why Mr. Melville should have broken your engagement to marry. There is no shadow of any kind upon your family, your financial position, or your personal reputation."

There was a murmur of resentment from the gallery and the jurors' faces darkened.

Rathbone continued to smile. "I have no cause to doubt that what you say is the truth, absolutely. Have you a quick temper, Miss Lambert, or a sulky disposition?"

She looked surprised. "I don't think so, sir. No one has ever suggested such a thing to me."

"Are you disposed to gossip, perhaps?"

"No sir. I consider it a vicious habit."

Again there was a rustle of dislike from the gallery and several of the jurors were glaring at him.

Judge McKeever frowned, but he did not interrupt.

Melville was drumming his fingers tensely.

Sacheverall looked more and more satisfied.

"And is your health good?" Rathbone continued. "You do not have any chronic problems, no more than the usual afflictions that upset us all from time to time?"

"No sir, my health is excellent." She still looked totally bemused.

"Your patience with my intrusiveness is witness to your equable temper and your good nature, Miss Lambert," Rathbone said gently. "And it is apparent to any of us here that you are of a remarkably pleasing appearance." He disregarded her blush. "And becoming modesty. Oh... I forgot to ask, are you extravagant?"

She looked down at her hands. "No sir, I am not."

"And your father's abundant success ensures your financial position. In all you seem to me a bride any man might consider himself most fortunate to win."

"Thank you, sir."

"T cannot imagine why Killian Melville cast aside his opportunity, but the shortcoming is with him, most certainly not in you."

Melville jerked up his head.

Sacheverall stared at Rathbone, then at the judge.

McKeever leaned over his bench. "Your point, Sir Oliver? You seem to be maligning your own client."

"My point, my lord, is that Miss Lambert is not a young lady who will receive only one offer or opportunity of marriage," he replied expansively, looking at her as he said it. "She is most desirable in every way. She does not seem to have a failing or a weakness, above the merest frailties we may all expect in any human person. She will undoubtably receive many more offers of marriage, at least as fortunate as that of Mr. Melville, possibly more so. She may easily win the heart of a man with title and fortune to offer her. I cannot agree with my learned friend Mr. Sacheverall"-he waved his arm at her-"that she has suffered a great injury, or indeed with her mother, Mrs. Lambert. I do not refer to her feelings, of course, which are undeniably injured. She has been insulted and her trust beffayed. But her worldly future has not been injured. Unfortunately, our personal feelings cannot be protected from the wounds of love. To accept the gift of life is to accept also the risks."

"Really!" Sacheverall protested, starting to his feet and walking forward.

McKeever raised his scant eyebrows and his wide blue eyes were innocent. "Yes, Mr. Sacheverall?"

"I..." Sacheverall gave up in disgust and returned to his seat.

"Have you anything further to put to Miss Lambert?" McKeever asked them both.

They each declined, and he adjourned the court until the following day.

Rathbone left feeling thoroughly miserable. He had scored a slight victory over Sacheverall on the point of Zillah Lambert's very evident charm and apparent innocence, but it would not win him the case, and they both knew it. It made Melville's behavior all the more incomprehensible, and the thought that filled Rathbone's mind as he walked smartly along the footpath, avoiding the eyes of the few professional acquaintances he passed and heading for the nearest hansom cab, was just what did Melville know about Zillah, or her family, that he refused to say? And that thought must also sooner or later cross the mind of almost every one of her friends and enemies in society as well. Certainly it would cross the lips of the mothers of her rivals. And they would make doubly sure that it entered the ears of the mothers of suitable young gentlemen, heirs to titles and fortunes.

If anyone was marrying Zillah Lambert for love, it would seem he could not do better, but that was not the majority of those whom her mother would seek. Even if no one was vulgar enough to say so, the jurors were men of the world, and no doubt married themselves, perhaps with sons who would soon seek brides. Would they accept willingly a girl about whom there were questions?

It was beginning to rain and he had to run to catch a hansom before a couple of gentlemen in short temper could beat him to it. He heard their cries of frustration as he slammed the door and gave the driver his address.

Two hours later, after he had dined without enjoying it and then paced the floor for thirty-five minutes, he went out again to look for another cab to Melville's rooms.

He had only been there once before, Melville had come to him during their preparation for trial. The building was a handsome Georgian town house, but in no way different from its neighbors on either side. However, once he was past the vestibule, across the hall and up the stairs to the second floor, where Melville had his rooms, it was utterly individual. The inside had been gutted and the new walls were curved and washed with colors giving a unique appearance of space and light. They had been used to create optical illusions of both distance and warmth. One room seemed to blend into the next. Ivories and golds and shades of brown sugar blended with the richness of polished wood. One brilliant fuchsia-red cushion caught the eye. Another in hot Turkish pink echoed it.

Killian Melville sat in the middle of the floor on an embroidered camel saddle. He looked wretched. He barely glanced up as Rathbone came in and the maid disappeared.

"I suppose you want to resign the case," he said gloomily. "I can't blame you. I appear to be a complete cad."

"Appear to be?" Rathbone said with sarcasm.

Melville looked up. There were shadows around his eyes and fine lines from nose to mouth and around his lips. He was handsome in a refined, ascetic manner, but the most outstanding impression in his countenance was still one of overriding honesty. There was a directness in him, a sense of courage, even daring.

"Are you asking to resign?" he repeated.

"No, I am not!" Rathbone said sharply, stung more by pride than by sense, and certainly not by any belief that he could win. "I shall fight the case to the end, but the least I can realistically hope to do for you is mitigate the scale of the disaster. On what you have given me, I cannot beat Sacheverall; he has all the weapons."

"I know," Melville agreed. "I do not expect miracles."

"Yes, you do." Rathbone sat down on the sofa without waiting to be invited. "Or you would not have entered this case at all. It is not too late to make some excuse of nervousness, indisposition, and still ask her to marry you. She may well refuse now-heaven knows, you have given her cause-and then at least her honor will be satisfied and you will have extricated yourself."

Melville smiled with self-mockery. "But what if she accepts?"

"Then marry her," Rathbone responded. "She is charming, modest, intelligent, good-tempered and healthy. Her father is rich and she is his only heir. For heaven's sake, man, what more do you want? You have admitted you like her, and she obviously cares for you."

Melville looked away. "No," he said quietly, but there was infinite resolution in his voice. "I cannot marry her."

Rathbone was exasperated. He felt helpless, sent into battle robbed of both armor and weapons.

Melville sat in the camel saddle staring at the floor, shoulders hunched, miserable and obstinate.

"Then for God's sake, give me a reason!" Rathbone heard his own voice getting louder, filled with anger. "If you forbid me, then I won't use it, but at least let me know! What is wrong with Zillah Lambert? Does she drink? Has she some disease? Is there madness in her family? What is it?"

"Nothing," Melville said stubbornly, still staring downwards. Rathbone could see only his profile. "So far as I know, she is as charming and as innocent as she looks." He continued, "I know of nothing else."

"Then it must be you," Rathbone accused. He could not remember ever having been so angry with a client before. Melville was brilliant, handsome, highly individual, and had a very real charm... and he was destroying himself over something which, compared with the tragedies and violence Rathbone usually dealt with, was utterly trivial. That a young woman's reputation was being questioned and her feelings were being hurt were not light matters, but they were so very much less than the imprisonment, ruin and often death which he dealt with in cases of murder. And Melville's problem seemed so much of his own making. Why did he lie? What could there possibly be that was worth concealing at this cost?

Melville sat hunched and silent.

"What is it?" Rathbone demanded. "Is it Zillah Lambert you won't marry, or anyone at all?"

Melville turned to look at him, his face puzzled, something dark in his eyes which Rathbone thought might have been fear.

"Well?" Rathbone said urgently. "Are you free to marry? Whatever you tell me I am bound by oath to keep in confidence. I cannot lie for you in court, but I can and will keep silent. But I cannot help you if I don't know what I am fighting."

Melville turned away again, his face set "I am free to marry... but not Zillah Lambert. That is an end to it There is nothing wrong with her. I'll take the punishment. Just do the best you can."

Rathbone remained another half hour, but he could get nothing more from Melville, At quarter to ten he left and went home through rising wind and squalls of rain, still surprisingly cold.

He poured himself a draft of single-malt whiskey and drank it neat, then went to bed. He slept very badly, troubled by dreams.