A Breach of Promise

“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 ma

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 ma

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. A

"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."