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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 u
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 ca
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 ca
"Really!" Sacheverall protested, starting to his feet and walking forward.
McKeever raised his scant eyebrows and his wide blue eyes were i
"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 i
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 begi
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 ma
"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 ca