A Breach of Promise

He smiled at Sandeman. "I daresay it will be in the evening newspapers, if it was not in the morning ones," he acknowledged. "Unfortunately, those things ca

Sandeman raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I am sorry to hear that. Poor fellow. Surprised, mind you. Never heard the slightest whisper against him, myself." His eyes narrowed and he regarded Monk deceptively closely. His mild ma

"Not the slightest?" Monk pressed, knowing he must tread extremely carefully.

"Nothing but praise," Sandeman affirmed. "Not everyone likes his work, of course. But then if they did it would mean he was mediocre, safe, and pedestrian. And he is certainly not that. Everyone's friend is no one's, you know?" He regarded Monk quizzically, although he knew he agreed. "Can't bear a man who trims his sails to meet the prevailing wind all the time and never stands for anything himself. Melville is not one of those." He frowned, wrinkling his brows together. "But that is hardly a thing one would sue a man for, or have him charged in law. You did not say whether it was a civil suit or a criminal one."

"Civil."

"Not a building less than standard." Sandeman made it a statement. “I don't believe that. He knows his job superbly. I would be prepared to say he is the best architect of his generation, perhaps of the century." He stared at Monk as if prepared to defy a challenge.

"Where did he study?" Monk enquired.

Sandeman thought for a moment. "You know, I have no idea," he said with evident surprise. “I haven't heard anyone mention it. Is it of importance?"

"Probably not," Monk answered. "It is unlikely the difficulty stems so far back. I assume that you have never heard suggestion that he is financially untrustworthy or-"

Sandeman did not allow him to finish. "He is an architect, Monk. A man of vision, even genius. He is not a banker or a trader. He sells ideas. I think rather than beating around the circumference of this, you had better tell me, in confidence, the nature of this difficulty. If it is the subject of a court case, then it will soon enough become public."

Monk was more than ready. "He is being sued for breach of promise."

Sandeman sat perfectly still. He did not speak, but disbelief was in every line of him.

"I am in the employ of the barrister seeking to defend him," Monk answered to the question in Sandeman's face.

Sandeman let out his breath slowly. "I see." But there was doubt in his voice. He looked at Monk now with a certain carefulness. Something was unexplained. The debt between them was not sufficient to override his other loyalties, and there was a perceptible coolness in the room. "I doubt I can help you," he continued. "As far as I know Melville, he is a man of complete probity, both publicly and privately. I have never heard anything whatever to his discredit." He met Monk's gaze steadily. "And I can tell you that without any discomfort of mind, knowing that I owe you a great deal for your assistance to me when I depended upon you."

Monk smiled with a harsh twist of his lips. "The case may become ugly. I expect the family of the girl to suggest serious flaws in his character in order to explain his behavior in terms other than some fault in their daughter. If Melville is vulnerable in any way he has not told us, or even is not aware of, we need to know it in advance in order to defend him."

Sandeman's face eased, and his large body relaxed in his chair, crumpling his suit still further. "Oh, I see." He did not apologize for his suspicion, it was too subtle to have been voiced, but it was there in his eyes, the suddenly wa

"Who is the lady?"

Monk did not hesitate; there was nothing to be lost. "Miss Zillah Lambert."

"Indeed?" Sandeman was silent for a moment. "I still ca

"And his wife?" Monk said with the shadow of a smile.

Sandeman drew in his breath and there was a flicker in his eyes which expressed possibly more than he was willing to say.

"A very pretty woman. Met her several times. Even dined at their home once." He put his head a trifle to one side, a look of mild surprise on his face. "I confess I had not expected to find it so extraordinarily beautiful. And it was, believe me, Monk. I have dined with some of the wealthiest families in England, and some of the oldest, but for its scale, nothing outdid Lambert's home. It was full of invention… architectural invention, I mean, not scientific. It was brilliantly i

Monk did not interrupt, although he found the impression he was gaining more of Killian Melville than of Lambert. He did not want to like Melville, because he believed the case was hopeless. It would be so much more comfortable to believe him a knave, a fool, or both. It would be emotionally expensive to feel a desperate need to save him, to struggle, and fail, and have to watch him ruined. He pushed away the thought.

Sandeman was still recalling the house. He obviously enjoyed it.

"The dining room was marvelous," he said enthusiastically and leaning forward a little. "I had seen a lot of magnificent rooms before and was a bit blase. I thought I had seen every possible combination and variation of line and color, but this was different." He was watching Monk's reaction, wanting to be sure Monk appreciated what he was saying. "Not so much in obvious construction but in smaller ways, so the overall impression was again one of lightness, simplicity, and it was only on reflection one began to realize what was different. It was largely a matter of perfect proportion, of relation between curve and perpendicular, circle and horizontal, and always of light."

"You are saying Melville is a true genius," Monk observed.

"Yes… yes, I suppose I am," Sandeman agreed. "But I am also saying that Lambert understood that and appreciated it. I am also saying that Mrs. Lambert was fully sensitive to it too, and that she complemented it perfectly. Everything in her dining room was superb. There was not a lily in the vases with a blemish on it, not a smear or a chip on the crystal, a scratch on the silver, a mark or a loose thread in the linen." He nodded his head slightly. "It was all in equally exquisite taste. And she was the perfect hostess. The food, of course, was delicious, and abundant without ever being ostentatious. The slightest vulgarity would have been abhorrent to her."

"Interesting," Monk acknowledged. "But not helpful."

"I don't know anything helpful." Sandeman shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Barton Lambert's reputation is impeccable, both professional and personal. I have never heard anyone make the slightest suggestion that he was less than exactly what he seems, a shrewd but blunt north country businessman who has made a fortune and came to London to enjoy his success, patronize the arts-by the way, that is also painting and music, though principally architecture-and give his wife and daughter the pleasure of London society. You can try, by all means, and see if you can find evidence he patronizes the brothels in the West End or has a mistress tucked away somewhere, or that he gambles at his club, or occasionally drinks a little too much. I doubt you'll find it, but if you do, it won't help. So do most men in his position. None of it would be grounds for not marrying his daughter."