A Breach of Promise

The judge glanced towards Rathbone, half inviting him to object that the question was irrelevant. Rathbone knew there was no point in doing so. To challenge would only show Rathbone's desperation. He shook his head momentarily and McKeever looked away again.

"Mr. Wolff?" Sacheverall prompted. "Surely you recall?"

Wolff smiled, showing his teeth. "It was some years ago, about twelve. I'm not sure that I do."

It was not the answer Sacheverall had wished. Rathbone could tell that from the sharp way he moved his arm back. But he had opened the way for it himself.

"Was it a social occasion, Mr. Wolff, or a professional one?"

"Social."

"You have recalled it, then?"

"No. We have no professional concerns in common."

Rathbone rose to his feet, more as a matter of form than because he thought it would actually affect Sacheverall's case. The tension was becoming palpable. Beside him at the table, Melville was rigid.

"My lord…"

"Yes, yes," McKeever agreed. "Mr. Sacheverall, if you have a point to this, please come to it. Mr. Wolff has conceded that he is acquainted with Mr. Melville. If there is something in that which bears upon his promise to marry Miss Lambert, then proceed to it."

"Oh, a great deal, my lord," Sacheverall said impassively. "I regret to say." He swung around to face the witness-box. "Are you married, Mr. Wolff?"

"No."

"Have you ever been?"

"No."

McKeever frowned. "Mr. Sacheverall, I find it hard to believe that this is indeed your point."

"Oh, it is, my lord," Sacheverall answered him. "I am about to make it." And disregarding McKeever, he swung back to Wolff, on the stand. "You live alone, Mr. Wolff, but you are not a recluse. In fact, you have a close and enduring friendship, have you not… with Mr. Killian Melville?"

Wolff stared back at him unflinchingly, but his face was set, his eyes hard.

"I regard Mr. Melville as a good friend. I have done for some time."

Rathbone knew what Sacheverall was going to say next, but there was no way in which he could prevent it. Any protest now would make it worse, as if he had known it himself and therefore it must be true. He felt hollow inside, a strange mixture of hot and cold.

"Is that all, Mr. Wolff?" Sacheverall raised his eyebrows very high. "Would you not say an intimate friend, with all the subtle and varied meanings that word can carry? I use it advisedly."

There was a hiss of indrawn breath in the gallery. One of the jurors put his hand to his mouth, another shook his head, his lips compressed into a thin line. A third was pale with anger.

McKeever cleared his throat but said nothing.

Rathbone looked at Melville. His eyes were hot with misery and his fair skin was flushed. He was staring straight ahead. He refused absolutely to look back at Rathbone.

"You may use what word you like, sir," Wolff replied steadily, his voice thick. "If your implication is that my relationship with Killian Melville is of an u

McKeever banged his gavel angrily, commanding silence.

"I do not expect you to admit it, Mr. Wolff." Sacheverall did not appear disconcerted. He gave a very slight shrug as he walked a few paces away and then swiveled on his heel and suddenly raised his voice accusingly. "But I shall call witnesses, Mr. Wolff! Is that what you want, sir? Never doubt I will, if you force me to! Admit your relationship with Killian Melville, and advise him, as your friend, your lover, to yield in this case." He said the word lover with infinite disgust, his lips curled. "Stop defending the indefensible! Do not put it to the test, sir, because I warn you, I shall win!"

Melville sat as if frozen. His face was ashen white and the freckles stood out like dark splashes. He did not take his eyes from Wolff, and the pain in him was so powerful Rathbone could all but feel it himself. He was unaware for seconds that his own hands were clenched till his nails gouged circles in his palms.

The courtroom prickled with silence.

Isaac Wolff stood perfectly motionless. His look towards Sacheverall was scorching with contempt. A man less arrogant would have withered under it, would have faltered in self-doubt, instead of smiling.

"If it is your intention to attempt to blacken my name, or anyone else's, through calling people up to this stand to say whatever it is they wish, then you will have to do so," Wolff said very carefully, speaking slowly, as if he had difficulty forming the words and keeping his voice steady. "That is a matter for your own concern, not mine. I am not going to admit to something which is not true. I have already sworn that I have never had an intimate relationship with another man, only with women." There was a buzz of titillation and embarrassment at the use of such frank words.

"I ca

Sacheverall pushed his large hands into his pockets, dragging the shoulders of his coat.

"You force me, sir! I do not wish to do this to you. For heaven's sake, spare yourself the shame. Think of Melville, if not of yourself."

"By admitting to a crime of which neither of us is guilty?" Wolff said bitterly.

Rathbone rose to his feet. "My lord, may I ask for an adjournment so I may speak with my client and with Mr. Sacheverall? Perhaps we can come to some understanding which would be preferable to this present discussion, which is proving nothing."

"I think that would be advisable," McKeever agreed, reaching his hand towards the gavel again as there was a murmur of disappointment in the gallery and several of the jurors muttered, whether it was in agreement or disagreement, it was not possible to say. "Mr. Sacheverall?" He did not wait for the answer but assumed it. "Good. This court is adjourned until two o'clock this afternoon."

Rathbone leaned towards Melville, still sitting motionless. He grasped his arm and felt the muscles locked.

"What can he prove?" he whispered fiercely. "What is Wolff to you?"

Melville relaxed very slowly, as if he were waking from a trance.

A smile with a hint of hysteria in it touched his lips and then vanished.

"Not my homosexual lover!" he said with a gasp of disbelief, as if the idea had a kind of desperate humor to it. "I swear that in the name of God! He is as normal, as masculine, a man as ever drew breath."

"Then what? Is he some relative by blood or marriage?" Even as he asked, Rathbone could not believe it was blood. The two men were physically as unalike as possible. Wolff must have been four or five inches the taller and two stones heavier. He was as dark as Melville was fair, as brooding, mystic and Celtic as Melville was open, direct and Saxon. "What?" he repeated firmly.

But Melville refused to answer.

The bailiff was beside the table.

"Mr. Sacheverall is waiting for you, Sir Oliver. I'll take you to him, if you come with me."

"Do you want to withdraw?" Rathbone demanded, still facing Melville. "I can't make that decision for you. I don't know what Sacheverall will find or what these witnesses may say."

"Neither do I!" Melville said jerkily. "But I am not going to marry Zillah Lambert." He closed his eyes. "Just do what you can…" His voice cracked and he turned away.