Anne Perry - A Breach of Promise

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.