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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 h
ave 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?” Sacheverall 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. Then Killian and Zillah got up and went for a walk in the garden. The leaves were turning color and the very first few had fallen. The chrysanthemums were in bloom.” She glanced at the judge, then back to Sacheverall. “Such a wonderful perfume they have, earthy and warm. They always make me think of everything that is lovely … rich but never vulgar. If only we could always have such perfect taste.” She sighed. “Anyway, Killian and Zillah remained outside for some time, but I was in every proper sense still a chaperone. Zillah told me afterwards they were discussing their ideas for a future home, all the things they would most like to have, and how it would be … colors, styles, furniture … everything two people in love would plan for their future.”
Rathbone looked at Melville again. Could any man really be such a complete fool as to have spoken to a woman of such things and not know perfectly well she would take it as a prelude to a proposal of marriage?
“Is that true?” he demanded under his breath.
Melville turned to him. His face was deep pink with the rush of blood to his cheeks, his eyes were hot, but he did not avoid looking straight back.
“Yes … and no …”
