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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 unnerve Sacheverall and irritate him. Then he turned to Zillah, still smiling, but now gently. He walked towards her and looked up, his expression mild. “Miss Lambert, you have just told my learned friend that you know of no reason whatever why Mr. Melville should have broken your engagement to marry. There is no shadow of any kind upon your family, your financial position, or your personal reputation.”
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.”
“I cannot imagine why Killian Melville cast aside his opportunity, but the shortcoming is with him, most certainly not in you.”
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 cannot agree with my learned friend Mr. Sacheverall”—he waved his arm at her—“that she has suffered a great injury, or indeed with her mother, Mrs. Lambert. I do not refer to her feelings, of course, which are undeniably injured. She has been insulted and her trust betrayed. But her worldly future has not been injured. Unfortunately, our personal feelings cannot be protected from the wounds of love. To accept the gift of life is to accept also the risks.”
“Really!” Sacheverall protested, starting to his feet and walking forward.
McKeever raised his scant eyebrows and his wide blue eyes were innocent. “Yes, Mr. Sacheverall?”
“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 innocence, but it would not win him the case, and they both knew it. It made Melville’s behavior all the more incomprehensible, and the thought that filled Rathbone’s mind as he walked smartly along the footpath, avoiding the eyes of the few professional acquaintances he passed and heading for the nearest hansom cab, was just what did Melville know about Zillah, or her family, that he refused to say? And that thought must also sooner or later cross the mind of almost every one of her friends and enemies in society as well. Certainly it would cross the lips of the mothers of her rivals. And they would make doubly sure that it entered the ears of the mothers of suitable young gentlemen, heirs to titles and fortunes.
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?
