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“I …” Tremaine realized the trap and sidestepped it rather obviously. “Yes sir. I think we all feel a certain … friendship towards her which—” He stopped, uncertain how to complete the thought.
“Is your regard as … warm as Mr. Sacheverall’s?” Rathbone asked blandly.
“Well …” Tremaine looked at him squarely. “I could say I regard her more as a friend …”
Sacheverall stood up, his face only very slightly pink. “My lord, the depth of my regard for Miss Lambert is irrelevant. It is Mr. Melville’s behavior towards her which is at issue here. If Sir Oliver is trying to suggest that I have in any way overstepped the bounds of the strictest propriety, or that Miss Lambert has regarded me as other than her legal counsel, then I would warn him that he is not above the laws of slander either, and I will protect Miss Lambert’s good name with every skill at my disposal … and every weapon also!”
Rathbone laughed very lightly and swiveled to look at Sacheverall.
“My dear Sacheverall, you have spent the morning persuading me of Miss Lambert’s virtue, charm and total desirability. Is it really now slanderous for me to suggest that you are not immune to charm yourself? Surely it would be more so to suggest that you are? Then you might think I accused you of being less than a natural man. Or at the very least of speaking insincerely, saying something which you yourself did not believe.”
“You are—” Sacheverall began.
But Rathbone overrode him. “Your sincerity seemed to ring through your words, your choice of adjectives to describe her, the very ardor of your tone and the grace of your gestures. You made your argument superbly.”
“What is your point?” Sacheverall snapped, his cheeks flushed. “There is nothing improper for you to find!” He gestured towards Melville, who was sitting staring at him. “That is where the fault lies. You ha ve paved the way for that yourself! Indeed, it would be an unusual man—perhaps, to borrow your own phrase, something less than a natural man—who would not admire Miss Lambert!” His face twisted into an expression suddenly far uglier than perhaps he knew. “Have you considered, Sir Oliver, that you do not know your own client as well as you imagine? You are the last man I would have supposed naive, but I could be mistaken.” His meaning was masked, but it was clear enough. There was a gasp around the room. One or two of the jurors looked taken aback. The remark was indelicate at best, at worst slanderous.
The judge looked expectantly at Rathbone.
Rathbone had turned immediately to Melville. Sacheverall was right in that he had not known his client as well as he wished to.
But the look on Melville’s face was one of bitter but quite honest laughter. No one could doubt he found the remark genuinely funny. There was no embarrassment in him, not a shred of shame or even discomfort.
The judge blinked.
One or two jurors looked at each other.
Sacheverall colored very slightly, as if aware he had stepped a little too far. For the first time he had lost the sympathy of the jury. But he would not retreat.
“There may be many reasons for a man to shrink from marriage,” he said rather loudly. “Reasons he would not be willing to acknowledge to anyone. I make no accusations, please be clear; I speak only in general. He may be aware of disease in himself, or in his family.” He waved his arms in a gesture Rathbone had come to recognize was characteristic. “There may be a strain of madness. He may have a burden of debt he cannot meet, and therefore could not keep a wife. He may even be in danger of prosecution for some offense or other. He may already be married!”
There was a buzz of excited conversation as people in the gallery turned to whisper to one another.
“Silence!” Mr. Justice McKeever ordered, his voice surprisingly penetrating for one so soft. “Silence, or I shall clear the court!”
Obedience was instant. A man in the gallery cleared his throat, and it sounded like a minor explosion.
“Or he may be unable to consummate the union,” Sacheverall finished.
One of the jurors, an elderly man with thick white hair, clicked his teeth and shook his head disapprovingly. The remark obviously offended him as being in exceedingly poor taste. Gentlemen did not discuss such things.
Again Rathbone glanced at Melville, and saw only laughter in his light, sea-blue eyes.
“Of course,” Rathbone agreed, equally penetratingly. “And there may be many reasons why a man may decline to marry a particular lady, many of them disagreeable, coarse and offensive even to suggest, so I shall not.” He saw out of the corner of his eye one of the jurors nod. “I am loathe to have this already sad situation descend to such a level,” he finished.
McKeever smiled bleakly. He had seen too many civil cases to hold out any such hope.
“I am sure you would,” Sacheverall agreed sarcastically. “And I daresay your client even more so. But he should have thought of that before he humiliated and insulted Miss Lambert and used her affections so lightly. It is too late for such regrets now, even more for the fear of how it may reflect upon his own reputation.”
The fragile advantage had slipped away already. Thank heaven it was Friday and Rathbone had two days in which to try to prevail on Melville to tell him the truth. If he did not, then he could see no strategy at all which would avoid defeat. Perhaps Melville had not realized quite how damaging that would be to him, not only financially but also professionally. Barton Lambert would certainly cease to support him or employ him. Lambert was a man of influence. Melville might very well find his entire career jeopardized, regardless of his brilliance.
Rathbone forced himself to smile and face Sacheverall.
“This is not over yet,” he said with infinitely more confidence than he felt. “Let us await the conclusion before we assess the damage, and to whom. I have no wish to cause injury, but I shall represent my client’s interests with all the vigor at my disposal.”
“Naturally.” Sacheverall was not disturbed. He had regained his composure and he knew he had little to fear. Victory was only an inch from his grasp, and in his mind he could already feel it. “One would expect no less of you,” he added, but his smile lacked any anxiety that Rathbone might win.
He called one more witness, and then the court was adjourned for the weekend. The crowd dispersed from the gallery with unusual quietness and good order. It was an ominous sign. They were not expecting any surprises, no turn in events to spark their interest or change what to many was already a foregone conclusion.
