A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [147]
“You have no confidence towards your client now, except that of the truth,” the coroner said quietly. “What reason did Melville give you for breaking her betrothal to Miss Lambert?”
“She swore that she had never intended to become betrothed to her,” Rathbone answered, looking directly at the coroner and avoiding catching the eye of anyone else in the room. “She said it had happened by misunderstanding, which I had difficulty in believing at the time, but now it seems very readily explainable. I think she was genuinely very fond of Miss Lambert, in a manner of friendship, as one woman may be to another. She must have been extremely lonely.” He found it difficult to say, and was not even sure if he wanted to expose such private grief to the stare of others. He doubted himself even as he spoke. “Isaac Wolff was the only person she could trust. Perhaps with Miss Lambert she was able to come closer to the pretty and feminine things she would like to have been able to share in herself but knew she never could. She might have allowed her guard to slip, and without being aware of it have given the wrong impression.”
There was a soft murmur from the public section. He did not turn to look, although he could imagine Zillah’s face. It might be some comfort to her that the deceit was not meant.
The coroner nodded, still watching Rathbone, waiting for him to go on.
“She was horrified when she knew,” he resumed, remembering with painful vividness the look in her eyes. It had been close to panic. He had been impatient with it then.
“But she did not explain?” The coroner’s face also was touched with deep sadness.
“No.”
“I presume you asked?”
“Of course. I pleaded with her to tell me, in total confidence, if she knew anything to Miss Lambert’s discredit or if there was anything in her own life which prevented her marrying …”
He heard the faint rustle in the courtroom, but no one laughed.
“She told me there was not.” He took a breath. “I did not accept her word. I employed an agent of enquiry to research into both Miss Lambert’s past and hers. He found nothing.” He owed Monk something better than a bare statement. “If there had been longer, I daresay he would have learned the truth, but events overtook us. It appeared Melville’s affair with Mr. Wolff was reason enough. Of course, we now know it was … a love between man and woman, not illegal, not abnormal.” He had nearly said “not scandalous,” but perhaps since they were not married, there would be those who would consider it so. “Such as is usual enough,” he said instead.
“What was her frame of mind, as far as you could judge, when Mr. Sacheverall brought Isaac Wolff to the stand and accused him of a homosexual relationship with Melville?” There was a chill in the coroner’s voice, and he did not look towards where Sacheverall was sitting.
“She was deeply distressed,” Rathbone answered truthfully. “Very deeply. But she denied it to me.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I … I don’t know. I neither believed nor disbelieved. I was concerned with trying to rescue what I could from the situation. I hoped I might persuade Miss Lambert to settle for a small amount of damages, so at least Melville might not be financially ruined, as well as socially and professionally.” He found the words difficult to say. They still hurt. The failure was deep and twisting inside him.
“Did you tell Miss Melville your hopes?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know of anything that occurred that afternoon which would so alter the circumstances as to make her despair and take her own life?”
“Sacheverall had called a prostitute to the stand in the morning who had sworn that the affair she had observed was of a sexual nature,” Rathbone said bitterly, “not the friendship both Wolff and Melville had insisted. But if that was the final incident, then I would have expected her to have taken the poison during the luncheon adjournment, and