A Breach of Promise - Anne Perry [44]
Rathbone remained another half hour, but he could get nothing more from Melville. At quarter to ten he left and went home through rising wind and squalls of rain, still surprisingly cold.
He poured himself a draft of single-malt whiskey and drank it neat, then went to bed. He slept very badly, troubled by dreams.
4
THE TRIAL RESUMED the next morning with Sacheverall providing witnesses to Zillah’s blameless character, as Rathbone had known he would. It was hardly necessary—her own appearance had been sufficient—but then he could not be certain that Rathbone had no witness of his own in store, someone who could cast doubt on the innocence and charm they had seen.
The first was a Lady Lucinda Stoke-Harbury, a girl of Zillah’s own age who was newly betrothed to the second son of an earl, and impeccably respectable. She stood with her head high, her eyes straight ahead, and spoke clearly. Sacheverall could not have found anyone better, and the very slight swagger with which he walked to and fro on the open space of the floor showed his confidence. He smiled like an actor playing to the gallery, and seemed just as sure that the rest of the cast would respond as if according to a script.
“Lady Lucinda, please tell us how long you have been acquainted with Miss Lambert, if you would be so kind.”
“Oh, at least five years,” she replied cheerfully. “We have been great friends.”
Sacheverall was delighted; it was exactly the reply he wanted. He hesitated long enough to make sure the jury had fully digested the statement, then continued.
“Have you many friends in common?”
“Naturally. We attend all the same parties, dinners, balls and so on. And we have often been to art galleries and lectures together.”
“So you know her well?”
“Yes, I do.”
It was all very predictable, and there was nothing Rathbone could do to affect it. To cast doubt on Lady Lucinda’s judgment, or her honesty in expressing it, would only play directly into Sacheverall’s hands. It could both turn the jury against him, and indirectly Melville, and show them his own desperation. If he had any evidence of his own he should produce it, not insult Lady Lucinda.
Sacheverall grew more and more enthusiastic, seeking praise and affirmation for Zillah with many new avenues of questioning.
Rathbone looked around the gallery. He saw the range of expressions on the faces as they craned forward, listening to every word. For a woman in black bombazine with a ribboned hat it was an avid interest showing in her eyes, her lips parted. For a man with gray side-whiskers it was more relaxed, even a trifle cynical, a half smile. A well-dressed young woman with straight brown hair under her bonnet looked at Melville with undisguised contempt. Her neighbor seemed more curious as to why a young man with such golden opportunities before him should risk losing it all for such an absurd reason. Rathbone could almost read the speculation in their eyes as to what was unsaid behind the polite words from the witness stand. What was the real reason behind this charade?
More than once he caught someone looking at him, speculation easily read as to what he could do, what he knew and would spring on them, when he was ready.
He wished there were something!
He saw several studying the jury, and perhaps trying to guess their thoughts, although at this point there seemed only one possible verdict.
Melville sat through it all sunk in unhappiness but without moving, except occasionally to put his fingers up to his mouth, and then away again, but he did not speak. He did not offer any contradictions or suggestions of help.
Rathbone declined the offer to question Lady Lucinda. There was nothing whatever to ask.
The next witness was another young woman of impeccable reputation, and she reaffirmed everything that had already been said.
The judge looked enquiringly at Rathbone.
“No, thank you, my lord,” he said, rising briefly to