The courtroom prickled with silence.
Isaac Wolff stood perfectly motionless. His look towards Sacheverall was scorching with contempt. A man less arrogant would have withered under it, would have faltered in self-doubt, instead of smiling.
'If it is your intention to attempt to blacken my name, or anyone else's, through calling people up to this stand to say whatever it is they wish, then you will have to do so,' Wolff said very carefully, speaking slowly, as if he had difficulty forming the words and keeping his voice steady. 'That is a matter for your own concern, not mine. I am not going to admit to something which is not true. I have already sworn that I have never had an intimate relationship with another man, only with women.' There was a buzz of titillation and embarrassment at the use of such frank words.
'I cannot and will not alter that statement, whatever threats you may make,' Wolff went on. 'And if you persuade someone to forswear or perjure themselves, that is your responsibility, and you are a great deal less than honest, sir, if you try to make anyone believe the answer, for that lies with me.'
Sacheverall pushed his large hands into his pockets, dragging the shoulders of his coat.
'You force me, sir! I do not wish to do this to you. For heaven's sake, spare yourself the shame. Think of Melville, if not of yourself.'
'By admitting to a crime of which neither of us is guilty?' Wolff said bitterly.
Rathbone rose to his feet. 'My lord, may I ask for an adjournment so I may speak with my client and with Mr. Sacheverall? Perhaps we can come to some understanding which would be preferable to this present discussion, which is proving nothing.'
'I think that would be advisable,' McKeever agreed, reaching his hand towards the gavel again as there was a murmur of disappointment in the gallery and several of the jurors muttered, whether it was in agreement or disagreement, it was not possible to say. 'Mr. Sacheverall?' He did not wait for the answer but assumed it. 'Good. This court is adjourned until two o'clock this afternoon.'
Rathbone leaned towards Melville, still sitting motionless. He grasped his arm and felt the muscles locked.
'What can he prove?' he whispered fiercely. 'What is Wolff to you?'
Melville relaxed very slowly, as if he were waking from a trance.
A smile with a hint of hysteria in it touched his lips and then vanished.
'Not my homosexual lover!' he said with a gasp of disbelief, as if the idea had a kind of desperate humor to it. 'I swear that in the name of God! He is as normal, as masculine, a man as ever drew breath.'
'Then what? Is he some relative by blood or marriage?' Even as he asked, Rathbone could not believe it was blood. The two men were physically as unalike as possible. Wolff must have been four or five inches the taller and two stones heavier. He was as dark as Melville was fair, as brooding, mystic and Celtic as Melville was open, direct and Saxon. 'What?' he repeated firmly.
But Melville refused to answer.
The bailiff was beside the table.
'Mr. Sacheverall is waiting for you, Sir Oliver. I'll take you to him, if you come with me.'
'Do you want to withdraw?' Rathbone demanded, still facing Melville. 'I can't make that decision for you. I don't know what Sacheverall will find or what these witnesses may say.'
'Neither do I!' Melville said jerkily. 'But I am not going to marry Zillah Lambert.' He closed his eyes. 'Just do what you can…' His voice cracked and he turned away.
Rathbone had no choice but to go with the bailiff and meet with Sacheverall, not knowing what he could salvage of the chaos he had been thrown into. Except that if he were honest, he had not been thrown, he had leaped, more or less open-eyed. His own lack of thought had earned him this.
Sacheverall was half sitting on the bare table in the small room set aside for just this sort of meeting. He did not stand when Rathbone came in and closed the door. His fair eyebrows rose quizzically.
'Ready to retreat?'
Rathbone sat in one of the chairs and leaned back, crossing his legs. He realized he disliked Sacheverall, not because he was losing-he had lost cases before, to adversaries he both liked and admired-but for the way in which Sacheverall savored the misfortune this would bring to Melville, and his own part in making it happen. The prosecutor was not serving justice but some emotion of his own. Rathbone resented giving him anything.
'If you mean ready to capitulate, no, I'm not. If you mean discuss the situation, then of course. I thought I had already made that plain in asking for an adjournment.'
'For God's sake, man!' Sacheverall said with a half laugh. 'You're beaten! Give in gracefully and I won't call my witnesses who can place Wolff and Melville together in the most intimate and compromising circumstances. Of course the man doesn't want to marry!' His voice was rich with scorn. 'He's a homosexual… I'll use the politest word I can for what he does.' His expression made all too evident what manner of word was running through his mind.
'You can use whatever word is natural to you,' Rathbone answered with a sneer he did not bother to hide. 'You have no reputation to guard in here.'
Sacheverall flushed. Perhaps he was more aware than he showed that he was awkward beside Rathbone, clumsy, inelegant, that his ears were too large.
'If you think I won't drag it up, you are mistaken!' Sacheverall said angrily. “I will! Every sordid detail necessary to prove my client's case and claim the damages she's due. Melville will end in prison… which is where he belongs.'
'If that is what Barton Lambert wants,' Rathbone said very quietly, his voice as calm as if he were addressing an elderly lady disposing her will. His mind was racing. 'Then he must hate Melville… or fear him… far more than would be explained by anything we know so far. Although I do have an excellent detective working on the case, and if there is anything whatsoever in the history of any one of the Lambert family, from the day they were born, then he will find it.'
He saw Sacheverall's face darken with anger, and ignored it. 'And, of course, once you have opened the door for this kind of slander then anything will be permissible. The gallery will love it. The press will tear them apart like a pack of dogs.' Rathbone adjusted his legs a little more gracefully. 'You and I are aware of that, naturally. We have seen it before. But are you sure the Lamberts are? Are you perfectly sure Mrs. Lambert is prepared to have her every act-every flirtation, every gift, every incident, letter, confidence-examined this way and interpreted by strangers? Can anyone at all be so certain of every moment of their lives?'
Two furious spots of color marked Sacheverall's cheeks and he sat forward, his back straight, shoulders hunched.
'How dare you?' he grated. 'You have sunk lower than I thought possible. Your client is guilty of acts that all civilized society regards as depraved. He has pursued and deceived an utterly innocent young woman for the furthering of his own ambition-and you threaten her with slander in order to aid him in escaping the consequences of his actions.' He jabbed his finger in the air and his lips were drawn into an almost invisible line. 'You show that behind that facade of a gentleman you are without honor or principle. The best I can think of you is that you are ambitious and greedy. The worst is that you have a sympathy with your client which extends a great deal further than you would wish it supposed.'
Rathbone felt an absurd moment of chill as he realized what Sacheverall meant, then laughter. Then his dislike turned into something much greater.
'You have a prurient mind, Sacheverall, which seems to be fixed in one area. The reason for my refusing to admit to this act on my client's behalf is extraordinarily simple. He has instructed me not to. I am bound by his wishes, as you are-or should be-bound by those of Miss Lambert and her family.' He put his fingertips together. 'I do not know why Mr. Melville is so unwilling to marry her after having grown to know her as well as is undisputed between us. But if you have a jot of intelligence between your ears'-he saw Sacheverall flush; he had referred to them deliberately-'then you will consider the possibility that the reason has nothing to do with Isaac Wolff and everything to do with Miss Lambert herself.'
'She has nothing whatever to hide!' Sacheverall said between his teeth. 'Do you imagine she would be foolish enough to go into this if she had? Her father is not an imbecile.'
Rathbone smiled patiently. 'If he imagines he knows everything about his daughter's life, then he is more than an imbecile,' he replied. 'He is a babe abroad in the land, and not only deserving your protection, for the fee he pays you, but needing it, in common humanity.'
Sacheverall was shaken. It was in his eyes and his mouth. He was also very very angry indeed. His hand on the
