William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

meant to, but something inside her just … collapsed.” She looked at Hester, her eyes filled with tears. “I would have taken the girls, if I could have. But I was in service. There was no place for two little children. Phemie was barely three, and Leda only a year … and—and they weren’t pretty children. They were … deformed. And they couldn’t hear, so they would never be any use to anyone….”
    Hester reached out and took Martha in her arms, holding her thin body closely and feeling the dry sobs that racked through her.
    “Of course, there was nothing you could do,” Hester said gently. “You had to work to eat. So do all of us. Sometimes it is all you can do to support yourself, and if you go under, what use is that to anyone?”
    “I wish I knew where they were!” Martha said desperately. “I look at Lieutenant Sheldon with his face all twisted and burned like that until half of him hardly looks human, and I see the look in Perdita’s eyes, and she was so in love with him … and now she can hardly bring herself to look at him straight, let alone touch him … and I wonder what happened to those poor little souls. I should have found some way to help! Who’s going to love them, if not me?”
    “I don’t know,” Hester said honestly. False words of comfort now would only leave Martha thinking she did not understand or believe the enormity of her anguish. Hester held her even closer. “We can’t change what has already happened, butwe can try to do something about Gabriel and Perdita. She’s got to learn to understand, to forget his disfigured face and see the man inside … that beauty matters so much more. That is what will love her in return. To the devil with Athol Sheldon and his ideas.”
    Martha gave a jerky little laugh, half choking. “He means well,” she said, straightening herself up and pushing back some of her hair which had fallen askew from its pins. “He just doesn’t realize …”
    Hester poured fresh tea, which was still hot and steaming fragrantly. She passed one of the cups over to Martha.
    Martha smiled and fished in her pocket for a handkerchief to blow her nose.
    Hester sipped her own tea and took a piece of shortbread.
    “Thank you for bringing my letter up,” she said conversationally. “It was written from Scotland. Have you ever been there?”
    Martha dabbed her eyes and settled to listen with interest to Callandra Daviot’s account of her journeys.

3
    T
HE
L
AMBERTS WERE NOT OPEN
to negotiation of any sort. Killian Melville was sued for breach of promise and the case came to trial very rapidly. It was naturally attended by a great deal of gossip and speculation. Such an event had not happened in society in some while, and it was on everyone’s lips.
    Oliver Rathbone had given his word to defend Melville, so although he still had no further information which he could use, he was in court with a calm face and a steady smile to face Wystan Sacheverall, acting for Miss Zillah Lambert but, of course, paid by and instructed by her parents.
    The jury had already been selected: a group of men more embarrassed by their position than usual and—quite obviously to even the casual eye—wishing they were not involved in what was a private and domestic matter. Looking at them, Rathbone wondered how many of them had daughters of their own. Above half of them were of an age to be considering their own children’s marriages.
    How many of them had made rash promises in their youth and lived to regret them, or at least attempted to retract them? Were their own marriages happy? Were their experiences of domestic family life ones they would wish upon another? So much might hang upon things Rathbone would never know. They would remain two rows of well-to-do men of varying ages, different appearances and characteristics, with only two things in common: the reputation and the personal means tobecome a juror; and a degree of discomfort at finding themselves obliged to make a decision they would much rather not.
    The judge was a smallish man with mild features and remarkably steady, candid blue eyes. He spoke very quietly. One was obliged to listen in order to hear what he said.
    The first witness called was Barton Lambert. He looked angry and unhappy as he strode across the open space in the front of the room and climbed the steps to the witness-box. His cheeks were flushed and his arms and body stiff.
    Beside Rathbone, Killian Melville bit his lip and