William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

your concern, Mrs. Lambert,” he said courteously, his mind racing for anything whatsoever to mitigate her testimony. “Perhaps you will tell me something more about these wedding arrangements that you mentioned …”
    “All made!” Her voice rose again. “Of course, the official invitations had not gone out, but everyone knew who was invited, so it comes to virtually the same thing! I have never been so mortified in my life. You cannot imagine the humiliation of having to tell people!” She flung her arms out, hands graceful even in her extreme emotion. “How do I explain? What is there anyone can possibly say? Poor Zillah.” She turned to the judge. “Can you begin to imagine how she feels? Every time anyone laughs, if we didn’t hear the reason, we think it is at our misfortune.”
    Rathbone forced himself to remain friendly. “I am sure that is natural. We have all experienced such fears when we are aware of some …” What word could he use without seeming critical? He had given himself an impossible sentence to finish. She was looking at him again. “Self-consciousness is to be expected,” he said instead. “But to these arrangements, Mrs. Lambert …”
    “The dressmaker, the wedding attendants, the church, of course, the flowers in season,” she listed them off. “I spent hours seeing that everything should be perfect. It is the most important, the most exquisitely beautiful day of a woman’s life. I would have given anything I had to ensure that nothing whatever went wrong for her. No time, trouble or expense was to be spared. Not that it was the money. Never think for an instant that it was that.” She dismissed it with a wave of her hand.
    Curiously, he believed her. It was honor which concerned her. What should have been entirely happiness and beauty instead had become a source of embarrassment and cruel jests, the golden future tarnished beyond repair. She had notmentioned it, maybe she had not even thought of it yet, but it was not impossible that the sense of rejection which Zillah felt would make it hard for her to believe the next man who claimed to love her. No one could say what seeds of future misery had been sown.
    “I am sure that is so, Mrs. Lambert,” he agreed soothingly. “I do not doubt it. But my question is, how much did Mr. Melville participate in all these plans and decisions?”
    She looked blank. “Mr. Melville? It is the bride’s parents who make these arrangements, Sir Oliver. It was nothing to do with him.”
    “My point precisely.” He was careful not to show any feeling of victory, however slight. It would offend the jury. He stood in the center of the open space, aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “He did not agree to the style of the wedding gown, the amount or kind of flowers, or even the church….”
    She looked completely bemused.
    “My lord.” Sacheverall rose to his feet with a gesture of disbelief. “Is my learned friend suggesting that Mr. Melville broke the engagement to marry in a fit of pique because he was not consulted on these matters? And further, that such absurd behavior is somehow justified? If that were so, my lord, no man would ever marry!” He laughed as he said it, turning towards the jury.
    Rathbone kept his temper only through great practice.
    “No, my lord, I am not suggesting anything of the kind, as my learned friend would have known had he waited a moment or two. What I am suggesting is that these arrangements, excellent as they no doubt were, were made without Mr. Melville’s knowledge. He did not ask for Miss Lambert’s hand in marriage, nor did he intend to. The matter was anticipated and, in all good faith, acted upon without his participation. He did not break his agreement, because he did not make one. It was assumed—perhaps with good cause, but nonetheless it was an assumption.”
    “Sir Oliver is making a clumsy argument!” Sacheverallprotested. He stared at Rathbone. “Are you finished? Have you no better case than that to offer?”
    Rathbone had not, but this was certainly not the time to say so.
    “Not at all,” he denied blandly. “I am explaining what I intended by the question, since you misinterpreted it.”
    “You are saying Mrs. Lambert organized a wedding without any assurance that there was a bridegroom?” Sacheverall challenged, the laughter of derision all but bubbling through his words.
    “I am suggesting it was a misunderstanding, not villainy,” Rathbone answered, aware how