suppose you want to resign the case," he said gloomily. "I can't blame you. I appear to be a complete cad."
"Appear to be?" Rathbone said with sarcasm.
Melville looked up. There were shadows around his eyes and fine lines from nose to mouth and around his lips. He was handsome in a refined, ascetic manner, but the most outstanding impression in his countenance was still one of overriding honesty. There was a directness in him, a sense of courage, even daring.
"Are you asking to resign?" he repeated.
"No, I am not!" Rathbone said sharply, stung more by pride than by sense, and certainly not by any belief that he could win. "I shall fight the case to the end, but the least I can realistically hope to do for you is mitigate the scale of the disaster. On what you have given me, I cannot beat Sacheverall; he has all the weapons."
"I know," Melville agreed. "I do not expect miracles."
"Yes, you do." Rathbone sat down on the sofa without waiting to be invited. "Or you would not have entered this case at all. It is not too late to make some excuse of nervousness, indisposition, and still ask her to marry you. She may well refuse now-heaven knows, you have given her cause-and then at least her honor will be satisfied and you will have extricated yourself."
Melville smiled with self-mockery. "But what if she accepts?"
"Then marry her," Rathbone responded. "She is charming, modest, intelligent, good-tempered and healthy. Her father is rich and she is his only heir. For heaven's sake, man, what more do you want? You have admitted you like her, and she obviously cares for you."
Melville looked away. "No," he said quietly, but there was infinite resolution in his voice. "I cannot marry her."
Rathbone was exasperated. He felt helpless, sent into battle robbed of both armor and weapons.
Melville sat in the camel saddle staring at the floor, shoulders hunched, miserable and obstinate.
"Then for God's sake, give me a reason!" Rathbone heard his own voice getting louder, filled with anger. "If you forbid me, then I won't use it, but at least let me know! What is wrong with Zillah Lambert? Does she drink? Has she some disease? Is there madness in her family? What is it?"
"Nothing," Melville said stubbornly, still staring downwards. Rathbone could see only his profile. "So far as I know, she is as charming and as innocent as she looks." He continued, "I know of nothing else."
"Then it must be you," Rathbone accused. He could not remember ever having been so angry with a client before. Melville was brilliant, handsome, highly individual, and had a very real charm... and he was destroying himself over something which, compared with the tragedies and violence Rathbone usually dealt with, was utterly trivial. That a young woman's reputation was being questioned and her feelings were being hurt were not light matters, but they were so very much less than the imprisonment, ruin and often death which he dealt with in cases of murder. And Melville's problem seemed so much of his own making. Why did he lie? What could there possibly be that was worth concealing at this cost?
Melville sat hunched and silent.
"What is it?" Rathbone demanded. "Is it Zillah Lambert you won't marry, or anyone at all?"
Melville turned to look at him, his face puzzled, something dark in his eyes which Rathbone thought might have been fear.
"Well?" Rathbone said urgently. "Are you free to marry? Whatever you tell me I am bound by oath to keep in confidence. I cannot lie for you in court, but I can and will keep silent. But I cannot help you if I don't know what I am fighting."
Melville turned away again, his face set "I am free to marry... but not Zillah Lambert. That is an end to it There is nothing wrong with her. I'll take the punishment. Just do the best you can."
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.
Chapter 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