He thought ruefully that that must have cost an effort, an aching throat to keep the pitch permanently so unnaturally low.
She must have enjoyed Zillah's company, one of her own sex to befriend. No wonder the relationship was peculiarly precious to her.
Sacheverall was furious, but for once he had no ready answer.
"She was still unnatural!" he said loudly and angrily. His face was red, and he jerked around in gestures too large to have dignity or meaning. He had lost control of the case. Nothing was as he had meant it to be. When he had come in that morning he had had victory in the grasp of his fingers. Now it had all exploded into tragedy and then absurdity.
"She was perverted, perhaps insane-"
"She was not-" Rathbone began angrily, but Sacheverall cut across him.
"She took advantage of Mr. Lambert's generosity for the most obvious reasons, to advance her career, if you can call it that!" He jabbed his finger in the air; his voice was almost a shriek. "She deceived him, lied to him at every turn-then deceived Miss Lambert and abused her feelings for the same crass, greedy reasons, and…"
Zillah was recovered now, sitting motionless, the tears streaming down her cheeks, although her face did not twist or crumple. She had the curious gift of being able to weep and remain beautiful.
Barton Lambert rose to his feet.
"Be quiet!" he commanded so loudly that Sacheverall stopped in the middle of his sentence, his face slack with surprise. "He dressed as a man, in that he did deceive me," Lambert went on, lowering his voice only slightly. "I never for an instant suspected he was not one. But I was not deceived in his…" He corrected himself: "Her skill. He was still one of the finest architects in Europe, and I'll swear you'll not see a better one in your lifetime!"
Sacheverall burst into laughter, derisive, jeering, an ugly sound.
McKeever slammed his gavel down like a gunshot.
"Mr. Sacheverall!" All his passionate distaste of the man was in his face. "Control yourself, sir! This is not a humorous matter!"
Sacheverall stopped laughing instantly.
"It is not, my lord! It is disgusting!" His wide mouth curled exaggeratedly. He still waved his arms as he spoke. "Every decent person in this room must be as confused and offended as I am by this unnatural creature, perverse, deceitful and an insult to all decent women who honor their gender by living up to the highest standards of modesty, decency and-and-are proud to be women!" His gesture embraced the gallery. "Who would not for an instant, a fraction of an instant, deny their womanhood with its sacred duties and blessings, or choose to be different!" He flung his arms out again and turned to face them. "What woman among you is not proud to be wife and mother? Do you want to dress in trousers and pretend to be a man? Do you want to deny who you are, what you are, and spit in the face of the God who made you and ordained you to this-this holy calling?"
"For heaven's sake, sit down!" It was Zillah who hissed at him, glaring through eyes still filled with tears.
He leaned forward, staring at her intently. "My dear Zillah." He lowered his voice until it was tender, almost intimate. "I can hardly imagine the suffering you must be enduring. You have been most cruelly abused. You are the victim in all this insanity, this twisted and terrible masquerade." He moved one hand as if to touch her, then changed his mind. "I cannot say how much I admire your courage and your dignity throughout this ordeal," he went on softly but quite clearly, his eyes intent on hers. "Your refusal to indulge in anger is truly the mark of a most beautiful character. You have a nobility which must awaken a sense of wonder in all of us, a reverence…"
"Mr. Sacheverall," she replied coldly, and moving back an inch. "I have lost a dear friend today, in the most terrible circumstances, and I do not care what you think of me, nor do I care for your sympathy. Please do not keep thrusting your opinions upon me. I am sure the court does not care either."
He was startled. It was the last thing he had expected to hear. However, he took it with good grace, determined it was due to her distress and perhaps natural.
"I did not mean to embarrass you," he apologized, turning back to the front of the court. "My emotions made me speak too soon." Before she could answer that, he looked to Rathbone. "I shall consult with my client, of course," he said with a chill. "But I think Mrs. Lambert will feel that her daughter's character has been vindicated in every way with today's revelations. No possible fault can attach to her in anyone's mind. The matter of cost will be dealt with from Mr.-Miss Melville's estate. I imagine that rests with her solicitor."
Barton Lambert jerked forward as if to speak, and Delphine pulled him back again sharply.
McKeever glared around the room and it fell silent.
"I should like to hear more fully what drove Miss Melville to this extraordinary step. And I think we should give Mr. Isaac Wolff the opportunity to clear his name and the question of his own reputation. I call him to testify."
There was a moment's silence, then the usher gathered his wits and called rather loudly for Isaac Wolff.
It took only a few moments for Wolff to come from the back of the court. He stumbled as he climbed the steps up to the witness stand again.
"Mr. Wolff," McKeever said in his soft voice. There was absolute silence in the room. No one in the gallery fidgeted or whispered. The jurors sat with eyes fixed on Wolff, their faces stiff with pity and embarrassment. Neither Rathbone nor Sacheverall stirred. Everyone strained to catch McKeever's words.
"Mr. Wolff, I am sorry to call you again when you must be feeling your bereavement most deeply," he said. "But I feel you are perhaps the only one able to offer us a proper explanation. Why did Killian Melville spend her life dressed as a man and to all outward purposes living the life of a man? Before you answer"-he smiled very slightly; it was an inner necessity which drove him, an emotion he could not stifle, and certainly one devoid of any shred of humor-"I offer you the court's unqualified apology for its accusation of sexual vice, or any kind of crime on your part or, of course, upon Miss Melville's."
A shadow of very bitter humor flashed in Wolff's eyes but did not touch his lips.
"Thank you, my lord." His voice was too flat to carry gratitude. He did not look at anyone in particular as he summoned the words to answer. His gaze seemed to be over the heads of the gallery, but his vision inward, into memory. "Actually, her name was Keelin. Her mother was half Irish. She simply changed the spelling a little to sound more masculine."
The court waited.
He took a few moments to master his composure. "She was brilliant," he began quietly, but his voice was raw. "Even as a child she was fascinated by beautiful buildings of all sorts. Her father was a keen scholar and the family spent much time in the Mediterranean-Italy, Greece, Egypt, Palestine. Keelin would walk for hours among the ruins of the greatest cities on earth. She has sketches of the Roman Forum, the Baths of Caracalla, the Colosseum, of course. And in the rest of Italy of the great triumphs of the Renaissance, the exquisite simplicity of the Tuscan villas, of Alberti, of Michelangelo's domes and basilicas."