Katie Rose (12 page)

Horace Shane was an eccentric, with long white hair and a beard that flowed down to his collar, lending him the appearance of a benevolent Saint Nicholas. His suits were always rumpled, and notes were absently stashed in his pockets, but beneath his careless appearance burned a brilliant legal mind. More promising, Horace Shane was also a vocal proponent for women’s suffrage and advancement. He loved to upset social conventions and garner attention from the press with his radical views, supporting free love, divorce, the eight-hour workday, and equal rights for women. His wife was a beautiful, intelligent woman who doubtless influenced him, but even on his own, Shane was a Renaissance man.

Handing his secretary her card, Winifred waited politely in the foyer. She did not have to wait long.

“Miss Appleton?” A voice boomed down the hall. “Who the hell is that? I do not need any more of those women’s righters coming through here to discuss poor
Mrs. Black. Just tell her to leave. I am not here. Damned suffragette!”

Winifred’s stomach tightened. He was not going to see her. But surely within the next few days he would build his legal team. This might be her only chance. Instead of waiting for a dismissal, she strode directly into the room.

Shane appeared startled, but he stared at Winifred with interest, still fingering her card.

His secretary, pointing frantically, made it clear that she had nothing to do with this intrusion: “She came in here! I did not let her, I told her to wait—”

“That’s all right, I will see her. Take a seat. I did not recognize your name immediately, but I do now. You work for Charles Howe, but it was something before that …” He gazed at her thoughtfully, then smiled. “Spiritualism, wasn’t it?”

Winifred winced in embarrassment, then took the chair he indicated, trying to act as composed as possible. “That is all in the past,” she demurred, wanting to change the subject.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Horace said sincerely. “I was always partial to spiritualists. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio …’ I am sure you know the quote. But I do not suppose you came here to discuss Shakespeare. I was wondering if perhaps I would hear from you, or someone from the state’s attorney’s office. The Black case does hold features of interest.”

“That is why I have come,” Winifred said, her hands trembling in excitement as she reached for her notes. “Mr. Shane, I am sure you are well aware that this case will be sensational. The newspapers will jump all over it, and the matter will be discussed in every drawing room. It could make you famous.”

“I am already.” The gruff attorney shrugged, gazing shrewdly at the beautiful woman before him. “And I, too, have thought of the implications of this case. Usually instances of suspected marital poisoning are considered private and are hushed up by everyone, including the police. It was only because Mr. Black did not die that the case is going to court.”

“Then there is no doubt as to her guilt?” Winifred scribbled furiously.

Horace Shane broke into laughter. “Miss Appleton, I know you are an apprentice for Mr. Howe’s office. Tell him I plan to fully disclose all my evidence, as required. But the case just came into my office.”

Winifred put down her pen and looked directly at the older man. “Mr. Shane, I am not here on behalf of the prosecution. In fact, I would like to make you an offer. I will help you, do all the research, provide everything you need for a successful acquittal—in exchange for the opportunity to work on this case.”

The attorney looked at her in confusion, then burst into laughter. Removing his glasses, he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, shaking his head as if she had just told him the best joke ever.

“Miss Appleton, why on earth would I agree to something like that?”

Winifred was undaunted by his manner. “It benefits you entirely,” she said confidently. “Think about it. Not only do I have real experience doing research for legal cases, but I have been clerking for the prosecution. I know the kind of research that the state’s attorney’s office does to win a case, and I know how they will approach this one. That experience alone will be invaluable to you. Also, there is the question of finances. Mrs. Black undoubtedly has little authority over the family money and will have a hard time paying you.”

“I did not take this case for money,” Shane said quickly.

“I did not think you had. Even more reason, however, to defray additional costs to yourself. If I can provide much of the research for free, it cuts your losses. Everyone benefits—most of all Mrs. Black.”

Horace Shane’s eyes narrowed as he thought her proposition through. “I must say it is unusual, Miss Appleton. And tempting. But how can I be certain that you are not simply an emissary from the state’s attorney?”

Winifred grinned, even more certain of herself now. “Mr. Shane, it is no secret where my political affiliations lie. I apprenticed with Mr. Howe solely in order to learn from him and pass the bar examination. Mr. Howe has been extremely generous with his time and has taught me much. But this case is an opportunity not only to apply what I’ve learned but to support the female cause. There are many Mrs. Blacks out there, Mr. Shane. You know it, and so do I. Together we can not only win this case but draw attention to a cause that deeply deserves the light of day. If we can prevent one more Mrs. Black from resorting to poison, we will have accomplished something grand.”

Horace Shane toyed with his watch for a moment. “I like your style, Miss Appleton. And I have heard your work is excellent. I do think you are right. Furthermore, my wife is an admirer of yours and thinks you demonstrate quite clearly that women are capable of anything. So you see, I do not dare refuse you—otherwise I may find myself in the position of poor Mr. Black.”

Laughing, the excitement bubbling up inside her like water in a spring, Winifred accepted his handshake. She, together with Horace Shane, would fight
for Mrs. Black, and for women everywhere. And they would win.

A twinge of conscience pulled at her as she thought of Charles, working on the opposite side. But she pushed the troubling image from her mind. Charles would not let thoughts of her stop him from proceeding, especially if he knew he was right. It was time she started thinking like a man, especially if she wanted to beat one.

“W
E NEED TO DISCUSS
our strategy for the Monica Black case.”

The lawyers looked at each other and groaned. Jared Marton smiled knowingly as Charles slammed down a fist full of papers.

“But …” Edgar Whitcomb scratched his snowy head. “I thought this case was cut and dried! The woman attempted murder, poison was found in the tea … What else do we have to prove?”

“I want this case to be airtight,” Charles stated. “Whitcomb, find out who tested the poison, then get a second opinion from an expert. Maybe Professor Doremuse, if he is available. Marton, interview everyone—her servants, friends, acquaintances. I want confirmation from neighbors that this Black woman was indeed at home that night. I want to know everything about her, where she goes, who she sees, what her true motivation was for trying to kill her husband. Was there a will? A lover? Abuse? McAlister, check the court records. See if there was a secret marriage, birth, anything at all. I want no surprises.”

The lawyers looked at each other once more, all of them thinking of their heavy workload. “But why not ask Miss Appleton do to the legwork?” Drew McAlister said. “None of us have the time for this.”

“Because Miss Appleton has gone to work for the other side,” Charles said matter-of-factly.

A collective gasp came from the men. Charles glanced up from his file, but if he felt anything about what he’d just said, it was not apparent. Jared stared at him thoughtfully, a shrewd smile playing around his handsome face.

“You mean—” Miles Witherspoon seemed to have difficulty even forming the words.

“Yes. Mrs. Black hired Horace Shane to be her attorney, and Win—I mean, Miss Appleton is applying to him as a clerk. We all know Shane’s bias toward women. I am certain Miss Appleton will win his favor.”

A heavy silence fell around the room. Now they would have to do their own copying, filing, and researching.… And although not one of them would have admitted it openly, they had all come to respect Winifred’s ability. More than one expression of regret stared back at Charles. They would have been far happier to have her on their side.

“Damn Shane!” Jared Marton swore. “That was really shabby of him to court Miss Appleton for this case. He probably means to gain publicity, as well as learn the workings of our office.” Then his expression changed from outrage to sorrow. “I’m going to miss her. She was the only pretty face around here.”

The men grumbled, all of them accusing Shane of unfair dealings until Charles interrupted. “Shane did not court Miss Appleton. She went there of her own accord. This case appeals to her as a women’s rights issue, something she can use to publicize the plight of women. You all know what that means. The newspapers will be all over it, and our office put into the spotlight. A case that should have ended in an hour will now go on for weeks.”

Everyone groaned, while Charles continued. “So now you see why we need full cooperation. We have to win this case. I want no slip-ups, no surprises. For every Shane trick, every clever action on the part of Miss Appleton, we will be prepared. Everything has to be perfect, or we will all suffer the consequences. Is my meaning clear?”

They nodded glumly. “Good,” Charles said, and handed out the remaining assignments.

“I
AM HERE
to see Monica Black.”

Winifred ignored the police officer as she stood inside the Ludlow Street jail. She knew what he was thinking. Ladies did not come to prison, not unless they were the immediate relative of an unfortunate inmate. And they certainly did not come as legal counsel. But since her papers were in impeccable order, he turned toward the interior of the prison, indicating that she should follow him.

Winifred walked through the narrow passageway, excitement coursing through her. The previous night, she had spent several hours with Horace Shane, going over the case and formulating how to best use the press. Mrs. Black had already given a few thoughtless statements to the
Times
that, although not incriminating, were damaging to public opinion. For the defense to use the papers effectively, she and Horace would have to approve every utterance Mrs. Black made and coach her on how to respond.

A pang of guilt hit her as she followed the man through the dank prison hallway. Charles would certainly not approve of her tactics, even though counseling defendants was a routine part of the job. Winifred quietly acknowledged that she intended to do much more than that, to escalate a common case of attempted
murder into a social cause. From her viewpoint, she was entirely justified, no matter what Charles thought.

As she waited outside the cell, heat came to her cheeks once more as she thought of that kiss she had shared with Charles in his office. Why couldn’t she put it from her mind? She had thought making love would kill the attraction between them. But instead it was more intense than ever. Doubt crept into her as she envisioned facing Charles in the courtroom. If she could not control her emotional reaction to his kiss, could she really defeat him using her wits?

“Mrs. Black, you have a visitor,” the policeman announced distastefully, as if he thought according a would-be murderess any visitation rights at all was unwarranted. He turned to Winifred. “You have thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said politely, ignoring his tone. She approached the cell, curious to see the notorious Monica Black.

The woman behind the bars turned toward her, and Winifred was immediately struck by the paleness of her complexion. Large, luminous brown eyes stared out of a face that might once have been called pretty, yet now looked shopworn and fragile. She was dressed in a frivolous pink gown that belied the seriousness of her predicament, and she appeared younger than her thirty-plus years.

Winifred frowned, recalling everything Shane had told her about this woman. Monica had been a dance hall girl, one of New York’s shining sisters, who had managed to snag a wealthy husband. While the cream of society had never fully accepted her, the rising middle class, comprised of many Mrs. Blacks, was a lot less particular. Friends had noted that after her marriage, Mrs. Black had lost her vivacity, and that she seemed to fear her husband, but they felt it was not
their place to interfere. Marriage was simply a woman’s lot to bear, for better or worse.

The huge brown eyes filled with tears, and Mrs. Black dabbed delicately at her face with a lace kerchief. “Hello. Who are you?”

“Winifred Appleton.” Winifred extended a hand through the bars and took the fragile woman’s, noting her cheap cotton gloves and worn ruffled sleeves. “I have come from Mr. Shane’s office to help you.”

“My lawyer sent a woman?” She stared at Winifred. “Why on earth would he do that? Is he coming himself?”

“Mr. Shane will counsel you in person, but right now he is preparing your case. I have come as his emissary, to gather information and to help you respond to the press.”

“Oh, the
Times
has been here already,” the woman sighed. “They keep asking the same questions, over and over. ‘Did you try to kill him? Why did you do it? What was it like to watch your own husband drink poison?’ It is enough to make a body mad.”

Winifred experienced a thrill of apprehension. Mrs. Black did not seem to take her situation very seriously, and she did not come across as a sympathetic figure. That could be extremely damaging, for the press as well as the jury often made decisions based on the deportment of the accused. In an instant, Winifred’s noble heroine disappeared, replaced by the picture of an unstable woman.

“Mrs. Black, I understand you must be irritated, but it is very important for you not to think of your case so cavalierly. The press may very well conclude that you not only tried to kill your husband, but that it does not trouble you at all. That could be very damaging to your case. Do you understand me?”