Katie Rose (22 page)

Charles remained strangely calm, as if being confronted by a drunken lout were an everyday occurrence. Snatching up the lantern, he grabbed Winifred’s hand and ushered her toward the back door.

“Quickly!” he whispered, pushing her down the steps and into the backyard. He followed a minute later, pausing to quietly relatch the door.

“Damn maid!” the slurred voice continued. “Never leaves a light on! Lucky I don’t break a leg.”

Winifred’s eyes widened as she heard Mr. Black slamming around the house. A gaslight went on somewhere, throwing a triangle of illumination into the yard. With considerable dismay, she looked down and saw they were standing in a slop pile. Immediately,
Charles pulled her out of the light toward a gap yawning in the fence.

“Quick! Through here—”

He pushed her through the rubble, then followed just as a dog began barking violently. Winifred saw a light come on in the next house and heard a male voice shouting above the dog. Her heart in her throat, she felt Charles yank her through the adjacent yard to the street beyond. There were more voices, and the sound of water running through a gutter, then someone was yelling for them to stop. Finally, they arrived at Charles’s carriage.

He shoved her inside, shouted to the driver, and then joined her. The carriage pulled away from the curb at a good trot just as the neighbor appeared in his nightclothes and cap, shaking his fist into the air. Winifred and Charles looked at each other, then simultaneously burst into laughter as the carriage left the street behind.

“My God, I was so frightened!” Winifred said between choked spasms. “I thought that dog would be on our heels in another minute!”

“He probably would have,” Charles said dryly, peering through the rear window of the carriage. “He could still be following us now. I must say, Miss Appleton, your choice of scent tonight is entirely appropriate.”

She glanced at her soiled boots, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “How was I to know we were in a slop pile? The back door was your idea, remember.”

“I suppose I should have let us get caught,” Charles said sarcastically. “We might have both spent the night in jail.”

“Well, we didn’t, did we? Did you find it?” she asked anxiously. “The tea tin?”

“No,” he replied, suddenly serious. “I looked everywhere, too. It seems to have vanished into thin air.”

“It has got to be somewhere,” Winifred said. “Perhaps the trash bins, Mrs. Black’s room …”

“Oh, no,” Charles said sternly. He turned to her in the carriage and faced her directly. “You are not pulling another stunt like that one anytime soon. We will get the police to obtain a search warrant, and they will look for it legally. But it may not help your case to find it.”

“I know,” Winifred sighed. “I just thought—”

“That if you found it before me, you could decide for yourself if it was helpful. Damnit, Winifred, that is obstruction of justice. Not only was what you undertook tonight illegal, but you could have gotten yourself in a lot of trouble. Suppose Mr. Black had caught you fumbling around in his house? Suppose that neighbor had called the police? Anyone could have seen you, a servant, a friend—”

“Charles, I think you exaggerate,” she said smoothly. “Everything turned out fine. I greatly admire your adeptness with the hairpin. However did you learn such a thing? You must teach me sometime.”

He swore under his breath. “There are times, Winifred, when I deeply regret that you are not a man. It would make things so much simpler. Then, of course, there are times when I am very glad you are not.”

Before she could reply to that astonishing statement, he kissed her firmly.

Winifred lifted her arms around his neck and surrendered to his kiss.

She was so soft, he thought, so giving. Yet a half hour ago this same bold woman had been attempting to break into a man’s house. Once more Charles was
reminded of her dedication to her mission, her stubbornness and single-mindedness, without regard for the consequences. It was difficult to stay angry at her, especially with her so close and so damned tempting.…

When he finally eased his mouth from hers, she seemed as surprised as he was by the turn of events. Straightening her dress, she attempted to fix her appearance. When she could finally speak, her words were disapproving.

“Really, Charles, you shouldn’t, you know. It is not proper for us to be … consorting in this manner.”

“Consorting?” He teased a curl that had fallen from her knot. “Is that what you call it?”

“You know what I mean,” she said indignantly.

“Yes, I do think I understand you. We have had this conversation before. You would prefer to keep our association on a more formal level because of the case. Unfortunately, Miss Appleton, I do not have a choice in the matter, and I do not believe you do, either.”

“Charles!” Winifred huffed. “You are grossly overestimating your charms.”

“Do you think so?” He shot her a wicked smile. “You almost tempt me to prove you wrong. I do not suppose you will find it offensive if I ask you for a dance at the ball tomorrow evening?”

She gave him a flustered look. “I suppose a dance would not do much harm. But really Charles, you know as well as I do that we should limit our socializing. The press would never understand.”

“Yes, I know. And that is more important than anything else, is it not? Winifred, you can try to pretend there is nothing between us except mating instincts, but it won’t work. Sooner or later you will have to face this, along with a lot of other things.” He
held open the door for her, then assisted her along the walkway to Aunt Eve’s mansion. When they reached the door, she turned to him, her expression contrite.

“Charles, about tonight, I”—she seemed to struggle with something, then gave up—“I do appreciate your help. Mrs. Black may have been set up. That’s why it was so important to try and find that tea tin.”

“Mrs. Black was not set up,” Charles began grimly. “I know you don’t want to accept that your client is guilty, Winifred, but nothing changes the facts. The woman wanted her husband out of the way, and she tried to murder him to do it.”

“You don’t know—”

“Unfortunately, I do. You see, Winifred, there is something that you do not know. Mrs. Black has a lover.”

“What?” Winifred’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t believe it.”

“You will soon, if I can find the man, for I will certainly call him to the stand. I would suggest you talk to your client as soon as possible, however, and see if you can divine the truth. If Monica Black is hiding a lover from you, it’s better to find out from her than in court.”

“And if she denies it?”

Charles shrugged. “I will find out the truth on my own.”

M
iss Appleton, here for Mrs. Black!”

The jailer called out to the guard, apparently more than tired of receiving visitors for the notorious Mrs. Black. Giving him a smile, Winifred waited while the guard went to fetch the prisoner.

She took a seat on the bench, thinking of the previous evening.
Mrs. Black has a lover
. Charles had seemed absolutely certain. How had he found out? How much did he know? He was doing her a tremendous favor, tipping her off in this way. But why? Was he so utterly confident that he would win this case, or did he actually want to help her?

It was all so confusing, especially with the physical attraction she felt for him. Her experiment, she realized now, had been a dismal failure, for Charles was quite right—she now felt more drawn to him than ever. When he kissed her in the carriage, it had taken all of her willpower not to kiss him back just as thoroughly. He was the last man she should be involved with, especially now, yet she couldn’t seem to stay
away from him. Worse, she was beginning to experience increasingly tender feelings for him, in spite of her declarations to the contrary, and it frightened her.

No man could ever understand why it was so important for her to achieve her goals, no man could comprehend her fascination with the law, no man—except Charles. Try as she might, she could not banish that thought. True, even Charles assumed that she’d tire of it eventually and give up the law. How could she make him see that she had no choice in this matter, either?

“Hello, Miss Appleton. How do you think things are going?” Monica Black approached, her veils lifted to reveal her pale but pretty face.

“We had been more hopeful, before now.” Winifred said, reaching out to straighten the brooch on the woman’s dress. “We need to talk.”

Something in Winifred’s tone sobered the woman’s expression. She shrugged guiltily, as if resigned to her fate. “All right then, but I thought you already asked me everything. What now?”

Winifred waited for the guard to leave. As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned to the prisoner. “Mrs. Black, I’m going to have to ask you this question straight out. I have reason to believe you are involved with another man, besides your husband. Is this true?”

“Do you mean Robbie?” Mrs. Black asked, as her eyes lit up and a pink flush came to her cheeks. Then she dropped her eyes quickly to her lap. “What has he got to do with all this?”

Winifred hid a groan. She had been hoping against hope that it was just a groundless rumor, that Monica would deny it indignantly. But the expression in her eyes told Winifred it was the truth.

The guard glanced at the two women curiously. Winifred lowered her voice.

“How long have you been secretly seeing Mr.—”

“Albright,” Monica finished for her. “Oh, I dunno. A few months, maybe? But it’s not like you think! He had nothing to do with what happened! Besides, the old man did it first!”

“Do you mean your husband had an affair?” Winifred asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Monica nodded vigorously, then reached for her handkerchief. Finding none, she accepted Winifred’s, then dabbed at her eyes. “I knew he was seeing a couple of them floozies from the dance hall. That ain’t supposed to count, is it? He said since I couldn’t … he didn’t …”

“I think I understand your meaning,” Winifred said softly. “Go on.”

“He was entitled.” At this, the former dance hall girl burst into real tears. “I never thought to have anyone else, I really didn’t.”

“When did you meet Mr. Albright?”

“At Stewart’s,” Mrs. Black said, stifling her sobs. “He took me to lunch. It had been so long since someone treated me kind. Like I was pretty or something. Do you know what I mean?”

A strange welling of emotion arose within Winifred. Six months ago she would not have had any idea what the woman meant. But now—

“Go on,” Winifred urged.

“Well, it went right to my head. I didn’t see nothing wrong with it at first. But after a time things got more … involved.”

“Did you write to him, send him presents, accept anything?”

The woman stared stupidly at Winifred, then nodded. “I gave him a book and a money clip with my initials on it. I thought that looked real classy. Don’t you think?”

Winifred hid another groan. She looked heavenward, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “How about Mr. Albright? What did he give you?”

“Poetry.” Monica’s eyes went dreamy. “His own and a book. Why, he writes the most beautiful things. ‘Your eyes are like daffodils, your lips like cherries.’ You know, that sort of thing.”

A sense of despair came over Winifred, and she glanced once more at the guard. The papers would have a wonderful time with that one! It wouldn’t take the reporters long to find someone to talk, and when they heard about the poetry …

“Mrs. Black, I want you to answer me honestly. All of this is liable to come out in court. Have you ever … been physical with Mr. Albright? In the way you are only supposed to be with your husband?”

Mrs. Black nodded, then faced Winifred with a strange sort of expression. “It’s almost like a drug. I don’t know how else to say it, except I felt like those street blokes who have to have a whiskey. It was …”

“Intoxicating,” Winifred supplied thoughtfully.

The woman, obviously pleased to be understood, nodded vigorously again. “Yes, that’s it!” She seemed astonished that this elegant, sophisticated lawyer would have any idea what she meant.

“Mrs. Black, did Mr. Albright ever give you any indication that he was … serious about you?”

The smile died on the prisoner’s face. She glanced at the guard, at the floor, then out the window again. Winifred gently touched her sleeve.

“To help you, I must know. Please be truthful with me. It’s your only chance.”

The woman nodded, blew her nose furiously into Winifred’s handkerchief, then lifted her reddened face.
“He said if anything ever happened to my old man, he’d find a way to marry me.”

W
INIFRED WALKED SLOWLY HOME
after her visit at the Ludlow Street jail. Ignoring the toughs who shouted at her from the alleys, the Irish laborers who huddled over a weak fire, and the endless procession of horses and carts, she thought carefully about what Mrs. Black had told her.

Charles had been right—the woman did have a lover. A Mr. Albright, to be exact. Although Mr. Albright had disappeared since Monica’s arrest, Winifred had little doubt that the story would leak to the press. The only thing more scandalous than murder was sex, particularly if the perpetrator was a woman.