Katie Rose (23 page)

The defense had to find the man, hopefully before the prosecution did. They would talk to him, attempt to understand his role in the Black case, and to coach him on how to answer in court. Yet it still looked bad. A lover, even a cooperative one, would only give Mrs. Black more of a motive to murder.

Worse, Mrs. Black still didn’t seem to take any of it seriously. What a poor witness she would be if Charles called her to the stand! She came across as shallow and silly, immature and naïve. Winifred could just see her telling the jury about her Robbie. She groaned out loud.

Instead of getting easier, this case became more complicated by the minute. When she had questioned Monica about the tea tin, she didn’t know what happened to it, either. Another mystery.

Even Mrs. Black’s female supporters, the suffragettes and Miss. Anthony, could well be less sympathetic if they thought Monica had tried to kill her husband so she could be with another man. Yet for all
her childishness, Monica was oddly sincere. The woman was desperately unhappy and had reached out for a chance to enjoy life, even for a short while. Was that so wrong?

As Winifred entered her aunt’s house, she heard Penelope’s cheerful voice, and much bustling in preparation for the ball that evening. She sighed, removed her gloves, and placed them carefully on the side table. It would not do at all to show up at the ball morose or distracted. Charles would immediately guess she had found out something, and he would hound her relentlessly until she told him what it was. Monica Black’s secret had to remain a secret, at least until they located Mr. Albright.

“Winnie! There you are. One would think you were not looking forward to tonight at all. I have drawn your bath. Come and help me choose a wrap.”

Penelope bubbled merrily, and Winifred followed her upstairs.

T
HE GOVERNOR’S BALL
was held at the St. Nicholas Hotel, which was not in the most fashionable location but was beautiful. Winifred and Penelope disembarked from their coach, and Winifred barely noticed the Italianate marble structure, the glittering gaslight chandeliers, the black walnut wainscoting, the satin damask draperies—or her handsome escort, Jared Marton. Her visit to the jail that morning still haunted her, and it took every ounce of effort to pretend she was happy to be here.

Jared took their coats and handed them to the attendant, while Winifred tried to mask her glum mood.

“May I fetch you ladies a glass of punch?” he asked, unfailingly polite. He looked very handsome
this evening, dressed in a stylish dove-gray coat with a paisley vest and diamond tie pin. Even his gloves were pearl gray and impeccable.

“Champagne punch,” Penelope said coolly. “I believe they have it in the ballroom.”

“And you, Miss Appleton?” he asked Winifred.

“The same,” she said softly, giving him a reserved smile.

When Jared went to get the refreshments, Penelope frowned. “Mr. Marton is very handsome, but I thought you would want to go to the dance with Charles.”

“Mr. Howe and I are not seeing eye to eye these days,” Winifred said. “As you know, we are on opposite sides of the Black case. It would have been unseemly for him to escort me.”

“Pooh!” Penelope brushed aside any such reservations. “Mr. Marton is from the prosecutor’s office, also. If you can go with him, I cannot see why you could not go with Charles. Besides, I don’t trust him. He seems like too much of a rake for you.”

Winifred glanced at her sister in surprise. Even in such a short time, Jared had obviously made an impression on her. She had thought perhaps the two of them might find an interest in each other, since in some ways they were very much alike. Yet her aunt had told her that one of Penelope’s suitors had recently died in an accident, so she was in no frame of mind to be receptive to any man, even refusing an escort to the dance. Still, her irritation with Jared seemed telling.

“Penny, Mr. Marton is just being kind. Let’s talk about this later. It is much too complicated for me to explain here,” Winifred said. The last thing she wanted to admit to her sister was that she was jealous.

“All right,” Penelope said, unconvinced. She glanced around at the beautiful setting. “Winnie, will
you look at all that food! And the decorations, and the gowns! You must tell me who all the political people are, for I daresay I only know the fashionable ones!”

Winifred smiled. Her sister, clad in cream-colored lace with a trail of carnations pinned to the back of her dress, looked even more astonishingly beautiful than ever, outshining almost every woman there. Even Jared could not remain unaffected, although Penelope gave him only the simplest courtesies.

“I will try to point them out.” Winifred scanned the room. “That’s John Kelly, who took over after Mr. Tweed’s ouster. They call him ‘Honest John.’ Then there’s August Belmont and Horatio Seymour, Richard Croker and Plunkitt—all of the new Tammany leaders are here.”

“I only know the rich ones,” Penelope giggled. “There is that terrible Mr. Gould. It is a wonder he can be seen in public after the last year’s panic. And there is Cornelius Vanderbilt—this is going to be a wonderful party!”

Jared returned with the champagne, handing a golden flute to Winifred and another to her sister. Penelope drank hers quickly, giggling at the bubbles as they tickled her nose. Before long, she was surrounded by eligible young men, all of whom wanted to be introduced to the most beautiful of the notorious sisters.

Winifred was conspicuous as well, and soon she was barraged by questions about the Black case, from the curious, the well-meaners, the suffragettes, and the reporters. She weighed her answers carefully, knowing how easily her words could be distorted, and responded as graciously as possible. Yet the effort was wearing. Rather than enjoying herself, she had to be constantly on guard and could not relax for a moment.

Thankfully, Jared Marton saw her dilemma and
sought to rescue her. “Miss Appleton is needed on a matter of state business,” he told the crowd, then whisked her away to the dance floor. Winifred’s mouth parted in surprise, but then she giggled at his ploy.

“Mr. Marton, that was not very nice. That reporter from the
Times
will surely name you in his article in the morning.”

“I have always enjoyed seeing my name in print.” He smiled. “Besides, this is supposed to be a party, not a political convention. If it were left to them, you would never get to dance.” His gaze wandered down her throat to her gown. Admiration burned there, and he spoke hoarsely. “I must admire your gown, Miss Appleton, which is far different from your office attire. You really are a very handsome woman.”

“Thank you,” Winifred said. His admiration was like a balm to her raw nerves, and she smiled gratefully as they twirled around the dance floor. “I was afraid this gown would appear terribly old-fashioned, for I have not paid much attention to styles. They change so quickly.”

“It suits you,” Jared commented. “The gown’s simplicity only enhances the jewel inside, like a diamond in a gold setting.”

“You flatter me, Mr. Marton,” Winifred said, her eyes meeting his.

“Not at all, Miss Appleton,” Jared protested flirtatiously. “I only speak the truth.” He cocked his head to listen to the music, then smiled as he recognized the quick beat. “I daresay they are playing Strauss. Do you waltz, Miss Appleton?”

“Occasionally,” Winifred responded, “and not very well.”

“Nonsense! You are amazingly light on your feet. This dance is called the Boston, and it is extremely popular. I will show you. Now just let me hold you a
little closer … that’s it. You have wonderful, slender hips.”

As Jared whirled her around the dance floor, she found herself laughing and more than a bit breathless. The music was brisk, and although she could not follow the steps, Jared was proficient and soon was dipping her and swinging her around.

When she finally dared to look up, the smile on her face died.

Charles had entered the ballroom with Elizabeth Billings on his arm. At the same moment, his eyes met hers, and Winifred felt as if she were an insect, pinned by a madly determined scientist.

“Miss Appleton?” Jared asked softly. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

“Fine, I’m fine. I’m just a little breathless, that’s all,” Winifred said quickly. “I suppose I am not used to such a fast pace.”

“Perhaps we should get some air?” he offered. “There is a balcony just beyond.”

“Yes, I think that is a wonderful idea,” she replied, trying hard not to look at the handsome couple.

Charles and Elizabeth. She felt the same sinking feeling she’d felt when Jared had told her that Elizabeth had come to see him.

Yet there was absolutely no reason for her to feel that way. Charles was a grown man and was certainly free to see anyone he liked. And he had asked Winifred to the ball—she was the one who had declined. Still, it tore at her heart to see Elizabeth look up into his face and laugh, then smooth a piece of lint from his jacket as if he belonged to her.

“Here. Try to smile. You have to at least appear to be happy.” Jared handed her a glass of champagne, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Is it that obvious?” Winifred said, taking a sip.

“No. But now that we are talking about it, what the devil is going on between you two?”

Winifred gazed at him over the rim of her glass, uncertain of how much to trust him. “Well, there is this case—”

“Bah!” Jared waved a hand dismissively. “If you were mine, that would not stop me.”

“It is not Charles, it’s me.” Suddenly Winifred wanted to talk to someone about it all. “It is more than just the case. It’s what I want to do with my life—to become a real lawyer and help other women. That does not reconcile with being a wife and mother.”

“I see.” Jared tipped his own glass thoughtfully. “And have you discussed all this with our esteemed prosecutor?”

“Charles?” She smiled. “Mr. Marton, you of all people have to know that Charles never took my ambition seriously. I am grateful for his help—do not misunderstand. Yet he clearly expected me to fall flat on my face and give up.”

“Yes, he can be sort of opinionated, now that you mention it,” Jared smirked. “And old-fashioned, stubborn, high-handed—”

“He is not! Why, he—” Winifred stopped when she realized Jared was laughing.

“Forgive me, Miss Appleton, I could not resist the opportunity to tease you a little. So you are in love with Charles Howe, and now he is on the other side of a case. And not just any case but the Black case, which thanks to your efforts will go down in history as a women’s rights case. And Mr. Howe, who I think is in equally dire straits, is here tonight with the beautiful and ambitious Miss Billings. So what do you do?”

Winifred looked at him miserably. Somehow she thought she’d feel better after talking about it, but
hearing her dilemma so succinctly summed up was even more depressing. “What would you suggest?”

“Dinner,” Jared said, holding his arm out to her. Even as she gazed at him warily, a slow smile crept across his face. “Miss Appleton, do not tell me you are ready to concede defeat? I suppose I could just take you home, and Charles would know you could not bear to see him with another woman—”

“No!” Winifred cried indignantly. “No, I won’t do that.”

“Good.” Jared chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be an entertaining evening after all. Thank God. Now, shall we go in?”

Winifred took his offered arm firmly. Charles was here with an escort. He saw nothing wrong with it. Why should she?

C
harles was about to burst from frustration. All through dinner, Winifred, looking incredibly beautiful and sophisticated, had been seated across from him with Jared Marton, laughing and flirting outrageously. His own dinner companion, Elizabeth Billings, had tried repeatedly to engage him in conversation, but he simply was not interested in this year’s fashions or the Merryways’ soirée. Instead, he could not take his eyes off the lovely Winifred, who seemed to be doing everything in her power to drive him crazy.

So he could only watch helplessly while his cohort, Jared Marton, thoroughly enjoyed himself. Besides Winifred’s beauty, her company would be equally stimulating. Charles attempted to hear what they were talking about, hoping to join in the conversation, but the clanging of silver platters and the noise of hundreds of guests made it hopeless.

Worse, his feelings of frustration didn’t appear to be at all reciprocated, for Winifred seemed perfectly content with Jared’s company. When her napkin fell to the floor and Jared gallantly picked it up, a hot flash of
jealousy rent Charles. It seemed to him that Jared took an inordinately long time in doing it. Was he treating himself to a view of Winifred’s pretty ankles? Charles was about to dive beneath the table himself when Jared finally reappeared, shaking out the napkin with much fanfare, then placing it on Winifred’s lap. He lingered over the task, his fingers brushing over her thighs. Charles took a deep drink of wine, wanting nothing more than to strangle the handsome young lawyer.

“Charles? Are you all right?” As if from a huge distance, he heard Elizabeth.