Katie Rose (4 page)

Whitcomb groaned. Here was another unappealing prospect. The other lawyers studied the hardwood floor.

“I thought so. I don’t mind spending my own time with Miss Appleton, since we are friends and she is attractive.” At this, Charles earned a few smug male smiles. That was something they could understand. “But I don’t have room in my schedule for the intense tutoring that a law student would require. If any of you have that kind of time, see me after this meeting. You obviously are not getting your share of cases.”

The lawyers exchanged furtive glances. None of them wanted any more files plopped on their desk.

“But what about the newspapers?” McAlister pointed to the
Sun
, unwilling to give up that easily. “We will be a laughingstock.”

“Maybe,” Charles said with a smile. “But consider this. Our funding comes from the voters. While none of them are female, women have influence. Having them on our side will only help our office. Miss Anthony and Mrs. Stanton, both tigers, are very good at vocalizing their support. More than one recent election has been swayed by their involvement.”

The attorneys nodded reluctantly. While none of them would publicly admit it, they all went home to women who read the papers, heard speeches, organized clubs, and shared gossip over the backyard fence. More than one man’s life had been made hell by a wife
whose viewpoint was not respected. Even after the curtain closed behind a man standing in an election booth, he had to consider his wife’s wishes.

“So you see, we stand only to benefit here,” Charles continued, sensing that he was winning them over. “Miss Appleton will take much of the busywork off your shoulders, allowing you to focus on your casework. I would also recommend that you consider utilizing her research skills. She has had several years of experience and can provide assistance.”

Before another man could comment, Jared Marton appeared at the door. He appeared surprised to observe the gathering. “Good afternoon. I didn’t know we were having a meeting.”

“We’re not,” Charles said. “This was an informal session, and we were just finishing.”

“I just wanted to tell you about the library,” Marton said, sounding impressed. “Someone has straightened it up beautifully. Everything was put away in the right order for once, and I found all the texts I needed quickly. Have we hired someone new?” Charles glanced at Miles Witherspoon. The clerk shrugged his shoulders, then sheepishly admitted, “Miss Appleton has been working in the library. She must have done it.”

“There you have it.” Charles gazed at the men triumphantly. “Miss Appleton has already proven her worth. Now if there is nothing else, this meeting is adjourned. I have a lot of work to do.”

As the men filed out, Charles hid a smile. The notorious Winifred Appleton had already made her presence felt.

“M
ISS
A
PPLETON
, could I speak to you a moment?” Charles entered the library holding a dozen roses
behind his back. Winifred was buried behind a stack of books. One of the shelves above her head was empty, and she struggled to put several four-inch-thick volumes into the vacant space. Charles put the flowers aside and took the books from her, placing them away easily.

“Mr. Howe,” she said, “I haven’t seen you recently. Have you been away?”

“Just to court,” Charles said, observing her with considerable pleasure. “Did you miss me?”

“I—just wondered where you were,” she stammered. “Did you wish to see me about something, Mr. Howe?”

The starched formality was back in her voice. Charles smiled. “Yes. I brought you these.” He handed her the roses, sunny golden blooms that filled the air with scent.

Winifred gazed at him doubtfully, not moving to take them. “They are beautiful,” she admitted. “But you should not have done this.”

“Why? Is yellow not for friendship?” The warmth in his eyes had returned, along with a gleam she was beginning to recognize.

“Charles—I mean, Mr. Howe—we’ve discussed this,” she said primly. “I wish to be treated as any other employee. I highly doubt that you give flowers to your apprentices.”

He did not appear at all dismayed by her little speech. Instead, the gleam grew brighter. “As the boss, it is my responsibility to reward exceptional work, and I will not take no for an answer.” He firmly pressed the flowers into her hand, ignoring her gasp as a thorn found her finger. Before she could say anything else, he glanced around in admiration. “I had heard you did a good job here in the library. Actually you have done a fantastic one.”

He gazed at the library shelves. He could tell exactly which ones she had finished. The six shelves beside him were neat, the books were in good order, and their spines were all facing out. Small tabs of paper with numbers written on them had been glued to the spines, and the duster had been used to full advantage.

Looking ridiculously pleased at his compliment, she glanced toward the table. “I am starting a card catalog that will correspond to these numbers,” she said proudly. “Soon you will be able to find any book within a few minutes.”

“You have done a great job,” Charles said in admiration. “My applause, Miss Appleton.”

Winifred smiled, unconsciously burying her nose in the flowers. “I am just glad to make a contribution. I finished most of the copying this morning, then the filing. I thought I would keep busy with this until Mr. Witherspoon comes back with more work.”

“I see.” He suddenly noticed her dingy desk. “Is this where you have been working?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Mr. Witherspoon suggested I do the copying here. It is perfectly adequate, even if the lighting is poor.”

He walked across the library to a suite of offices. Taking out a key, he unlocked the door and held it wide open. “Take this one. Chambers is on leave and will not be returning until spring.”

“But—” She put the roses down and peeked inside. The office was comfortable and functional. A green leather chair stood in one corner, shelves lined the wall, and a polished oak desk graced the center of the room. There was an oil lamp on the table, and a gas chandelier hung overhead. Charles turned it up, and the room burst into brilliant light.

“This is beautiful,” she said, gazing at the office in awe. “But I could not possibly—”

“Why not? It isn’t being used. Besides, without enough light, you will damage your eyesight. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

The teasing quality was back in his voice. Winifred swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly. Suddenly she realized how close she was standing to him. Taking a step backward, her bustle hit the door, preventing her escape.

“You are welcome.” He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “That is twice you owe me. I think I like having you in my debt.”

There was something alarming about his voice. Winifred took a deep breath, but that proved her undoing, for the scent of his cologne, lime water mingled with male, filled her head, making it difficult to think. Remembering her resolve, she tried to compose herself, but when his hand gently touched her cheek, his thumb softly brushing the fullness of her lip, she was undone. She closed her eyes in anticipation, waiting for his kiss.…

It never came. Her eyes flew open after an embarrassingly long pause, and she saw Charles watching her with an odd smile.

“Why, Miss Appleton, are you tempting me to forget my promise?”

Mortification filled her, as she realized that he had never intended to kiss her!

“No, I never! I don’t know what you mean—”

He laughed, then chucked her affectionately under the chin.

“Good night, Winifred. I am looking forward very much to continuing our … working relationship.”

He turned on his heel and left. His manner was less of a cocky assurance than of cool determination. As his footsteps receded, Winifred sighed in relief.
Picking up his flowers, she stared thoughtfully at the gorgeous blooms. It had been her first test, and she had failed miserably.

“It will not happen again,” she said to the empty room.

T
he New York sun did little to warm the cobbles of the street. Rag pickers furtively sorted through the trash, while construction workers, numb from the cold, huddled over a blazing barrel. Houses were shrouded against the morning chill with rich velvet draperies, while servants struggled to light fires and bring in wood. Horse-drawn carts moved slowly through town, as if it were painful for the animals to put one foot ahead of the other on the wet stones. Spring had arrived, but in New York, one would never know it.

Winifred hurried toward the office, wanting to arrive before everyone else, particularly the reporters who had camped outside. She had been an apprentice for just a few short weeks, yet it seemed as if she had been there forever. It didn’t escape her notice that the other lawyers were not happy with her presence, so she was committed to making a good impression. She wanted to be the first to arrive and the last to leave, and to take on all the work they didn’t want without complaint.

In addition, she had to send a clear message to
Charles that she meant business. He needed that message: every morning when she came into her office, another bouquet awaited her. Sometimes it was violets, sometimes daisies—always innocent friendship flowers. But her protests were met with upraised brows and bold reminders that he was in charge here and sought only to reward her hard work. Any further remonstrances only brought amusement and teasing on his part, embarrassment on hers. She soon stopped mentioning them at all, deliberately leaving the blossoms each night for the cleaning woman. Yet even this didn’t discourage him.

Winifred quickly learned when Charles was in court and how to avoid him on the days he wasn’t. He was persistent in asking her out for lunch or dinner, but seeing him in the office was tempting enough; she couldn’t risk seeing him outside of it as well. He was no schoolboy, and she was just beginning to taste the weapons in his arsenal. She sensed that he was watching her with infinite patience, like an expert chess player, waiting for the right moment to make his move. The thought was as unnerving as it was exciting.

The office workers dashed into the warm buildings, their coats huddled tightly about them. Clutching her own cloak, she had started for the stairs when she suddenly found herself besieged by more than a dozen derby-hatted reporters.

“Miss Appleton! Is it true you are clerking for the prosecutor’s office?”

“What contribution do you think to make?”

“Are you a suffragette?”

“Do you really think to ever practice law?”

Apparently, the reporters had learned of her early morning hours and thought to outwit her.

Winifred tried to push past them, but they circled her like hawks.

“No comment,” she said firmly. “I am simply here to help the prosecutor’s office. Now will you move and let me pass?”

It was a mistake. Having gotten that much, the reporters pushed even closer.

“Can you explain that, Miss A.?”

“Is it true you are a spiritualist and were once incarcerated?”

“Do you favor free love, and are you truly Mr. Howe’s mistress?”

Shocked, Winifred held up her skirts, intent on getting inside even if she had to physically shove her way in. She heard a shuffling, then a soft
plop!
followed by gasps of astonishment from the men around her. To her horror, something slimy was dripping down her face. Wiping it quickly, her stomach tightened in revulsion as yellow yolk congealed on her glove.

“Someone threw an egg at her! It was that rogue across the street! Catch him, mates! Maybe we can get a quote from him!”

The reporters rushed after the furtive figure, but not before another egg landed at her feet. Disgusted, Winifred rushed quickly inside. Breathing heavily, she slammed the door closed behind her.

The sticky egg felt cold as it dripped down her cheek onto her collar. Peering into a hall mirror, she took her ruined glove and attempted to scrape the awful stuff from her face.

“Good morning, Miss Appleton,” Charles’s voice boomed behind her.

Winifred froze, her heart sinking. No! Charles could not see her like this! Frantically she tried to
clean up the mess, but the goo only smeared more as she tried to clean it.

“Miss Appleton?” Charles stood behind her, searching for her reflection in the glass. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Turning toward him, she shrugged. “Someone objected to my presence. One would think eggs too costly to waste in such a manner.”

Her words were joking, but Charles was appalled by the remnants of yolk still plastered on her cheek. “Who did this to you?”

His outrage surprised her, as did the fury glittering in his black eyes. He looked as if he would rout the hoodlum himself and beat him to a pulp.

“It doesn’t matter, Charles,” she said quickly. “I’m sure whoever it was is gone. The reporters went looking for him to try and get the story—”

“What!” The light in his eyes blazed out of control, and his jaw tightened furiously. “They didn’t help you, but went after him, so they could write about it in the paper! By God, I will see them in jail first! Gallagher! Where the hell is that guard?”