Katie Rose (16 page)

FREE POOR MRS. BLACK! RIGHTS FOR ALL
WOMEN! VOTES FOR VICTORY!

Jared gave a low whistle, staring at the women with both admiration and outrage.

“She could not have!…” Charles said incredulously to Jared, stark confusion written all over his face. “Surely Winnie didn’t do this!”

Jared shrugged, and Charles glanced back quickly at the growing crowd. Both sides of the street were now lined with supporters, hecklers, children who
clapped cheerfully, witnessing what they thought was a parade, and policemen who kept the mob at a respectful distance. Groaning, Charles recognized Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton at the front of the line. There were other familiar faces, women whose Zincographs had graced several newspapers, women who had fought to become doctors and merchants, shopkeepers and writers. Charles watched them pass, growing more outraged with each minute. It seemed that the most prominent female suffragettes in the country had all gathered into Mrs. Black’s camp. Even Amelia Bloomer marched by, waving, in her scandalous trousers.

“My God,” Charles swore under his breath, barely able to speak.

“Look, isn’t that Reverend Manly?” Jared asked. “He hates suffragettes.”

Across the street, the self-righteous reverend was addressing reporters, pointing a virulent finger at the women, calling them jezebels, radicals, and—even worse—Democrats. Miss Anthony ignored him, Mrs. Stanton smiled, and one of the younger women blew him a kiss. The minister shouted to be heard, but the cries of the crowd and the shouts of the marching women drowned him out. Scandalized, the reporters scribbled furiously.

“This will be all over the papers tomorrow,” Jared said. “So much for our airtight case against poor Mrs. Black.”

“My God!” Charles repeated.

“He’s probably planning to write a brief for her, too,” Jared said ironically. He turned toward his friend. “Charles, this has got to stop. Even the papers that do not support women’s rights will report on this demonstration, which will only add to the publicity. And the reverend will undoubtedly speak about this in
church, unwittingly playing right into their hands. Miss Anthony and Mrs. Stanton are real trouble. The two of them have been very effective in the past in petitioning on behalf of women whose cases they endorse. The newspapers quote them constantly, and they have a large following. Those two voices could give us a mountain of problems.”

“Yes, but they also have enemies,” Charles pointed out. “Some men will turn against their cause simply because of Miss Anthony. And the facts are still the facts.”

“I would not depend on that,” Jared said dryly. “The men may feel that way, but they still have to go home to their wives—wives who will make their life miserable if they do not support Mrs. Black. It looks like Miss Winnie has struck a real blow for her client.” Charles started to protest, then he thought of his own parents and closed his mouth. His father would bluster, but eventually his mother with cool reason and persistence, would make her opinion felt. Her weapons would consist mainly of reproachful glances and poignant silences, but they would be utterly effective.

“Surely Winifred could not have organized this,” Charles objected again, disbelievingly shaking his head. “The suffragettes often take on cases on their own. Surely she would not be so devious …”

Yet even as he spoke, Charles recognized the figure pulling up the rear, a very familiar woman, one who knew how to wrench his heart with a smile but who today made him absolutely furious.

Winifred looked even more beautiful than usual. Dressed in her navy-blue suit, with its short jacket and white blouse, she looked very efficient and totally in control. She waved and smiled at the crowd like a princess greeting her loyal subjects, ignoring the epithets that some of the men shouted at her. When a
tomato plopped directly before her, she only lifted her skirts and delicately stepped over it, giving all the men a wonderful glimpse of her white petticoats and slender ankles. Applause broke out among them, and more than one shouted encouragement for her to lift her skirt higher.

Jared whistled again, this time almost a wolf whistle mingled with incredulity. The crowd rumbled, threatening to turn into a mob at any moment, even as Winifred raised a
FREE MRS. BLACK!
sign above her head. Charles thrust his papers into Jared’s hands and turned toward the street.

“Where are you going?” Jared asked in surprise.

“I am putting a stop to this,” Charles said furiously. “By God I will.”

W
inifred exulted as she marched through the streets, waving to the throng and carrying her sign. It had been Mrs. Stanton’s suggestion to hold a march, and judging by the results, it had been an excellent idea. Reporters filled the streets, rushing up to the ladies with their notepads and pencils, while artists sketched depictions of the event. In the morning every newspaper in New York would carry the story.

A thrill of excitement shot through her as she anticipated the effects. How effective this would be! And she and Horace desperately needed to turn the tide. They really hadn’t anything solid to go on. Mrs. Black simply did not remember whether she had poisoned her husband. The prosecution would have little trouble proving an attempted murder. Winifred planned to research a self-defense theory, but she knew it would be weak, so they needed as much public support as possible.

As the watching crowd pushed toward them, she felt someone staring at her. She turned just in time to see Charles and Jared looking at her. Apprehension
rushed through her when she saw Charles’s expression. He was furious. Even Jared looked disapproving and embarrassed.

Raising her sign even higher, she spun around and resolutely continued her march. Charles Howe had no right to interfere. She would help her client no matter what, and if he did not approve of her tactics, so be it.

“Winifred!” Charles shouted. Ignoring him, she paraded down the street, her fingers tightening on the sign. Surely he would just go away, not wanting to find himself in the headlines.… A moment later, her hopes were dashed as he grabbed her arm, effectively preventing her from going anywhere. Her sign toppled to the street.

“Unhand me, sir!” she protested indignantly, but her confidence ebbed as she faced him directly.

Never had she seen him so outraged. His black eyes blazed hellfire at her, his jaw was locked, and his nostrils flared. In answer to her protest, his fingers tightened on her, dragging her closer to him. She felt a moment of unreasonable panic as he pulled her up against the hard, muscled length of his body.

“Miss Appleton, I want you to come quietly with me to my carriage, and I will take you home. Now.”

He appeared to be struggling to keep his emotions under control, as if it required every ounce of effort. Even his voice sounded forced through his clenched teeth. Swallowing her fear, she drew herself up to her full five feet three inches and spoke much more coolly than she felt.

“No.”

“What did you say?” Charles gazed at her in disbelief, astounded that she would defy him so openly.

“I am sorry, Charles, but I have to do what I think is right for my client. You may not approve, but that does not matter. Poor Mrs. Black is in a very bad spot
indeed, and I am grateful for Mrs. Stanton’s and Miss Anthony’s help. Now if you will excuse me, I think they are beginning the speeches.”

She tried to step away from him, but he refused to release her. Instead, he turned her in his arms. “Winifred,” he said softly, his voice like silk, “what you are doing is wrong, and you know it. This woman is a murderess, and you are parading on her behalf as if she were some noble heroine. If you think I will let you proceed with this because of the night we shared, you are sorely mistaken.”

Her brows flew upward with incredulity at his bold reminder of their lovemaking. “It appears you are the one to presume,” she retorted haughtily. “If you think because of our past association that you can order me around, you are sadly mistaken.”

His jaw tightened, even as he quietly admired her audacity. No woman had ever turned him so completely upside down the way she did. He was torn between admiration, outrage, and a flaming passion that threatened to rob him of control. Part of him wanted to kiss her senseless, while the other part wanted to thrash her firmly. Instead, he locked his gaze on hers, and a wicked smile came to his face.

“I think exactly that, Miss Appleton, for you see, when you allow a man certain privileges, you cannot prevent him from taking other privileges as well. We have two choices here. Either you come with me willingly, or I will be forced to take action. I promise you will not like the second option.”

The warning in his voice was unmistakable. Winifred eyed him warily, taking his measure, and then the corners of her mouth turned upward.

“Well, then. I’ll see you in court, counselor,” she said loftily. Yanking her arm out of his grip, she
picked up her sign and stalked once more toward the street.

Charles swore under his breath. She meant it—she would openly defy him, and the devil take the consequences. In that case, he had to take a stand. Winifred had sorely underestimated him, and it was high time she understood that.

He caught up with her in three strides. Winifred gasped as he whirled her around to face him. Before she could let loose with a hail of recriminations, he stooped down, rammed his shoulder into her waist, and then straightened. Winifred found herself draped ignominiously over his back—like a sack of potatoes, she would later recall—her fists pounding into his muscled flesh, her legs kicking furiously.

“Put me down! You have no right—”

“I have every right,” Charles said calmly, ignoring her protests. When a well-placed kick caught his groin, he groaned but only tightened his grip around her knees. She pummeled him furiously with her fists, even as the men standing on the sidelines began to cheer. “As your former mentor, I have an obligation to prevent you from utter foolishness.”

“Charles!” Winifred struggled. Suddenly a bevy of reporters came on the scene, attempting to scoop each other. Moaning in misery and humiliation, she tried to hide her face, but she was immediately recognized.

“Miss Appleton, do you have any comment?”

“Miss Appleton, do you consider today’s march a success?”

“Miss A., will you retract your former statements about your client, now that Mr. Howe has taken charge?”

That last question infuriated her. Bracing herself upward on Charles’s back, she could only glare at the reporters in outrage. “Poor Mrs. Black is a woman
wronged!” she cried. “We shall see her set free, just as all women in bondage will be freed!”

Charles rewarded her statement with a smack on her rump, and she yelped. The reporters chuckled, enthralled by this turn of events, their pencils scribbling furiously.

“Mr. Howe.” Mrs. Stanton suddenly appeared like an avenging angel, standing directly in his path. The saintly old lady had her own hellfire in her eyes, and she braced her hands on her hips. “I demand that you put Miss Appleton down! This is an outrage!”

“It certainly is,” Charles agreed, tightening his hold on Winifred’s legs. “You see, I am a believer in the law, not in theatrics. Mrs. Black will get a fair trial, I will see to it!”

“Is it your intention to thwart the defense in the same way once the trial starts?” Mrs. Stanton demanded, refusing to let him off easily.

A rumble of laughter came from deep within his chest. “I certainly hope so!” he exclaimed.

The reporters guffawed. Just as Charles reached the carriage, Winifred landed another well-placed kick and had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt, even as he dumped her unceremoniously inside. Furious, she righted herself and faced Charles directly, her eyes spitting fire.

“Mr. Howe, there is no excuse for your actions! You will answer for this, even if I have to take you to court for …”

“Obstruction of justice?” he suggested helpfully.

His amusement earned him another glare. Charles locked the door, shouted Winifred’s address to the driver, then peered once more inside. “You will thank me for this tomorrow, Miss Appleton, when you see
the headlines. No doubt you have made the front page.”

Winifred did not dignify that with a reply.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, as Winifred opened her eyes, she heard her sister giggling.

“Winnie, wake up! Did you really participate in a suffragette march? Were Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony there? Goodness, this Mr. Marton sounds terribly attractive. Did Charles really fling you over his shoulder to get you out of there?”

Winifred groaned, drawing the covers over her face. More than her pride was bruised this morning. She rubbed her posterior, remembering the bold smack Charles had given her. “Is it really in the
Times?”
she asked softly, hoping it was all a dream.

“Front page,” Penelope said proudly. “Look, there is even an illustration of Charles carrying you. How romantic! He looks like a knight in shining armor,” Penelope sighed dreamily.