Katie Rose (19 page)

Beside Charles was seated William Black. Unfortunately, he did not appear to be a brute, nor even a man inclined to violence. Instead, he looked more like a dandy. Winifred remembered Monica’s tale of how they had met, and she could easily envision him in the dance hall, buying rounds for everyone. Yet she knew the man could be harsh if crossed. She could only hope that sometime during the trial, he would show his true nature.

Her gaze flickered unwillingly back to Charles. The state’s attorney conferred with his associates, jotted down notes, and appeared entirely self-assured. Swallowing hard at the prospect of facing him, she reminded herself for the hundredth time that she had to do this. Many women’s lives depended on it.

“The State of New York v. Black.”

Winifred repressed a shiver as the case was called. It was beginning. Horace approached the bench and made a motion for postponement.

Winifred closed her eyes nervously. It was standard procedure for the defense to ask for more time in order to build its case. For Mrs. Black, it was even more important, simply because Horace felt their case was not yet strong enough to win.

“Your Honor,” Horace began, “the reason for the postponement is that the defense has requested the testimony of Professor Jenkins, an eminent toxicologist. The professor is out of town, and we have not been able to locate him in time for this trial.”

A murmur went through the crowd, and Charles rose before the bench. “Your Honor, the defense has had ample time to prepare. There are plenty of experts in the State of New York who are available to testify regarding poison, including several that the defense intends to call. It is also unknown whether Professor Jenkins can be located within a reasonable time. We cannot afford to drag this case on interminably. The publicity has already been extraordinary.”

His argument was succinct and effective. Winifred never appreciated just how good he was until now. A strange mixture of emotions—pride, annoyance, and awe—surged through her, mingled with apprehension. Clearly, Charles was in control here, much as she would have liked it to be otherwise. Instead of being put off by his tactics, she only admired him and desired him that much more. She found the entire situation unbearably seductive.

The judge appeared to consider the matter for a moment, then turned to Horace. “I normally try to be lenient in these matters, and I appreciate the rights of an accused person to a good defense. However, it seems that Mrs. Black has excellent counsel and more than enough witnesses. If Professor Jenkins’s presence is critical, I am certain that he can be found. I favor making any necessary expense required to contact him. In addition, Mr. Howe makes a good point—the professor’s testimony will only augment what the other witnesses will have to say. I am certain that Mrs. Black will receive a fair trial, with or without him. Motion denied.”

Horace glanced back at Winifred with a shrug, and she felt her heart stop. Round one lost. Although Horace had warned her that the motion would probably be denied, it wasn’t a good beginning. Glancing secretly at Charles, she saw that his expression contained no
triumph but looked expectant, as if certain of the outcome.

The clerk began calling the jury, and Winifred watched the men file into the room. Charles approached the first man, asked a few questions, then nodded to the clerk. “Accepted!”

Horace walked over to the same man and fiddled with his notes. Winifred smiled. Horace’s manner was completely different from Charles’s. While Charles was businesslike and sharp, Horace appeared warm and comfortable, someone to whom a witness would divulge just about anything. Yet he hid a keen mind and a wealth of legal knowledge beneath his demeanor.

Horace chatted casually with him about the weather. Winifred guessed the man to be a middle-aged Irishman, a rustic farmer or builder by trade. He seemed nervous, but true to form, after a few minutes Horace had him talking easily. Finally Horace pulled out a newspaper and indicated the front page.

“You read the paper much, Mr. O’Reilly?”

“Not if I can help it,” the man responded, earning a titter of laughter from the court. “Damned rags these days, beggin’ yer pardon, but that’s all they are.”

“I quite agree,” Horace answered, smiling indulgently. “Then you have not read anything at all about Mrs. Black?”

“Well, some,” the Irishman admitted. “I mean, it would be impossible not to know who she is, what with all the talking and papers and such.”

“Have you formed an opinion, then, about the accused?”

“Glad I’ll not be wed to her,” the man answered honestly, earning another peal of laughter. “I’d have to watch my damned whiskey, to make sure she didn’t drop something in it.”

“Dismissed!” Horace declared.

The Irishman looked genuinely puzzled, as if not at all certain what had gone wrong. The judge leaned toward him.

“You can step down, Mr. O’Reilly.”

The man reluctantly departed, casting a rueful glance at Horace, who was already consulting his notes about the next juror. Winifred began to relax a little. Horace was certainly thorough. He already knew which jurors he preferred to dismiss: misogynists, men who disliked suffragettes, men who were of the old school and thought a woman who asserted herself in any way was a threat, men who were overly sanctimonious and who would enjoy the spectacle of seeing a woman imprisoned.

“Mr. Kendricks, do you know the defendant, Mrs. Black?”

The man looked askance. “No, and I don’t want to,” he said emphatically, arousing another peal of laughter from the galley.

“Dismissed!” Horrace waved for the next juror to approach.

He kept the next juror and dismissed two more. Winifred glanced toward Charles and could see his impatience, but remarkably, he restrained himself from objecting. Surprised, Horace rushed on, as if aware that for some reason, Charles was granting him considerable leeway. Suddenly it occurred to Winifred why: he was keeping his promise—that Mrs. Black would get a fair trial.

A warmth ignited inside her. How honorable Charles was! Yes, it was very unlikely that he had deliberately seduced her in order to get her to quit the case. It was just not in his character. As much as he wanted to win, and as strongly as he felt about Mrs. Black’s guilt, he was giving the woman every possible advantage. Could he have finally begun to realize, as
Winifred and the suffragettes preached, that women were not fairly tried by the legal system?

It was a heady thought. Still, as the approved jurymen were finally assembled, Winifred felt a rush of dismay. None of them were female. They were middle-class men, bankers and businessmen, tradesmen and merchants, most of them married and comfortable, beneficiaries of the system. Not one would ever really understand Mrs. Black’s plight. Instead, they would most likely relate her attempted poisoning as a personal threat, and see Mrs. Black as an upstart woman who must be made an example of. Her heart sinking, Winifred tried to find one sympathetic eye to whom Horace could appeal, but it did not look good. Although they had gotten the best of the heap, the best were not at all likely to help.

She cast a meaningful glance at Charles, who surprisingly seemed to understand. His eyes met hers, telling her wordlessly that he couldn’t help it. There was something else in his glance as well, a bold reminder of their sexual encounter that made the blood rush to her skin. As if reading her mind, he sent her a seductive wink. She turned away quickly.

“Order! Order!” the judge called out as a collective gasp went through the crowd. Mrs. Black had entered the room. Heavily veiled, she was being led by the jailer to the defense table. The eyes of every man there were on the prisoner. Breathing a sigh of relief, Winifred saw that the clothes she’d ordered for Mrs. Black, a somber dress with a simple brooch for ornamentation, had arrived on time. Instead of appearing like a showgirl, she now looked like a serious woman.

Delicately, the prisoner lifted a lace handkerchief beneath her veil, dabbing at her eyes. A small smile crept across Winifred’s face. She and Horace had spent hours coaching the woman on her deportment, her
manners—all of the things that should not count but always did. Even Charles appeared startled by her appearance, for he glanced twice at her as if to make certain she was indeed the notorious Monica Black.

The judge banged the gavel, and the court came to order. As the charges were read out loud, Mrs. Black shuddered then lifted the lace handkerchief once more. The judge spoke:

“Will Dr. Perkins take the stand!”

The elderly physician rose and put his hand on the Bible. After promising to tell the truth, he took the stand, facing the people directly. He was handsome and convincing, and Winifred knew that his testimony would be damning. She and Horace had wanted him to testify first to get it out of the way, in the hope that by the end of the proceedings, the jury would have forgotten its impact.

Charles strode toward the man and indicated the courtroom. “Dr. Perkins, can you tell us what happened on the night of March 8?”

The physician absently pulled on his short beard, but he answered succinctly while the crowd strained to hear.

“Yes. I was summoned to the Black house at around ten
P.M
. by Bridget Flynn, the Blacks’ servant. Miss Flynn roused me from my sleep, explaining that her master was violently ill, and I should come at once.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I knew the Blacks, having treated Mrs. Black in the past for an occasional illness or injury. I also saw them socially upon occasion. In any case, I dressed quickly, then left in my carriage, arriving at about half past the hour. I found Mr. Black lying in bed, gravely ill, almost unconscious. I proceeded to examine him, taking note that his pulse was very weak
and his complexion abnormally pale. He had been vomiting steadily since earlier in the evening, when, Bridget declared, her mistress had brought him tea.”

“And what was your conclusion?”

“Objection!” Horace called out.

“Sustained,” the judge said firmly.

Charles reworded the question. “So what did you think caused Mr. Black’s condition?”

The doctor turned and looked directly at Mrs. Black. “I immediately suspected poison. Someone had tried to kill Mr. Black in his own home, in his own bed.”

A shocked murmur arose in the room. The reporters scribbled furiously, then rushed from the room, undoubtedly to supply the day’s headlines. In the jury box, stone-faced men stared at the veiled figure before them in horror and indignation. Even the judge, after banging his gavel, sent a distasteful glance toward Mrs. Black.

“Dr. Perkins,” Charles said smoothly, allowing the man’s words to settle in the minds of the jury, “have you treated poisoning cases before?”

“Many times.” The doctor leaned forward, warming to his speech. “They are much more common than people realize. Many poisonings are unintentional, such as when improperly stored food becomes toxic, or when an overdose of medication is unwittingly administered. The symptoms are similar. Vomiting. Breathlessness. Paleness of the complexion. Sometimes shock and death follow, accompanied by a certain rigidity of the features.”

“Then how do you know this was a deliberate poisoning and not just the consumption of, let us say, a spoiled dinner?”

“The victim had taken only tea before the incident occurred,” the physician said, assuming a self-important
manner. “That fact, coupled with the symptoms, led me to believe that something had been put in the man’s tea, something lethal.”

“What did you do next?” Charles paused by the jury box, making sure they heard every word.

“I administered an emetic, designed to remove every trace of poison from the victim’s stomach,” Dr. Perkins said. “Mr. Black began to recover slowly, and I no longer feared for his life. Upon realizing that a toxic substance may have been forced on the man, I questioned the servant and asked her to give me the teapot and cup that had been Mr. Black’s undoing. I was determined that his wife not get away with attempted murder.”

“Objection!” Horace stood up.

“Sustained.” Judge Culvert glanced at the doctor. “Please just answer the question.”

“I apologize.” The doctor didn’t appear sorry at all but continued in the same manner. “I then told the servant to fetch a policeman. Bridget did so while I attended Mr. Black.”

Charles let the man’s testimony sink in before continuing. “Where was Mrs. Black during this time?”

“She flitted in and out of the room. I bade her sit still, for I did not want her removing any evidence or altering what appeared to be a crime scene. She wrung her hands in her handkerchief but did not attempt to assist her husband at all. It was that which made me suspect her.”

Horace objected again, and the judge spoke more sternly to the witness. “Doctor, please confine your answers to the question. It is the jury’s job to determine who is guilty.”

Winifred glanced at Horace, who gave her a nod. Then she looked at the jury. While listening to the
judge, they were staring at Mrs. Black. Not one among them seemed friendly or in any way open to the possibility that the woman could be innocent.

“Dr. Perkins, would you consider your examination thorough? Could there have been any other reason for the man’s condition other than poison?”

Winifred glanced over at Charles, confused. It was Horace’s job to put the witness on the defensive and to introduce the possibility that his testimony was mistaken. Yet as soon as the man answered, Winifred realized what Charles was doing.

“I did a thorough examination of Mr. Black. His heart, liver, and intestines all seemed healthy. Some illnesses and natural toxins can induce similar symptoms to poisoning. It was for that reason that I summoned the police. If poison is suspected, then an examination of the food or drink taken, immediately after the incident, will prove conclusive.”

“I see. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Charles strode from the witness box, and Winifred’s heart sank to the floor. Horace had planned to question the doctor along the same lines, but after Charles’s skillful maneuvering defusing the point, there wasn’t much left for him to say. Still, Horace rose as if unconcerned, and he approached the witness in a friendly manner.