Katie Rose (26 page)

The crowd erupted once more, and the judge pounded his gavel. Winifred glanced at Horace. Although they knew the results of the professor’s tests, there was something coldly horrible about hearing them recited in court, something that made the attempted murder even more real.

“What did you do next?” Charles asked softly after the judge warned the mob again.

“I performed the same tests on the teapot and the grounds.”

“And those results?” Charles waited expectantly.

“All positive,” Caldwell said firmly. “All of the articles contained arsenic.”

A sinking feeling came over Winifred once more. Caldwell was bright, articulate, and obviously well versed in his field. As brilliant as Horace Shane was, this testimony was unshakable. Horace must have thought so as well, for when Charles finished, he declined to cross-examine the witness, obviously wanting to get the man off the stand as quickly as possible. Without the tea tin, there was nothing they could say about the evidence.

Winifred sighed. Even though they had known what the testimony would be, it seemed damning.
Next the prosecution would have the maid testify that it was Mrs. Black who brought the tea to her husband, and that the woman stood there and watched him drink it. After that, the gallery of working-class men, the jury of middle-class merchants, and the judge were unlikely to view Mrs. Black with anything but horror and disgust. Women, Winifred thought, were either the Madonna or Eve, and there was no in-between. And when the papers caught hold of the Albright story, which they eventually would, Mrs. Black would be not only a murderess but a whore as well.

All of her plans seemed to be for naught. Not even a hundred suffragette marches could turn this tide around. A shadow of doubt crept into Winifred’s mind. Maybe Mrs. Black was not a noble heroine after all. Quickly she pushed the treacherous thought out of her consciousness. Even if she wasn’t, it didn’t negate the social issue of women trapped in bad marriages. Mrs. Black was shackled to a cheating brute who beat her, drank, and blamed her for his inability to perform as a husband. Winifred could not even imagine the woman’s life. All she sought to do was help her.

As they awaited the next witness, Mrs. Black turned around and stared fixedly at the crowd. Curious, Winifred followed her gaze and saw a man pushing his way into the gallery. He was very handsome, dressed in a shiny black coat over a mother-of-pearl-gray vest. His walking stick was polished ebony with a gold handle, and his top hat gleamed. He wore a jaunty red cashmere scarf around his neck, which he quickly untwisted, then took a seat beside a fat old farmer who seemed none too happy to share the bench.

Looking back to the prisoner, Winifred saw that her gaze hadn’t moved. Mrs. Black could not seem to tear her eyes from the handsome stranger.

It had to be him. No other man could have had
such an effect on Monica Black. No man except her lover, Mr. Albright.

Winifred studied the man once more. He was handsome all right, but he looked like a cad. That he had come to the courtroom was audacity itself, but Winifred doubted that he paid much attention to either morals or scruples, particularly since he had seduced a married woman. This man had promised Mrs. Black marriage if anything happened to her husband, while probably never intending to do anything of the sort.…

The stirring in her brain exploded. Catching Horace’s attention, she indicated that she wanted the court to take a recess. He looked puzzled, but observing the excitement in her gaze, he nodded and turned to the judge.

“Your Honor, may we request a brief recess? My client needs a few moments to compose herself.”

Thankfully, Mrs. Black’s veils hid her surprise. Charles, puzzled, offered no objection. The judge nodded and rapped the gavel. “I will give you fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” Horace replied.

The crowd rumbled as Horace had the guard escort Mrs. Black outside. When Horace approached Winifred, she whispered to him excitedly.

“He’s here. In the courtroom. Albright.”

Horace turned to look and whistled softly. “Damned cheeky of him. Can you slip him a note, telling him to meet with us for lunch?”

“Yes, I will do that. Shall I tell him to meet us at the restaurant next door?”

“No, that will be too public,” Horace said thoughtfully. “There is an old office behind the courtroom. I do not think it is being used. We can meet
him there.” His eyes met hers, and he smiled. “Good work, Miss Winifred.”

She smiled, her heart feeling lighter.

I
T TOOK
a little doing to get her note into Albright’s hands, but thankfully one of the newsboys managed to slip between the rows of people in the gallery and give it to him. Winifred watched his expression as he unfolded the slip of paper, then a grim look came to his face as he realized his identity was known.

The pit of her belly tightened as she saw him rise, then make his way to the rear of the courtroom. His gaze swept the room, as if trying to determine his betrayer, then his eyes fell on Mrs. Black. He sent her a reassuring look, as if promising that all would be well.

Winifred did not like it at all. There was something self-serving about the man, and she guessed that if it came down to his neck or Monica Black’s, it wouldn’t be his. She hoped she was wrong, but there was little about his appearance to indicate otherwise. With considerable trepidation, she followed him to the far end of the room and waited for court to break for lunch. If Mr. Albright decided to make a run for it, she wanted to make sure he was followed.

To her relief, he did not, but as soon as the court broke for lunch, he made his way to the vacant office. Winifred waited for Horace to join her, then together they walked into the room and quietly closed the door.

Mr. Albright looked up expectantly. “Hello, Mr. Shane. Miss Appleton. I believe you asked to see me?”

He was wonderfully alert, like an insect aware of a flyswatter. Horace sat on the edge of a desk, loosened his tie, and gave the man a friendly smile.

“I assume I am addressing Mr. Robert Albright?”

The man nodded nervously, seeming less than happy that Horace knew his name. “Good,” Horace continued conversationally. “I will get straight to the point. Mr. Albright, we have reason to believe that Mrs. Black, the accused, was involved with another man. And that man is you.”

The color drained from his face. He glanced at the door, as if considering bolting, then turned back to face Horace and brazen it out.

“Sir, you cannot accuse me! On what grounds—”

“Tut, tut, it won’t do,” Horace shook his head sadly. “There is no sense in bluffing. You see, my client has confessed your involvement with her.”

Mr. Albright turned impossibly pale, then quickly recovered. “I must say I am surprised that she would say such a thing. I considered our relationship extremely private.”

“I am certain you did.” The older man’s voice held a note of disgust. “Mr. Albright, you are in considerable peril here. My client has been accused of murder. It is likely that you will be called to the stand. Your involvement with my client will be questioned, and your relationship with her made public. I want you to be aware of all that, and I would suggest you obtain legal counsel. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes.” Albright looked miserable and raised a defeated face to Horace. “Is there any way we can avoid this? You see—”

“Am I right in suspecting that you, too, are involved elsewhere?”

Winifred’s mouth dropped in shock as Horace questioned the man ruthlessly. Albright nodded. “I never meant for any of this to happen, never thought she would go so far—”

“Nothing has been proven yet. My client is presumed innocent. I would like to ask for your help in this case. You did, after all, seduce a married woman, and you promised her matrimony if she could rid herself of her husband, did you not?”

Some of the fear seemed to leave Albright, and he assumed a defensive posture. “I do not have to tolerate this. I will get my own legal counsel, as you suggested. In the meantime, unless someone issues a warrant, I do not have to talk to you at all. Good day, Mr. Shane. Miss A.”

Albright rose, but then Shane put a hand on his shoulder. “You are right—you do not have to talk to us. But I think you will find it more agreeable than the police. I have to wonder what you have to hide. Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye.”

“What are you implying, sir?” Albright’s eyes bulged.

“That murder may not have been Mrs. Black’s idea after all. It would be convenient for you to be the consort of a wealthy widow in need of condolence, wouldn’t it? Why, I ought to take a stick to you myself—”

Horace surveyed the room as if looking for a weapon. Albright dashed for the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Winifred and Horace exchanged glances. “Do you really think he was an accomplice?” she asked slowly.

Horace shrugged. “Women like Mrs. Black do not usually attempt murder unless they are desperate. I have no doubt that living with Mr. Black would have been enough to push her, but Albright was probably the deciding factor. Yet the man is a cad. I just feel sorry for Mrs. Black. When Charles puts him on the stand, she will really look bad.”

“Maybe,” Winifred said thoughtfully. A sudden
idea came to her. “But what if we take the offensive on this? Let us look into Albright’s character. This time the reporters can help us by learning everything they can about Mr. Albright. What we find is not likely to be appealing. I have a feeling he is—”

“A despoiler of women, seducer out of wedlock, a wolf preying on the fairer sex.” The thoughtful look on Horace’s face changed to amusement. “I see what you are getting at. We can use their own prejudice against them and really pour on the sanctity of marriage, the weakness of a woman against an experienced seducer. He talked her into it. He’s behind the murder plot. Damned good thinking, Miss Appleton. Damned good.”

T
his is highly irregular, miss, but for a good story, I will make an exception. What have you got?”

“I want you to find out everything you can about Mr. Albright,” Winifred said to the reporter, trying to hide her repugnance.

The little man peered up at her from beneath his derby with eager eyes like a ferret’s, scribbling all the while. When he grinned, he displayed a golden row of tobacco-stained teeth. He was obviously enjoying himself. It wasn’t often that a story sought him out, and Bert Ranney of
The New York Times
did not mind this turn of events at all.

“You say he’s got something to do with the Black case?” He licked his lips in anticipation.

“Yes.” Winifred mentally weighed how much to tell him. “Mr. Albright is a friend of the accused. I think he may have had an influence on her.”

“Oh, I see, a playmate in the nest.” The reporter’s eyes narrowed into little slits.

Winifred nodded. “Mr. Albright, I fear, is a despoiler of women, a seducer of hearth and home. Mrs. Black is a woman in love, a woman who fell under the
man’s spell. I believe that when you look into Mr. Albright’s past, you will certainly find more than one Mrs. Black. The scoundrel must be exposed for what he is. You will certainly set New York on its ear if you do. It’s an angle no one else has.”

This the reporter could easily understand. “Thanks for the tip, lady. I’ll look into our good Mr. Albright right away.”

“You may also want to look into Mr. William Black’s activities,” Winifred said, sighing as if the sordid tale troubled her greatly. “He may also have a few secrets he does not want exposed.”

“I see. Is everyone in that household fooling around with somebody else? Maybe I should get to know the maid.”

“Enough, Mr. Ranney,” Winifred admonished. “I suggest you work quickly. This story will break anytime, and I would like to see you get the scoop.”

The reporter nodded, avarice gleaming in his eyes, then scurried off like a rat down the street.

Watching him go, Winifred sighed deeply. What had she become, lowering herself to consort with the press in such a manner? Yet without her intervention, Mrs. Black would be labeled an adulteress as well as an attempted murderess, and everything would be lost.

A twinge of conscience pained her as she made her way back to the courthouse. Charles would never approve of her manipulation of the press. He would see it as yet another attempt to win an unfair advantage for Mrs. Black. But the deck was stacked against the defense. Even if the newspaper reported that both Blacks had partners outside of their marriage, the public would feel much more negatively about Mrs. Black’s philandering.

Winifred could not stand by and watch Mrs. Black be thrown to the wolves because she succumbed to
temptation. Passion, Winifred had learned only recently, was more mind-altering than any drug. Could passion be the real culprit in the Black case? Could passion have clouded the woman’s judgment to the point of attempting murder?

It was an intriguing thought. As Winifred took her seat once more, Charles sent her a questioning glance. Another twinge pinched her, but she forced the feeling away. She had warned him that she would do anything she could to get Mrs. Black acquitted. Monica Black needed all the help she could get, especially now.