Katie Rose (34 page)

“Yes,” the druggist said glumly, “I suppose it could.”

“So, Mr. Henry, it appears that even if Mrs. Black put arsenic in her husband’s tea, she was not solely responsible for his poisoning. Indeed, factually, you are as responsible as she is, and Mr. Black himself is equally responsible.”

The druggist rose up in outrage. “That is not true! Why I—” he sputtered furiously, while the people in the gallery rolled with laughter. Mr. Black gazed at his wife in bemusement, while Mrs. Black stared at the druggist in disbelief.

Horace picked up another sheaf of papers and deposited them on the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, I ask for a dismissal. We have clearly demonstrated that Mrs. Black cannot be blamed for Mr. Black’s ingestion of arsenic.”

“Case dismissed,” the judge said solemnly. The gallery broke into a cheer, the working-class men and women standing up and thrusting fists into the air. Mrs. Weathermere and her brigade stood and applauded. Mr. Albright raised his eyes to the heavens, as if thanking a higher authority. Mrs. Black leaped up, hugging Horace as the man strode back to the
defense table. Even Charles rounded his desk and approached Shane, giving the man a hearty handshake. Both of them looked toward the gallery. When Charles’s eyes met Winifred’s, his look went straight to her heart. Reporters swarmed Monica Black. Only Mr. Black sat alone, as if wondering how the tables had been turned so completely.

Charles smiled to himself, watching Winifred disappear into a mob of admirers. It was all happening for her: the attention, the respect, the acknowledgment of her talents. In spite of her sex, in spite of male prejudice, in spite of incredible odds, she had done something that very few women even dreamed about. She had challenged the system and won. She had saved a woman from death. Her methods, he had to admit, had been brilliant. By showing that the man had been ingesting poison all along, she had proven that Mrs. Black alone was not responsible for her husband’s near-death.

Yes, Winifred had shown her ability. Chances were that she would still be seen as an oddity, but she would be taken much more seriously. Offers would come her way, discreetly. Winifred Appleton had made her mark.

And he had helped her to do it. Charles rose, feeling a welter of conflicting emotions in his heart. He was enormously proud of her and glad, for she was incredibly talented, and the world needed her passion, her fire, and her refusal to quit. When she passed the bar, as he was certain she would, she would no longer blush unseen. Every moment of triumph, every thrill of victory, deserved to be hers.

As he picked up his case to leave, he realized something else: Winifred was farther than ever from his reach. How could he possibly convince her to become his wife and the mother of his children? Unless …

A broad smile crossed his face. Winifred might be the brains behind the defense, but he was the star prosecutor. He would have to use his talents to convince her, and to come up with a suitable compromise. The thought was not at all discouraging. It was, after all, what he did best.

“M
ISS
A
PPLETON
, what made you think to examine the potion?”

“Was it your strategy all along to disclose this at the last minute?”

“Was your tutor really Mr. Howe, or would you credit Mr. Shane with your brilliance?”

“When will you take the bar exam?”

Winifred beamed as the reporters gathered around her. A heady sense of triumph filled her, and she nearly giggled with joy. She had won.

“I credit Mr. Shane, of course, but Mr. Howe was responsible for much of my training. Yes, I plan to take the bar examination, and I eventually want to practice. I am very happy for Mrs. Black, and I hope all women everywhere know that the law can be on their side.”

The reporters scribbled furiously, but only came back with more questions. Smiling and waving, Winifred turned away from them, seeing Horace at the center of one mob, and Mrs. Black in yet another. Her eyes searched the crowd, looking for one face, one man whose presence always made the difference.

An odd sense of depression suddenly came over her. Had Charles left the building? The memory of his approval, that look he had sent her upon hearing the druggist’s testimony, had filled her heart with gladness. Now she wanted nothing more than to share the
moment with him, the limelight. Yet he was nowhere to be seen.

Her moment of triumph seemed all at once to mean little without Charles. Like it or not, she needed him. Wanted him. Loved him.

It was as simple and as complicated as that. Pushing her way through the reporters, Winifred hastened toward her carriage. Why had it taken so long for her to see the simple truth? Without Charles, the rest was meaningless. Although she did not have the first idea of how to combine a life with him and pursue the law as well, she knew she had to try. Otherwise, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

“Home, Egbert!” Winifred called to the driver, who awoke with a start. Grumbling, he whipped the horse into a trot. As crowds of curious people waved and shouted outside her window, she settled back into the coach, grateful for the quiet. Somehow she had to make Charles understand, had to find a way to make it all work.

“Penelope!” Winifred shouted, yanking off her gloves as she entered the parlor. Penelope raced down the steps, pausing at the bottom.

“I heard what happened,” Penelope said breathlessly. “You won! Oh, Winnie, you won!”

Winifred allowed herself to be enveloped in Penelope’s sweet embrace. Her sister smelled of fresh roses and lilacs.

“Yes, we did win. Oh, Penny, I’m so happy! But I realized something else. You were right, Auntie was right. I have to find Charles, I have to tell him—”

A strange light twinkled in Penelope’s eyes. “So you have finally come to your senses! But you cannot go to Charles looking like that! You look like a vagabond!”

Winifred smoothed her hair, then glanced down at her dress. “Is it that bad?”

“Worse,” Penelope said flatly. “Let’s go upstairs, and I will help you. Jennifer can help, too. I was just having a bath drawn, but you need it more than I do. We will pick out something nice for you to wear, get some perfume—Charles will be dazzled!”

“Jennifer’s here?”

“Yes. Gabriel is out of town for a few days, and with the baby due, Aunt Eve insisted she stay with us. I think my crystal earrings will be perfect, don’t you?” Winifred fought the impulse to run right back out of the house. If she knew the law, Penelope knew men, and there could be no harm in taking her advice.

Penelope led her upstairs, giggling all the while. “What is going on?” Winifred questioned, but her sister merely shrugged innocently.

“Nothing at all, we just want you to look your best.”

Jennifer looked very round and very, very happy. She tossed several gowns onto the bed and gave her sister an appraising look. “Penelope was right. That dress will never do.”

“What are you talking about? ‘Do’ for what? I just want to see Charles—”

“Patience, dear,” Eve said cheerfully. “A woman owes it to a man to always appear at her best. A curl here, a dab of perfume there makes all the difference.”

Winifred saw quite clearly that she would not escape until they had satisfied themselves. An hour later, having been pinched, prodded, powdered, and perfumed, she thought she would scream. Penelope only laughed all the more, while Aunt Eve fussed over her hair.

“Now dear, just a few more pins. You have such lovely hair—and such a pretty color. Burnished gold!
What a shame that you usually just knot it at the back of your head.”

“Are we finally ready?” Winifred tried to keep the restlessness out of her voice.

“You look lovely,” Jennifer declared, standing back and nodding with approval.

Turning to the mirror, Winifred had to look twice to be certain it was indeed her own reflection. The woman who stared back at her was frankly beautiful. Her hair, drawn up from her face in a smooth chignon, looked elegant, while small crystal drops dangled from her ears. Her eyes seemed even larger than usual, and their hazel color more stunning, especially with the dress Penelope had chosen for her. It was a deep gold taffeta, high-necked but with very few ruffles. The dress clung to her slender figure and swept simply to the floor in a lovely flow of fabric.

“You do look wonderful,” Aunt Eve said, standing back as if this golden goddess were her own creation.

“Charles will not be able to take his eyes from you,” Penelope said with the air of an expert.

“You look ready to face anything.” Giving her a hug, Jennifer smiled joyfully. “Be happy, Winnie. I love you.”

“I love you all, too.” Winifred hugged them back, until all four women were laughing and sniffling.

“Gracious!” Winifred said, reaching for her handkerchief. “One would think Mrs. Black had lost today, the way everyone is carrying on.”

Jennifer blew her nose loudly, startling everyone into laughter. Winifred dabbed at her eyes, then stepped gracefully down the stairs. Halfway down, she stopped abruptly. Roses, golden yellow roses, were everywhere. Vases of them lined the staircase, baskets stood at the door, and bouquets filled the tables. The
room was filled with luscious, wonderfully smelling blossoms.

And at the foot of the stairs, dressed in an elegant suit, was Charles. Winifred clasped the handrail in astonishment.

“Charles! I was coming to see you. Whatever are you doing here?”

The rustle of gowns sounded upstairs again, followed by a suspicious giggle. Winifred looked around just in time to see the door slam. When she turned back, Charles was still waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, his hand outstretched. Winifred descended in confusion, her heart pounding. Then he took her hand and sank down on one knee before her.

“Winnie, I came here today to formally ask you to marry me.”

An understanding finally penetrated. All of the emotions she had been holding back bubbled up inside her, along with an incredible joy. He meant it—he was here, and this was real. Then Winifred, cool, logical Winifred, burst into tears and flung herself into his arms.

“Charles! Do you really think it will work? I was coming to see you, to tell you the same thing …” She fumbled for her handkerchief, remembering belatedly that she had given it to Jennifer. Charles handed her his own, and she laughed, crying at the same time.

“Winnie, my sweet girl—”

“I realized a lot of things today, Charles,” Winifred said when she could speak. “It was wonderful to win, to see Mrs. Black freed. But I need you as much as I need the law. Charles, do you really think you could be content living with me, knowing what I need to do? I want so desperately to make you happy, I just don’t know—”

Charles laughed softly and placed a finger on her lips caressing her.

“Winifred, dear, you do not have to make my argument for me. You see, not only am I certain you will make me happy, I intend to do the same for you. As your husband and as a prosecutor for the State of New York, I will find a way for you to practice law. I just received a letter from an associate in Wisconsin, who is sponsoring an amendment to the state statute that will admit women to the bar. I plan to do the same thing here. As you so clearly demonstrated in the courtroom today, the country needs your talent. I need it. And until you get your license, I can think of no better assistant to work with me. I would be honored to have your help. What I am offering you is a partnership, in the fullest sense of the word. Will you accept?”

“Oh, Charles! Yes, of course, I will.”

A cheer rose upstairs as he handed her a black velvet box. Her hand was shaking as she opened it and found a beautiful diamond band sparkling inside. Withdrawing the ring from its soft depths, Charles turned back to Winifred and slipped it on her finger. Smoothing the tears from her face, he kissed her gently. Lifting her face, he gazed into her eyes, heedless of the audience upstairs.

“Do you mean it, Winnie?” Charles asked urgently. “Can you make this kind of commitment to me? I promise we will work something out so you can practice. If my amendment does not pass here, we can always move west.”

“I know you will,” Winifred said, smiling through her tears. “Oh, Charles, I will try very hard to be a good wife, to make you happy. I promise not to use the press again, to make a mockery of the court—”

Charles groaned. “Please, Winnie. Do not make promises you cannot keep. I do not want you to
change anything about yourself, dear. As I told you before, your passion for the law is sorely needed. Yes, some of your tactics need fine-tuning, but as your husband, I do not imagine you would object to some of my help in that area.”

“No! Not at all,” Winifred declared. “But Charles, are you sure—”

“I can honestly say I have never been as certain of anything in my life. I never wanted anything except what I have here. I love you, Winifred. We belong together. We always have.”

Winifred smiled, tears in her eyes. “I love you, too, Charles. Now and always. And if you are truly certain, I would be proud to be called your wife.”

Charles kissed her, amid applause from the well-wishers upstairs. The maddening Winifred Appleton was his. Nothing, he was certain, would ever be the same. She would torment him, make exquisite love to him, and practice the law with him, and they would raise their children together. Somehow they would make it all work. Of that he was certain.

M
RS
. B
LACK LEFT
the courtroom amid a crowd of well-wishers. Returning home, she let herself into the house, then softly walked up the steps to her room.

She was free. The fear and torment had left her soul, and she closed her eyes in gratitude. Her hands shook when she thought of how narrowly she had escaped imprisonment. If it were not for one remarkable woman, she would be seeing those bars close even now.

Now her life would have to start over. She would have to leave this place, maybe move out west. A dance hall girl could make good money there, she’d heard. Maybe she would work a few years, save her
coins, find a little place that she could call her own, and live out her days in peace.…