Honor (45 page)

Honor tried to dry her red, swollen eyes with her damp handkerchief, blew her nose, and went to the door of her apartment. “Are you alone?” When Catherine answered in the affirmative, Honor unlocked the door and opened it.

Catherine regarded Honor with a mixture of reproach and sympathy.

“If you’ve come to try to talk me into forgiving him,” Honor said, closing the door, “you can turn right around and go home.” She dabbed at her nose. “Come to think of it, you and Damon have a few things to answer for yourselves.” She headed for the parlor, the thin batiste of her dressing gown billowing out about her.

Catherine followed. “I know I’m the last person in the world you want to see right now, but—”

“No; Nevada LaRouche has that honor.” Honor’s eyes filled with fresh, senseless tears as she swept into the parlor and whirled on Catherine. “I don’t mean to be rude, but please say what you have to say, then leave me alone. Unless you’re here to discuss the case.”

Catherine did not even ask if she could sit down. She stood before Honor nervously twisting her wedding ring. “When Nevada returned home today, he went to the stables to curry his horse himself. That may seem insignificant to you, but it’s what he does whenever he’s deeply troubled.”

Honor folded her arms before her as if that simple act could keep Catherine’s words from affecting her.

“He told me what happened today,” Catherine said softly. “I’ve never seen him so—so devastated, and as you know, he’s not a man who reveals his emotions readily.”

“He killed a man and tried to hide it,” Honor snapped. “What am I supposed to say? I’m an officer of the court. It’s my job to bring people like him to justice, not condone what he did just because he is—was—my lover.”

“Before you judge Nevada so harshly,” Catherine said, “I’d like to tell you about August Talmadge.”

“He was a murderer.”

“He was much more than that.” Catherine sat down. “Will you give me a half hour of your time?” When Honor sat down reluctantly, Catherine began her story.

“I first had dealings with Talmadge when his wife, Dahlia, became my patient. She had been complaining of severe abdominal pains, and when I examined her, I discovered more than an ovarian tumor.” Catherine leaned forward. “I discovered that she had been whipped.”

Honor stared at her. “Whipped? But who…”

“Her husband. He regularly tied her to the bedpost and whipped her to gratify his perverted sexual desires.”

Honor’s lip curled. “That’s disgusting.”

“I was appalled and outraged, and since my husband did business with Talmadge’s bank, I asked”—she smiled—“no, I demanded that he pressure Talmadge to stop brutalizing his wife.” Her expression clouded. “Little did I realize that I was signing Sybilla’s death warrant.

“During the depression of ’93, Talmadge’s bank failed and he blamed Damon and took his revenge. He hired someone to plant a bomb in our stables, and Damon was blinded when it exploded.” Catherine knotted her fingers together. “Luckily, the blindness was only temporary, but it could have been permanent. And of course you know that Talmadge tried to kill me.” She leaned forward. “The man was a monster, Honor.”

“That may be true, but Nevada still had no right to be his judge, jury, and executioner. And you had no right to protect him.”

“Can you blame him? He loved Sybilla. And we protected him because we love him.”

“Even monsters deserve their day in court. Talmadge would have gone to the electric chair for his crimes.”

“Not necessarily. Justice is often blind. There’s no guarantee that Talmadge would have been executed for what he did.”

Honor thought of her father, an innocent man executed for a crime he didn’t commit. Justice indeed could be blind.

Catherine studied her intently. “How would you feel if someone killed Nevada?”

A picture of Nevada lying dead in an alley flashed through Honor’s mind, and she felt a terrible, aching loneliness, like a knife wound to the heart. She shuddered, rose, and turned away. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not? If you were in the same situation, wouldn’t you feel like killing your lover’s murderer?”

Honor walked over to the window to escape Catherine’s relentless hounding, closed her eyes, and rested her forehead against the cool windowpane. “I don’t know.”

Catherine joined her there. “What do you intend to do now that you know our dreadful secret? Will you turn the three of us over to the authorities?”

“Even if I did, it would be my word against yours. I wasn’t there. I have no proof.” She smiled wanly. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be difficult for us to remain friends.”

Without a warning, a wave of dizziness made her sway on her feet.

“Honor, what is it?” Catherine asked sharply, grabbing her elbow to steady her.

“I—I feel faint.”

Catherine led her back to the sofa and made her sit down. “Has this happened before?”

“It comes and goes.”

A knowing look flashed across Catherine’s face, then disappeared. “My medical bag is in the carriage, so I can examine you, if you like. Since I still want you to defend me at my trial, I want to make sure you’re up to the task.”

Honor regarded her in disbelief. “After what happened between Nevada and me, I assumed you wouldn’t want me to defend you.”

“You assume too quickly.” Catherine looked at her. “I meant what I said to Damon. I want this over as soon as possible. I trust you, and I feel confident of your abilities.”

“This won’t change how I feel about your conspiracy.”

“I don’t expect it to.”

She turned and headed for the door.

After retrieving her medical bag, Catherine made Honor lie down on her bed and proceeded to examine her. When she finished, she took Honor’s hand and said, “There’s a simple explanation for those dizzy spells. You’re a little over two months pregnant. You’re going to have a baby.”

Honor stared at her, dumbfounded. Surely Catherine was talking about someone else. This was her revenge for Honor’s breaking off with Nevada. It had to be. There was no other explanation.

“I am not having a baby,” Honor said.

“But you are.”

“You’re sure.”

“Positive.”

Honor burst into tears.

“You have to tell him,” Catherine said, sponging Honor’s forehead with a cool cloth. “He is the father.”

Still reeling from the shock, Honor muttered, “I can’t be pregnant. I’ve always used Aunt Theo’s pessaries.”

Catherine raised her brows. “They’re illegal. It would seem that our upstanding lady lawyer has been breaking the law herself.”

Honor’s cheeks turned crimson. “It’s not as serious a crime as murder, Catherine, and you know it.”

“Yes, I do. I was merely trying to make a point.”

Honor sat up and grabbed Catherine’s arm. “You mustn’t tell him. Not yet. Promise?”

“As with lawyers, anything you tell a doctor is held in strictest confidence.” Catherine closed her medical case. “What are you going to do about this child now that you’ve broken off with Nevada?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Catherine rose. “May I offer you some advice? First walk in Nevada’s boots; then temper justice with mercy and let your heart guide you.”

Then she wished Honor a good night and let herself out.

A baby. Nevada’s child.

Sitting in her dark parlor, curled up in one corner of the sofa, Honor let the warm night breeze blowing slowly in through the open window waft over her while she watched the square patch of moonlight crawl its way across the floor.

She still couldn’t believe it. The queasy stomach in the morning, the dizziness, the two missed cycles that she had been too busy to notice—all the warning signs were there, but she had not heeded them.

What was she going to do now? She was a married woman whose husband was God only knew where, and she was pregnant with her lover’s child. Not only wouldn’t they allow her into a courtroom once her condition became apparent, but she would also be branded an adulteress. She would have to return to Boston.

But she didn’t want Aunt Theo. She wanted Nevada.

Honor hugged her pillow. She wished he were here with her now, his eyes shining with pleasure at her news. He would take her in his arms and hold her with his customary strength and tenderness, her head cradled against his shoulder. Later he would take her into the bedchamber, and they would celebrate the conception of their child.

But he had concealed a crime, with the help of his friends. How could she possibly love and live with a man who flouted the very laws she was sworn to uphold?

Honor’s heart felt encased in ice, and a deep hollowness filled her soul. As much as she loved Nevada, they now stood on opposite sides of a deep chasm, and no matter how hard they tried, they would never bridge the gap.

Honor decided to leave for Boston after Catherine’s trial and never see Nevada LaRouche again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

She saw him on Thursday morning when she entered the crowded corridor outside the courtroom for the continuation of Catherine’s trial. No matter how well she girded herself mentally, the sight of him still made her traitorous pulse race.

His complexion was inordinately pale, and the dark smudges underscoring his eyes gave testimony to sleepless nights. Though deep in conversation with Damon, he looked dazed, as if someone had struck him hard on the side of the head. When he glanced up and inadvertently saw Honor through the crowd, a warm, expectant light flared in his eyes, then died.

Honor thought of the fatherless boy raised in a brothel, always seeing and hearing too much, and she felt her resolve weaken. She wanted to take him in her arms and tell him that all would be right.

Don’t do this to yourself, she thought. He’s not that little boy anymore. He’s a grown man who wouldn’t pay for his crime.

She finally wove her way through the crush to where the three of them stood. One look at Damon’s thunderous, accusatory expression told her that he knew of her estrangement from Nevada. She squared her shoulders, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.

“Damon…Nevada,” she said coolly to the men before quickly turning to Catherine. “Are you ready?”

Catherine smiled warmly as though nothing had happened and knotted her fingers together. “I can’t stop shaking. I just want to be done with this.”

Honor tried to ignore Nevada’s solid, quiet presence and his ability to unsettle her. She said to Catherine, “It’ll be over soon.”

Just then the clerk summoned everyone into the courtroom. Honor was about to go in when she felt a firm, unyielding hand on her elbow. She looked up to find Damon’s dark, glowering face inches from her own.

“I want to talk to you after the trial,” he said between savagely clenched teeth.

“If it’s not about the case, we have nothing to say to each other,” she replied. “Ever again. That goes double for Nevada.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, but she ignored it. She knew how to handle angry, bellicose men snorting steam through their nostrils.

She looked straight ahead and focused on the coming trial.

Patrick O’Neill took the stand.

Seated next to Catherine at the defense table in the hot, overcrowded courtroom, Honor forced all thoughts of her condition out of her mind, along with the man responsible, who was seated right behind her. She had to concentrate. She knew that the district attorney was so confident of a conviction that he did not intend to call any witnesses for the prosecution aside from Comstock and O’Neill. Honor would begin Catherine’s defense later today.

“…and when did you discover that your wife had received anti-conception information?” Rampling said, holding up a copy of
A Married Woman’s Secret.

O’Neill, a small man as skinny as a rat’s tail, turned red with outrage. “I found that paper hidden under me mattress where she thought I wouldn’t find it, Yer Honor.”

“Did you ask your wife who gave her this pamphlet?”

“Aye, that I did, Yer Honor.” He pointed a damning finger at Catherine. “She said she got it from Dr. Delancy.”

The district attorney glanced at Honor. “Your witness.”

Honor rose and approached the witness enclosure. “Mr. O’Neill, you gave your age as twenty-five.”

“That I am.”

“And you have
eight
children?”

“That I do.”

“Is it true that you, your wife, and your
eight
children”—she let her voice rise incredulously—“all live together in a two-room flat in a tenement on Baxter Street?”

Before O’Neill could open his mouth, Rampling rose and said, “Your Honor, I fail to see what Mr. O’Neill’s living arrangements have to do with this case.”

Pike said, “So do I. Mrs. Davis, please stick to the pertinent facts.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. O’Neill, did your wife ask Dr. Delancy for the pamphlet?”