Part 36 (1/2)

”I suppose not,” I said.

”Mrs. Carelton, I know this is difficult for you. Trust me, I don't believe the end of this will find you behind bars. Wouldn't it be better to have the uncertainty done with more quickly?”

”Yes, it would.”

”Your father tells me that your friends have been too busy to visit you.”

”Let's not hide behind niceties, shall we?” I said. ”I've become a curiosity. Curiosities are not the kinds of people Caroline Astor wants at her suppers.”

”As long as they continue to join ranks behind you publicly, it doesn't matter if they cut you at every opportunity.”

”How easy for you to say.”

His expression became quizzical. ”Come now, Mrs. Carelton. You should have expected this would happen when you decided to shoot your husband.”

”I told you-”

”Yes, yes, I know.” He waved my comment away. ”I've heard more excuses in my career than you could possibly imagine. It doesn't matter. In the end this case comes down to one thing.”

I frowned. ”What's that?”

He fingered his watch chain, stroking a jeweled cross that hung from it. ”What we're presenting is not a regular insanity defense. I'm going to argue that you were laboring under a momentary 'irresistible urge.' You were sane before you pulled the trigger, you were sane after you pulled the trigger. But when you pulled the trigger . . . let's just call it 'temporary insanity.'”

I laughed incredulously. ”Who will believe that?”

”The jury, when I'm finished with them,” he said confidently.

”But I was in an insane asylum.”

He smiled. ”The burden of proof is not on us, Mrs. Carelton, you should remember that. It would be the state's responsibility to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you were insane, which they won't do. Remember, punishment is what they're seeking. They don't want an insanity dodge. Mr. Scott will try to prove that the murder of your husband was cold-blooded and premeditated. They will certainly call the superintendent of Beechwood Grove, and he will no doubt say that you were quite sane when he released you. After all, it would be highly irresponsible of him to release a madwoman into the public. None of this worries me.”

”Why is that?”

”Because we have two things that will convince the jury. First, it will be clear to them that you were not yourself when you pulled the trigger.” His smile became smug. ”I've spoken to Dr. Seth, and I think we have cause to plant ample doubt in the jury's mind about what happened that night.”

I kept my voice as neutral as I could. ”You said there were two things.”

”Ah yes.” He played with his watch chain again. ”What did your father tell you about your husband's funeral?”

”That it was a short service.”

”Did he tell you who attended?”

”Not many of our friends, I take it. Mostly the men who worked with William.”

”Yes, well, there were others. One woman in particular who interested me very much.”

He was happy about this news, I knew, yet I could not help feeling a twinge of dread. ”Who was that?”

”William's mother.”

I went numb and still. William's mother. I remembered telling Victor that I'd never met William's parents, that I wasn't interested in them. I could not imagine how his mother's coming could help me, why it shouldn't hurt me unbearably. How could I look her in the face after I'd killed her son?

”His mother?” I asked carefully. ”Not . . . his father?”

”Apparently the man died two years ago,” Howe went on. ”His mother said she'd never met you. Now, I found that curious. She'd never met her own son's wife, and it's not due to distance. Why, she only lives in Newport. Where you and William spent every summer.”

I remembered the bail hearing. William Stephen Carelton, lately of New York, originally of Newport, Rhode Island.

”Newport,” I repeated.

”You didn't know?” Howe asked.

I shook my head.

”Why is that, Mrs. Carelton? How could you not know your husband's own parents?”

”I don't know,” I said. I sank onto the edge of the settee. ”He never spoke of them. I a.s.sumed, I don't know, that he was estranged from them. Or that they were dead. I had no idea they lived so close. I would have insisted on meeting them.”

Howe leaned forward. ”Do you know anything about them? Or about William's relations.h.i.+p with them?”

I shook my head, and he leaned back again. The many- colored floral pattern clashed with his garish vest-also floral, in greens and oranges and an odd shade of red. I had to turn my gaze away.

”Mrs. Carelton, listen to me closely. I must ask you to tell me whatever it is you know about your husband's parents. Anything at all.”

”I don't know anything,” I said. ”I already told you, William never spoke of them. Why? Is something wrong?”

Howe shook his head. ”Wrong? I should say not.”

I watched him carefully. ”Then why all the questions? Is there something I should know?”

”Mrs. Carelton, I would prefer it very much if you didn't know,” he said, wheezing as he rose. ”And that is why I won't tell you. You must trust me about this.”

”But if there's something that could have a negative effect on my trial-”

He laughed, a short burst of sound that silenced me. ”Don't worry about your trial, Mrs. Carelton,” he said.

But that was exactly what I did. As the weeks pa.s.sed and the date came closer and closer, Howe's words became even less rea.s.suring. That there was something I didn't know, some plan I wasn't privy to-I began to worry as I hadn't before. The idea of a future in a prison cell was no longer so unreal.

Howe's visits came less and less often. Little Mr. Blake told me he was busy preparing. I was not to worry. But I had nothing else to do. I'd lost the desire to go out. Invitations became less and less frequent; too much time had pa.s.sed, and I was no longer the topic of conversation. It was easy to forget me in the bleak snows of winter, when the wind was so bitterly cold.

But the day of the trial came too soon.

William Howe sent Blake to my door nearly with first light. I was awake; I'd been unable to sleep. Howe's a.s.sistant gave me terse instructions.

”He insists you wear black, Mrs. Carelton. You are in mourning for your husband. Dress as somberly as you can but not severely. He wants the jury to notice how”-he swallowed uncomfortably-”how attractive you are.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He handed it to me. ”You're to wear this.”

I unwrapped it to find a mourning brooch-a wreath made of braided dark hair. I looked up at him in surprise. ”William's hair?”

He shook his head. ”No, but the jury'll never know the difference.”