Honor (24 page)

Neither of the men rose as she entered, a bit of rudeness no doubt calculated to intimidate her. She ignored it and strode across the plush Turkish carpet to stand before the desk.

After nodding to Graham, who sat there glaring at her in blatant hostility, Honor turned her attention to the renowned Salem Frick, whom she had heard of but never observed in a courtroom. Now she wished she had.

In his early forties, Frick was not physically imposing, a fact that might lead his adversaries to underestimate him. Though he remained seated, Honor guessed he was of average height and build, his looks just as average. His eyes, however, were like a snake’s, a pale, unblinking blue that mesmerized his victims before he struck.

“Mr. Prick,” she said in a clear, professional voice, extending her hand, “I am Honor Davis, Genevra Graham’s counsel.”

Instead of shaking her hand, Frick deliberately ignored it and proceeded to take a cigar from a humidor on his desk and light it with exaggerated care.

So that’s your game, is it? she thought, withdrawing her hand. She resisted the urge to tug on her locket.

He did not offer her a seat in another club chair, and she did not give him the satisfaction of glancing at it as though she expected to be seated. Instead, she consulted her lapel watch and said, “I am very busy, Mr. Frick. You may waste exactly one more minute of my time before I walk out that door.”

Anger flared in the depths of his unblinking stare. “My client wishes you to inform his wife that she may as well withdraw her petition for a divorce and return to him.”

“I’ll convey your message to Mrs. Graham, but I know for a fact that she will not withdraw her petition and has no intention of returning to her husband.”

Frick blinked. “I would strongly urge you to do so, my dear girl. You haven’t a hope or a prayer of proving that my client committed adultery with Miss deGrey, and you know it.” He smiled, a patronizing baring of teeth. “But then, considering your lack of experience, my dear girl, perhaps you don’t know that you’re doomed to lose this case.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”

Graham gave a soft snort, and his lip curled in disdain.

Frick moistened his lower lip with a flick of his tongue, and his unblinking stare roved insolently over Honor. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mrs. Davis, but like the rest of your sex, you simply don’t belong in a courtroom. An adversary of my experience and stature will cut you up into little pieces and feed you to the fishes.”

Honor delicately smothered a yawn with her fingertips. “Your aimless chatter is quite boring, Mr. Frick, and I can see that my coming here has been a waste of time. If you have nothing of importance to discuss, I’ll be on my way.”

Something akin to pity softened those strange, unblinking eyes, and he shook his head regretfully as one would when arguing with a recalcitrant child. “Mrs. Davis, my dear girl—”

“I am not your dear girl,” Honor said coldly, and turned to leave. “Good day to you, Mr. Frick. I shall see you in court the Monday after next.”

Without warning, Gordon Graham bounded out of his chair and blocked her path with his tall, leonine presence. “I heard you were assaulted in your office, Mrs. Davis. I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered. A woman alone in such a big city can never be too careful.”

Honor’s heart raced as she remembered that evening when she thought she was going to die, but she kept her features composed so they wouldn’t reveal her rising panic.

She took a deep breath and stared right into Graham’s dark eyes. “I’m quite recovered, thanks to Nevada LaRouche. I understand that you were also attacked while riding in Central Park.”

Something flickered in the depths of Graham’s eyes. “I was, but as you can see, I am also fully recovered.”

She gave him her coldest smile. “Perhaps the two men who assaulted me attacked you as well.”

His face turned crimson, and he stepped aside without a word.

Her point made, Honor wished both men a good day and left.

If Honor thought that Salem Frick was a, formidable opponent, she revised her opinion when she went to court to present her credentials to the judge who would be hearing Genevra’s case, Justice X. Thornton West.

At first he refused to see Honor because he didn’t believe a woman could be a lawyer, and when he finally relented after she threatened to take root outside his office, he lectured her for a full half hour about the unsuitability of women lawyers in his courtroom. Honor listened courteously and tried not to yawn.

When she calmly pointed out that women had been allowed to practice law in New York State since 1886, and that her client had a right to select whomever she pleased to represent her, or even to represent herself if she so desired, he resentfully agreed to let her appear before him.

Leaving the courthouse, Honor was relieved that the case would be heard in camera, with no spectators allowed and the records sealed, so Genevra’s reputation wouldn’t be tarnished further by scandal.

Justice X. Thornton West sat high on his dais and scowled down at the jurors, twelve men whom Honor and Frick had finally agreed upon after two days of voir dire.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, while the court stenographer recorded every word, “before these proceedings begin, I must warn you that just because Mrs. Davis is a gentlewoman, you must not let her beauty influence you. In other words, just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s right. You must reach a verdict based on the evidence presented and on that evidence alone.”

Seated at her table with a skittish Genevra, Honor wore her expressionless lawyer’s face, even though she was seething inside that Justice West would issue such a warning. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the unblinking Frick suppress a smile while Gordon glowered at his wife.

Though this was Honor’s first trial, her clerkship with Cleavon Frame at Royce and Ellis and the many hours she had spent observing trials had prepared her well for what was to follow. Her main concern was four men unknown to Genevra whom Frick intended to call as witnesses.

Finally the trial got under way and Honor was told to make her opening statement.

Rising, she approached the jurors. She did not smile, lest she appear coquettish. She scanned their faces and made note of the wariness and flagrant hostility written on every one.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” she began, “like any other contract, the marriage contract can be broken, and like any other contract, it can be dissolved. The dissolution of the marriage contract is known as divorce.

“When the Graham married, they promised to be faithful to each other. That was part of their contract. If one spouse is unfaithful to the other, the contract is broken.”

Honor strolled before the jury box. “Gentlemen, I shall prove that Gordon Graham was unfaithful to his wife and that, under the laws of the state, has given Genevra Graham grounds for dissolving their marriage.”

She made eye contact with each of the jurors. “I would ask you to keep in mind that Mrs. Graham is not yet thirty years old, still a young woman with a long and fulfilling life ahead of her. Why should she remain shackled to a man who broke their solemn marriage vows? Whatever love Mrs. Graham felt for her husband has been destroyed. Whatever respect she once had for him has turned to contempt. Whatever happiness she experienced has now soured.”

Honor spread her hands in supplication. “Pretend for a moment that Genevra Graham is your own daughter. Would you condemn your own child to such a sterile existence? Of course not. Then I ask—no, I beg you to grant Genevra Graham a divorce.”

When she sat down, Salem Frick rose to make his opening statement.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, resting his hands on the box’s partition and leaning forward as if having a conversation with old friends, “I am sure you were all moved by Mrs. Davis’s depiction of Genevra Graham as a wronged wife seeking her freedom from a callous husband. But nothing could be further from the truth.”

Honor leaned forward in her chair, eager to hear just what her opponent planned.

Frick stepped back, his unblinking stare still scanning the jury as if gathering them to his side by the sheer force of his will. “Contrary to what Mrs. Davis would have you believe, Gordon Graham has always taken his marriage vows quite seriously. I will prove to you that this most devoted of husbands and fathers—this pillar of the community—would no more commit adultery than willingly give up his beloved little boy.”

Honor watched doubt suddenly creep into the expressions of the men her opening statement had swayed to her side, but she didn’t panic. She had seen jurors pulled first one way and then the other by opposing testimony, but it was early yet. What mattered was their verdict.

Frick strolled away from the jury. “I will also prove to you that the plaintiff is not the innocent Mrs. Davis would have you believe.” He shook his head. “Like your own daughters, indeed,” he scoffed, his snake’s eyes suddenly bright with withering contempt. “Mrs. Graham is as unlike your own virtuous daughters as night is to day. You will see that she”—he whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Genevra—“is the guilty party in this divorce action, not her husband.”

Genevra started like a frightened rabbit, but calmed down the moment Honor placed a reassuring hand on her arm. Honor had warned her not to lose her temper or her composure, no matter how hard Frick rode her.

As Frick wound up his opening statement, Honor thought carefully about what he had said. If he intended to prove that Genevra was the guilty party, no doubt the four mystery men on his witness list would play a pivotal role.

Honor called Genevra to the stand.

Dressed demurely in a summer gown of rust-colored linen that accented her auburn hair and matching straw bonnet, Genevra looked the very picture of a wronged wife with her sad hazel eyes and lower lip that wouldn’t stop quivering. She kept darting fearful glances at her husband while she placed her hand on the Bible and swore to tell “the whole truth and nothing but the truth” in a quavering voice, something Honor hoped the jury noticed.

“Mrs. Graham,” Honor began, “how long have you been married?”

“Eight years.”

“Do you have any children?”

“A six-year-old son,” she replied, her eyes brightening for the first time. “Stone Wolcott Graham.”

“Would you say that your marriage has been happy?”

“Yes, until about a year ago.”

“Will you tell the court what happened at that time?”

Genevra glanced nervously at her husband, seated with Frick. “My husband changed. He used to treat me with love and respect. Now all I feel is coldness and contempt.”

“Would you elaborate?”

Genevra repeated exactly what she had told Honor at Coppermine—that her husband locked her in the attic, refused to let the servants speak to her for days on end, and lied to her callers, saying that she was not at home when, in truth, she was.

In the middle of Genevra’s recitation, Salem Frick objected. “This is irrelevant, Your Honor. Even if Mrs. Graham’s account of her husband’s behavior is true, cruelty is not grounds for divorce in this state.”

Honor said, “I will show the relevancy of this testimony shortly, Your Honor.”

Justice West wrote something down. “I will allow it. Continue.”

After Genevra finished, Honor said, “Do you have any idea why your husband changed?”

Genevra glanced at Gordon and swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears. Even though Honor had coached her about what to say, it was apparent to everyone present that the woman was in great distress. Finally she blurted out, “I think it’s because he learned that I had an—an abortion several years ago and never told him.”

One of the jurors gasped. Justice West stared at Genevra in blatant disapproval. Gordon Graham closed his eyes, bowed his head, and buried his face in his hands.

Whether the men were upset because Genevra had an abortion or because she kept it a secret from her husband, Honor couldn’t tell, but she cynically suspected it was the latter.

“Was he upset when he found out?” she said.

“Yes.” Genevra dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He flew into a towering rage. He called me a—a slut and a—a damned whore, and then he stormed out of the house. He returned a stranger. I threw myself at his feet and begged him to forgive me, but he refused.” She sniffed. “That’s when my life became a nightmare.”

Honor gave her an encouraging smile. “Mrs. Graham, please pardon the indelicacy of my next question, but after your estrangement, did you and your husband engage in marital relations?”

Several gentlemen of the jury coughed, and others shifted in their seats.

Genevra’s pale cheeks turned a dull, embarrassed red. “No, we did not. Gordon couldn’t bear to touch me.”

“At any time did you suspect that your husband might be seeing another woman?”

“Not at first. On the nights when he didn’t come home, I thought he was staying at his club. But as the months passed and he never claimed his—his husbandly rights, I did become suspicious.” She colored again. “He used to be quite…insistent in that respect, so the change in him was noticeable.”