Honor (3 page)

“Just like a lawyer, always suspicious of motives.” He grinned and looked around the room. “I wanted to see your fancy house for myself. I’ll bet it has another parlor upstairs and hot-water heating.”

“I rather doubt you came here just to make that observation. Come, come, Mr. Davis. What is your real reason for coming here?”

He looked at her. “I’m a blunt man, Miss Elliott. I don’t hide behind flowery words and fine manners like your rich friend Saltonsall out there. Plain and simple, I’m here because I want another chance.”

“Another chance to do what?”

“To prove to you that you’re wrong about me.”

He expected her to whirl on her heel and head for the door, but she merely folded her arms and regarded him with that unnerving, assessing stare. “Why do you care what I think of you?”

“I just do.”

She fell silent for a moment, still studying him. “Contrary to what you may think, I’m not wealthy.” She waved her hand, encompassing the room. “This is all my aunt’s. I live here on her charity.”

“Why would I care about that?” Then he understood her implication all too well. His face grew hot, and he saw red. “You think I’m some—some damned fortune hunter?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,”
she said with an infuriating smile.

He strode over to her and stood so close he could see the gold sunbursts surrounding the pupils of her exotic black eyes, like eclipsed suns. “I don’t need any woman’s money, damn you. I’ll make a pile of my own someday.”

She didn’t step back, and her gaze didn’t falter. “Then I’m sorry if I insulted you.”

He stepped away. “You should be.” He straightened the lapels of his coat. “We can help each other, you know.”

“Help each other? How?”

“I noticed you aren’t doing too well in constitutional law.”

She made a face. “You needn’t remind me.”

“Well, I excel at it, so let’s negotiate. I’ll help you study, and you’ll give me a second chance.”

At first he thought she was going to burst out laughing, but she didn’t. “If I agree and declare a truce, will you agree to stop badgering me in our other classes?”

“That point is not open to negotiation. My badgering is going to make you a better lawyer.”

She looked skeptical. “Is that why you persist?”

“Of course. Once you’re in a courtroom, your opponents won’t treat you like a lady. They’ll tear you to pieces and laugh while they’re doing it.”

Her expression froze. “I never expect preferential treatment from anyone.”

He smiled. “Then don’t expect me to stop badgering you for your own good.”

She studied him, then said, “All right. We have a deal.”

He extended his hand. “Shake on it.”

She did so reluctantly, as if she expected him to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. She must read minds, he thought. He restrained himself, shaking her hand and releasing it just as reluctantly.

There came a knock. When Honor bade the caller enter, her aunt swept through the doorway.

“When I didn’t hear glass breaking, I began to worry,” she said.

“As you can see,” Honor said, “the windows are intact, and we’ve just concluded our discussion.”

“Splendid. Then Mr. Davis will be staying for tea?”

Robert hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the thought of his penny-pinching landlady’s usual fare of tough, stringy mutton and overboiled cabbage made his stomach growl. He thanked Mrs. Tree and said he’d be delighted to stay for tea.

Honor watched Robert Davis eat as though this were his last meal.

Wes had gone to the Somerset Club, so only Honor, Aunt Theo, and Davis sat down in the upstairs parlor to a sumptuous tea. Honor noticed that her aunt had thoughtfully augmented their usual light fare of buttered toast and muffins with more substantial offerings of cold ham and roast beef.

“Do help yourself, Mr. Davis,” Aunt Theo said, pouring her specially blended tea from a silver pot into two Spode cups. She herself had changed into a dramatic tea gown of magenta silk that made her look like a vibrant tropical flower, and she eschewed her usual glass of beer for tea.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He filled his plate with meat and bread, then balanced it on his knees.

When Honor finished nibbling on a muffin, she said, “Do you come from Boston, Mr. Davis?”

“Lowell,” he replied.

“Lowell is noted for its many textile mills,” Theo said.

“I used to work in one of them,” Davis said.

That explains why he resents the wealthy so much, Honor thought, sipping her tea.

“What type of work did you do?” Theo said.

Robert finished his roast beef and reached for more. “I started out as a weaver and worked my way up to foreman.”

Honor said, “Very ambitious and determined.”

He glanced at her sharply. “It’s the only way to be if you want to get somewhere in this world.”

“And where is this ‘somewhere’ you’d like to go?” Theo said.

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, then set aside his empty plate, no doubt to avoid appearing greedy. “I want to go to New York City and practice law for men like J. Pierpont Morgan and William Rockefeller. They need lawyers to help them make more money and keep what they have. I intend to be one of them.”

“I want to defend the helpless,” Honor said.

His gaze held hers. “Is that why you want to become a lawyer?”

She didn’t want to tell him about her father. “I come from a long line of bluestockings.” That was explanation enough.

Davis looked across the tea table at Theo. “But you’re not a lawyer, Mrs. Tree.”

“No, I’m not. But I passionately believe in education for women, and I have always encouraged Honor to follow her own road.”

Davis turned to Honor. “Do your parents live here too?”

“My parents are dead,” she replied in a flat tone that plainly warned him this subject was closed.

He made a sympathetic noise.

“And yours?” she said.

“Dead also.”

Honor said, “I’m curious as to why you wanted to attend law school. You could just as easily have served an apprenticeship with another lawyer and saved the expense.”

“I did for a short time,” he replied, “but I didn’t learn much. School will give me an advantage.” Resentment flared briefly in his eyes, then died. “I scrimped and saved for years. I can afford to attend law school.”

But just barely, Honor thought, glancing at the frayed coat cuffs covering bony wrists and several loose buttons hanging by a thread from his waistcoat. He did not look like a man who took care of himself.

“Where are you living in Boston?” Theo said.

“A boardinghouse in the South End,” he replied. Davis looked from Honor to her aunt as if daring them to comment. “My room’s not even half the size of your parlor here, but the rent’s cheap and it’s clean, and once I graduate from law school, I’ll never have to live in a boardinghouse again.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Theo said. She poured him a second cup of tea. “Please help yourself, Mr. Davis. If any food is returned to the kitchen, my cook takes it as a personal insult and feeds us all bread and water until we’re properly chastened.”

He didn’t need a second invitation.

Later, when nothing remained but crumbs, their guest drained his teacup, patted his lips with his napkin, and thanked Theo for her hospitality. When Davis rose, Theo bade Honor show him out.

In the downstairs foyer, Davis turned to her. “You won’t regret giving me a second chance.”

She recalled his offer to share his expertise in constitutional law. “I don’t intend to.”

He grasped her hand and drew it to his lips. “Good-bye. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She showed him to the door. When she opened it, a sharp gust of wind rushed in, tugging at her skirt hem and causing her to shiver. The sun had already set, turning the horizon the deep blue of twilight. “I’d offer you the carriage, but it’s been put away for the evening.”

He shivered. “No need. I’ll get home the same way I came.”

On foot no doubt, Honor thought, resisting the impulse to slip him money for the streetcar.

Trotting down the stairs, he turned once to look back at her with a penetrating stare. Then he flipped up his collar and was gone, striding down the sidewalk.

Honor closed the door and went back inside to warmth and light, all too conscious of Robert Davis tackling the cold autumn evening as if it were his mortal enemy.

Chapter Two

The next day, Honor arrived at her constitutional law class fifteen minutes early.

Several men were already there, huddled together and talking among themselves. They exchanged warning looks and stopped speaking the moment she walked through the door.

She wished them good morning, sat down near the front of the classroom, and opened her notebook. As the minutes passed, several more students entered the classroom. Honor heard low voices punctuated by snickering, but she ignored them.

When one of the men sat on the desk top right next to her, she looked up to find Hubert Adcock smirking down at her, his round face aglow with all the anticipation of a nasty little boy preparing to pull the wings off a helpless fly.

She suppressed a shudder of revulsion. “Yes?”

He addressed the rest of the class. “Gentlemen, your attention please.” The room fell silent. “I’ll bet none of you know that you’re going to school with the daughter of a convicted murderer.”

The blood drained from Honor’s cheeks. For one horrible moment black spots danced before her eyes and she couldn’t breathe.

Adcock grinned as surprised muttering filled the room. “Yes, gentlemen, our own lady law student here is the daughter of one Jasper Elliott, a rich Chicago meatpacker who was convicted of murdering a business associate and hanged for his heinous crime.”

White-hot rage welled up in Honor, and she suppressed the urge to wring Adcock’s scrawny neck.

Still grinning, he said, “Does the dean know we’ve got a murderer’s daughter going to our law school?”

“Let’s tell ’im!” someone shouted.

Adcock stuck his turned-up nose inches away from Honor’s face. “What person in his right mind would want to be represented by the daughter of—” His sentence ended in a strangled squawk as an arm appeared out of nowhere, and a large hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off the desk.

Robert Davis, his face livid and his eyes dark with rage, propelled the choking, goggle-eyed Adcock across the aisle and slammed him against the nearest wall. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

Two of Adcock’s cohorts jumped out of their seats and started toward him, fists clenched and faces aflame with retribution. Honor watched, helpless, as they bore down on her rescuer.

Before they reached him, a furious voice bellowed, “What’s going on here?” from the doorway.

Everyone stopped and watched as “Pudding” Weymouth, the constitutional law professor, came waddling into the classroom. Though as portly as the Christmas pudding that gave him his nickname, he was seldom jolly, and now his stout frame shook with anger.

“I warned them there would be fighting if we admitted women.” He waddled toward his desk, his forehead shiny with sweat. “But did any of them listen to me? Of course not. ‘You’re behind the times,’ they said. ‘Women have just as much right to an education as men,’ they said.”

Davis flung Adcock away as if he were poison. “He insulted the lady.”

“Take your seats,” Weymouth said to Adcock’s cronies. “I’ll not have hooliganism in my classroom, no matter who is responsible.” Then he turned to the brawlers. “Did you insult Miss Elliott, Mr. Adcock?”

Rubbing his reddened Adam’s apple and glowering at Davis, Adcock croaked, “I just told the truth about her.”

Honor rose, her insides shaking. “A half-truth, Mr. Adcock.”

Weymouth flung his pudgy hands into the air. “I think we’ve wasted enough time discussing this.”

Honor held her ground. “I would like your permission to address the class, Professor Weymouth.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, no one can stop you.”

“Professor Weymouth—”

“Oh, all right, all right, all right!” Weymouth mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Just say your piece as quickly as possible, Miss Elliott, and be done with it. I do have a class to teach.”

Honor faced the class, her head held high. “As aspiring lawyers, we’re taught to think objectively and to assemble all the facts. You, gentlemen, have done neither.

“It is true that my father, Jasper Elliott, was convicted of murder in the first degree and executed in Chicago ten years ago. What Mr. Adcock so conveniently neglected to mention is that my father was framed. A year later he was vindicated when another man confessed to the crime.”

She let her contemptuous gaze slowly rove around the classroom. “My father was innocent, and even if he hadn’t been, his crime would have no bearing on my ability to practice law.” Then she turned to Adcock. “I would suggest you get your facts straight before you make false accusations, Mr. Adcock, or someday you’ll find yourself sued for slander.”