Honor (43 page)

“I wish you to be more specific,” Lyons said, his voice dangerously silky. “I want you to tell the court precisely what qualifications you possess that make you the arbiter of this country’s morals, Mr. Comstock.”

Comstock turned red and bristled with indignation, obviously not accustomed to having his authority and judgment challenged. “I possess the same qualifications as any God-fearing, law-abiding citizen who is outraged by the filth and degradation that is corrupting the morals of our youth. And I know the law. The act that bears my name empowers me to seek out ‘every article or thing designed, adapted, or intended for preventing conception or producing abortion.’ That certainly describes the pamphlet found in Dr. Delancy’s possession.”

Honor leaned forward, transfixed by Lyons’s method of laying the groundwork for their challenge to the pamphlet’s obscenity.

Lyons gave an exaggerated sigh. “You haven’t answered my question, sir. I asked how you know this pamphlet is obscene.”

Comstock bristled again, shaking his chair. “Any decent, moral human being would know it’s obscene. It contains a lewd drawing and obscene references to private parts of the human body, using words that are never spoken in polite society.”

Lyons opened the pamphlet and studied it, his brow furrowed.

“The drawing you speak of appears to be a medical illustration of the female reproductive system.”

“It is lewd.”

“And I’m assuming you’re referring to words such as ‘genitals,’ ‘vagina,’ and—”

“How dare you!” Comstock roared, jumping to his feet and shaking with righteous indignation. He turned on the three justices. “I object, Your Honors. There are ladies and gentlemen present in this courtroom. They should not be exposed to the reading of such filth.”

Honor looked around at the spectators whose tender sensibilities Comstock was trying to protect. No one had gasped in outrage or fainted.

“Mr. Lyons,” Justice Pike said, “what is the point you’re trying to make?”

Lyons was the picture of innocence. “I am merely trying to determine Mt Comstock’s qualifications for judging this pamphlet obscene, Your Honor.”

“It would appear that he is eminently qualified,” Pike said dryly.

Honor’s heart sank. It was obvious that Pike was on Comstock’s side, a point that did not bode well for Catherine. Honor wished they had been able to obtain a trial by jury, for Lyons was renowned for his ability to move the common man.

By the time Lyons concluded his cross-examination of Anthony Comstock, it was almost one o’clock, time for the summer session to be adjourned until Monday.

Rising, Honor studied Justice Hambly and Justice George. She could not tell from their composed expressions if they shared their colleague’s high opinion of Comstock.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Somber and tense” most accurately described the prevailing mood in the Delancy carriage after the trial. Damon sat there seething with frustration, memories of Anthony Comstock burned fresh in his mind. Philip Lyons frowned and massaged his neck.

Catherine studied him out of sharp, inquisitive eyes. “Mr. Lyons, are you feeling well?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I often get a headache or a stiff neck after a trial. I expect it’s all the excitement.”

“I’ll give you a headache powder when we arrive,” Catherine said.

Honor leaned forward. “How do you think it went today?”

Lyons spread his hands. “It’s too early to tell. We’ll know more on Monday when the district attorney puts that O’Neill fellow on the stand.”

Catherine groaned. “I remember him all too well. When he found out that I had given his wife a copy of
A Married Woman’s Secret,
he threatened to kill me for interfering with his authority over his wife and family.”

“He’s in the minority,” Lyons said. “For every man the prosecutor can find to testify against you, we can find five who will testify on your behalf.”

Damon looked at his wife. “I wanted to murder Comstock with my bare hands.”

“That would accomplish nothing,” Honor said. “You’d only go to prison, and possibly to the electric chair, for your pains.”

Nevada gave her a strange look, but said nothing.

They rode in silence until they reached Honor’s office, then all wished her a good day as she disembarked. Nevada kissed her on the cheek and said he would return that evening to pick her up for dinner at the Delancys’.

At six o’clock that afternoon, after Elroy had gone home for the day and while Honor was just finishing up some paperwork, Nevada returned for her.

One look at his pinched white face told Honor that something dreadful had happened.

She shot to her feet, her heart racing. “What’s wrong?”

He went to her and grasped her hands tightly, as if to brace her for the worst. “Lyons has had a stroke.”

Honor stared at him, dumbfounded. “A stroke? When? He isn’t…?”

“Dead? No.” He eased her back into her chair and sat down on the edge of the desk. “After we ate luncheon, he kept rubbing his neck and complaining of a headache. The doc wanted to examine him, but he wouldn’t let her. He said he simply needed to lie down for a while and he’d be fine.

“When he didn’t come downstairs after a couple of hours, the doc got worried and went up to look in on him.” Nevada’s blue gaze clouded. “She found him on the floor, unconscious.”

Honor sat back in her chair. “Oh, dear God.”

“The doc had Damon send for an ambulance, and they took Lyons to St. Bridgit’s Hospital.” Nevada took a deep breath. “Honor, he can’t talk, and he can’t move his right arm or leg.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “He’s paralyzed? Dear God…will he recover?”

“The doc says if he does, it’s going to take a long time.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“The doc says he’ll never be able to practice law again.”

Hot tears stung Honor’s eyes. “The poor man.” She took a deep breath to control herself. “This means Catherine’s trial will have to be postponed.”

“Or she’ll have to get another lawyer.” Nevada stepped away from the desk and extended his hand to her. “We had best get to the Delancys’.”

Sitting in the carriage beside Nevada, Honor felt overwhelmed by sadness for Philip Lyons. Years ago a friend of Aunt Theo’s had suffered a stroke. Honor remembered the woman vividly, confined to a wheelchair because one leg wouldn’t support her and one arm was useless. She had all her mental faculties, but because her speech was slurred and garbled, she couldn’t make herself understood to those around her. Honor remembered thinking at the time that it must have felt like being buried alive in one’s own dead body.

To take her mind off Lyons, Honor wondered what Damon would decide to do. Would he seek to have the trial postponed, or would he hire another lawyer?

In any case, Honor knew he wouldn’t ask her to take over.

When they arrived, they found Catherine pacing around the parlor and Damon leaning against the mantel, their faces strained and worried as they wondered what to do about this latest turn of events.

Honor went to Catherine at once and took her hands. “How is he?”

Catherine held tightly. “I wish I could say that he’ll be back in the courtroom before you know it, but I can’t. He has regained consciousness, but his prognosis is still not good.”

“Can I visit him?”

“In several days, if his doctors allow it.”

Damon stepped away from the mantel, his expression grave. “As much as I feel sorry for Mr. Lyons, and as heartless as this may seem, we have to concern ourselves first and foremost with Catherine’s trial.”

Catherine rubbed her forehead and slanted an exasperated glance at her husband.

Damon said to Honor, “What do we do next?”

“Have the trial postponed for as long as possible and find another lawyer,” she replied.

Catherine exploded, her blue eyes flashing. “I don’t want a postponement,” she said, smacking her right fist into her left palm for emphasis. “I want this trial over and done with.” Her voice rose, stunning everyone with its vehemence. “I don’t want to spend another week or month or another year wondering whether I’ll go to prison or remain free.” She faced her husband squarely. “Do you understand?”

“Of course I do,” he said softly, placing a soothing hand on her arm.

“I don’t want another lawyer,” Catherine said. “I want Honor to represent me.”

A muscle twitched in her husband’s jaw, and his sympathetic gaze turned stern and unyielding. “Catherine, we’ve been over this a thousand times.”

She flung his hand away. “I don’t care if we’ve been over this a million times. I want Honor to represent me!”

“Catherine-”

“Honor has been working closely with Lyons,” Catherine pointed out. “She knows exactly how he intended to argue my case.” She looked at Honor. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Honor replied. “We discussed it point by point and decided that Catherine’s best defense would be to prove that the pamphlet itself is not obscene. If we can do that through expert testimony, Comstock won’t have a case.”

Triumph shone in Catherine’s eyes. “Do you think you can prove it?”

Ignoring Damon’s fierce warning glare, Honor raised her stubborn chin. “Before, I would have said no, but after working so closely with Lyons, I’m confident that I can handle it.”

“Well, I’m not,” Damon said. “You don’t have the experience. I want to hire another lawyer as soon as possible.”

“How do you know the new man will be as good as Lyons?” Catherine said.

Damon’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Lyons is not the only outstanding lawyer in the world. I’m sure I can find one or two others.”

“A new attorney will have to start from scratch. He’ll need time to prepare,” Catherine said. “And what about the newspapers? Will they keep writing glowing accounts about me while the trial is postponed?”

Damon said, “The longer your trial is postponed, the longer you’ll remain free.”

“I can’t spend another waking hour wondering when I’m going to be carted off to prison,” Catherine said.

Honor said, “She’s right. Part of Lyons’s plan to gain public sympathy was to have frequent articles about Catherine in the newspapers. If the trial is postponed and she’s no longer newsworthy, those articles are going to stop appearing. When her trial is eventually resumed, interest will have died. That could ultimately hurt her case.”

Nevada, who had been standing quietly with his thumbs hooked in his belt, spoke up. “Honor has a point, Delancy.”

Damon looked from Nevada to Honor. “Those three justices didn’t look as though they’d be swayed by public opinion. I want Catherine’s case postponed, and I want her to have a new lawyer.”

“Stop it!” Catherine cried, her face crumpling. Her slender shoulders shook, and loud, keening wails emanated from her open mouth. She lowered herself onto the sofa, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed as though her heart would break.

Damon exchanged a panic-stricken look with Nevada, then knelt at his wife’s side. He touched her arm tentatively. “Catherine…?”

She lowered her hands away from her tearstained, ravaged face and hugged herself, rocking back and forth and crying in great, hiccupping sobs that filled the parlor.

Sobbing so hard she could barely speak, she managed to say to Damon, “I can’t go on. I can’t fight Comstock anymore. It’s my fault that Willie’s dead.
My
fault. He’d still be alive if we hadn’t gone to England. He’d be alive if we had stayed here.”

Damon sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault. Damn it, Catherine! You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Damon. I just want it to be over so I can have some peace.”

He stroked her wet cheek tenderly. “You’re tired and overwrought. You’ll feel better once you’ve had some sleep.”

“No, no, don’t you see?” she moaned, pulling his hand away and clutching at it. “It’s not sleep I need. It’s peace. I want Honor to defend me. I want this over once and for all. If I have to wait another month or another year, I’ll go mad, I swear I will.”

And because even a strong-willed man like Damon Delancy had no defense against the power of his wife’s tears, he surrendered. “If you want Honor to defend you, you shall have her.” He closed his eyes. “Just don’t cry.”

Catherine dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I just want this nightmare to be over, my love. I just want it to be over.”

Later, after Catherine had gone to her room to rest, a visibly shaken Damon met Honor and Nevada in his study. With unsteady hands he poured himself a generous measure of brandy and downed it in two swallows that made his eyes water.

He sat at his desk and shook his head. “I never dreamed she would fall to pieces like that. She’s always been so strong.”

Nevada stroked his mustache. “Everyone has a breaking point.”

Damon gave Honor a hard stare. “Catherine wants you, so against my better judgment, I’m asking you to take over from Lyons. Will you do it?”