Katie Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

warm the cobbles of the street. Rag pickers furtively sorted through the trash, while construction workers, numb from the cold, huddled over a blazing barrel. Houses were shrouded against the morning chill with rich velvet draperies, while servants struggled to light fires and bring in wood. Horse-drawn carts moved slowly through town, as if it were painful for the animals to put one foot ahead of the other on the wet stones. Spring had arrived, but in New York, one would never know it.
    Winifred hurried toward the office, wanting to arrive before everyone else, particularly the reporters who had camped outside. She had been an apprentice for just a few short weeks, yet it seemed as if she had been there forever. It didn’t escape her notice that the other lawyers were not happy with her presence, so she was committed to making a good impression. She wanted to be the first to arrive and the last to leave, and to take on all the work they didn’t want without complaint.
    In addition, she had to send a clear message toCharles that she meant business. He needed that message: every morning when she came into her office, another bouquet awaited her. Sometimes it was violets, sometimes daisies—always innocent friendship flowers. But her protests were met with upraised brows and bold reminders that he was in charge here and sought only to reward her hard work. Any further remonstrances only brought amusement and teasing on his part, embarrassment on hers. She soon stopped mentioning them at all, deliberately leaving the blossoms each night for the cleaning woman. Yet even this didn’t discourage him.
    Winifred quickly learned when Charles was in court and how to avoid him on the days he wasn’t. He was persistent in asking her out for lunch or dinner, but seeing him in the office was tempting enough; she couldn’t risk seeing him outside of it as well. He was no schoolboy, and she was just beginning to taste the weapons in his arsenal. She sensed that he was watching her with infinite patience, like an expert chess player, waiting for the right moment to make his move. The thought was as unnerving as it was exciting.
    The office workers dashed into the warm buildings, their coats huddled tightly about them. Clutching her own cloak, she had started for the stairs when she suddenly found herself besieged by more than a dozen derby-hatted reporters.
    “Miss Appleton! Is it true you are clerking for the prosecutor’s office?”
    “What contribution do you think to make?”
    “Are you a suffragette?”
    “Do you really think to ever practice law?”
    Apparently, the reporters had learned of her early morning hours and thought to outwit her.
    Winifred tried to push past them, but they circled her like hawks.
    “No comment,” she said firmly. “I am simply here to help the prosecutor’s office. Now will you move and let me pass?”
    It was a mistake. Having gotten that much, the reporters pushed even closer.
    “Can you explain that, Miss A.?”
    “Is it true you are a spiritualist and were once incarcerated?”
    “Do you favor free love, and are you truly Mr. Howe’s mistress?”
    Shocked, Winifred held up her skirts, intent on getting inside even if she had to physically shove her way in. She heard a shuffling, then a soft
plop!
followed by gasps of astonishment from the men around her. To her horror, something slimy was dripping down her face. Wiping it quickly, her stomach tightened in revulsion as yellow yolk congealed on her glove.
    “Someone threw an egg at her! It was that rogue across the street! Catch him, mates! Maybe we can get a quote from him!”
    The reporters rushed after the furtive figure, but not before another egg landed at her feet. Disgusted, Winifred rushed quickly inside. Breathing heavily, she slammed the door closed behind her.
    The sticky egg felt cold as it dripped down her cheek onto her collar. Peering into a hall mirror, she took her ruined glove and attempted to scrape the awful stuff from