Despite public statements from both Roland and his father that they would settle for nothing less than the complete vindication of an acquittal, the Molineux defense team quickly mounted an effort to quash the murder indictment and have their client set free without a second trial.1 To argue their case, Weeks and Battle called in Frank S. Black, who had served a term as governor of New York before resuming private practice in Manhattan. Opposing him was another former New York governor, David B. Hill, who had unsuccessfully represented the state before the Court of Appeals.
This time, Hill emerged victorious. On December 6, 1901, Judge Joseph Newburger rendered a decision denying the motion to dismiss the indictment. Roland Molineux would have to be tried again, quite as if the first trial—one of the longest and most costly criminal proceedings in the history of the state—had never taken place.2
Roland would spend another year in the Tombs waiting for his trial to begin. Still, he had little to complain about. Despite a smallpox scare in March 1902 that necessitated the immediate vaccination of all 392 inmates,3 life in the city prison was a holiday after the hell of the Sing Sing Death House. Roland could exercise in the open air, enjoy catered meals, read newspapers to his heart’s content, and see friends and relatives on a daily basis. His parents and brothers took full advantage of the liberal visitation policy.
The story was different with Blanche.
The previous fall, within days of Roland’s return to the Tombs, she had gone to see him in the company of the General. The meeting took place in the warden’s office. Roland, brought down from his cell on Murderer’s Row, immediately threw his arms about his wife and kissed her. To observers, Blanche seemed “nervous at first,” though she managed a smile and was soon chatting warmly enough with her husband. They remained in each other’s company for an hour.
Afterward, in an interview with reporters, she reiterated her belief in Roland’s innocence and angrily denied rumors that she had “grown tired of” her marriage and planned to abandon him.
“It is all false!” she cried. “I would gladly give my life in an instant to see Roland happy.”4
In the following months, however, her visits became less and less frequent until, by the spring of 1902, they had ceased altogether. A few weeks later, she moved out of the Molineux brownstone.
By then, relations between Blanche and her in-laws had grown unbearably tense. With Roland’s prospects looking brighter than at any time since his arrest, the General finally agreed to give her a bit of freedom. At first, she was allowed to make afternoon jaunts into Manhattan, where after years of social starvation she hungrily took in shows and concerts and luncheons with friends.
The taste of these pleasures only strengthened her determination to escape the stifling household once and for all. In August 1902, she moved into an airy corner suite at a residential hotel in the Murray Hill section of Manhattan. Her rent was paid by the General, who also provided her with a generous monthly allowance.
In return, Blanche agreed to only one stipulation: during Roland’s second trial, she would be at his side in the courtroom.
The General wasn’t taking any chances. To be sure, he had every reason to feel optimistic. Even James Osborne acknowledged that public sentiment had changed and that many people, formerly against young Molineux, now “believed he has been punished sufficiently.”5
Still, Roland wasn’t free yet. Appearances must be maintained. The scandalous rumors about Blanche, suggesting that she had lost faith in her husband, would be put to rest. The jury would see for itself just how much she loved and believed in her husband.6