The Penmaker's Wife

by Steve Robinson

  Gingerly, she lifted her head enough to see inside the shop, and even now she had to squint because the interior was so dark against the otherwise bright street, making the glass act like a mirror, reflecting her own image and that of the sunlit buildings behind her. She could make out a man standing at the counter with his back to the door, and there was a woman behind the counter with whom the customer was talking. There was no sign of the proprietor, so she thought she would wait and watch, and when the customer left, if Jonathan Wren had not yet appeared, she would venture inside to speak with the woman.

  Who was she?

  Angelica imagined she was her husband’s new wife. She looked about the right age for him, of similar age perhaps to her own, though she thought her rather overweight and plain-looking. Then again, she supposed the woman could simply be someone Jonathan had hired to serve in the shop. As she continued to watch the woman serve the customer, she saw the man stoop and lean over the counter suddenly, drawing her attention. It looked as if he were writing something – a cheque perhaps, meaning he was close to leaving.

  She felt a flutter in her chest and took a deep breath, bracing herself before she went inside, but a moment later the man turned around and Angelica froze. It was Jack Hardy, right there in front her, and now he was heading straight for her. She turned sharply away as he reached the shop door and came out, then she looked at the window again, but this time she was watching Hardy in the reflection, watching him stride right past her with a very satisfied look on his face. In a matter of seconds he was gone again, lost to the crowded street.

  Angelica swallowed hard and made straight for the shop door, confident now that her first husband was not there. If he was, Hardy would surely have been speaking with him rather than his wife, or whoever she was. But what had Hardy written down? He had certainly not written a cheque. He had not gone there to make a purchase. She had to know what Hardy had said, too, and whether he was now on his way to some other location to meet with Jonathan Wren. She opened the door and went inside, dreading that Hardy had already said enough to destroy her. Her eager eyes quickly found the corners of the room where another person might be standing in the shadows, out of view from the window, but there was no one else there.

  ‘Good afternoon, madam,’ the woman behind the counter said as Angelica approached. She was well spoken, if plainly so, and smiling kindly. There was a genuine warmth to her that Angelica instantly despised.

  She forced a smile of her own. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, trying to glimpse what was written on the piece of paper she could see was still on the counter.

  ‘Is there something I can show you?’ the woman asked. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll find my husband’s craftsmanship to be of exemplary quality.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ Angelica said, her smile suddenly turning to a frown at hearing confirmation that this woman was indeed her replacement as Jonathan’s wife. ‘I’m afraid I’ve not come to make a purchase,’ she added. She paused and began to study the woman intently, as if overcome by a sudden need to understand what Jonathan saw in her. They were nothing alike, she and her – a peacock to a sparrow, and a fat, unremarkable sparrow at that.

  ‘Madam?’ Mrs Wren said, pulling Angelica from her thoughts.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Angelica said, feigning her smile again as she thought hard on what story she would spin for the woman. A moment later she said, ‘I’m looking for my brother. He told me he was calling at your shop on a personal matter. We’ve been shopping all day, you see. My feet grew tired, so he left me in a coffee house. I wonder if he’s called in yet. His name is Mr Hardy – Mr Jack Hardy.’

  Behind the counter, Mrs Wren’s features became excited. ‘Why, yes,’ she said, pointing to the front of the shop. ‘You’ve only just missed him. I’m sure if you run after him, you’ll soon catch up with him.’

  ‘My dear, I can barely take another step on these poor feet,’ Angelica said. ‘I’m afraid that running anywhere is entirely out of the question. My brother told me he had to speak with the proprietor on an urgent matter. Do you know if my brother was able to speak with your husband?’

  Mrs Wren shook her head. ‘As I told the gentleman, Mr Wren is away on business.’

  ‘What a pity. Do you expect him back soon?’

  ‘Yes, in a day or two.’

  Mrs Wren picked up the piece of paper from the counter. ‘Your brother wrote down the address of the hotel where he’s staying.’ She showed it to Angelica briefly, and Angelica saw the hotel name, but not the address. It was, however, of no matter. While there were undoubtedly other hotels in London called the Victoria Hotel, she knew which of them Hardy, as unfamiliar with London as he surely was, would have chosen. He would be staying at the Victoria Hotel at Euston Square, on the west side of the arch that led to and from the very train station he had arrived at.

  ‘Your brother told me it concerned my husband’s first wife and their son,’ Mrs Wren said, her features now twisting into a puzzled expression. ‘I heard they drowned, poor things. I can’t imagine what your brother has to say about the matter.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Angelica said, sensing that Mrs Wren was fishing for more information. ‘I try not to trouble myself with my brother’s affairs.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Mr Wren will be most keen to speak with your brother on his return,’ Mrs Wren said. ‘I’ll pass the message on, don’t you worry.’

  Angelica tried to raise another smile, but it felt awkward at best. ‘Thank you,’ she said, thinking that worrying was all she would be capable of unless she could find a way to stop Hardy from seeing Jonathan Wren. As she left the shop, she knew she would have to give the matter a great deal of thought, but she did not have long. If she were to prevent Hardy from proving her bigamy, and her first husband from discovering that she and William were still alive, she would have to act quickly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It took Angelica the remainder of the afternoon to hatch the plan she hoped would safeguard her and William’s futures, and all the while she had been acting against the clock, conscious of the curtain falling on the opera Effie had gone to see. It had heightened her anxiety to know that she had to be back at the Savoy, tucked up in her bed, by the time it did, or it would only lead to more lies, and she hated lying to Effie almost as much as she hated lying to William, even when it was for their own sakes. Had she not made it back to her bed in time, she would have had to tell Effie that she had felt much better and had gone out for a stroll, and that would have raised questions about where she had been that afternoon, which wouldn’t do at all. Should she require an alibi for her activities in London that weekend, it was imperative that Effie fully believed she had been asleep in her hotel bed all afternoon. All she had to do now was take care of the evening, for which she supposed a further alibi could prove all the more important if her plan played out as intended.

  They had been down to the lavish new American Bar, which had opened earlier that year, drinking champagne cocktails before dinner and listening to the piano as they talked about the opera. It was all Effie had talked about since she’d come back to Angelica’s room and gently stirred her from her feigned sleep. It was as if Effie felt so sorry for Angelica having missed the performance that she wanted to cover every detail, missing nothing out. Drinks before dinner had been the idea, but after two cocktails it quickly became apparent that they would not make it to the restaurant that evening.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Effie said as they made their way back up to their rooms. ‘I really don’t know what’s come over me. I can’t recall the last time I felt this sleepy, and it’s barely half past seven.’

  ‘I expect you’ve overexcited yourself, that’s all,’ Angelica offered, ‘and travelling can certainly make one weary. Did you manage to get any sleep last night, or were you too excited?’

  ‘I was rather excited,’ Effie said. ‘I didn’t sleep much.’

  ‘Well then, that’s what it is.’

  Effi
e sighed. ‘Yes, I expect so, and those cocktails,’ she added with a giggle. ‘I’d like another one.’

  ‘I thought you were sleepy.’

  ‘I am, but I don’t want the evening to end so soon. Shall we order room service? It could be rather romantic.’

  Angelica was feeling anything but romantic. Frustration had begun to rise within her, but she tried not to show it. Effie was still far too lively, and that would not do at all. That afternoon she’d visited the Victoria Hotel and had left a note for Jack Hardy, saying that she knew why he was in London and that she wished to meet with him. At nine o’clock that evening she would be waiting at the Town of Ramsgate public house in Wapping, in the East End – somewhere she knew from her old life. Long before then, however, Effie had to be fast asleep in her bed. Another drink was certainly required, this time laced with a little more laudanum than she had slipped into her cocktails at the bar.

  ‘How about a glass of Madeira and an early night,’ she said. ‘I noticed there was a small decanter in each of our rooms.’

  Effie sighed again, and as if she had not heard Angelica, she said, ‘I was so looking forward to dinner. I’ve heard such good things about the chef de cuisine, Auguste Escoffier.’

  ‘We have tomorrow night, Effie. We can sample Escoffier’s menu then, after a good night’s sleep.’

  Effie yawned as they reached their rooms. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, opening her door. She turned back to Angelica with a furrowed brow. ‘Did I tell you about the opera band – the James Clinton Clarinet Company? They were marvellous, too.’

  ‘Yes,’ Angelica said, ‘you told me all about them as soon as you woke me earlier. You showed me their name on the opera programme.’

  ‘Silly me – yes, I remember. My room or yours?’

  ‘Yours,’ Angelica said, opening her door, thinking that she didn’t want to have to drag Effie through the adjoining doors to her bed when she finally fell asleep. ‘Give me a few minutes and I’ll bring that glass of Madeira through.’

  Effie winked at her. ‘Sleep with me in my room tonight,’ she said. ‘I don’t like being by myself in unfamiliar places. Please say you will.’

  ‘Of course,’ Angelica said, winking back at her. She thought it could only strengthen her alibi, should one be needed. If she was lying next to Effie when they woke up in the morning, how could Effie suspect she had been anywhere other than beside her all night.

  They each went into their rooms, and as soon as Angelica closed her door behind her she went to the side table for the bottle of Madeira. The glasses that were neatly laid out on the little silver tray beside the decanter were disappointingly small, but the sweet Madeira would easily hide the laudanum’s bitter taste, and she had to be mindful not to overdo things. The laudanum she used had been blended with a greater quantity of morphine than was usual. Heaven forbid, she did not want to risk killing Effie by giving her too much. She had already had two small doses that evening. Still, it had clearly not been enough and time was not on Angelica’s side. As much as she hated herself for treating Effie like this, more drastic measures were required.

  As Angelica opened her reticule and removed her little bottle of laudanum, she told herself that it was all for the best, and that Effie would want this if she knew it was the only way they could be together. If she did not do this, if Hardy had his way, she really could not see how there could be any future for them. She set the bottle down beside the drinks tray and removed the cork stopper, then she poured as much laudanum into one of the Madeira glasses as she thought the fortified wine could disguise, roughly equal to as much as Effie had already consumed that evening. It was sure to send her straight to sleep. She poured the Madeira then, first raising her own glass to her nose and then the glass containing the laudanum. She could just about tell the difference, but she doubted Effie would be any the wiser.

  Still, she despised herself for doing it, and she loathed Jack Hardy all the more for making her do it. Again she told herself that she meant no harm by it – only good, as far as Effie was concerned. It was not at all like the time she had slipped arsenic into Violet’s afternoon tea each week when she visited Priory House. Then she had meant harm. She had wanted Violet out of the way because she seemed too wise a woman to have in her new circle of friends, and far too nosy. Such a sharp, inquisitive mind as hers might have seen through her plans and threatened them. But the arsenic had worked wonders, and it was no surprise to her that Violet began to feel so much better when she moved to Brighton, far from the poison that would eventually have killed her had she not.

  Angelica put her laudanum away again and quickly laid out her travelling clothes and boots. She removed her earrings and her pearls, understanding from her time living in East London that to venture out alone at night in such finery would only invite more trouble than she cared for. With that done, she collected the drinks tray, keeping an eye on the glass that contained the laudanum, and went through the adjoining doors to send Effie to sleep.

  She hoped it would act fast and that she would not be late for her meeting with Jack Hardy, if he was there. She had no idea whether he would take her bait, but she imagined his curiosity to hear what she had to say would be enough. By now Hardy must have thought he had won their little game and would no doubt wish to revel in his triumph, but the game was not over yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Town of Ramsgate was a watermen’s pub on Wapping High Street, with leaded-light windows and welcoming gas lamps that cast a warm amber glow on to its brick walls and the advertisements for Charrington’s ales and stout. It sat dwarfed between the tall buildings that fronted Gun Dock and the River Thames, adjacent to Wapping Old Stairs, which was a narrow passageway alongside which most of the pub’s interior ran. Angelica arrived by hansom cab with little time to spare, thankful that she no longer had to walk these streets, fearful of the shadows and the eyes of desperate men who would think nothing of beating her senseless for a few coppers if she strayed too far from the lamplight. She had thought to have the cab driver stop a short distance away, not wanting anyone to know she had been to the Town of Ramsgate that evening, but if her plan played out as intended it would not matter. It was also not worth the personal risk, however much she felt she knew these streets and the people who inhabited them.

  The cheery din coming from within the pub as Angelica stepped down from the cab and paid the driver seemed welcoming enough, but even now she was mindful that the Wapping docks were no place for a lady, and certainly not a lady alone at night. The only women she would find here were prostitutes and toothless old gin soaks who would equally try to rob her blind if she was not on her guard. As she approached the pub’s entrance, she noticed two men in the passageway, smoking pipes and talking together in hushed voices by the low light that spilled from the pub windows. One of them caught her eye and nodded to the other. He stepped away from the wall, as if to approach her, but she did not linger. Instead, she averted her eyes and hurried inside the pub to the sound of an accordion playing unfamiliar music somewhere at the far end of the bar, the player – no doubt a Russian Jew trying to earn his supper – out of sight for now.

  It took few patrons to make such a narrow pub appear busy. The bar divided the room in two along at least half its length, rendering the walkway narrower still. It made it difficult to know whether Hardy was there. She saw several men in dingy, loose-fitting suits and flat caps leaning over the bar with their pints. Others were seated at the tables beneath the windows in similar fashion, talking loudly among themselves. In the corner to her left sat an expressionless old woman sucking a pipe, and she knew there were other women further in, because although they, like the accordionist, were obscured for now, she could hear their laughter.

  But where was Jack Hardy?

  Angelica moved further in, looking from one face to the next, paying particular attention to anyone wearing a bowler hat in case Hardy was still wearing his. She found that almost everyone she looked at was already starin
g back at her, no doubt curious to know why she was there. Her long coat, though black as the night and relatively plain, was clearly of too fine a cloth; her hat and the hair beneath it too neat and tidy to mark her out as someone who had gone there to sell her pleasures for a shilling. The higher-class prostitute did not ply her trade on the streets or in places such as this. They did so from their own lodgings, or were in the employ of a single wealthy client.

  ‘Can I help you with something, miss?’ one of the men standing at the bar said. He was already smiling at her when she looked at him, and she imagined he had been doing so since she walked in. ‘Or maybe you could help me,’ he added with a wink as she drew closer, continuing towards the sound of the accordion and the laughter. ‘Like a drink, would you?’

  ‘You couldn’t afford her,’ the older man standing next to him said, laughing as he spoke. ‘Perhaps we could both chip in, eh? What do you say to that, my dear?’

  Angelica said nothing. She turned away from them and kept walking, still taking in the faces around her, caring nothing for their stares and their leering. She began to convince herself that Hardy was not there, that he did not wish to meet with her, but as she reached the end of the bar she saw him. He was sitting on an oak settle against the wall with a pint of Toby on the table before him, a young rosy-cheeked woman perched beside him, clearly to his annoyance judging by his perturbed expression. Angelica approached, drawing his attention, and although he was no doubt glad she had arrived, bringing with her his salvation from the persistent harlot beside him, he offered her no smile in greeting.

  The prostitute did give Angelica a smile, but it was not well meant. ‘This gentleman’s with me, deary,’ she said. ‘Plenty more pickings at the bar.’

  Hardy opened his mouth as if to protest, but Angelica quickly threw a shilling down on to the table. ‘That’s the easiest money you’ll make tonight,’ she said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, this gentleman and I have business to discuss.’