The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  “I see,” Hugo said as he got up to leave. “Thank you for seeing me, Magdalen. I do wish you well, and hope we will see each other again before too long.”

  “You are always welcome here, my lord. Percy will be sorry to have missed you.”

  Hugo took Magdalen’s hand and kissed it respectfully before walking out the door. Magdalen hadn’t said anything he hadn’t suspected himself, but hearing it from her did make him feel somewhat lighter. Perhaps she was right, and he should leave Clarence be. The boy was old enough to know his own mind, and putting pressure on him would accomplish little of value. Until he was ready to see that Jane had made her own bed, there wasn’t much he could do, nor would he apologize for getting married and siring an heir despite Jane’s hopes that her son would remain his beneficiary. He’d apologized for his behavior long enough; now he had to look to the future and see his family safe.

  Chapter 49

  Archie slowly approached the house in Cheapside. It was in Bow Lane, one of the narrow side streets off the main thoroughfare, and not at all far from Bradford Nash’s house. Archie had considered his plan of action as he walked over, but still had no idea where to begin. Simply knocking on the front door would not get him the answers he needed, and watching the house would accomplish little since he couldn’t see inside, and the weather was too foul for anyone to be out. Archie stopped across the street and looked up at the damp façade for a few minutes before he spotted a serving girl stepping out with a shopping basket slung over her arm. She looked up at the gray sky and huddled deeper into her shawl, ready to brave the elements.

  Archie approached the girl with a bright smile. “Hello, my pretty,” he called out, leaving enough space between them so as not to make her feel threatened. Having a strange man approach a woman in an empty street rarely boded well for the woman in question, and the last thing Archie wanted to do was spook her or give her reason for alarm. The maid was in her twenties, with a rosy complexion and merry eyes. She raised her chin defiantly in an effort to show that she wasn’t afraid, but instinctively took a step back toward the house just in case.

  “Hello, yourself,” the girl finally answered. “Looking for someone, luv?” She remained standing in front of the house where she could dash back inside should the situation demand it. Archie didn’t blame her; a woman on her own was never truly safe, not even in some of the better areas of London.

  “Yes,” Archie replied, improvising on the spot. “A man of law used to live here. Gideon Warburton. I am in need of some legal counsel, and he comes highly recommended.”

  The girl shrugged. “Never heard of him, but then, I’m fairly new here. Came down from Lincoln with my master and his family not six months ago.”

  “Is he a man of law, your master?” Archie asked hopefully.

  “Oh, no. He’s a silversmith. Has a shop two streets over. Master Forsythe is his name. He might not be a man of law, but he does fairly well for himself, that I can tell you. Well enough to afford this grand house. This is a right palace compared to the modest dwelling him and his lady had in Lincoln.”

  “That must be nice for them,” Archie commented, eager to keep her going. He could see that she welcomed the chance to vent her ire, and was only too eager to listen. People often revealed more than they intended when allowed to talk, especially if the listener appeared sympathetic.

  “Nice for them it is. Not so nice for the rest of us. Three times as much to clean and dust, and all for the same meager wage. And now them be wanting to eat like the nobility too. No more pottage and stew for the likes of Master Forsythe. Oh no. Cook sends me to the market near every day in search of choice cuts of meat and fresh fish. The master desires a more sophisticated table to impress his new friends. Well, ‘tis only himself he seems to be impressing.”

  “Aye, it must be hard for you, lass,” Archie agreed, nodding his head. “A comely thing like you should have her own home and hearth to tend to, not some master’s.”

  The girl’s expression instantly soured. Archie had clearly hit a sore spot. “Well, I should, shouldn’t I, but my sweetheart let me go off to London without so much as a by your leave, he did. Said he wasn’t ready to be wed. So, no; I don’t have my own home and hearth, and won’t for some time. Now, what of you? Are you a married man?” she asked, suddenly recognizing the opportunity and making the decision not to let it pass her by. She was a fiery thing, Archie would give her that, but it was time to take himself off. There was nothing more of value he could learn from this serving girl.

  “I am to be wed next month, as it happens, and it’s rather fortuitous that your master is a silversmith as I am in need of a ring for my future wife,” he confided, lowering his voice. He felt momentary pity for the look of disappointment in the girl’s eyes, but she’d get over it soon enough. She was too pretty to remain alone for long.

  “Best of luck to you then,” the girl replied as she began walking away, the handsome stranger suddenly not nearly as interesting. Archie noted her rigid back and hurried step. She’d assumed he was interested in her and probably felt humiliated by his perceived rejection. Archie turned on his heel and began to walk in the opposite direction. Her feelings were of no consequence to him.

  Archie returned to Cheapside and found Forsythe’s shop in mere minutes. The man was standing behind the counter, having just opened up for business. Archie liked him on sight despite what his maid said. He was portly and balding, but had a welcoming smile and a twinkle in his eye, indicating a friendly nature. It was always easier to glean information from a person who was willing to talk rather than some surly sod who was much harder to engage in conversation.

  “Good morrow,” the silversmith said as Archie entered the shop. “How may I be of service?”

  The shop was small and dim, but it looked clean, and the wooden counter and heavy armoire made up of rows of little drawers shone with polish. A workbench was situated in the corner closest to the window where the man must make his wares. Several unfamiliar tools were on display, and scraps of silver littered the surface.

  “I am to be married, and need a wedding ring for my betrothed,” Archie replied as he approached the counter.

  “You’ve come to the right place then, my good man. I have several different styles to choose from. Do you know her size?”

  “Her ring finger is the same size as my little finger,” Archie supplied, holding up his hand.

  “Splendid. And what type of ring did you have in mind? Would your lady prefer something delicate or something more substantial, with perhaps some gemstones or an engraved pattern?”

  Archie gave this question some thought. Frances would probably like something dainty. Her hands were small with long, graceful fingers so a heavy band would look out of place.

  “I think perhaps something delicate,” Archie replied. “But I am sure she’d like a bit of decoration as well.”

  “Allow me to show you what I have.” The man turned toward the armoire and opened a few drawers, extracting several different rings. They were beautiful pieces with intricate patterns, some set with stones. Perhaps buying a ring for Frances wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d placed a plain silver circlet on her finger when they wed, but Frances deserved something prettier, something that reflected her personality rather than just a plain, unadorned band. Archie considered all the rings and reached for a thin band of lacy filigree. He slid it onto his little finger and held up his hand to examine the effect. Frances would like it; he was sure of that.

  “I’ve never noticed your shop before,” Archie said as he continued to turn his hand this way and that.

  “Oh, I am new to these parts,” the man said, clearly eager to talk. “Came down from Lincoln.”

  “I’ve been there just the once. Beautiful cathedral,” Archie replied eagerly. He’d never been to Lincoln, but had heard of its famed cathedral and knew that people from the city were very proud of it.

  “Oh, indeed it is. One of the most beautiful in England, I would venture
to say,” Master Forsythe agreed.

  “What brought you to London?” Archie asked casually as he set the filigree ring aside and chose another one to try on. “That’s quite a long way.”

  The silversmith grew visibly uncomfortable, his eyes shifting away from Archie. “Oh, personal reasons.”

  Whatever the man had done didn’t interest Archie. He was just making conversation and had no desire to pry. Archie nodded as if he understood only too well and lifted his hand to admire the ring he was trying on. “Were you able to find a residence nearby? This part of town is so populated, difficult to find decent accommodation.”

  “Oh, yes.” The man brightened, eager to continue chatting. “I bought a house two streets over, and for a very reasonable price. One man’s loss is another man’s gain, aye?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Master Covington, from whom I’d purchased the house, had recently lost his wife, and found it unbearable to remain in the home they’d made together. Sold the house with everything in it. Wanted a fresh start, he said. We did bring some bits and pieces with us from up north, but only what we could load in the wagon. Imagine getting all the furniture, household goods, and even paintings without having to spend a fortune,” the silversmith exclaimed, clearly still amazed by his good luck.

  “Fortuitous, indeed. And what became of Master Covington?”

  “He said he was sailing to the American Colonies in April. Had the passage already arranged.” The man scratched his balding head as if trying to remember something. “The ship had an odd name. Now, what was it? Ah, yes, the Persephone. Never heard of such a name in all my life.”

  “An odd sounding name if I’ve ever heard one,” Archie agreed. “I’ll take this one,” he said picking up the filigree band again.

  “A splendid choice. Your lady will be most pleased. Shall I package it up for you or will you wear it?”

  “Package it up, Master Forsythe,” Archie replied as he paid for his purchase. He watched as the silversmith placed the ring into a small pouch made of soft leather and handed it to Archie. Archie felt a momentary glow as he imagined giving the ring to Frances and stuffed his purchase deep into the pocket of his coat. He’d have to wait for Franny’s reaction until returning home tomorrow.

  Chapter 50

  Archie inhaled the aroma of roast mutton as the plate was placed in front of him by a serving wench, grateful for a good meal to sink his teeth into. He’d forgotten to get a pork roll that morning and was ravenously hungry. Hugo didn’t appear to be as impressed with his meal as Archie, but he did drain his mug of ale and held it out for a refill. Archie couldn’t quite gauge his mood after the visit to Mistress James, so decided not to ask. Hugo’s visit to Magdalen was on private business, and if he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  “Have you learned anything, Archie?” Hugo asked as he took a bite of his meal and chewed thoughtfully. Hugo never fell on his food, even if he were starving; a true mark of a gentleman in Archie’s opinion. Archie wanted to devour his mutton, but had to restrain himself to one mouthful before replying to Hugo’s question.

  “Julian Covington sold Gideon’s house some months ago. The buyer got the lot: furniture, household goods, and even pictures. Seems Covington didn’t wish to keep anything. Told the buyer that he’d lost his wife and couldn’t bear to remain in the house.”

  “Is that all?” Hugo asked, his face dropping in disappointment.

  “No, there’s more,” Archie said through a mouthful of mutton. “He said he was sailing to the American Colonies in April, on a ship called the Persephone.”

  Archie was gratified to see a change come over Hugo as he put down his knife and spoon, his mouth stretching in a satisfied smile. Clearly, this information meant something.

  “What did I say?” Archie asked, surprised by the reaction from his master.

  “Plenty. Brad mentioned that Gideon sailed to the New World on a ship called the Persephone. It’s a strange coincidence that Master Covington should mention the same vessel.”

  “Strange name, too,” Archie mused. “Doesn’t sound English.”

  “It’s not. It’s from Greek mythology. Persephone was the goddess of the Underworld.”

  “Even stranger then,” Archie observed. “Why would you want to name a ship after someone who is known to rule over the dead? I’d think that’s inviting bad luck, don’t you?”

  Hugo shrugged, unimpressed with Archie’s theory. He was lost in thought. “April, you said?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’d like to have a word with this Julian Covington. Or rather, I’d like you to have a word with him; see what type of man he is.”

  “And what shall I ask him, should I find him? He’s not likely to tell me outright if he’d done something to defraud Master Warburton,” Archie pointed out reasonably.

  “No, I don’t suppose he is,” Hugo agreed as he returned to his meal, now eating with more relish.

  “Shall I use more persuasive methods?” Archie asked innocently.

  “Use whatever methods you see fit,” Hugo replied. “I trust your good judgment, Archie. I would like to return home tomorrow, so perhaps today would be a good day to start making your enquiries.”

  “In that case, I’d like another serving of mutton. Making enquiries is hungry work,” Archie grumbled. He hadn’t liked Gideon Warburton, nor did he care what befell him. True, the man had agreed to help Hugo, but he was handsomely paid for his services. He reminded Archie of a dead pig — his beady eyes devoid of any emotion and his body dumpy and shapeless. And it wasn’t just his appearance that put Archie off; there was just something about the man he didn’t trust, even if he was Master Nash’s kin by marriage.

  Archie prided himself on being a student of human nature and someone who took notice of things others might not. He didn’t care to bring this up with Hugo, but there was something about Gideon Warburton that struck him as odd. It wasn’t just his appearance; it was something in his demeanor. Lady Everly was not the type of woman most men would look through, but the man hardly gave her a glance, instead focusing most of his attention on Bradford Nash and Lord Everly. It was normal that he should, them being his clients, but it was the way he was looking at them. There was a spark of interest there – sexual interest, especially when he glanced at Bradford. Hugo had mentioned that Julian Covington bore a striking resemblance to Bradford Nash. Was that significant? Archie wondered.

  “You are not doing it for Gideon Warburton; you are doing it for me,” Hugo clarified, as if reading Archie’s thoughts. “I can’t rest easy knowing that a man took his life because of me. I must know what really happened.”

  Archie gave Hugo a nod of acquiescence, not wishing to discuss the subject any further. Sod Gideon Warburton, he thought savagely. I just want to get back to my Franny.

  Chapter 51

  After four fruitless hours of going from tavern to tavern, the only thing that Archie could claim was that he was footsore and annoyed. Either Julian Covington was a man who didn’t frequent public houses, or he used another name. Or, perhaps he’d left London already, having changed his plans. It was the end of March, so ships had started sailing across the Atlantic. Mayhap the man was in a rush to leave England, and the memories of his wife, if he ever had one, behind. Archie had been to at least a dozen taverns around Cheapside and Blackfriars; perhaps he needed to go farther afield. Five more taverns, and he was calling it a day. Hugo would just have to accept that the man was not to be found in one afternoon, if at all.

  The rain of that morning had cleared up during the afternoon, but a chill breeze blew off the Thames, and the temperature dropped once it began to grow dark. The raw damp of being close to the river penetrated Archie’s cloak and made him feel unusually cold, the reek of wet mud and rotting fish infuriating him further. It never got this cold in Surrey in his opinion, nor did it smell as bad, but then again, he rarely just walked around for hours searching for a needle in a haystack. Archie pulled his ha
t lower over his eyes and huddled deeper into his cloak, as he continued down the street in search of his next stop.

  Two more taverns yielded no results. It was getting near to supper time, and Archie found that despite two helpings of mutton at noon, he was hungry. Thirsty too. He would eat at the next tavern and then visit a few more and go back to Bradford’s house. He continued toward the Strand and was glad to see the sign for the Lamb and Flag tavern a few feet up ahead. He’d try that one. Warm light spilled into the darkened street, and the smell of food wafted through the door as it opened and closed, disgorging patrons into the street. Although it seemed that more people were going in than out. This was the time of day when working people finally closed up their shops and abandoned their stalls, and headed home or to their favorite pubic house for some supper and a well-earned rest.

  Archie sighed with pleasure as he stepped into the smoky warmth of the Lamb and Flag. This tavern wasn’t as dingy as some of the others, the patrons being men of means rather than just poor folk who could ill-afford a tankard of ale. It smelled much like any other tavern, of spilled ale and too many bodies, but the customers were somewhat better dressed, and several wore curly periwigs, a sure sign that this tavern catered to a more refined clientele.

  Archie spotted an empty table in the corner and made his way over, eager to sit down after walking for so long. He smiled to himself ruefully as he realized how disgruntled he felt. It wasn’t like him to be so out of sorts, and he had to grudgingly admit that he was angry to be away from Frances for so long. They hadn’t been apart for any length of time since he fetched her from the convent in the woods on their way to France, and had shared a house with her every single day since then. This was their first separation, and he was feeling the pangs of homesickness, not a feeling he was readily familiar with.