Tangled Webs

by Lee Bross

  “Well, there are many ships that sail all over the world, my dear. When you’re ready to go, I’m sure we can assist with proper arrangements.” Mr. Sinclair nodded his approval at his wife’s words and picked up his fork.

  “Oh, and I must take you to the bonnet shop, Ana,” Sophia said from across the table. Her eyes glinted with excitement, and something very close to mischief. Arista smiled and nodded, not at all excited about bonnet shopping.

  The family finished their meal with more conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair about trade routes and finding new crew members. Mrs. Sinclair had as many opinions as her husband, and Arista watched in fascination. Mr. Sinclair took her suggestions to heart. Even when they disagreed at one point, a spirited debate ensued instead of a fight. Arista waited with bated breath.

  “Your idea is ridiculous,” Mrs. Sinclair said at last, throwing her napkin down.

  Every muscle in Arista’s body tensed. Now the anger would come. The destruction. Something must have shown on her face, because Mr. Sinclair looked at her with concern.

  “Are you okay, Ana? I apologize for the business talk, it must all be very boring for you.”

  And just like that, the tension in the room disappeared. No one had used fists. There was nothing thrown; nothing broken.

  “Usually father and Grae talk for hours after breakfast,” Sophia said, rolling her eyes. “But my brother had to get back to the ship for something early this morning.”

  “That boy works too hard,” Marguerite said, though Arista could hear the pride in her voice. “Just like someone else I know.” Her pointed gaze wandered to her husband, but it turned soft when their eyes met.

  “Well, he must have had something important to see to, as we had plans to go over a new route I’ve been studying.” Disappointment shone in his eyes, and the pastry Arista had eaten sat like a lump of coal in her guilty stomach.

  “If you will excuse me, I’d like to get some air in the garden,” Arista said, rising to her feet.

  “I’ll come with you,” Sophia said, pushing back her chair. “And maybe later we can go look at the bonnets I told you about.”

  Not once had Arista mentioned that she needed a bonnet, yet Sophia seemed almost fixated on the errand. When they got to the garden, Arista thought, she would plead a headache and go back to her room. Once they were out of earshot, however, Sophia wound her arm through Arista’s and pulled her out into the garden through a pair of open patio doors. “You must think I am frivolous to go on about a bonnet, but…” Sophia looked over her shoulder, then leaned in conspiratorially. “There is no bonnet. Well, I suppose there is, technically, but in this case, ‘bonnet’ refers to a place I want you to see.”

  As Arista had never before had a real young lady for a friend, she had no idea if this was normal behavior. Sophia looked positively giddy with excitement, while Arista only felt shivers of apprehension. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I can read people pretty well, and I think that you and I are very similar.” Arista flashed back briefly to a different Sinclair sibling who’d said the exact same thing to her. Sophia guided her to the same bench she and Grae had sat on the night before. “What are your thoughts on arranged marriages? About women not holding positions of power? About the poor being treated as garbage, while the rich walk over them on the way to the opera?” Arista’s head swam as Sophia fired off the questions one after another.

  As Sophia waited expectedly for her answers, Arista realized that the girl actually wanted to know her thoughts. “I think unless you are a rich, overly pompous man, you get no choices in life,” she finally said.

  “Exactly!” Sophia clapped her hands together and Arista jumped. “See, I knew we were similar in our views. If you promise not to tell Mother, I have something to show you.” Sophia had leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper. “This afternoon. We’ll take a carriage ride together, and I’ll introduce you to several like-minded friends. I think you will fit right in.” Sophia grinned and her eyes sparkled.

  Arista had no idea what she had agreed to with her silence, but it made Sophia happy—and that, strangely, made Arista happy. Sophia reached out and took Arista’s hand. “I’m so very glad that you’re here, Ana.”

  Ana.

  And just like that, Arista was reminded how much of her life was a lie.

  Sophia tucked Arista’s arm into hers and they walked around to the street entrance of the garden. “I asked Tomas to bring the carriage around earlier, so we’re all ready to go.” Outside, in the bright light of day, Arista felt too exposed. People walked by as they waited for Tomas, and they made eye contact and smiled at her. They saw her. No disguise hid her features. She was neither Lady A nor an urchin boy. She was Arista.

  “Maybe we can do this another day?” she asked Sophia. Unease prickled over her skin.

  Sophia looked so disappointed that Arista forced a smile and nodded. They would go. No one would ever know her like this. What harm could it do to act like a normal person just for one day?

  The carriage pulled up to the curb and Tomas helped them in, and then she decided. Today she would simply be a girl, who wasn’t really shopping for a bonnet. Such a normal thing; it made her smile. Soon they were rocketing down Tulane Street, and the panic began to recede.

  Sophia appeared to be enjoying herself immensely—waving to a woman walking along the sidewalk, joking with the driver that he had gotten much better at avoiding pedestrians.

  Arista watched her new friend with a mixture of awe and envy. It was clear that she had never suffered by anyone’s hand. She had never been so hungry that moldy bread was a feast. Her eyes were full of an innocent light Arista’s had never had. But her openness made it hard to dislike her for her privileges. Sophia had a family, and was a highly valued member of it.

  Arista, on the other hand, had been tossed aside. Unwanted. And maybe that’s what drew her to Sophia and the girl’s delight with the world.

  “Tomas, a left here please,” Sophia said. They’d stopped at an intersection, and were waiting for a storage cart piled high with barrels to lumber through.

  “Miss?” Tomas couldn’t be much older than Sophia, but he wore the same look of warning that her father had had at the breakfast table.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I wish to shop on Cheapside instead.” Arista saw the gleam in the girl’s eyes; this detour had been the plan all along.

  The cart passed through the intersection, and Tomas turned their carriage left onto Cheapside. The street was filled with carriages, and crowds of people made it impossible to see into the shop windows from the street. Buildings loomed four or five stories high, and Arista could see the steeple of St. Paul’s Cathedral farther down the street. This area was familiar to her, as she and Nic had often ventured here to pick pockets on days like this.

  “Here is fine,” Sophia said after only a few more minutes. They both stepped down, while Tomas glared at Sophia.

  “Isn’t that laundry shop where your sweet friend works near here?” Sophia asked. Arista looked over her shoulder and saw that Tomas’s cheeks were red. Still, his gaze darted down the street to where Sophia pointed.

  “Go. I promise to be right in this very spot, at two o’clock on the dot,” Sophia said.

  Arista turned to the window of the closest shop and saw a display of bonnets and gloves. One bonnet in plain blue caught her eye. The lack of frills and decoration appealed to her. She gave herself a mental shake when Sophia grabbed her hand. A bonnet? Since when did she care about such trivial things? She turned, expecting Sophia to start down the long street of shops, but instead she pulled Arista to the edge of the sidewalk. When Arista glanced at her, Sophia’s eyes widened with excitement. Clearly she had not brought Arista to Cheapside just for bonnet shopping.

  “Thank you,” Sophia said. She linked their arms together, then looked for an opening in the heavy traffic. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

  Before she could argue or ask
what Sophia had planned, the girl jumped off the sidewalk and dragged Arista with her. A hackney swerved around them and the driver swore loudly. Sophia paused, then pulled Arista in front of a supply wagon horse, which looked half dead and moved as if it were, too. When they finally reached the relative safety of the opposite sidewalk, Arista let out a pent-up breath. “Where are we going?”

  This side of the street was just as crowded, and they were swept along for several feet before Sophia yanked Arista between two women and into an alley.

  There was an immediate change in the air. Out of the sun, the air was cooler against her skin, but a dank odor wafted through the narrow space. Arista reached for her knife, remembering too late that she had not put it on that morning before lunch. Every shadow seemed to move. She stopped and tugged on Sophia’s hand.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Arista’s gaze slid left, then right. This place would be where criminals hid in waiting. It’s where she would hide. The sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones filtered through the maze of buildings, but there were no other people taking this shortcut.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Sophia said, mistaking Arista’s hesitation for fear. “We’re nearly there. Trust me.”

  Just as Arista was starting to dig in her heels and insist they return to the street, the alley opened up onto another street, quieter than the last.

  “We’re here,” Sophia said. Her smile grew wider.

  Here appeared to be a small coffeehouse tucked between a shoemaker and a bookbinder. The sign on the plaque read LLOYD’S COFFEEHOUSE. People lounged inside, gathered around the square tables that were crowded into the space. Lively discussions were going on in every corner. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. Sophia grabbed her hand and squeezed, then pulled them inside to stand along the wall.

  “There he is,” Sophia whispered. Excited murmuring spread throughout the people gathered there.

  “Who?” Arista asked. She had never been to a coffeehouse, though she knew what often took place inside them: discussion, mostly political, mostly among men. There were no class distinctions in many of them, and Lloyd’s appeared to be the same. Arista saw fine tailored suits and threadbare cotton, silk and muslin. She and Sophia were, however, the only women in the establishment.

  “Voltaire.” Reverence filled Sophia’s voice.

  Even Arista had heard of the man in conversations at the parties she attended. He was part of the Enlightenment movement, and the aristocracy hated his message. They fought to have him silenced, because he spoke of equality and the dissolution of the classes. She had often wondered how one man could cause such resentment and fear in others.

  Until he began to speak. His soft, French-accented voice carried over the hushed crowd. He spoke of privilege and wealth and how each person, regardless of the circumstances of their birth, deserved to be treated as an equal to everyone else.

  Shouts of agreements rose above them.

  Sophia gripped her hand tighter, nodding her head. Her eyes shone with the fervor that filled the room. And Arista? Her skin prickled with excitement as she got caught up in Voltaire’s words. Never had she heard such conviction. Such belief in one’s own words. She found herself nodding, too.

  “Sophia, love, I hoped to see you here.”

  A new voice came from behind them. Sophia released Arista’s hand and swung around with a happy cry. “Louis!”

  He took her hand and bowed low, brushing his lips over her fingers. A blush rose in Sophia’s cheeks. A cocky grin split the handsome young man’s face and he stepped closer, resting a hand on her hip in a familiar way.

  “Louis, this is my house guest, Ana.”

  Louis’s gaze turned assessing as he looked over Arista. When his eyes finally stopped at her face, he stared at her unapologetically. “You have the look of a gypsy about ya. Do you read fortunes, too?” Arista froze. Nic had only ever called her “gypsy” in jest.

  “Louis!” Sophia gasped. She looked between Arista and Louis, clearly embarrassed.

  “What? We could use a fortune teller, love.” He laughed, but the emotion didn’t quite make it to his eyes. There was nothing threatening about him; he appeared relaxed enough, and made no indication that he would reach for a weapon. But instinct—a familiar feeling in her gut—told her that he wasn’t all that he appeared. The way he dressed, the threadbare wool trousers that were a little too short, the scuffed boots that looked too big, all spoke of poverty. The kind that Arista had grown up in. What was Sophia doing with someone like him?

  The crowd shifted, moving closer as one to hear what the dynamic speaker was saying. Sophia took Arista’s hand so that they would not be separated.

  “So, you’re another one for the cause, aye?” Louis leaned around Sophia and addressed Arista. At her questioning stare, Louis tugged Sophia closer. “This one believes that we are all the same, regardless of social standing. I tell her it’s a lost cause, but she refuses to listen. Them with the money won’t ever let people like me into their circles. Not that I want to rub elbows with that stuffy lot.” Sophia elbowed him, and he grunted. “Well, there are a few lovely exceptions, I admit.”

  Arista saw the way they looked at each other, and turned away. It was too intimate to watch. Voltaire continued to talk. Arista tuned out the couple and let his words wash over her.

  If enough people would rise up and denounce the way things were, he said, if they no longer accepted the boundaries of the classes, it could all begin to change. He made it sound so simple. It could have been five minutes or fifty, she was so caught up in the spell Voltaire had cast.

  “Love, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Louis said to Sophia. It wasn’t his sudden disappearance, but his tone, that piqued Arista’s interest. Resigned—to whatever it was he had to do. He didn’t want to go, that much was clear. She followed his progress as he made his way outside the crowd. Even in the thick mass spilling out of the doors, Arista knew the man that Louis had stopped to talk to.

  Wild.

  Louis pulled a thick packet from inside his jacket and handed it to the Thief Taker. Wild, in turn, gave Louis a small drawstring bag that he immediately tucked away. Arista wanted to get closer, to hear what they were saying, but she didn’t want Wild to see her. To let him know that he’d been seen.

  But now she needed to know what business Louis was conducting with the Thief Taker. It seemed too big of a coincidence that he and Sophia were on such friendly terms, while Sophia’s father owed Wild an unpaid debt. Was Louis toying with Sophia to gain some kind of information?

  He would find himself less one vital organ if Arista found out it was all a ruse. It was obvious by the way Sophia looked at him that she was in love. For the second time, Arista reached for the familiar shape of her knife handle, but it wasn’t there. The crowd suddenly became suffocating around her. Too close. Too little room to move. Stars began to dance at the edge of her vision. Ripples of tension raced up her spine.

  Louis came back and grinned as if nothing were amiss. When he caught Arista’s stare, his smile faltered. She was not one to back down. Louis swallowed visibly and took a step away from her.

  “Sophia, could we go, please? I’m feeling suddenly unwell,” Arista said. She had to get her friend away from Louis, at least until she could figure out what was going on. “It must be the crowd and the heat. I’m not used to so many people.”

  “Of course,” Sophia said right away. Her gaze moved to Louis and a wistful look crossed her face. He glanced at Arista, then lifted Sophia’s hand to his lips once more.

  “We can meet here in another two days, love. Every second will feel like forever. Nice to meet you, Ana.” With a sideways glance at Arista, he disappeared into the crowd.

  A dreamy smile drifted over Sophia’s lips as she stared at the place where Louis had been. When Sophia saw Arista watching, her cheeks turned red. “I know it’s unconventional, but I really think I love him.” Her face immediately fell. “Papa will never allow it. He’s a poe
t.”

  “How did you meet him?” Arista asked Sophia.

  She guided Sophia along the sidewalk, toward the intersection. There was no way she’d go back through the alley, not with the possibility that Wild was still nearby. She didn’t want him to know that she’d seen him meeting with Louis. Not yet.

  “Papa had business with a blacksmith a few months ago, and I talked him into letting me ride along if I promised to stay in the carriage. This very bold boy, the blacksmith’s apprentice, kept walking past, sneaking glances at me and smiling. I thought he was quite forward, and told him so. He laughed and said someone as beautiful as me must be used to stares.” Sophia looked up becomingly from under her lashes.

  He was probably trying to figure out the best way to pick your pocket.

  Arista kept the thought to herself.

  “A week later, I saw him again at the market. And then I found a poem he left—it was in a corner of the garden where I like to sit and read. A few days later, I found a note. It asked me to meet him on Lombard Street, at the coffeehouse.” She grinned at Arista. “I’m all for a grand romantic adventure, you know. That was three months ago.”

  They were at the intersection and Arista scanned the streets. There were more carriages and people on this one, and she stepped closer to Sophia. Nic used to do the same for her, to keep watch of everything around them. Looking for danger.

  It had to be Sophia’s innocence that made Arista feel this way. Sophia had no idea that there were bad people in the world, who would use her or hurt her for their own gain. Arista knew it too well. Without knowing for sure what Louis’s real intentions were, she vowed to keep an eye on her new friend.

  Louis had to have ulterior motives, especially if he knew someone like Wild. They should be easy enough to find out. All she had to do was follow him, eavesdrop, and she’d know the truth. Better that Sophia feel the sting of betrayal rather than the pain of something much worse.