The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London Book 2)

by Adele Clee

“I know if you’ve had the pox for a month likely it won’t kill you. I know not to eat stew from a man with black fingernails.”

  Despite the grave nature of her situation, Rose couldn’t help but smile. “I’m assured the garden is a treasure-trove for an apothecary eager to learn more about medicinal plants.”

  “It is if you’ve got the key.” The boy winked.

  Rose peered through the iron bars at the empty gravel path. “Is the garden closed today?” Having not the slightest interest in medicine, and being entirely the wrong sex, she’d had no cause to venture to the garden before.

  “The apothecaries and their apprentices have been and done their daily scribbling.” The boy pushed the rim of his shabby hat up with the tip of his cane. “Sometimes a gent pays to study alone if he’s got the funds and the curator’s got gambling debts to pay.”

  “I see.” A sense of trepidation washed over her.

  The boy stepped forward and unlocked the gate. “I’m to see the book before I let you inside. Master’s orders.”

  Rose reached into the pocket of her coat and removed the blue ledger. The boy flicked his finger, a sign to say he wanted to look inside. She showed him the pages of names, and he nodded as if it were an entrance ticket to a one-time show.

  “Do you always do what your master tells you?” Loyalty was often decided by whoever offered the biggest bribe.

  “I do if I want to eat.” He gestured to the gate. “You’re to wait under the cedar tree near Sir Sloane.”

  “Sir Sloane?” Was that the name the villain used to disguise his identity?

  “The statue. Follow the path to the middle. Look for the ugly gent with a wig.”

  “Are you referring to the statue or your master?”

  The boy shrugged. “You’ll see.”

  Rose opened the gate and stepped inside. The boy closed and locked it before pushing the key back into the fob pocket of his fancy waistcoat. The green garment with brass buttons caught her attention, not because a boy of his ilk couldn’t possibly afford such a piece, but because both the top and bottom buttons were missing. However, before she could ask him anything he moved away from the gate, out of view.

  Rose stared through the black metal bars. Locked inside the garden, she contemplated how Christian would gain entrance. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She’d broken free from her previous prison, but would she escape this one?

  Well, there was only one way to find out.

  Just like the night she’d stumbled upon Everleigh, the gravel crunched beneath her feet as she hurried along the path, past the beds of herbs and plants. Standing five feet wide and twenty high, one could not miss the white figure on the stone plinth. Two cedar trees flanked the walkway, and Rose stood and waited for Taylor or Wilmslow to arrive.

  She did not have to wait long.

  A figure appeared from behind the tree: a gentleman only a few inches taller than the boy. Rose scanned the line of his jaw and the breadth of his chest as he approached. A frisson of fear shuddered through her upon witnessing the stranger. When one knew their quarry, it made negotiation easier.

  “Lady Rose, it was good of you to come.” The woman’s voice pierced the tense air. “But then I suppose you had little choice in the matter. Few women understand what it is to love a man, few would be willing to do anything to keep him safe.”

  Rose stared at the face beneath the top hat, wracking her mind to think where she’d seen this woman before. With porcelain skin and ebony hair tied back in a queue, she had a childlike quality somewhat similar to Alice. Her eyes were the darkest brown though they appeared as cold, black pools devoid of life.

  “I’ve seen you once before but cannot think where.” It wasn’t at The Talbot Inn or Morton Manor. So where?

  “Then I am at an advantage.” She gestured to the path leading south towards the river. “Let us take a little walk.”

  Oliver mentioned that the apothecaries transported certain herbs and plants from exotic locations directly to the gate leading from the Thames. “Where are we going?” Heavens, if this woman had a barge waiting, Oliver and Christian would never find her.

  “To one of the potting rooms. Even though the garden is closed to visitors temporarily, we wouldn’t want to attract any undue attention.”

  She spoke so calmly, with a serene quality that belied the evil mind lurking beyond the fake facade. “And what are we to do there?”

  “We will examine the book away from prying eyes.”

  Prying eyes? There wasn’t a soul in the garden. Only the faint hum of bees and the crisp sound of their footsteps broke the silence. “Is that why we’re wearing these ridiculous clothes?”

  “Men like to think they have the monopoly on everything.” They passed beneath the thick boughs of the cedar trees, and the gate leading down to the river came into view. “They like to make rules and preach about their moral superiority. If a lady is lucky, she might find one who is not a fake or fraud.”

  When Rose thought of Christian’s fine qualities, she considered herself amongst the luckiest of ladies. She only hoped he could find a way to rescue her from this mess. The sight of the river in the distance, coupled with the slow advance along the narrow path, roused images of walking the plank. At some point, she expected to feel the tip of a sword pressed into her back, to feel the murky water filling her lungs as she tried to stay afloat.

  They approached the row of red-brick buildings to their left. Rose stopped abruptly. “What assurance do I have that you’ll not harm Lord Farleigh and his children? What assurance do I have that I’ll leave this garden alive?”

  The woman smiled. “This was never about Lord Farleigh. We want the book that’s all.”

  “We?” So the lady had an accomplice. The identity of the perpetrator was not the mystery. It was Taylor or Wilmslow — or maybe both. The reason behind their scheme is what baffled her.

  “As I said, a woman will do anything for the man she loves.”

  Rose examined the woman’s features, and recognition dawned. She tried to suppress a gasp, but it burst from her lips. She had seen this woman once before, in the churchyard of St Martin’s on the day Oliver and Nicole married.

  “Then I fear your affection is misplaced, Mrs Wilmslow.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mrs Wilmslow gave a sly chuckle. “I knew you’d work it out, eventually. You’re far too smart for a maid, though in coming here you’re clearly far too senseless for a lady.”

  Christian and Oliver were due to arrive any moment. Rose just needed a little more time. “As you said, often a woman will do anything for the man she loves. What a shame your husband sought fulfilment elsewhere.”

  “Indeed. Men can be rather shallow don’t you think?” Mrs Wilmslow appeared unperturbed by her husband’s adultery and gestured to one particular door. “Shall we?”

  “Now I would be rather foolish to step inside there.” Rose glanced at the small brick building. “I’m afraid we will have to conduct our business out here.”

  The arrogant grin on the woman’s childlike face faded. “No, we won’t. Did you hear news of the recent poisoning? With the extortionate price of sugar, a confectioner added arsenic to his sweet treats. Children cannot tell the difference and gobble them up without thought or question.”

  Rose clenched her jaw. She’d only punched a person once. Baxter had deserved more than a thump, and so did Mrs Wilmslow. “What sort of woman threatens small children? Lord above, your husband is a reverend.” Was there something in the air in Abberton that turned normal people into crazed fools?

  Mrs Wilmslow screwed up her pretty nose and bared her teeth. “Get inside.” With a flick of the wrist, the leather sheath slipped out from the end of her coat sleeve, and she drew the knife in one swift movement. “I’ll not tell you again.”

  Sunlight glinted off the metal blade, but Rose dismissed the sudden fear clawing at her throat. She had yet to play her ace card in this game of wits, and so had to t
rust that Fate would see things right.

  Mrs Wilmslow opened the door, tugged the sleeve of Rose’s coat and forced her inside.

  A sweet, aromatic smell filled the air, something strange, something Rose couldn’t quite place, though it came from the potted plants on the table to the right. Various herbs hung from a drying rack on the ceiling. A magnifying glass, jars full of soil and various scientific instruments lined the shelves.

  Mrs Wilmslow pushed her towards a crude wooden chair positioned in the centre of the room. “Sit.”

  Rose dropped into the chair and waited for direction. A heavy silence ensued. Mrs Wilmslow’s breath came quickly as she focused her attention on the door.

  “Don’t you want to see the book?” Rose scanned the room, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon.

  “All in good time.”

  It didn’t matter to Rose how long they waited.

  The clip of booted footsteps on the stone floor in the building next door captured her attention. A creak of a rusty hinge preceded the crunch of gravel. Mrs Wilmslow’s eyes lit up as a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. She rushed over and crushed the newcomer’s mouth in a kiss that spoke of lust and desperation.

  Rose sucked in a breath as the gentleman dragged his mouth from Mrs Wilmslow’s ravenous lips and stepped into the room.

  “Ah, Rose, and so we meet again.”

  “Are you here to join the party, doctor?” Though events were proceeding as Rose expected, the lack of emotion in Taylor’s cold blue eyes confirmed he was a man determined in his evil course.

  The doctor partially closed the door. “You could have avoided all this if only you’d left the book at Everleigh.”

  “But how did you know I brought the book to London?” She had not seen the doctor since the day he’d escorted her back to the house. And after today, she hoped never to see him again.

  “Servants talk. You’d be surprised how easy it is to gain information in my profession.”

  “Lord Farleigh’s staff would never betray him.” She knew all the servants at Everleigh; they respected Christian and were loyal to a fault.

  Taylor smirked. “No, not intentionally. They’re just simple folk, easy to confuse, easy to manipulate. Had you been a little more discreet when you left, I would not be standing here now.”

  Those last few moments spent at Everleigh were a blur. She’d fought an internal battle, contemplated professing her love, struggled with the pain brought about by Christian’s expression of indifference. She’d snatched the book in a hurry, and hugged it to her chest as she waved a teary goodbye to a handful of servants.

  “And pray what brings you here?” Disdain marked her tone now. “What is so special about a few words and numbers that would make a man disregard his integrity?”

  Taylor jerked his head back but then laughed. “Do you think integrity puts food on the table? Do you think that having ethical principles makes it easier to find your way in the world?”

  “So this is about money?” The need to know why burned in Rose’s chest. The look of adoration in Mrs Wilmslow’s eyes forced her to doubt her initial assessment. “Or is it about love?”

  Taylor cast Mrs Wilmslow a sidelong glance. “It’s about doing what is necessary to survive.”

  From the quality of the doctor’s clothes, the man was by no means struggling.

  “And so you’ve spent two years persuading Lord Farleigh’s staff to drink your mysterious potions, making them sick, making them better again.” No doubt using skills he’d acquired in the apothecaries’ guild. “Why? To survive?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Rose lifted her chin. “A woman will do whatever it takes to protect the man she loves. In coming here, I think I deserve an explanation.”

  Taylor folded his arms across his chest and gave a mocking snort. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Would I have asked if I didn’t?” She tried to keep her voice even, tried to disguise the tremble that conveyed fear. If Taylor told her the truth, it meant he had no intention of letting her leave.

  “Very well.” The doctor held out his hand. “Pass me the book, and I shall tell you.”

  Rose reached into her coat and removed the small ledger. Dr Taylor’s eyes brimmed with excitement and perhaps a hint of relief. He stepped forward and snatched it from her hand. A brief silence ensued while he scanned the pages, though he muttered a curse when he came to the paper pocket at the back and found it empty.

  “What’s wrong?” Mrs Wilmslow asked as Taylor rifled through the book.

  With a growl of frustration, he held the ledger at one corner and shook it violently as if he were throttling the life out of some poor creature. “Where is it?” Taylor’s expression darkened.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean.” And she didn’t. Truly.

  “Where’s the damned letter?” Taylor skimmed through the pages one more time, tore the pocket from the back cover, scrunched it in his hand and threw it to the floor. “Don’t play games with me.”

  Confused, Rose wasn’t sure how to answer. “Are you referring to the letters written by the reverend and sent to Lady Farleigh?”

  “Obviously not,” Taylor snapped. “Why would I have any interest in Wilmslow’s immoral antics? What I want is the letter from Miss Stoneway’s aunt?”

  Rose put her hand to her chest. “On my life, I have not seen the document.” Panic flared. She’d spent twenty minutes copying every address listed in the back of the book, and the names of every person mentioned. Were her efforts in vain?

  Mrs Wilmslow turned to him. “Mr Watson must have removed it, hidden it somewhere else.”

  “Impossible.” Taylor threw the book onto the wooden table, knocking over a pot of soil. “I ripped the manor apart before Stanton purchased the damn place. It has to be at Everleigh.”

  “I can assure you it is not. I found the book in my room, hidden underneath the chest of drawers.” She knew not to mention Jacob. “From the dust and cobwebs, it had been there for some time.”

  “That blasted bitch,” Taylor spat. He flung his top hat at the wall and shoved his hands through his mop of golden hair, tugging at the roots as if determined to pull out every strand.

  Mrs Wilmslow placed a hesitant hand on his arm. “Perhaps this is good news. Perhaps Watson never got around to giving it to Lady Farleigh, and the letter perished in the fire.”

  “But you searched both bodies.” Taylor spoke without thought.

  A gasp of horror burst from Rose’s mouth. “You killed Lady Farleigh and Mr Watson?”

  Taylor glared at her. “I may be guilty of fraud, but I’m not a murderer.”

  Mrs Wilmslow grinned. “Lady Farleigh was already dazed from the effects of the laudanum when she arrived at the cottage.” Arrogance dripped from every word. “And Mr Watson certainly didn’t expect me to wallop him with a cudgel.”

  The woman was insane, a prime candidate for Bedlam. If anyone deserved to be locked away in Morton Manor, it was Mrs Wilmslow.

  “But why set the cottage ablaze? What possible reason could you have for killing two innocent people?”

  “Innocent? Watson was a thief and a traitor,” Mrs Wilmslow scoffed. “Lady Farleigh was a jezebel who seduced my husband. No woman wants to suffer that sort of humiliation.”

  Taylor brought Mrs Wilmslow’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “It doesn’t matter. Once we’ve dealt with this, we’ll be free to leave Abberton for good.”

  And with any luck, they were destined for the scaffold at Newgate.

  “What are we to do now?” Mrs Wilmslow’s eyes shone with affection for the doctor.

  Taylor took hold of the woman’s chin. “We have the book. Now no one can trace the relatives. There’s no proof I took money to falsify documents.”

  “And what if someone finds the letter?”

  “Without the book, the authorities will struggle to gain evidence. Miss Stoneway is no longer with us. And I doubt th
e aunt would confess to fraud now Mr Watson is dead.”

  Had they forgotten she sat there listening to every word?

  “And what about me?” Rose prayed that Christian arrived soon. This sorry pair had already killed three people. One more would hardly make a difference. “Am I to suffer the same fate as Miss Stoneway?”

  Dr Taylor turned to face her. “Miss Stoneway died of natural causes brought about by her condition, although I must admit I’m rather thankful. I’m afraid your fate lies with that of Lady Farleigh.”

  Lord, he really was a cold-hearted blackguard. Mrs Hibbet would forever punish herself for her failure to notice the signs.

  Rose steeled herself. “Well, we have a problem on numerous counts.” She glanced briefly at the silver blade in Mrs Wilmslow’s hand. “I think your plan may have a few flaws.”

  Taylor snorted. “There is little point trying to bide time. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to leave.”

  “Then I take it your offer of marriage no longer stands.” Rose knew it had been a ploy to gain her trust.

  Mrs Wilmslow’s face turned beetroot red. “You asked her to marry you? What about me?”

  “It was merely a comment made in passing.”

  Rose frowned. “So I’m not the only intelligent woman in Abberton?”

  “Playing games will not save you now,” Taylor said, ignoring both her question and Mrs Wilmslow’s angry stare.

  “Perhaps not, but I copied every address before I left home this afternoon.”

  Taylor paused. “Out of context, the names and addresses mean nothing.” His rapid blinking suggested otherwise.

  “My brother read your note this morning. He knows where I am and will be here any minute.” Well, she prayed he would. The roads were a hazard day and night. Stray sheep and cattle, carriages with broken wheels, and spooked horses were just a few problems one might encounter.

  Mrs Wilmslow flashed the knife. “Then we’d best get on with it before he gets here. Lucky for us, the gate is locked.”

  Rose sucked in a breath. “And what of the brass buttons found on the victims? Lord Farleigh has them as evidence.” She said it to stall them, but the look of shock on the doctor’s face convinced her the buttons held some importance.