by Holly West
“Saturday? That was three days ago! Why did his household wait so long to report it?”
Mrs. Abbott appeared flummoxed by my strong reaction, but I didn’t care. “I’m sorry, Lady Wilde, but I don’t know anything else.”
“Please, Lady Wilde,” Madame Laverne said. “There are others waiting.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Abbott.” Reluctantly, I got up and went behind the screen to find my new gown hanging on a hook. It was made of silk the color of fresh green apples and the skirt opened at the front, exposing a petticoat of cream-colored damask. Pink ribbons accented the sleeves, bust and waist. It had delighted me the first time I’d seen it, but now I barely glanced at it.
Madame Laverne stepped behind the screen to help me. I could still hear the ladies’ conversation.
“I heard he was deep in debt and ran away to escape his creditors,” someone said.
God’s wounds, I thought. The only thing in London that moved faster than the fog was gossip.
“That’s the story on everybody’s lips, but my husband claims it’s impossible.” Mrs. Abbott’s voice. “Sir Edmund managed his affairs scrupulously.”
“I have it on good authority that Sir Edmund ran off with Mrs. Offley. You know her husband left her a fortune when he died. God knows it’s the only way she could get another man.”
“And whose authority is that, Lady Widmark?” said Mrs. Abbott. “Sir Edmund would do no such thing.”
“I’ve heard tell he visited a fortuneteller, looking for counsel,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. I stiffened and strained to hear more. A visit to a soothsayer was no uncommon thing, but given the circumstances, the suggestion that it might’ve been Mistress Ruby who Sir Edmund visited was worrying.
“You should all be ashamed of yourself for spreading such wicked gossip,” Mrs. Abbott said. Good, I thought. I hoped that would be the end of any talk of fortunetellers.
Lady Widmark huffed. “I’m only reporting the news as I’ve heard it. Don’t blame me if it doesn’t suit you.”
“The family suspects the Catholics are responsible,” Mrs. Abbott continued. “They say Sir Edmund got too involved with them and they murdered him.”
“Sir Edmund’s been too friendly with the Catholics for years,” Lady Widmark said. “He didn’t heed anybody’s warnings and he treated them like they were law-abiding citizens when he should’ve been throwing the lot of them into the gaol. Now look what’s happened.”
“Nonsense! The Catholics are just misled souls, same as any of the nonconformists. It’s up to us good Christians to educate them.”
I glanced at Madame Laverne, who, as a Frenchwoman, was almost certainly Catholic. She said nothing; clearly she knew that in matters of religion, it was best to keep quiet.
“I say throw them all in Newgate Prison where they belong.” I came out from behind the screen just as Lady Widmark finished this sentence.
I stepped onto the platform, followed by Madame Laverne. She examined me with an approving smile and kissed her fingers. “C’est magnifique! The color is perfect for you. Now, let us see what needs adjusting. Marie, vous m’aiderez.”
Marie stepped forward with Madame Laverne’s pincushion and they began pulling and pinning the fabric so tightly I could only breathe in short bursts. I tried to concentrate on the conversation of the other patrons but it was impossible. Finally, Madame Laverne stepped back and kissed her fingers again.
“There, it is done. It will be ready on Thursday morning.” Madame Laverne always kept her promises, so I accepted her word without question. Not that it mattered. I was so troubled by Mrs. Abbott’s news, I no longer cared what I wore to the play.
Chapter Eight
A strange numbness overcame me as I traveled home from Madame Laverne’s shop. Making sense of Sir Edmund’s sudden disappearance and what it might mean was impossible. I drifted along the Strand toward my house in bewilderment.
Sam met me at the door. “Have you heard the news?”
I nodded and moved past him into the drawing room. “How did you find out?”
“I went to his residence again today but they wouldn’t tell me anything, just that he wasn’t there. On my way home I stopped at a tavern for a quick bite and learned he’d been missing since Saturday.”
“D’ye think he’s dead?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But if we’re to have any chance of finding him alive, we’d better do it fast.”
There was no sense in sending Sam back to Sir Edmund’s residence—if the household hadn’t told him anything during his earlier visit, they probably wouldn’t divulge anything now. I would have to go myself if I hoped to learn anything.
Sir Edmund lived in a stately redbrick home on Hartshorn Lane, a bustling street off of Charing Cross that led down to the river. The narrow lane was crowded with tradesmen’s carts, and Elijah had to navigate carefully in order to avoid hitting people. As I made my way up to the front door alone, a worker carrying a large wooden crate nearly trampled me.
“Watch yerself!” he growled.
I lifted the heavy metal knocker and let it fall. A few moments passed before a pretty young servant girl opened the door.
“I’m Lady Wilde, a friend of Sir Edmund’s,” I said. “I’ve just heard he’s missing and I had to know for myself what happened.”
She gave me a questioning look—I was a stranger to her, after all—before finding her manners. “Would you like to speak to the housekeeper?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
She invited me to sit in the drawing room and left me to wait while she announced my visit. The room was paneled in dark oak and filled with solid, well-made furniture. The windows were bordered by heavy wine-colored velvet drapes and formal portraits of Godfrey ancestors adorned the walls.
Soon, a short, round woman greeted me. She appeared to be many years older than me, and wore a plain blue linen dress with a white apron. A neat white cap topped her head and delicate gray curls peeked out from under it. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though she’d been crying. She introduced herself as Mrs. Pamphlin.
“Please forgive the intrusion at such a delicate time,” I said. “Sir Edmund did business with my husband for many years and when I heard about his disappearance, I was beside myself with worry.” In truth, the only business Sir Ian had ever engaged in was gambling and whoring, but I hoped Mrs. Pamphlin wouldn’t be familiar enough with Sir Edmund’s business dealings to question my story.
Mrs. Pamphlin asked the servant girl, who she called Charlotte, to bring us some sherry. “Sir Edmund’s brother Michael is out, I’m afraid,” she told me. “As you can imagine, we’re all overcome with concern for Sir Edmund.”
“You’re not alone,” I said. “He has a great many friends, my husband among them.”
“Wilde,” she said and then paused. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall the name. But as you say, Sir Edmund is well regarded and has business with a great many persons.”
“I confess it was some years ago that my husband knew him. I’ve been a widow these six years past, but I know my husband would want me to come see you—he thought so highly of Sir Edmund.”
“You’re kind to say it,” she said.
Charlotte returned with a tray holding a flagon of sherry and two cups. Mrs. Pamphlin poured and handed me one.
“Have there been any clues about Sir Edmund’s whereabouts?” I took a delicate sip of the sherry. It was of middling quality but had a sweet, nutty flavor.
“None at all,” she said, taking a rather large gulp from her own cup. “Oh, there’ve been reports, but nothing indicating with certainty where he is.”
“Where was he last seen?”
“He left on Saturday morning at about nine o’clock, off to do some judicial business. Later, Mr. Parsons, the carriage maker—do you know him? He said Sir Edmund asked him for directions to Primrose Hill. It surprised all of us to hear it, for none of us knew him to have any business so far afield.”
&nbs
p; Primrose Hill was a remote, rural area located some distance outside of London. The note Sir Edmund had left me at Coal Yard Alley said a meeting was scheduled on the day he’d disappeared, but didn’t indicate where. Perhaps it had been Primrose Hill.
“Did Sir Edmund tell Mr. Parsons why he was going?” I asked.
Mrs. Pamphlin shook her head. “When Mr. Parsons inquired, Sir Edmund told him it was none of his affair. As I’m sure you know, such rudeness is out of character for Sir Edmund. He must’ve been quite agitated to speak thusly, even to a mere acquaintance.”
Having finished her sherry, Mrs. Pamphlin reached for the decanter and offered it to me. I declined. She poured herself another hefty portion. “Have you met Mr. Moor?”
“No.”
“He’s been Sir Edmund’s secretary these twenty years past. He certainly would’ve known your husband.”
I hoped Mr. Moor was not in the house, for unless he was a frequent visitor to London bawdy houses, he surely wouldn’t remember Sir Ian Wilde.
“Mr. Moor explored the area around Primrose Hill yesterday to see if he could find anything, but there was no sign of Sir Edmund.”
If Mrs. Pamphlin questioned the wisdom of relaying so much information to a stranger, she gave no hint of it. Perhaps the sherry she was drinking now hadn’t been her first of the day.
“The news of Sir Edmund’s disappearance has traveled quickly through town,” I said. “You’re certain to have more visitors.”
Mrs. Pamphlin set her cup on the table next to her chair. “I don’t want any more visitors. I’ve had to withstand the most awful people coming to the door. Oh, they pretend to be sorry, but then they say the most awful things—that Sir Edmund was involved in a plot to murder the king!”
Word had indeed spread quickly. The announcement of Sir Edmund’s disappearance was made only hours ago. And if Lord Danby had hoped to keep news of the Catholic conspiracy a secret, he’d failed spectacularly. “You know how people talk,” I said. “Anyone who knows Sir Edmund would never believe such a thing.”
“I try to tell myself that,” she said, “but given the circumstances it’s little consolation. Oh, that’s not to say we haven’t had friends visit. And d’ye know, the Duke of Buckingham himself came to express his concern earlier today.”
“How kind of him,” I said, somewhat surprised. Why would a person of Buckingham’s stature bother to visit Sir Edmund’s household? Sir Edmund was popular, but he was, after all, only a public servant.
A man of perhaps sixty emerged from a closed door on the far left side of the drawing room. Mrs. Pamphlin stood up, flustered.
“Lady Wilde, this is Mr. Moor, Sir Edmund’s secretary. Lady Wilde’s late husband did business with Sir Edmund,” she explained.
Mr. Moor bowed stiffly, but when he straightened, the hard look in his eye suggested my presence was unwelcome. I wondered how much of our conversation he had heard.
“I’m expecting a messenger with papers detailing some of Sir Edmund’s affairs,” he said to Mrs. Pamphlin. “Please admit him to the office when he arrives.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Will you stay and take refreshment with Lady Wilde and me?”
“I’ve no time for that, Mrs. Pamphlin, and you would do well to resume your own work. It’s imperative that Sir Edmund’s house is in order when he returns.” He bowed again in my direction. “Good day, Lady Wilde.”
Mrs. Pamphlin glanced at me apologetically. “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Moor is right. There are many tasks to complete, and I should get back to work.”
I gave her no argument, for with Mr. Moor in the house I was no longer comfortable continuing our conversation. She accompanied me to the door and I squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“I’ll pray for Sir Edmund’s safe return,” I said.
* * *
Parsons & Son Coach Makers occupied a small storefront on the ground floor of a three-story building on Tuthill Street. I entered the shop and the masculine odors of wood, paint, and leather greeted me. Wood samples of different colors hung on the walls and bolts of expensive-looking fabrics stood in bins, displayed so a buyer could order a carriage exactly to his liking.
When I married Sir Ian, Charles had presented me with a brand new carriage and six horses, along with the house. Within months, however, Sir Ian sold it to help pay off his gambling debts. I angrily vowed to myself I’d someday have another, and after I began working as Mistress Ruby I purchased a used carriage and four as soon as I could afford it.
A young man came from behind his desk at the rear of the shop and walked toward Sam and me. He was short and stocky and his skin had a youthful tone that suggested he’d only recently finished his boyhood. As he approached, his face broke into a wide grin.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I said. “I’m Lady Wilde—”
He bowed deeply. “Of course m’lady, I thought it was you. ’Tis an honor to have so fine a person as yourself in this humble shop.”
His response wasn’t entirely surprising. Many of the king’s mistresses enjoyed a degree of notoriety greater than some of the members of the royal family. While I wasn’t the most well known of the king’s lovers, I was frequently recognized. I hoped that this time it would at least help me get some information.
“You flatter me, sir,” I said, smiling. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Parsons, if I may.”
“I’m Mr. Parsons.”
Surely this man was too young to be the person I sought. “I should’ve been more clear. I’d like to speak to the elder Mr. Parsons.”
“My father died two years ago, Lady Wilde,” he said, puffing out his chest a little. “But don’t worry, we make the same quality carriages we always have. It’s fortunate you caught me. I was just closing up for the day. Would you like to look at some drawings?”
“I have some questions about my friend, Sir Edmund Godfrey. You were the last person to see him, were you not?”
He frowned, apparently disappointed he wouldn’t be making a sale. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “But I did see Sir Edmund on Saturday. I reported it to Constable Blythe as soon as I heard he was missing.”
“Where exactly did you see him?”
“It was along the road to Oxford. I’d just delivered a carriage to a merchant in the area, and Sir Edmund happened by and asked me for directions to Primrose Hill.”
“Did he say why he wanted to go there?”
“No, and I didn’t think it polite to ask.”
Mrs. Pamphlin had said Parsons did ask, but that Sir Edmund had rudely declined to answer. Was Parsons too embarrassed to admit his blunder to me or was he covering something up?
“I told all of this to Constable Blythe.” Parsons made a show of checking his pocket watch. “It’s getting late and my wife’s expecting me for supper.”
“I do appreciate your time, Mr. Parsons,” I said. “If you could just spare a few more minutes. You can be sure I’ll recommend your shop to all of my friends and acquaintances.”
Whether he thought my patronage was worth his time, I couldn’t tell. But he gave a deep sigh and crossed his arms in front of him. “Go on,” he said.
“Did Sir Edmund seem worried or frightened at all?”
“What would a grown man have to be afraid of at ten o’clock in the morning, m’lady?”
His insolence irritated me, but I held my tongue. “How well acquainted are you with Sir Edmund?” I asked instead.
“I’ve known him since I was a child. My father did business with him for years, but after I inherited the shop I found a cheaper wood merchant to buy from.”
“I expect Sir Edmund was sorry to lose your business.”
“It’s true he was a bit insulted when I tried to negotiate a lower price,” Parsons said. “But things remained friendly enough between us.” He looked at his watch again. “Please, Lady Wilde, I must close up the shop now.”
He didn’t seem to have more to tell anyway and I left his shop, frustrated. I had no
more information now than when I first came.
Chapter Nine
I desperately hoped that Sir Edmund would come to Coal Yard Alley that night. He was clearly in trouble and it wasn’t unreasonable that he’d seek further counsel, even if he hadn’t come in the past three days.
Sam lit the fire, then sat down on the bench across from me and dealt two hands of All Fours. We began to play, but I had too much on my mind to concentrate on the game. Before we’d finished the third round, I threw my cards on the table in frustration.
“Perhaps another game would be more to your liking?” Sam said.
“I’m afraid I’m not good for any of them tonight. I’m racking my brains trying to think of a way to find Sir Edmund.”
Sam laid his own cards on the table and hunched forward, elbows on his knees. “Have you considered the possibility that Sir Edmund’s disappearance has nothing to do with the Catholic plot? His duties as magistrate must’ve brought him into contact with numerous persons of dubious character.”
“Perhaps. But I’m still betting there’s a connection between the plot, Sir Edmund’s visit to Coal Yard Alley, and my missing diary. What I’d really like to do is to meet Titus Oates. He’s the reason Sir Edmund came to see me in the first place.”
“Shall we pay him a visit?”
“Lucian said he’s guarded more heavily than the crown jewels.” As much as I wanted to confront Titus Oates that very night, I could think of no way to do it without undue risk. I knew the palace well, but it was huge and I had no idea where Oates’s apartments were located within its walls.
There was a rap on the door and I cut my eyes cut to Sam. “Maybe it’s him!” I said.
In the seconds it took Sam to get to the door, I tried to quiet my racing thoughts. What if it wasn’t Sir Edmund? What if the thief was back?
Sam turned away from the peephole. “It looks like the same woman from last week, the one you said wanted to have a baby. Do you want to see her?”
“As long as she’s alone, let her in,” I said.
He opened the door and she entered.