Mistress of Lies

by Holly West

  “We lived on Leather Lane,” she said eagerly. “Near Holborn. Can we go now?”

  It was indeed my plan to call upon Clarke this evening, but I didn’t want her to know. I wanted to speak to him on my own, with no interference from her.

  “It’s so late, Susanna,” I said. “Mr. Clarke is probably sleeping. Shouldn’t we all get some rest?”

  These words seemed to mollify Susanna and she agreed to go to sleep.

  “Alice, will you make up a pallet for Susanna in my bedroom?” I asked. Then, as an afterthought, I said to Susanna, “Would you mind if I looked at your ring again?”

  “Tom took it. Said it was for safekeeping.”

  Of course he had. There was no way he’d let Susanna keep it when he sent her to Mother Plimpton’s. I’d have to get it back for her.

  After I’d tucked her into bed with a light kiss on the forehead, I asked Alice to make sure she stayed there.

  * * *

  The house we came upon in Holborn was even more dilapidated than the one in Alsatia had been. Sam knocked and a boy of about Susanna’s age opened the door. He looked up at us without saying a word.

  “We were told a man named Tom Clarke lived here,” Sam said.

  He put his finger in his mouth and chewed on it, but said nothing.

  “Little boy?” I said. “Does Tom Clarke live here?”

  “David, who is it? ’Tis the middle of the night!” An unkempt woman came up behind him. “Don’t mind David here,” she said, patting him on the head. “He’s dumb as a barn owl. Hoots like one too, but he hasn’t uttered a word since he was three years old. What do you want?”

  Sam asked after Tom Clarke again.

  “He’s not here,” she said. “Couldn’t pay, so I called the constable on him. Haven’t seen him in two or three days, maybe more.”

  If one thing could be said about Tom Clarke, it was that he hadn’t made finding him easy. I didn’t know if he was hiding, or if he was simply out of money and skipping from one house to the next when he couldn’t pay. Probably both.

  “If you see him again,” Sam said, “send a message to Lady Wilde’s house.”

  “And if you see him,” the woman said, “tell him he owes me a shilling!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Monday, 20 January

  The next morning I sent Sam to fetch Nicholas Cambridge, a physician I’d recently had the good fortune to meet. He’d once been the apprentice to the king’s surgeon, but was dismissed due to his overly inquisitive nature. But he’d proven himself to be both an honorable man and a capable physician, and I wanted to make certain that Susanna had not been seriously harmed whilst she’d been held at Mother Plimpton’s.

  Within the hour, he arrived at my home carrying a black leather satchel. I was happy to see that he looked far more prosperous than he had since the last time I’d seen him and just as handsome.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Cambridge,” I said.

  “Sam said it was important,” he said.

  I lowered my voice. “It’s not an emergency, as such, but it is a rather delicate matter. My niece has recently come to London and got into some trouble. I found her at the Six Lions, if you’ve heard of it.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate how he knew of it and I thought that just as well.

  “She was beaten by a customer who tried to force himself on her. I want to make sure he’s done her no lasting harm.”

  “Are you concerned she might be with child? Or suffering from the clap?”

  “He wasn’t able to have his way with her. At least not that she’s admitted. She’s a spirited girl—I’m inclined to believe it’s the truth. Restrict your examination to her surface wounds, for she’s quite nervous. I don’t want to make it worse.”

  I directed him to the drawing room, where Susanna sat playing a game of Goose with Charlotte. When she caught sight of him, she regarded him warily.

  “Susanna,” I said, keeping my voice cheerful. “This is Dr. Cambridge. He’s here to make certain you’re all right.”

  “I’m feeling very well this morning, my lady,” she said. “I don’t need a fizz—a fizzi—whatever you called him last night.”

  “This won’t take a moment, Susanna,” he said without approaching her. “And then you can get back to your game.”

  Susanna’s eyes darted toward the door and I got the feeling she would’ve run if she thought she could get away.

  “Really, Susanna, you’ve got nothing to fear,” I said. “I’ll sit next to you and hold your hand.”

  She finally acquiesced and came to sit beside me on the couch. Her hand felt small and dry in mine, and I squeezed it gently to boost her confidence.

  Cambridge knelt before us on the floor. “Now then, Susanna, does it hurt very much?” he said, indicating the blackened eye.

  She glanced at me, as though asking for my permission to speak. “Go on,” I said. “Tell him.”

  “It doesn’t hurt unless I press on it.” She lifted her hand to her face and demonstrated, then winced. “See?”

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  He took a magnifying glass out of his bag and raised a candle closer to her face so that he could get a better look. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Two days ago,” she replied.

  “Did you feel dizzy or sick in your stomach afterward?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did he touch you anywhere else?”

  Her face reddened. “He tried to touch me but I wouldn’t let him.”

  Cambridge glanced at me and I set my mouth grimly. He patted her hand and got to his feet. “It appears that you’ll be all right. No lasting harm done.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He returned the magnifying glass to his bag and closed it. “Is there anything else you’d like me to see to, Lady Wilde?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll accompany you to the door.”

  Before left he said, “The bruise is healing nicely. Keep a watch over her and fetch me if she faints or vomits.”

  I thanked him and handed him his payment. I felt much better knowing that I’d apparently rescued Susanna before anything too terrible had happened to her.

  When I returned to the drawing room, Susanna was laughing at something Charlotte said. She stopped abruptly when she saw me.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No, my lady. I’ve never seen a fizz—”

  “A physician.”

  “I’ve never seen a physician before. He must be a very smart man.”

  “That he is. He says you’ll be fine, so that’s very good news.”

  “Since I’m all right, can we go to see Tom?”

  I knew she missed him. It would be a while yet before she felt comfortable in my home. Would I ever feel comfortable having her here? I hadn’t taken the time to think about the alternatives. I didn’t know if she’d be happy with the Winsers and I couldn’t very well send her onto the streets or back to America. Now that I’d found her, I didn’t want to lose her again.

  “I don’t want to upset you,” I said, “but last night, Sam and I went to the address in Holborn you gave us to find Tom. The landlady said he’d gone.”

  Susanna made a face. “She’s a nasty one, she is. Always threatening to throw us out.”

  “Evidently, she did. Do you know where else we might look?”

  “Tom wouldn’t go off without me,” she said.

  “Never you worry. I’ll send Sam out to find him. But you must have patience. It might take a few days.”

  This seemed to satisfy her. “Oh, I do hope he finds him soon.”

  I didn’t tell her that I wanted to find Tom Clarke as much as she did. He and I needed
to have a little conversation of our own.

  * * *

  I arrived at Benjamin Stowe’s warehouse office at two o’clock. Several men were already in the room when I got there, forcing me to wait. When I was finally able to approach his desk, his secretary, Mr. Dunn, looked at the clock-watch suspended from his neck.

  “I have you down for two, Lady Wilde,” he said. “You’re late.”

  “I was here at the appointed time, I assure you,” I said. “I’ve been waiting ever since to speak with Mr. Stowe.”

  “Nevertheless, you are late. I’m not sure he can see you now.”

  At that moment a tall, handsome man walked into the office. He strode toward Mr. Dunn’s desk, paying me no mind.

  “The last load is almost done,” he told the clerk. “Captain Collins will notify you when he’s finished.”

  “Aye, Mr. Stowe,” Dunn said, making no mention of my request to speak to his employer.

  “Mr. Stowe,” I said. “I’m Lady Wilde. Might I have a moment of your time?”

  Stowe turned to look at me and his eyes registered recognition. My status as one of the king’s mistresses often gained me favor with people and places I wouldn’t ordinarily have access to, and in this case I was glad for it.

  He smiled broadly. “Why, of course, Lady Wilde! I’m sorry I was so brusque. I didn’t see you standing there. Please, come into my office.”

  I glanced at Sam, who’d accompanied me. I knew he wouldn’t want me to be alone with Stowe, but I thought he’d be more forthcoming if we spoke alone. “Wait for me here,” I told him and followed Stowe into his office.

  Unlike the sparse surroundings of the outer office, Stowe’s accommodations were paneled in expensive dark wood. I sat in the chair he proffered and he settled in behind his beautifully carved desk.

  “I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in person,” he said with frank appreciation in his eyes. They were brown and hinted at intelligence, kinder than I had imagined. “Though I’ve certainly seen you about town, at the theatre and such. What brings you to my office?”

  As I looked upon him now, there was something very familiar about him. Was it because, as he said, we’d seen each other in passing? No, I didn’t think so. I realized all at once that he’d been the man who visited me at Coal Yard Alley a week prior, the one who wanted advice about what to do about the old acquaintance who’d recently returned to London.

  “I—ah—thank you for agreeing to see me,” I said, trying to calm my racing thoughts. “Your man said you hadn’t the time for it.”

  “Dunn is understandably protective of my time. Speaking of which, I don’t mean to rush you, but I do have a busy day ahead.”

  “I understand that one of your old friends, Tom Clarke, has recently returned from America. It’s very important that I find him. Tell me—has he been in contact with you?”

  Stowe never faltered. “Tom Clarke? You must be mistaken. I don’t believe I have ever met a man by that name.”

  I was certain that Clarke was the man he’d discussed with Mistress Ruby, but of course, I could not suggest that I knew anything about it. “That’s disappointing, Mr. Stowe. I’d hoped you would be able to help me. It’s about my brother, you see. He was killed many years ago and I have reason to believe that Tom Clarke knows something about it.”

  “I’m very sorry, my lady. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  “My brother’s name was Adam Barber. Did you happen to know him?”

  His face brightened. “Adam Barber! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

  I wasn’t expecting Stowe to react so honestly. “You knew him then?”

  “When I was younger I worked in a wealthy household. They commissioned many pieces from Sir Richard Winser. I believe Adam even came to the house on one or two occasions.”

  “Did you know him personally?”

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t think I ever even spoke to him.”

  “When would this have been?”

  Stowe laughed. “Ah, you’re determined to put my memory to the test, aren’t you?” His head fell back slightly and he glanced toward the ceiling. “That would’ve been in 1664 or ‘65, I think.”

  “What was your master’s name?”

  “It was the Filby residence. Mr. Filby recently died. The last I heard, his wife retired to their country estate, but I could be wrong about that. How is your brother?”

  “Unfortunately, Adam is also dead. He succumbed to the plague in 1665.”

  Stowe appeared appropriately sympathetic. “My condolences.”

  “Do you know why I might’ve found this among his things?” I gave him the paper with his address written on it, which he examined closely.

  “I can’t imagine why,” he said, returning the paper to me. “Although it was such a long time ago. Perhaps I did have a conversation with Mr. Barber during which we exchanged information? I really don’t recall.”

  “Did you reside at that address?”

  “Yes, briefly.”

  There was a knock and Mr. Dunn stepped into the office. “Pardon me, Mr. Stowe, you’re needed at the dock.”

  Stowe gave me an apologetic frown. “I’m very sorry, Lady Wilde. I really must get back to work.”

  With that, he dismissed me. On our way back to the carriage, I recounted the conversation to Sam, as well as Stowe’s visit to Mistress Ruby.

  “He’s lying,” Sam said.

  “Of course he is. The conversation he had with Mistress Ruby proves as much. But I’m not certain it’s of any real significance. He’s an important man now and it’s only natural he wouldn’t want a less-than-respectable past to come to light, even if he never did anything seriously wrong. It doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Adam’s death.”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping information from you that could help you find the truth about Adam.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When I got home, Charlotte greeted me at the door. She looked so distraught that briefly, I thought that something terrible must’ve happened.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” she said. “I’ve done everything I could think of but Susanna won’t stop crying. She says she wants to go home.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I put her to bed in my room.”

  I hurried upstairs, prepared to hear Susanna wailing. But when I poked my head into the room, the girl was tucked beneath the covers asleep and breathing softly. I eased the door shut.

  “She seems to have calmed down now,” I whispered to Charlotte. “We’ll let her sleep. Come to the drawing room, I have some questions.”

  Charlotte had been in my room in Coal Yard Alley the night that Benjamin Stowe came. I asked her what she recalled from his visit.

  She reiterated what I remembered myself, that an old friend of his had returned to England and threatened to expose his past wrongdoings. “I think he was genuinely troubled, my lady. He didn’t want to hurt anybody and yet when you suggested he take swift action, he seemed to agree that was his only option.”

  Had Stowe followed my advice and hired someone to issue a warning to Clarke? Or worse? Had he hurt him or even killed him? Was that why Clarke had been so difficult to find?

  Alice came in with a message from Francis Blanchard. I’d been so engrossed in my conversation with Charlotte that I hadn’t even heard the messenger’s knock. Blanchard asked me to come to his shop, for he’d arranged a meeting with a goldsmith named Andrew Wheeler who’d remained in London throughout the plague season.

  When I arrived, Andrew Wheeler was already there. He was a thickset man of fifty or so, with a protruding nose, wide nostrils and a fleshy face. His closely trimmed beard did little to conceal the fact that he appeared not to have a chi
n.

  His name wasn’t unfamiliar to me, though I’d never met him in person. After Sir Richard Winser, he was the most well-regarded goldsmith in London.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Wheeler,” I said. “I know you must be a very busy man.”

  “Not at all, Lady Wilde. I’m glad to be of assistance.”

  “Adam Barber was my brother. He apprenticed Sir Richard Winser for many years before he died in 1665.”

  “Of course, I remember him well. I’ve never seen someone so skilled in his art and I admired him very much.” Wheeler leaned in close. His breath smelled from onions. “In fact, I’ll tell you a secret, if you’ll promise not to tell. Once upon a time, I tried to lure him away from Sir Richard to work for me, but Adam wouldn’t hear of it—he was a loyal man indeed.”

  “It’s what everybody says,” I said.

  “Besides that, Sir Richard is a smart man. He knew he’d found a treasure in Adam. He’d have lost most of his business if Adam ever became a master himself, so he kept him well under his thumb.”

  “But Adam was his own man, he could’ve left if he wanted to.”

  Wheeler held up his index finger. “Ahhh, I’m not so sure about that. Sir Richard has great influence in the Goldsmiths’ Company. Enough influence that he could’ve prevented Adam from prospering if he chose to. I’m not saying he would have, mind you, but Adam was clever enough to know he’d do better if he continued working for Sir Richard.”

  “Do you really think Sir Richard would’ve done such a thing?”

  Wheeler laughed. “Perhaps not. Sir Richard isn’t the cutthroat some of us are, is he?”

  His treatment of Margaret’s disappearance—claiming that she’d died of consumption—made me wonder.

  “How well did you know my brother?” I asked.

  “Well enough. I’d done business with both Adam and Sir Richard for years.”

  “Mr. Wheeler told me an interesting story,” Blanchard said. “It’s the reason I wanted you to meet him.”

  “Yes,” Wheeler said. “In early December, 1665, a man came into my shop, wanting to exchange a banknote signed by Adam Barber. There was nothing out of ordinary about the note itself, but there was something about the man that struck me. I realized that though he appeared quite different, he reminded me strongly of Adam.”