Mistress of Lies

by Holly West

  So her stepfather had tried to rape her. It was a common story and, terrible as it was, many children, boys and girls alike, were victims. I couldn’t imagine Margaret standing for such a thing if she’d known about it.

  “Did you tell your mother?”

  She shook her head. “I just couldn’t, Lady Wilde. I was so ashamed that I couldn’t tell anyone. Besides, Mother loves him. Mr. Cabot—that’s his name—is an important man in town, sprung from one of the old families. He walks around like he’s God’s own cousin, he does. But Tom took notice of a change in me and made me tell him what happened. He was furious and hurt Mr. Cabot something awful. Nearly killed him, he did. Tom said he had to go back to England before they gaoled him, and I begged him to take me with him. He didn’t want to do it but I promised him that you’d take care of us because you were rich and famous here.”

  It seemed that Tom Clarke had risked his own freedom to save Susanna. I understood now why she loved him so much—clearly, their bond was as deep as any between a father and daughter. I felt sorry for endeavoring to keep them apart, but what choice did I have? He’d shown he couldn’t give her the proper care.

  “I understand why you lied to me, Susanna, but I have to write to your mother and let her know you’re all right. I’m sure she’s worrying herself sick over you.”

  “Oh, please do, Lady Wilde! I miss her terribly. Tell her Tom will take me back to America, I know he will. I’ve only to ask him.”

  I reached out and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I have something that needs saying, Susanna. I’ve learned many things about your father since you first visited to me, but I’ve not told you everything. I did know your mother, very well.”

  “You did?”

  “Before I tell you, you must understand that what I know about her past is very different from what you told me. Your mother’s name isn’t Ann Sutton, Susanna. It’s Margaret Winser. She was my childhood friend. She isn’t an orphan, and she didn’t grow up in a poorhouse.”

  “My mother is a religious woman, Lady Wilde. She’s no liar.”

  “I don’t know why she told you what she did. Perhaps she was afraid that whoever had killed your father would come after the two of you.”

  Susanna sat quietly, considering this. “Tell me about her when she was young,” she finally said.

  “She was a pretty girl,” I said. “Very vivacious and tremendous fun. The cook would allow us to help bake bread, and once we weren’t paying attention and we almost set the kitchen on fire. It scared the wits out of us, of course, but after the danger was gone we couldn’t stop laughing. We laughed together a lot.”

  And we did. It was the glorious time when we were not quite girls and not yet grown women. Life seemed ripe with possibility and we were happiest when we were together.

  “My mother doesn’t laugh very much, Lady Wilde. She’s always so sad.”

  “I imagine she misses your father very much. And the rest of her family.”

  At the mention of Margaret’s family, Susanna perked up. “If you knew my mother, then you must know who her parents were.”

  “I do, Susanna. Your grandparents are still alive, and your mother has a brother named James. I imagine they’ll be quite pleased to meet you.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, I went alone to Sir Richard’s shop. I wanted to tell him about Susanna and Margaret, to give him a chance to absorb the news and to tell his family as he saw fit. It wasn’t my place to do it, even if Susanna was my niece as well as his granddaughter.

  I didn’t see Sir Richard when I walked in, but one of his apprentices, Jacob, was sitting at his bench, hammering a thin gold band around a mandrel. “Is Sir Richard here?” I asked.

  “Aye,” Jacob said. “He’s upstairs.”

  “Will you go up and announce me?”

  “Aye.”

  Wilson frowned when he answered the door. “Lady Wilde to see the master,” Jacob said.

  The look on Wilson’s face communicated his dislike for Jacob and his tendency toward informality. He’d given Adam, Lucian and me the same expression often when we lived at Bingley House. How were we to know what ceremony dictated? We’d been raised in Kent with no other servants but a chambermaid who also cooked our meals. It was the reason I still treated my servants with a degree of informality.

  “Thank you, Jacob,” he said in his pinched voice. “You may return to the shop now.” He waited until Jacob was halfway downstairs before speaking. “His lordship is resting, my lady. He’s asked not to be disturbed.”

  “I’ve a very important matter to discuss with him. I’m certain he’ll want to hear it immediately.”

  “If you give me the information, I shall pass it on to him for you.”

  “That’s impossible. This is something I must tell him for myself.”

  “Wilson, who’s at the door?” I heard Sir Richard say.

  Rather than look embarrassed, as he should have, Wilson frowned at me. “It’s Lady Wilde, sir.” Sir Richard came to the door.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said. “Wilson said you were resting.”

  “Oh, not at all. Come in, my dear.”

  He did appear to be tired and I wondered for a moment if perhaps I had interrupted his rest. Not that I regretted it—he had to know the truth, and the sooner, the better.

  “I’d offer you something to eat, Isabel,” he said, “but the cook hasn’t returned from her shopping and I’m afraid there’s little food in the house.”

  “It’s quite all right,” I said. “I have some rather happy news about Margaret. There’s nothing I can say to adequately prepare you for this, so I’ll just come out and say it. She’s alive.”

  His eyes went wide and he turned so pale I feared he would faint. “No, she can’t be. You must be mistaken.”

  “It’s true.”

  He raised his hand to his cheek and rested it there. “You’ve seen her then?”

  “No. She lives in America now, in Maryland City.”

  “Then how can you possibly be sure?”

  “I suppose I can’t be absolutely sure, not until I see her with my own two eyes. But her daughter, Susanna, has confirmed it, and I think I can trust her about this.”

  “You found Margaret’s daughter?”

  “Yes. Her name is Susanna, named after my own mother.”

  Sir Richard exhaled and slumped in his chair as though exhausted. “I hardly know what to say, Isabel.”

  “I’ve written Margaret a letter, of course. She has to know that her daughter is safe and living with me.”

  “Why would Margaret stay away for so many years with nary a word, leaving us all to believe she was dead? I can’t fathom it.”

  “I’ll admit it seems unnecessarily cruel. But I think Margaret was afraid that whoever killed Adam might come for her and Susanna, so she fled to America.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Perhaps, but she was young and vulnerable at the time. She’d just borne a baby and her husband had been killed. She must’ve been very frightened.”

  “We would’ve welcomed her back home. Her and the baby. You’ve got to believe that, Isabel.”

  I wanted to believe it, but I hadn’t forgotten the lies Sir Richard had told me about Margaret’s leaving. I didn’t know if I’d ever trust him again. “I should tell you,” I said, “that I know Adam was involved in a scheme to cheat you out of money during the plague.”

  His eyes fixed upon me and I held my breath, anticipating what he might say. Would he deny it? When he finally spoke, he simply said, “That’s all in the past.”

  “When did you learn of his deception?” I asked.

  “A fellow goldsmith told me he’d seen Adam—this would’ve been in December of 1665. Up until that point—and I
swear upon my life this is true—I thought Adam had died of the plague in July or August.”

  “Was it Andrew Wheeler?”

  “You’ve spoken with him?”

  “Yes. Why did you tell Wheeler the banknote Adam had exchanged was good when it clearly wasn’t?”

  “I didn’t know it at the time. Remember, I still hadn’t returned to London. When I did, I found that Adam had apparently been issuing false banknotes. Thankfully, it wasn’t so many that I couldn’t cover the losses with my own funds.”

  “But why not have him arrested?”

  “Frankly, I was humiliated. And concerned that if the information got out, it would affect my business. Of course, I was angry. I wanted to have it out with Adam, to find out why he’d treated me thusly. But by January, there was no trace of him. I never did speak with him again.”

  “He was using an alias,” I said. “And most likely, living rather discreetly. Still, it’s rather unbelievable that he and Margaret managed to stay hidden from you for so many months.”

  “Nevertheless, they did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning?”

  “What good would it have done?”

  “For one thing, I would’ve known that my brother lived far longer than I thought he had. But that’s just part of it. Sir Richard, you’ve just admitted to me that you knew Adam was stealing from you. Do you also know how he died?”

  “I’m very sorry, Isabel, I don’t.”

  “How can I trust you? You’ve already lied when you told me Adam died of the plague when you knew it wasn’t true.”

  Wilson burst into the room, startling both Sir Richard and me. “For shame, Lady Wilde! How can you come here and accuse Sir Richard of lying? Your brother nearly ruined him!”

  “It’s quite all right, Wilson,” Sir Richard said.

  “I’ve been with this family for twenty years,” Wilson continued. “I consider it my duty to protect them, even if Sir Richard is too polite to divulge the truth about Adam Barber. I don’t know what you want from the Winsers this time, but truly, haven’t you taken enough?”

  “I’ll handle this, Wilson,” Sir Richard said. “You’re dismissed.”

  “I’m very sorry, Sir Richard. You know I would normally never insult a guest in this house. But this woman and her brothers—”

  “I’m ordering you to leave the room, Wilson.”

  Wilson remained rooted to his spot, helplessly sputtering.

  “Now!” Sir Richard said firmly.

  Wilson hung his head, defeated, and left the room.

  “I apologize for that. Wilson has been with me for so long I sometimes allow him liberties. But even so, his outburst was unacceptable.”

  Wilson’s words had shaken me. “What did he mean when he said ‘hadn’t I taken enough?’”

  “I suppose he’s commenting about when you and your brothers lived with us. But rest assured, I never felt resentful about it or even considered it charity. Adam was practically family and he was a good employee.”

  “I suppose I did sound accusatory. The fact remains that my brother did steal from you, but I think he might’ve been forced into it. He was involved in a business scheme with a man named Tom Clarke and Benjamin Stowe—”

  “The Lord Mayor? Isabel, are you certain Stowe was involved?”

  “Not only involved, but I think he organized the entire thing.”

  Sir Richard sat back in his chair. “That’s a serious allegation. And who is Tom Clarke?”

  “He’s a petty criminal who escaped to America with Margaret. He’s something of a rogue, but he’s been a close friend to Margaret and Susanna. We have him to thank for bringing Susanna back to London as well as revealing that Margaret is still alive.”

  “But if Margaret is still alive, why is Susanna here without her?”

  “Susanna says that Margaret recently married an unpleasant man. He—” I stumbled upon my words, not knowing how to express what this evil man had done to Susanna. “He abused her. Tom got into some trouble defending her and had to escape Maryland before the authorities captured him. Susanna convinced him to take her with him by telling him I was rich and would take care of them both.”

  “I can’t believe that Margaret would marry such a terrible man, especially one who would hurt her daughter.”

  “I don’t know the circumstances of their union, only what Tom and Susanna have told me.”

  “Susanna will come to live at Bingley House,” Sir Richard said. “She’ll be happy there.”

  I didn’t wish to insult him, but neither did I want Susanna to leave my home. “She’s happy where she is, for the moment, I think. Let us give her some time.”

  “Of course. When can I meet her?”

  “I’ll bring her to your shop tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When the king summoned me later that night, I went reluctantly. I knew he’d want to know when I intended to move into my rooms at Whitehall, and truthfully I had no answer for him. I hadn’t abandoned the idea entirely, but the upturn in my business combined with Susanna’s arrival made me more hesitant than ever.

  It appeared as if Susanna would be living with me for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t—indeed, I wouldn’t—subject her to the whims of court life. To that end, the matter was settled. It would be many months before I could even consider leaving my home.

  I didn’t know if Charles would understand that.

  But he said nothing about it when I arrived at his rooms. Chiffinch left us alone and the king escorted me to his bed, where he began, as he always did, by kissing me passionately. He caressed my body, stoking the embers of desire until I could scarcely help myself.

  Tonight, however, I couldn’t enjoy it. I still hadn’t fully grasped the news that Margaret was alive. I lamented Susanna’s terrible choice: flee from America and the mother she loved or stay and be victim to a man who deserved a public hanging, not public accolades. She might be a confused, headstrong young girl, but her bravery was admirable.

  And what of Tom Clarke? Initially, his reason for coming back to England was to save his own hide after he’d attacked Margaret’s new husband, Mr. Cabot, for molesting Susanna. Though he’d done what he could to protect the girl from further harm, he clearly didn’t have the resources to further ensure her safety. The idea of leaving her behind must’ve pained him, but when he finally decided that she should accompany him to England, had there been an element of selfishness in his choice? After all, Susanna had convinced him that I would help them both. Had he believed that bringing her with him might lead to a change in his own fortune?

  Clarke might’ve had another, more nefarious reason to bring Susanna to London. He’d been devoted to her and Margaret for years, but had he actually been in love with Margaret? That actually would explain a great deal—why he’d agreed to travel with her when she left England, and why he’d been such an important part of Susanna’s life. He could’ve hoped that eventually, Margaret would marry him, but when she chose to marry another instead, he decided to abscond with her daughter. Whether it was simply cruelty that motivated him or a genuine fear that Margaret’s new husband would continue to hurt the girl, I couldn’t know, but in view of what Mr. Cabot had already done to Susanna, I had to believe that Clarke, no matter his failings, genuinely wanted to keep the girl out of harm’s way.

  There was still the matter of my brother’s murder. If Clarke had been in love with Margaret, might he have murdered Adam so that he could have her for himself? Or—and this thought was almost too much to bear—perhaps Margaret knew Clarke had killed Adam and escaped to America because she loved him. But no. They would’ve married at some point if that were the case. Susanna told me they never had.

  Thus preoccupied by the cacophony of thoughts swirling in my head
, Charles startled me when he stopped his caresses and tapped my shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, darling?”

  “I’m sorry, Charles. You’re right. I’m hopelessly distracted.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “That’d be just the thing.”

  He poured a cup of wine from a flagon sitting on a tray at the foot of the bed. He passed it to me before pouring one for himself. “What’s troubling you?”

  “I told you that it was possible that Adam had been murdered. Well, in recent days I’ve learned it’s almost certainly the case. It seems he was stealing money from Sir Richard—”

  “God’s blood, Isabel, you don’t think that Sir Richard killed him?”

  “No, nothing like that.” But as soon as I said it, I wondered why I’d never given the possibility any serious thought. My assumption had always been that Benjamin Stowe and Tom Clarke were the culprits. Perhaps even Nathan Fitch, Margaret’s betrothed. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Sir Richard had done it, but I supposed that if I wanted to know the truth of my brother’s passing, I needed to give all of the possibilities serious consideration.

  “Adam had apparently been forging banknotes,” I continued. “I don’t know how many. And there were other men involved in the scheme—Adam wasn’t the only one. I’m convinced that one of them murdered him out of revenge when Adam wanted to back out.”

  “Who else was involved?”

  “Benjamin Stowe, for one.”

  The king’s attitude changed when I uttered Stowe’s name, just as I suspected it would. “I trust you’re not making foolish accusations against Benjamin Stowe.”

  It annoyed me that Charles would assume that Stowe was innocent without even questioning my brother’s guilt. “No, Charles. But I have reason to believe that he and Adam were engaged in a partnership with Tom Clarke. If Adam was passing forged banknotes, it stands to reason that Stowe benefitted from it, as well.”

  “Unless you have actual evidence, I’ll hear no more of it.”