by Holly West
“Forget Stowe. Do you truly believe that your brother would’ve been involved in something like this?”
“Not at first. But I’m beginning to understand what motivated Adam. He was in love with Sir Richard’s daughter but couldn’t marry her. I think that angered him, but I don’t think he set out to hurt Sir Richard because of it. Not at first. But when he got sick, Margaret ran away from home to be with him and he learned she was with child. He narrowly escaped death and had a baby on the way. I think it changed the way he thought about his situation.”
Articulating Adam’s dilemma to the king somehow made me feel better. Yes, my brother had done something terrible. But he’d had his reasons. I might not have agreed with his actions, but he’d done what he thought he had to do to support his family.
“And what has Sam to do with the dead man—what did you say his name was? Tom Clarke?”
“A few days ago we went to Clarke’s rooms. I’ll admit I was angry—I thought he’d sold Susanna into prostitution.”
“Did Sam hurt him?”
“Clarke threatened to expose Adam’s wrongdoing and things got a bit out of hand. But he was alive when we left him, there’s no question of that. We didn’t kill him, I swear it.”
When I was finished, Charles looked troubled. “You shouldn’t have gone to Clarke’s rooms.”
“Perhaps not. But there was a matter that needed settling, and at the time it seemed like the only way.”
“I understand why you believe Benjamin Stowe did this. But I can’t—I won’t—arrest a man of his stature without proof. Bring me that, and I’ll help you.”
“Will you at least rescind the arrest order for Sam? On my oath, he had nothing to do with this.”
“Don’t you see what you’re asking me to do? How can I possibly justify rescinding that order when all of the evidence points to Sam?”
“You’re the king, Charles. You could do it if you want to.”
“There are consequences to every decision I make, Isabel. ‘Sblood, you know that as well as anyone. How many times must we have this conversation? It’s not like I have a magic wand with which I can control everything. There are other factors to consider.”
I knew what he was saying was true. Charles never did anything without weighing the consequences and the benefit to himself. But this matter was of the utmost importance to me, and I interpreted his refusal as him not believing the benefits of pleasing me were worth it to him. With our affair stronger than it had ever been before, I had to face the fact that I would never be important enough for him to take any substantial risk. It was an important realization.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” I said without trying to keep the dejection out of my voice. “I must go now.”
I began gathering my cloak and gloves from the couch where I’d thrown them. But Charles grabbed my arm. “Don’t go, Isabel. Not like this.”
“I love you, Charles. I always will. But I won’t move back to Whitehall—I can’t. Now, please, let me go.”
I shook him off and left him. Charles’s refusal to take even the slightest action to help me exonerate Sam was infuriating. Admittedly, I understood why he wouldn’t have Benjamin Stowe apprehended. While I might believe strongly in his guilt, without evidence even the king would have trouble justifying the arrest of the Lord Mayor of London. Stowe had powerful friends in Parliament, and Charles would never cross them unless the evidence against Stowe was as solid as iron.
It was up to me to get it.
* * *
I sat alone in my room at Coal Yard Alley, waiting for Benjamin Stowe to arrive.
Elijah had taken me home after I left Whitehall. Charlotte had assured me that Susanna had calmed down and was now sleeping soundly. I’d gone to my office and hastily penned a note to Benjamin Stowe.
Mistress Ruby requests that you meet her in her room at Coal Yard Alley at midnight to discuss a matter of grave importance.
With no one but Charlotte to deliver it, I’d told her to disguise herself and give it to him personally at his home in Piccadilly. I could only hope he was there. Meanwhile, I’d transformed myself into Mistress Ruby and waited for her to return.
“I don’t think Stowe was happy to receive your message,” she’d said, removing her hat and shaking out her hair. “But I think he’ll show up. I told him it was a matter of life and death.”
The clock hadn’t yet struck midnight when Stowe knocked. I opened the door and he strode in, his anger at having been summoned apparent in every step. I steeled myself against my fear and closed the door.
This time, he wasn’t wearing the cloth over his face. What was the point? I obviously knew who he was if I’d sent a message to his house. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Stowe,” I said.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.
“Please, sit down and I’ll explain myself.”
“How did you know my identity?”
I indicated the bench and remained silent until he sat down. It creaked under his weight. “I’m a fortune-teller, Mr. Stowe. Of course I knew who you were when you visited me last week.”
He huffed. “Why have you summoned me? If it’s money you want, I shan’t pay you another pence.”
“I’ve no intention of taking anything more from you. My sole purpose in calling you here is to caution you.”
This halted him. “Of what?”
“Occasionally I have visions, Mr. Stowe. To be certain, it’s both a blessing and a curse, this gift that I have. But I think you’ll find that this time, it’s a blessing.”
“How so?”
“You told me about an old acquaintance who’d recently come back into your life. You feared he might reveal things about your past that might harm your reputation. I advised you to take swift action and you did. My compliments.”
Stowe’s brows came together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, Mr. Stowe, that Tom Clarke is dead.”
He blanched. “Tom is dead?”
“He was murdered. Bludgeoned to death in his room just last night.”
“You think I did it?
“Who else, Mr. Stowe?”
“Perhaps you should read someone else’s palm, Mistress Ruby, for I assure you ’twas not I who killed Tom Clarke.”
I exhaled, trying to hide my frustration. Had I really believed it would be that easy to elicit a confession from Benjamin Stowe? He might’ve seen fit to seek Mistress Ruby’s counsel but that didn’t mean he trusted her enough to confess to murder. Not that it mattered—I couldn’t have done anything with that confession without revealing myself as Mistress Ruby. Sam would surely object to that, even if it were to gain his freedom.
“The reason I summoned you wasn’t to offer my congratulations, Mr. Stowe. It was to warn you about a dream I had in which I bore witness to the damnation of your immortal soul. It was a vision so frightening I pray I never see it again. I’m afraid I can come to only one conclusion—you must admit that you’re guilty of Tom Clarke’s murder or face eternity in hell.”
Stowe regarded me with disbelief. “You’re advising me to confess to a killing I didn’t commit?”
“I’m advising you of what the stars tell me, nothing more.”
His eyes lit with anger and he shook his fist at me. “A just God would never ask such a thing of me. I’m a faithful servant of the Lord and I declare, with him as my witness, that I had nothing to do with Tom Clarke’s death.”
He stood up, towering over me, and for a moment I was truly frightened. “I came to you, Mistress Ruby, because you’d been highly spoken of,” he said in calm voice. “I can see now that you’re nothing but a charlatan. Good night to you.”
With that, he stormed out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Four
&nbs
p; Friday, 24 January
The next morning I awoke to Charlotte shaking me franticly. “Wake up, my lady! Susanna’s gone!”
I sat up, reaching for the dressing gown I’d laid at the foot of the bed. “When did it happen?” I asked, slipping my arms into it.
“She was fast asleep when I went to bed, I’m sure of it. She must’ve waited until I was asleep and escaped.”
I hurried to her bedroom to see for myself. Susanna’s pallet was empty but for a pile of twisted blankets. The bag she’d kept her meager belongings in was also gone. “You’ve checked downstairs?”
Charlotte nodded. “Neither Alice nor Elijah have seen her this morning.”
“God’s wounds, Charlotte,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I knew she was angry last night but I didn’t expect her to run away again. What will she do?”
“Might she have gone to Sir Robert’s apartments?”
“Yes, that’s possible. Tell Elijah to ready the horses, I’ll be down in a moment.”
I dressed quickly, pulling my hair back from my face with tortoiseshell combs and not bothering with paint. I glanced out the window; it was snowing out. I hoped that Susanna had indeed gone to Sir Richard’s—the thought of her out alone in this cold was distressing. I donned my warmest hood and cape and told Elijah to take me to Lombard Street.
It was past ten o’clock when we arrived and Sir Richard was in his shop, conversing with one of his customers. He smiled when he saw me but it soon faded when he noticed the anxious expression on my face. He excused himself and came right over.
“Isabel, whatever is the matter?” he asked.
“It’s Susanna,” I said. “She’s gone missing. Have you seen her?”
“Not since you brought her to see me yesterday. Where else could she have gone?”
I thought of the house in Holborn, where she had last lived with Clarke. Or possibly—no, she wouldn’t have gone back to Mother Plimpton’s, would she? What a dreadful thought. Still, she would at least have food and a warm bed there. Perhaps she’d gotten it into her head that it was the safest place.
“I have some ideas.” I couldn’t see sending Sir Richard to a bawdy house, worldly as he might be. “But I’ll check them myself. If you’ll send a man or two out to ask around, see if anyone’s seen her.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll call upon the constable right now.”
As I left, he promised to alert me at once if he learned anything. From there, I directed Elijah to the Holborn residence.
“Aye, it’s you again,” the landlady said when she saw me. “Have you got the shilling Tom Clarke owes me then?”
“I’m here to see about the girl,” I said. “The one who lived with him. Have you seen her last night or today?”
“I’ll not say a word until I get that coin.”
Feeling optimistic, I handed it to her. “Now then,” she said. “What is it you’re wanting to know?”
“The girl,” I repeated. “Kitty. She lived with Tom Clarke. Have you seen her?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
I went next to Clarke’s residence on Lime Street, the place where Sam and I had visited him and where his body had been found. But his landlady wouldn’t so much as open the door for me. “I’ve nothing to say to you,” she shouted through the closed door.
“If you’ll just answer my questions,” I said.
“Leave now or I’ll call the constable!”
It wasn’t likely Susanna would’ve gone there anyway—she’d never known that Clarke had lived there. His landlady might’ve been able to tell me if anyone strange had come in after Sam and I had visited, but it didn’t seem wise to test her willingness to call the constable, so I left.
* * *
Desperate, I went to the last place I thought Susanna might be: Percy Cantrell’s tumbledown house in Alsatia. Ram Alley was no safer in daylight than it was at night, and I felt less so without my disguise to hide behind. I clung to Elijah and kept my eyes open as we trudged through the dirt-stained snow, examining every beggar who pawed at my skirts to make sure it wasn’t Susanna. Percy Cantrell’s trollish behavior had not changed in the days since my first visit, and alas, neither had his story. No, he hadn’t seen Susanna, and yes, Tom Clarke still owed him money.
Thankful to have escaped with our lives and purses intact, I asked Elijah to take me to the White Hart tavern, Lucian’s favorite haunt. The dinner hour had passed but I thought he might have stayed for a cup of ale or two before returning to the theatre. As usual, he didn’t disappoint: he was sitting at a table surrounded by heavily painted and brazen women. I recognized a couple of them as actresses with the Duke’s Company and figured the others were members of the chorus. Either that or prostitutes—or more likely, both.
The group of them gave me an indignant stare, no doubt pegging me as competition. When Lucian introduced me as his sister, their attitude toward me warmed until I pulled him aside and said, “I wonder if you ladies will pardon us for just a moment. I need to speak with my brother privately.”
“Whatever it is, hurry up,” Lucian said. “See the one in the blue dress? That’s Molly O’Connor. I expect to benefit from her kindness this evening, so I can’t neglect her for long.”
I glanced over at her. She was clearly unhappy to have her conversation with Lucian interrupted. Neither would she be pleased about my request.
“I need you to go to the Six Lions to see if Susanna is there.” I briefly told him what had happened.
“I thought you already sprung her from that place?”
“Please, I need your help.”
Lucian shook his head. “I’m not welcome at Mother Plimpton’s.”
“‘Sblood, is there any bawdy house where you’re welcome at this point?”
“Oh come now, there’s no need to be cruel. Besides, Jemima here might be able to tell what you want to know. She works at Mother Plimpton’s. She’s here, luring gentlemen to their ruin.”
We went back to the table. Molly pouted at Lucian. “How dare you use us at this rate, Mr. Barber,” she whined. “I’ve a mind to find my amusement elsewhere.”
He went over to her and kissed her on the temple. “’Tis a family matter, sweetheart. Surely you won’t fault me for that?”
She retained her pout.
He turned to the plump whore sitting to Molly’s right. “Jemima, Lady Wilde wants to know something about the Six Lions.”
“I’m not in the habit of giving anything away for free. Particularly information.”
“How much?”
“A shilling to start. I’ll let you know if I want more.”
“Now, Jemima,” Lucian said, “we’ve been friends for such a long time. Can’t you make an exception for my sister?”
She cocked her head to the side, considering. Then she broke into a smile and said, “Very well, just this once.”
“Good girl,” Lucian said. “Isabel?”
“I was told that Mother Plimpton recently procured a new girl,” I said. “She’s very young and I think her name is Kitty—”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Jemima said in a bored tone. “She’s not there anymore.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“She was kidnapped a few days ago and no one’s seen her since. Mother Plimpton is beside herself about it but if you ask me, she’s better off without her. That girl was only ever going to be trouble. Fought tooth and nail against her first cully, and the fellow still isn’t walking straight.”
“Is Mother Plimpton looking for her?”
Jemima shrugged. “Probably. She doesn’t look kindly on losing her investments, no matter how troublesome they might be.”
I thought about that. Benjamin Stowe swore last night that he hadn’t killed Tom
Clarke. I still wasn’t certain I believed it. Mother Plimpton probably thought Clarke had taken Susanna and she didn’t strike me as the sort who’d give up so much as a farthing without putting up a fight. Would she resort to murder?
Chapter Thirty-Five
By the time I left Lucian and his women at the White Hart, I was exhausted and losing confidence that I’d ever find Susanna. My only hope was that she’d turned up at Sir Richard’s after all, or that he had found her somewhere else.
He wasn’t in his shop so I went upstairs. Wilson appeared at the door looking decidedly grim. “Sir Richard isn’t here. And I’m afraid I’ve no news for you. He’s not located the girl.”
I thanked him and reiterated the request that Sir Richard notify me immediately if he came upon any news. Wilson agreed that he would.
During the ride home, I again recalled Benjamin Stowe’s conversation with Mistress Ruby. He’d been adamant that he’d had nothing to do with Clarke’s murder but I remained unconvinced. Faced with the possibility of Clarke revealing Stowe’s unsavory secrets, he, more than anyone else, had the motive to kill him.
If any evidence existed, I reckoned it would be located either at Stowe’s warehouse or at his home in Piccadilly. I didn’t know precisely what it was I was looking for, but I thought I’d start my search at his house. The wharves were dangerous with cutthroats and thieves at this hour, and breaking into the warehouse seemed a much more daunting task than infiltrating his house.
I asked Elijah to take me home, still retaining some faith that Susanna would’ve returned. But Charlotte met me at the door, her eyes swollen from crying, and I knew she hadn’t come back.
“Oh, my lady,” Charlotte said. “I’m so sorry. I blame myself for not hearing her leave.”
“Any of us might’ve been in the room with her, Charlotte,” I said. “It’s not something you should fret about now.”
I ate a small supper and went upstairs to ready myself. I stood in front of my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. How should one outfit oneself for a break-in? Should I disguise myself as a servant or a beggar? No. Stowe’s outer gate was no doubt guarded and I’d have a better chance of getting through it if I dressed as I normally did. Not knowing what else I’d encounter when I arrived at Stowe’s house, I solicited Charlotte’s help in arranging my hair while I quickly applied paint.