Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  Liza held the bucket with both hands as she made her way down the stairs, terrified of spilling the contents which she’d have to clean up. The steps were slippery since a steady drizzle fell outside, and several people with wet and muddy feet had already been up and down the stairs. Jack, the thug who manned the door and kept the girls in line, had done his morning check, making sure that everyone was accounted for, and no stray customers were still in any of the rooms, having fallen asleep from too much drink.

  Mavis was in the kitchen, kneading dough and occasionally stirring the porridge to keep it from burning. The girls would start getting up soon and wandering into the kitchen in search of breakfast. Madame Nelly was in her office at the back of the house, no doubt counting money, as she always did, tallying the takings and recording them in her little calf-bound notebook. Nothing much changed from day to day.

  Liza made her way to the privy behind the building, and dumped the noxious contents of the bucket before rinsing it out with water from the barrel. It was full of rainwater, which came in useful for tasks like these. Liza had just turned to go back inside when she saw two men striding toward the front door. Their hats were pulled low over their eyes and glistening with moisture, but there was no mistaking the determination in their gait. They looked common in their homespun, so definitely not gentlemen. “Long on desire, but short on coin,” as Madame Nelly always said about the numerous clients she was forced to turn away. Perhaps they thought they could pay less in the morning.

  Liza was just about to turn away when something about the younger man caught her eye. She pressed herself against the wall and stared at the men. The older one had his face down, but the younger one looked up, confirming her suspicions. Archie Hicks. Liza would know him anywhere. Archie was a good lad who’d always been kind to her when she worked at Everly Manor.

  She was just about to call out to him when the other man lifted his face. Liza’s heart began to hammer wildly against her ribs, and she pressed deeper into the shadows, watching. The man had light hair and blue eyes, but there was no mistaking Hugo Everly. She’d know him anywhere, in any guise. She’d loved him once, had shared his bed. Liza had no idea what Hugo had done to alter his appearance; perhaps his woman had bewitched him. She’d heard Jane Hiddleston ranting and raving about her, calling her a witch, and asking God to smite her down. Perhaps she hadn’t been as deranged as Liza had imagined her to be.

  Mavis opened the door, her round face full of surprise at seeing customers at such an hour. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we are still closed,” she said not without sympathy. “Come back in the evening, if ye will.”

  “We are not here for the usual reason, mistress,” the older man said. Liza held her breath as his voice washed over her. It was him, definitely him. “We are looking for a young boy who might have come here sometime in June. His name is Jeremiah. He’s eight.”

  “I don’t know of any Jeremiah,” Mavis replied. “There are no boys here, only whores and several servants. If someone told ye he was here, they was mistaken.” Mavis looked so earnest that the men didn’t bother to question her further, just tipped their hats and turned to leave.

  They were looking for Jem. Why? What had happened to him, and why would they think that he was in a brothel? Liza wondered as she watched the men walk away. Jem had still been at Everly Manor when Jane Hiddleston dismissed her in June. Liza felt a pang of pity for the boy. He was a sweet lad, she couldn’t deny that. He’d always given her a hand when she needed it, and delivered messages from her to Captain Norrington and back. Liza brushed away a tear with the back of her hand. She was very emotional these days.

  The thought of something happening to Jem made her think of her own baby, and what might happen to it if she didn’t survive the birth. She couldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity and fear, but the thought was always at the back of her mind. She had to leave enough money if she were to die for someone to at least deliver the child to her mother and not just leave it to die. She would leave a letter and some coin with Mavis, and make her promise that she would see to the child should anything happen to her. Mavis would do it; she was very honest for an ex-whore.

  Liza was just about to walk back into the brothel when she changed her mind. She draped her shawl over her head and trotted after the men, keeping a respectable distance. She’d get in terrible trouble with Madame Nelly, but she couldn’t ignore this opportunity. If the man who’d come to the brothel was indeed Hugo Everly, then the man held in the Tower couldn’t be, and that changed everything. This information could be worth a lot to the right person, and Liza knew exactly who the right person might be. She’d heard the talk; Lionel Finch had accused Hugo of kidnapping his wife and attempting to kill him. He’d be in London for the trial, and might be willing to pay handsomely for learning the whereabouts of the real Hugo Everly. All she had to do was find out where Hugo was staying, and then she’d have something worth selling.

  Liza kept to the shadows as she trailed the men from one establishment to another, until they finally gave up and walked to an inn in Blackfriars. Liza waited a few moments before poking her head into the taproom. Neither man was in sight, so they must have a room at the inn. She turned and fled, resolving to come back tomorrow to make sure that Hugo was still there.

  Chapter 40

  I stood on tippy toes and tried to see out into the street. It was late afternoon, the city beginning to wind down as proprietors brought their wares into the shops and prepared to close for the day; the stalls wrapped up their awnings, and the servants disappeared off the streets to be at home in time to serve supper and then enjoy their own meal before cleaning up and retiring for the night. Darkness had already pooled between houses and in narrow alleys, but the sky above the rooftops was still ablaze with a glorious sunset; the violet heavens striped with blood-red ribbons of fading sunlight, the half-finished outline of St. Peter’s black against the backdrop of vivid sky.

  Yellow light from tallow candles began to light up windows before they were shuttered for the night, and the smell of bread and oyster stew wafted up the stairs from the taproom below. Thankfully, it was a weekday, so there weren’t as many patrons baying for Hugo’s blood, only a few strays who had nowhere to be at this hour; cradling their mugs of ale and gin and singing maudlin songs over the diminishing noise of the city.

  Hugo had instructed me to stay inside, and I obeyed, terrified of venturing out on my own after my arrest. I felt safe inside the little room, although I had little to keep me busy. I had washed my undergarments and stockings, mended Hugo’s shirt and sewed up a slight tear in his coat, patched a hole in Archie’s spare doublet and darned his hose, and still time weighed heavily on my hands. It was now too dark to sew, not that I had any sewing left to do, so I just looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men returning from another day of searching.

  They’d been at it for days, coming back later and later every day since they went farther afield, but there was no news of Jem. The women at the brothels just shrugged, telling Hugo that few places had an interest in small boys, unless they were taken on for domestic tasks and the running of errands, but no one had any need to buy a child. There were plenty of orphans to be had to free, who would be only too happy of a place to sleep and scraps to eat in an establishment filled with women who were kind to the children despite their chosen profession.

  Archie was usually angry and tired by the time they returned, but Hugo was withdrawn and silent, blaming himself relentlessly for Jem’s fate and vowing to find him no matter what it took. I’d stopped asking after a few days, knowing that they had nothing to report. I could tell everything I needed to know from their tired faces and the sag of disappointment in their shoulders as they came in.

  I finally left my post by the window and sat down on the bed. I was hungry, but wouldn’t go down to eat until the men returned. For one, I was scared, and for another, I felt guilty eating while they were out there hunting for a missing child. One piece
of good news was that Bradford Nash was back in London for the trial. He’d received a summons, as had several other people whose presence would be required.

  I couldn’t see the outline of the Tower from this room, but I was acutely aware of its forbidding façade, rising above the river; a silent reminder of the power of the Crown and all the innocent, and not so innocent, people who’d been incarcerated there and lost their lives. People still recounted with glee the execution of Monmouth, and I shuddered with the memory of that account, knowing that Monmouth’s beheading was an example of brutality that still lived on in the memory of the British people.

  I jumped up as I heard twin sets of footsteps on the stair, followed by a soft knock.

  “It’s us, love; open up,” Hugo’s voice came from the corridor. I unlocked the door and let the men inside.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Hugo asked as he went about the complicated task of lighting the candle. He seemed, for lack of a better word, lighter, as did Archie. Not cheerful exactly, but not nearly as defeated as they had been for the past few days.

  As a perky little light flared into existence, Hugo sat down, pulled off his boots, and wiggled his toes. He was obviously worn out from walking all day, but he gave me a sweet smile and pulled me onto his lap. “We had a small bit of luck today,” he said as he kissed my neck and made me squirm away from his stubbled cheek.

  “One of the whores mentioned a place called “The Orchid,” which caters to the needs of such gentlemen as are not interested in the charms of the opposite sex,” he explained diplomatically.

  “A den of iniquity, if I ever saw one,” Archie chimed in with disgust, but Hugo just held up his hand, silencing him so that he might continue.

  “It seemed a reasonable place to visit, so I sent Archie in, him being a pretty lad with those blue eyes and coppery hair. Any man would consider himself lucky to have such a fine-looking customer.”

  I was glad to see that Hugo was in a humorous mood. Whatever they had discovered was bigger than they made it sound. Hugo seemed determined to draw out the telling of the tale to torment me with curiosity.

  “And???” I demanded.

  “And the proprietor, who happens to be a young man not immune to our Archie’s charms, did confide in him that he had purchased a little boy a few months since, but the wily devil had managed to squeeze himself through a tiny window and made off into the night before any money could change hands to offset the expenditure. The boy fitted Jem’s description and was known only as Jeremiah. He was brought to the establishment by a lady of dark looks who seemed eager to be rid of him, selling him for a pittance.”

  I looked down into my lap to hide my dismay from Hugo. I supposed it was good news that Jem hadn’t been abused or violated, but now that he was on the loose somewhere in London, or perhaps not, finding him would be like looking for a needle in several haystacks. I wasn’t sure why Hugo was so optimistic, but didn’t want to ask and ruin his good mood.

  Hugo lifted my chin with one finger and gazed into my eyes. “Yes, I know; finding him will be even harder now, but I take my victories where I find them. At least he wasn’t hurt. Jem is a resourceful child. I’ve taught him a thing or two myself, and I know Archie had a hand in his education. Jem knows how to pick a lock, steal without being caught, and look after horses. He has the skills needed to survive, and that’s a start.”

  “I suppose so, but how do you intend to find him?” I asked. The trial was only a few days away, and regardless of the outcome, we needed to see to our own future. Time was short, and our window of opportunity was shrinking with every passing day. Looking for an orphaned child in London could take weeks, possibly months, and there was no guarantee that Jem hadn’t left the city to return to Surrey. He didn’t have any family, but had I been him, I’d go to Bradford Nash for help.

  “I haven’t worked that out yet, but I will. For today, I will take what small joy I found and let it gladden my soul. Now, let’s have some supper, shall we?”

  “I’ll go down and get it,” Archie volunteered, but Hugo waved him toward a chair.

  “Sit down, Archie. You’ve earned a rest. I’ll get the food.” Hugo didn’t bother to put his boots back on, but went out in his stockinged feet, a couple of coins jiggling in his pocket as he skipped down the stairs.

  Archie took a seat and stared into the candle, his face creased with concern. I’d gotten used to his silences, but something was on his mind, and although I didn’t want to pry, I feared it might have something to do with Jem.

  “Archie, are you all right?” I asked as I sat across from him and rested my chin in my hands. I could see the flame of the candle reflected in Archie’s eyes, making it difficult to read his expression.

  “Oh, aye. I just thought I saw someone,” he replied, lifting his eyes to meet mine.

  “Whom did you see?” I felt cold fingers of dread moving down my spine, terrified that someone had discovered our whereabouts, but Archie seemed more perplexed than worried.

  “I’ve noticed the same woman several times over the past few days. I couldn’t see her face clearly, but something about her seemed familiar. I suppose she works somewhere in this area and just happened to be passing, but I don’t believe in coincidences,” Archie explained.

  “Do you think she was following you?”

  “She might have, but to what purpose? If she wanted to speak to us, she’d had plenty of opportunity to do so.” Archie shrugged, clearly confused.

  “Have you mentioned this to Hugo?”

  “No, I didn’t want to ruin his good mood. Besides, I didn’t see her again today. I will keep a lookout for her tomorrow, and if I see her, I will get to the bottom of this,” Archie promised as the door opened and Hugo came in carrying a tray laden with a pot of stew, several loaves of bread, and a jug of ale. There was also a pewter cup of boiled water for me to brew some tea.

  I ladled out stew for the men and took a bowl for myself. I was suddenly ravenous after hours of waiting. Hugo and Archie talked of the coming trial, but I allowed my thoughts to drift to the woman Archie had seen as I tucked into my food. Perhaps we’ve all become a bit paranoid over the past few weeks. What would this woman want with Hugo? She wasn’t a noblewoman who might have recognized him from Court, so most likely she was just someone who lived or worked in the area. It didn’t seem likely that she could cause him any harm, so I dismissed her as I took a sip of tea and joined in the conversation. Today was a good day, and I would not spoil it with fruitless speculation.

  Chapter 41

  Thanks to the tireless wheels of gossip that was seventeenth-century London, we barely had to leave the inn to learn the details of the upcoming trial, plus we had the invaluable input of Gideon Warburton, who was reporting to Bradford and keeping him abreast of the situation. It seemed that Max was in relatively good spirits, given that his fate hung in the balance, but Gideon was confident in his ability to prove his case. Bradford Nash and Jane Hiddleston were both highly respectable and trustworthy witnesses. It would have been helpful to call to the stand someone who could vouch for Maximilian Everly’s identity, but Gideon was determined to work with what he had.

  Despite my very vocal protests, Hugo insisted on having a meeting with Gideon Warburton the night before the trial. Having to sit and wait while Max’s fate was determined would be torture, but Hugo needed to make sure that he did everything in his power to secure his freedom. We left the inn well after darkness fell, keeping to the shadows. Bradford had a closed carriage waiting for us a few streets over to take us to his house for this Council of War. I was worried about Hugo’s safety, but Bradford assured us that Master Warburton was a man of discretion and utter moral conviction. He would never betray a client, or a friend.

  Gideon had already arrived and was sipping a cup of claret, seated before a roaring fire in the parlor as if this was the most amiable of social occasions. He was still a young man, but his sallow skin, flapping jowls, and distended belly spoke of a man
who wasn’t in good health and likely suffered from gastric trouble. I could see the thinly disguised curiosity in his hooded eyes as he rose to his feet and extended his hand to Hugo.

  “Lord Everly, a pleasure. I do hope you’ve found my service on your behalf to be satisfactory. I must confess, although much good it will do any of us now, that I, myself, was an ardent supporter of the young duke. England would do well to rid itself of the Catholic tyrant who sits the throne, and replace him with a good, God-fearing Protestant who could lead this nation with dignity and unwavering faith.”

  “That is also my wish,” Hugo replied smoothly as he withdrew his hand and accepted a cup of claret from Brad. Gideon Warburton had no reason to suspect that Hugo was actually a Catholic, who wholeheartedly supported the “tyrant” currently on the throne, and had done everything in his power to thwart the Monmouth Rebellion from within.

  Gideon seemed to have exhausted his political agenda with that little speech and settled down to discuss Max’s case, although I could see the confusion brought on by Hugo’s appearance. Since Max was mistaken for Hugo, he’d expected to see a greater resemblance between the two men.

  “I beg your pardon, your lordship, but Maximillian Everly doesn’t favor you in looks or coloring. How is it that he was mistaken for your good self?” Gideon asked carefully.

  “I was forced to alter my appearance to avoid arrest, Master Warburton,” Hugo replied. “Tis nothing but an illusion; a sleight of hand, if you will.”

  “I’ve heard of substances that might alter the color of a person’s hair, but your eyes are rather a startling blue,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to gaze upon his client. Hugo easily popped out a blue lens and allowed the lawyer a glimpse of his dark eye. “A bit of colored glass.”