Mistress of Fortune

by Holly West

  When I arrived home, I learned that Buckingham had arranged the whole thing at the behest of his cousin, Lady Castlemaine, who was, at the time, one of Charles’s most powerful mistresses. She knew Charles loved me, and wanted me out of the way. It hardly mattered that nearly fourteen years had passed—I would never forgive Buckingham for his interference in my life.

  “Still holding a grudge, are you?” Lucian said. “I thought surely you’d have forgiven him by now.”

  Sarah returned with our drinks and set them sloshing on the table. “Sarah,” I asked. “D’ye know who that man is over there?”

  She cast a stealthy glance in the direction I’d indicated. “Aye,” she said. “That’s Captain William Bedloe. He’s only recently come to London, but I’ve seen him here a few times. He’s staying at a tavern down the road a ways. Lord, but he’s a mighty fine person, isn’t he?”

  Lucian raised his glass to her and she smiled at him prettily. “Though no man compares to you, Mr. Barber.”

  Of the two of us, Lucian was admittedly the handsomer. We were not unalike in appearance, but where I was tawny, he was brown. We shared the same large, deep-set brown eyes, full lips, and well-formed nose, all inherited from our mother, who’d died during Lucian’s birth. Lucian was of average height and rather thin, and though he could not afford it, he always attired himself in the latest fashion. Even in his current disheveled state I felt somewhat ordinary sitting beside him, the peahen to his peacock.

  Lucian finished off half his ale in a long series of noisy gulps. “There now, I’m beginning to feel like myself again.” Sarah smiled and left us to our drinking.

  “So Buckingham is free,” I said. “Is there any other gossip?”

  “I’d hardly call that gossip, Isabel. More like old news.” He gazed upward and tapped his finger on his chin. “Lady Shrewsbury’s gotten fatter than a dairy cow. Have you seen her lately?”

  In fact, I had. The notoriously lusty and now pregnant Countess of Shrewsbury had paid a recent visit to Mistress Ruby, wanting to know upon which unlucky fellow she could lay the blame for her misfortune. The list of possible culprits was long and included Buckingham, her young page, and a palace guard.

  “And a newcomer’s moved into the palace,” Lucian continued. “I vow and swear I’ve never seen an odder-looking chap. Titus Oates, I think his name is.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprised recognition. “Titus Oates?”

  He took another drink and smacked his lips. “Do you know him?”

  I hoped my face wouldn’t betray me. After my encounter with Danby the previous day, I had no wish to divulge what I’d learned from Sir Edmund even to my brother. “No,” I said, concentrating on my ale. “It’s a strange name though, don’t you think? Why’s he living at the palace?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve only seen him in passing. Nell says his rooms are under constant guard, but I’ve no doubt she’ll get the story soon enough.” Nell Gwyn was a former actress and one of Lucian’s dearest friends. She was also my rival for the king’s affection so I was admittedly less fond of her than he was.

  Lucian finished off the rest of his drink and stood up, stretching. “I have a rehearsal to go to. Care to join me?”

  “I’ll wait until the first performance on Thursday,” I said. “I’ve ordered a new gown in honor of the occasion.” I’d avoided the theatre since my falling out with the king, but Lucian had written a new play and he wanted someone on hand to complain to if the audience did not demonstrate adequate appreciation.

  He made a show of patting his pockets. “Could you spare a few coins?” he said. “I’m afraid my creditors are nipping at my heels again.”

  I retrieved a few shillings from my purse and dropped them into his palm. As we left the Black Horse, I couldn’t resist a peek in Captain Bedloe’s direction. His eyes met mine and a delicious shiver tickled my spine.

  Chapter Six

  It was well past midnight when Sam and I arrived at Coal Yard Alley that night. We plodded up the stairs and I fished the key from my pocket, stopping short at the top of the landing when I saw the door lock appeared to have been tampered with.

  “Sam,” I said, pointing.

  He held up his lantern up to inspect it.

  “It’s been pried open,” he said. I started forward, but he put up his hand. “Wait until I make sure it’s safe.”

  He entered slowly, treading on the balls of his feet. My heart thudded violently and I reminded myself to breathe. He came out with a grim expression on his face.

  “No one inside,” he said, “but we’ve been burgled.”

  I stood in the doorway, surveying the room. The drawers of my desk and cabinet had been pulled out and the contents rifled through. Papers littered the floor, and herbs and powders were scattered amid broken bottles and discarded leather pouches.

  My heart plunged as I hurried to my desk. The top drawer had been forced open and emptied. I fell to my knees and frantically searched the floor around the desk.

  My diary was gone.

  “Oh no,” I said, voice shaking.

  “What’s missing?” Sam asked.

  “They took the diary.” I sat back on my haunches.

  “You’re certain?”

  “See for yourself.”

  He came over and began a futile search through the mess, coming up with nothing.

  “It’s gone,” I said.

  “There’s nothing incriminating in that diary. You’ve made sure of it, haven’t you?”

  “It contains a record of all of my customers, Sam. In the wrong hands, the information is ruinous to them, and ultimately, to our business.”

  “But nothing you’ve written associates you with Mistress Ruby.”

  I’d always been careful to keep my identity a secret, even when writing in the diary. “It doesn’t matter if my name can’t be connected to Mistress Ruby. If my visitors’ names are revealed, no one will seek my advice again.”

  We sat in silence, both pondering what this breach could do to our livelihood. Sam had spent his youth living hand-to-mouth—he hadn’t become a thief for profit, he’d done it so he wouldn’t starve. The prospect of returning to thievery to make his living must’ve been dismaying to him.

  After a few minutes I stood and looked down at the jumble of papers and herbs on the floor. “Help me clean up.”

  Sam began gathering papers while I moved to the lacquered cabinet. Nothing could be saved—all of my preparations were mixed together in a thick layer across the floor. They would be expensive to replace. I took the fireplace broom off its hook near the hearth and began to sweep it up.

  “Do you think they were only after your diary?” Sam asked.

  “What else would they want?”

  “Maybe they came for your herbs and found the diary by mistake.”

  “If they wanted my herbs, they couldn’t have taken much,” I said, examining the large pile I’d swept up. Most of my inventory lay here. “Besides, what use are they to someone with no knowledge of how to use them?”

  “Perhaps they have that knowledge.”

  “You think it might’ve been a rival?” I asked. The thought was troubling. I’d worked as Mistress Ruby for six years in this location with no competition. Did someone now intend to take the business I’d worked so hard to build, and ruin me in the process?

  I retrieved the pail from the hearth and swept the remains of my materials into it. I went to the window and emptied the bucket into the street below. Sam placed my papers on the desk and I fingered through them. The pile contained a few recipes and incantations I’d jotted down.

  “The instructions for making a tonic to cure impotence seems to be missing,” I said, searching the recipes again to make certain.

  Sam chuckled halfheartedly. “Men have resorted to greater measures than theft to stand their pricks on end.”

  As I replaced the broom and pail on the hearth, I noticed a piece of paper on the floor, hidden in the dark corner by the door.
I bent to pick it up.

  “Sam, bring the lantern here.” He came over and held it up so I could read:

  Friday, 11 October 1678

  Mistress Ruby,

  I received a troubling correspondence and I need to see you immediately. I have a meeting tomorrow and I require your counsel. If you receive this message, please meet me here in your room at ten o’clock tonight.

  Your Servant,

  Sir Edmund Godfrey

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “A note from Sir Edmund—he must’ve slipped it under the door earlier tonight.” I read it again aloud. “Ten o’clock. That’s nearly three hours ago.”

  “You don’t think Sir Edmund stole your diary?”

  “Why leave a note saying he wants to see me if his intent was to steal it?”

  “Shall we go out and try to find him?”

  As late as it was, Sir Edmund had surely given up and gone home. At this moment he was probably fast asleep in his bed. Even if he wasn’t, it was a tremendous risk to go to his house at this hour—nay, at any hour—outfitted as Mistress Ruby. No, it would be better to wait until morning.

  My heart was heavy as we finished straightening the room and prepared to leave. With the lock broken, there was no way to secure the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow night to fix this,” Sam said.

  What was the point? There was no longer anything in the room worthy of protection. But I didn’t say it.

  In the hackney on the way home, Sam said, “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Sir Edmund’s first visit, the note he left, and now this break-in. We conducted our business here for years with nary a problem before he darkened our threshold. Even if he didn’t steal the diary himself, there must be some connection.”

  Had Sir Edmund feared I’d divulge his secrets and hired someone to remove the evidence? How could he have possibly known of the diary’s existence? Or did someone else learn of Sir Edmund’s visit to Mistress Ruby and steal the diary for the purposes of blackmail?

  “What if somebody is spying on us?” I said, following my thoughts to their logical conclusion. “For all we know, our secret is already out.”

  The full impact of our dilemma hit us both. If anyone discovered Mistress Ruby was Lady Wilde, I would lose everything I’d worked for, and my reputation would be ruined. I leaned my head back against the hard wood of the hackney. I could not let that happen.

  * * *

  Speaking to Sir Edmund again was no easy task. As Lady Wilde, I’d never met him in person, and I could think of no excuse plausible enough to warrant visiting him as myself. With no other options, I sent Sam, disguised, to Sir Edmund’s residence with a discreetly worded message entreating him to come to Mistress Ruby’s room at Coal Yard Alley on Saturday night. Sam soon returned to tell me that Sir Edmund had already left his home that morning and his household didn’t know when he would return.

  Despite my message not being delivered, I had every expectation that Sir Edmund would visit Mistress Ruby that night. Sam and I arrived early so that we would not miss him. Of course, there was still the matter of a potential spy. To ensure that we wouldn’t be followed, we took a different route than usual, stopping along the way to hire a second hackney. Sam directed the driver to let us out well before we got to Coal Yard Alley, and we walked the remaining distance. A sputtering rain made the journey uncomfortable and my high-heeled shoes stuck repeatedly in the mud, causing me to stumble a time or two.

  As I climbed the stairs to my room, my heart pulsed madly. What might I find when I reached the top? With each step my apprehension increased and when we found the door apparently untouched, a wave of relief swept over me. Sam shone the lantern into every corner of the room, which was just as we’d left it. What remained of the items in the bookcase stood straight on their shelves, my desk was tidy as a clerk’s, and the drawers in my cabinet were tightly shut.

  Alas, the only visitors we had that night were a wealthy old widow who wanted to know how to seduce her handsome young footman, and an effeminate fop who needed a remedy for the clap.

  Lady Shrewsbury came the following night. Over the years, with her self-obsessed need for attention and power, she’d been one of my best customers. Her belly had grown since her last visit, and her face had become fleshier. She sat down heavily on the bench and gave me a haughty stare. “I want to know if this child is male,” she said.

  I told her it would be the usual fee and she grumbled as she gave me the coins.

  “I’ll also need a gold necklace,” I said.

  “What? I’ll not give up any jewelry to the likes of you—”

  “You’ll get it back, don’t worry.”

  She eyed me suspiciously but raised her hands to her neck to unclasp the chain. She held it in her fist and hesitated before she handed it over. “You won’t steal it, will you?”

  I stared at her in silence until she finally gave it to me.

  “Hold out your hand, palm up,” I said.

  She did as I asked and I suspended the chain above her hand. The diamond pendant swung back and forth. I repeated the motion several more times and each time, the result was the same.

  “Have you been craving cheddar cheese?” I asked.

  “How did you know?”

  I returned the necklace. “Well, Lady Shrewsbury, it appears that the child you carry is male.”

  She smiled broadly at this and clapped her hands, her previous coldness now gone. “Oh, I knew it. Thank you, Mistress Ruby!”

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday, 15 October 1678

  I had an appointment for a dress fitting with Madame Laverne on Tuesday morning. Considering my predicament, it seemed a frivolous outing, but demand for her services filled up weeks in advance and this final fitting was necessary if my new gown was to be finished in time for the opening performance of Lucian’s play. I decided to keep the engagement, if only for the distraction it would provide.

  Madame Laverne’s shop, located on the Strand not far from my home, functioned as much a center for gossip as it did a dress shop. The day was sunny and uncommonly warm for October, so I walked the short distance. As I entered, a bell tinkled, announcing my arrival. The women waiting their turns for Madame Laverne’s attention sat on expensive chairs and plush couches placed about the room; they talked while nibbling on cheese and drinking wine. Several of them looked over to see who’d come in and I smiled at a few familiar faces.

  Madame Laverne was a diminutive but commanding French woman whose artistry with a needle induced London’s most powerful ladies to patronize her. The English generally loathed the French, as much for their arrogance as for their Catholicism, but nonetheless, wealthy Londoners relied heavily on their famously good taste, especially in matters of fashion. Despite the prestige of her patrons, Madame Laverne spoke her mind; if a color did not suit or a dress was unflattering, she announced it loudly in strongly accented English. We ladies comforted ourselves by declaring, “Of course she’s rude—she is French, after all.” And it was worth it: one could always tell a gown made by Madame Laverne from the many impostors who sought to take advantage of her popularity.

  Madame Laverne appeared from behind Lady Widmark, a large woman of advanced age for whom I had little fondness. She’d paid many visits to Coal Yard Alley, usually with petty requests involving the downfall of a rival or punishment of her errant husband.

  “Bonjour, Lady Wilde! Please, have seat. I will only be a moment.” She turned to her assistant. “Marie, apportez un peu de vin à Lady Wilde.”

  Marie reached for a cup. “No,” I told her. “I’ll just sit.” I seated myself next to Mrs. Abbott, the wife of a successful wool merchant and a friendly acquaintance.

  Madame Laverne pulled at the fabric straining against Lady Widmark’s ample bosom and gave an audible sigh. “Mon dieu! You are larger since I measured you last. You have been eating too much again.”

  Lady Widmark reddened but said nothing. She stood taller on the platform and sucked
in her stomach, as though the added size was simply the result of poor posture.

  “No, there is nothing else to be done. I shall have to let it out here and here.” Madame Laverne shook her head and ran her hands down Lady Widmark’s substantial hips. “And perhaps here. You must pay extra of course.”

  The other ladies tittered and I stifled a giggle of my own. If I’d liked Lady Widmark better I might have been sympathetic, but seeing her in distress entertained me while I waited.

  Suddenly Mrs. Abbott began to sniffle next to me and I turned my attention to her. “My dear, whatever’s the matter?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I must apologize, Lady Wilde.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed the corner of her eye. “Heavens, I must look dreadful. I received terrible news just before coming here. I should’ve cancelled but I might not have gotten another appointment for weeks.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “A dear friend of our family was reported missing by his kin earlier this afternoon. We’re all beside ourselves with worry.”

  I patted her hand. “How dreadful.”

  She looked at me with sudden realization. “You live in Westminster, don’t you? You might know him yourself—he’s a very popular magistrate named Sir Edmund Godfrey.”

  For a moment I thought I must’ve misheard. “Not the justice of the peace?” I asked, as if there could be more than one magistrate in Westminster with that name.

  She nodded. “Yes, do you know him?”

  Before I could respond, I heard Madame Laverne’s singsong voice. “Lady Wilde, I’m ready for you s’il vous plaît.”

  She stood next to her platform, tapping her foot with impatience. I raised a finger up and gave her a weak smile. “Just one moment, Madame Laverne. Mrs. Abbott, I do know Sir Edmund. What happened?”

  “He left his home on Saturday morning and never returned,” Mrs. Abbott said.