Mistress of Fortune

by Holly West

  “What did the man say?” I asked.

  “Only that Captain Bedloe requested your presence this evening,” she said.

  “Did he recognize you?”

  Charlotte looked frightened. “Not that I could tell.”

  “Good,” I said.

  I asked Charlotte to go to the kitchen to fetch us some wine, and while she was gone I spoke quietly to Sam. “It can be no coincidence that Bedloe’s messenger was the same one who delivered the note to Sir Edmund,” I said.

  “No,” Sam agreed.

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” I said, slowly shaking my head. “But I intend to find out.”

  * * *

  It was well past midnight when Sam and I donned our disguises, but our destination on this night was not Coal Yard Alley. There were not many hackneys available at such a late hour, and we’d nearly walked to the Strand by the time we found one.

  “To the Cock and Fox,” Sam told the driver.

  It had already shut for the night by the time we arrived. The hackney disappeared into the darkness, leaving us alone on the quiet street as we approached the tavern.

  “What do you reckon is the best way in?” he asked.

  Two large windows, each comprised of nine mullions, flanked the door. They were too small for a person to climb into without punching through wood as well as glass.

  “Try the front door first,” I said.

  He approached the door and turned the knob, but it did not yield. “It’s locked, of course.” He stepped back from the building and raised his eyes to the second story. All the windows were dark.

  “Which room is his?” he said.

  “It’s the third one,” I replied, pointing up at Bedloe’s window.

  The metal lock creaked and before we could hide, the door opened. The innkeeper stood looking at us, hands on his hips.

  “What’ll you two be wanting?”

  My heart was still in my throat, rendering me speechless, and Sam took over. “Good night to you, sir,” he said, giving his voice a Yorkshire twang. “My wife and I are in need of a room for the night.”

  “As ye can see, we’re shut. Come back in the morning.”

  “Now that wouldn’t be very useful, would it?” Sam said, smiling. “Ye can rest your mind, sir, you’ll be paid handsomely for the accommodations, seeing as how we’ve woken you up and all.”

  The innkeeper struck a more relaxed pose. “I’ve only one room left. And it’s a small one.”

  Sam counted out several coins from his pouch and handed them to him. “Will this be enough?”

  His greedy smile told us we’d reached an agreement. “C’mon then,” he said.

  He led us up the stairs and down the hall, past Bedloe’s room. Except for the floorboards creaking under our feet, everything was quiet.

  The innkeeper opened the last door and let us enter first. Moonlight flickered in through dusty lace curtains and the room was unbearably cold.

  “I’ll not build a fire ’til sunrise,” he said, with no trace of an apology in his tone. “But the bedcover will keep you warm enough, I’ll wager.”

  “Indeed,” Sam said, turning to me. “It’s very cozy, isn’t it, my dear?”

  The innkeeper left the room without waiting to hear my response. Sam and I stood quietly in the center of the small room, listening for him to return downstairs.

  “Ha!” I whispered. “Wasn’t that a stroke of luck!”

  “I just hope he didn’t get too close a look at us,” Sam said, making his way to the lone chair in the room. “We’ll wait awhile for him to go back to sleep and then get what we came for.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  We suffered through the cold for half an hour before Sam deemed it safe to proceed. By that time I was shivering, but whether from nerves or the chill I was uncertain.

  “I think I should enter his room by myself,” I said, trying to ignore my apprehension.

  “I’ll not let you do any such thing,” Sam began.

  “He can do me no harm with you so close by. And if, for some reason, I get caught, you’ll be able to escape.”

  “As though I’d leave without you.”

  “But you must leave without me. Promise me now, for I won’t do this if you don’t. It’s too dangerous for you to risk getting caught.”

  “Very well then, I promise,” he said.

  I didn’t quite believe him, but it was as good as I was going to get.

  We moved stealthily toward Bedloe’s room, and once there, Sam slowly turned the knob. It was unlocked. Another stroke of luck. I wondered how long it would hold out.

  I tiptoed into Bedloe’s room, my heart beating hard and fast. The remaining embers of the fire offered some light, but not enough for my purposes. I removed a candle from one of the sconces on the wall and bent to light it in the fireplace. I carried it to the chest at the foot of the bed and sat down. I could see the indistinct form of someone under the covers.

  I took a deep breath and rang the tiny bell I’d brought with me in my cloak pocket. At first, nothing happened. I rang it again, and this time its soft tinkle caused Bedloe to stir. My heart began to pound even harder as he raised his head from the pillow.

  I held the candle near my lap to illuminate my face from below, creating an effect I hoped was ominous. He blinked his eyes to focus then sat up with a start.

  “Whoa! Who are you?” he gasped.

  Suddenly, the puff of blanket next to him came alive and I nearly dropped the candle. A woman’s head popped up, blonde and frowsy from sleep. She looked in my direction and let out a screech then hid her head under the covers.

  I wavered, distracted by a brief sting of jealousy. Focus, Isabel, I told myself. The woman’s obvious fear could be to my advantage.

  “I am Mistress Ruby,” I said, lowering the candle slightly when its flame warmed my chin.

  “How did you get in here?” Bedloe said in a gruff voice.

  “I wonder, sir, if you’re familiar with my work?”

  “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care to. I’m calling the innkeeper to have you removed.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I shall be leaving soon enough and on my own accord.”

  “Billy, what’s going on?” the woman said, her voice muffled by the blanket. She wiggled closer to him.

  “You needn’t worry, my dear,” I said to her. “My business is not with you but with Mr. Bedloe.”

  “State your business and be off then,” Bedloe barked.

  “Since you are unfamiliar with me, I will take a moment to enlighten you. I have many powers, but tonight I am here as a messenger of the dead. Tell me, Mr. Bedloe. Do you believe the dead can talk?”

  The woman let out a little scream. Bedloe pushed her down on the bed to quiet her. “I won’t listen to this gibberish!” he said, swinging his feet to the floor and throwing off his cover to reveal his nakedness.

  “Sit!” I said. He hesitated a moment before settling back onto the bed, and recovered his midsection with the blanket. “The dead demand respect and you, sir, shall give it to them. The spirits are angry, Mr. Bedloe. Angry with you. I have come to bring you a message from beyond from one soul in particular.”

  I adjusted my hand on the candle and my ring, which I had again forgotten to remove, caught the light. In a smooth motion I switched the candle to my other hand and twisted the ring around so the gem faced the inside.

  “Billy, make her go away!” the woman said. “I’m frightened of ghosts and she’s brought ’em in with her!”

  “Shh!” he said, swatting at her. “All right, Mistress Ruby. Tell me what you have to say.”

  “I’m here on behalf of Sir Edmund Godfrey, a spirit with whom you may be acquainted. Tell me, sir, did you know him when he was alive?”

  “I never saw the man. Here, now, who has really sent you? Is that wretched Oates playing a trick?”

  “I speak for only one man and it is in your best interest to liste
n. Sir Edmund Godfrey demands that you stop using his name to forward your scheme. If you do not, I promise you, the consequences will be dire.”

  Bedloe’s companion had heard enough. She leapt from the bed, naked, and began gathering garments from the floor. “Stay if you will and be cursed, Billy,” she said, “but I’m getting out of here!”

  He thrust her an angry scowl but made no move to stop her. Instead, he addressed me. “And if I don’t?”

  “Sir Edmund knows your secrets, and through him, so do I. Do not underestimate my powers, for with the help of the spirits, I will make sure you will reside not in this world, but in hell.”

  The woman gave a little squeal. “Oh! She knows! Sir Edmund’s ghost has been talking and he wants to avenge himself!”

  Bedloe grabbed her arm forcibly and growled. “Shut up, bitch! If you say another word I’ll knock you on the head.”

  She evidently had reason to take his threat seriously, because she quieted herself immediately and sat back down on the bed. For the first time, I looked her squarely in the face.

  It was Jenny.

  * * *

  I didn’t immediately understand what was going on and, confused, I darted over to where Jenny sat. Still holding the candle, I grabbed a handful of her hair with my free hand and pulled her head back so her face was looking directly into my own. She let out a little scream. I brought the candle flame to her face so I could see her more clearly. She still retained traces of the wounds she’d had when she’d visited me at Coal Yard Alley.

  “What are you doing here?” I cried, loosening my hold.

  Bedloe wasted no time in using my distraction to his advantage. He grabbed the wrist of my hand holding the candle, and hot wax dripped down my arm. In my anger, I was only partly aware of the burn. He blew it out, then forced me down onto the bed by twisting my arm and pinning it down. Fearing my arm would break, I let go of Jenny and struggled into a less painful position.

  My wig had shifted on my head in the scuffle, and I now had no other goal than to preserve my anonymity. Bedloe raised his hand and I was afraid he’d pull it off, so I snaked my head forward and bit two of his fingers as hard as I could. He yelped and released me.

  I jumped up from the bed and ran to the door, knocking into Jenny as I did so. Sam stood just outside the door.

  “Come on!” I hissed.

  We moved quickly down the darkened stairs and into the main room of the tavern. Sam slid open the door latch, and without pausing to close the door behind us, we ran until we saw a hackney. Sam asked the driver to take us to Coal Yard Alley, and climbed in.

  “What happened in there?” Sam asked when he’d caught his breath.

  “He wasn’t alone,” I said and told him the rest of the story.

  Sam stared at me, incredulous. “Bedloe is Jenny’s abusive husband?”

  “I don’t know—probably. He must’ve used her to gain access to Mistress Ruby.”

  “Do you think they know your real identity?”

  It was a horrifying thought. Had Bedloe known my secret all along? “I don’t know,” I said again. “Jenny was genuinely scared by what I told them about Sir Edmund. It’s more likely that Bedloe had been spying on Sir Edmund and followed him to Mistress Ruby’s rooms. Then he and Jenny fabricated the story about her not being able to have children in order to gain access to me.”

  “But she’s been to see you three times. Why so many?”

  “Perhaps so they could learn something to threaten me with—” I raised my hand to my mouth. “Oh, no, I must warn Mary!”

  Sam rapped on the hackney wall and the coach rolled to a stop. He stuck his head out the window.

  “We’ve changed our minds,” he said to the driver. “Take us to Carter Lane.”

  The hackney abruptly changed directions, jostling us to and fro in the process. I prayed Mary had not revealed anything to Jenny. Knowing I’d put my friend in grave danger by my ignorance made me ill.

  “Oh, I do wish he’d hurry,” I said. Then an even more ominous thought crossed my mind. “Is it possible that Bedloe is evil and arrogant enough to have murdered Sir Edmund himself and then pose as a witness to the crime?”

  “It’s beginning to look like he might have,” Sam said.

  I slumped into my seat, overcome by a dreadful mixture of fear, anger, and hopelessness. How could I have been foolish enough to give myself to Bedloe? God’s blood, for a time I thought I might even be falling in love with him. It was bad enough when I thought him just a liar, but a murderer and a thief?

  How utterly foolish I’d been.

  When the hackney finally stopped in front of Mary’s shop, I jumped out, not bothering to wait for Sam. I banged on her door as hard as I could.

  There was no answer for several minutes, and unlike mine at Coal Yard Alley, Mary’s neighbors did not take kindly to the noise. An old man stuck his head out his window and shouted at me to go away or he’d call for the constable. I ignored him and knocked again, this time harder. When Mary finally opened the door I pushed inside without explanation.

  “Good God,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Isabel, Mary. Remember I told you about the young woman whose husband was beating her? Did she ever come to you?”

  “Isabel! ’Sblood you gave me a scare.” She put her hand to her chest.

  “Please, Mary! Did the woman I referred to you ever come?”

  “She came a few days ago. There was something about her I didn’t trust and I sent her away with a palm reading. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Relief swept over me and I hugged Mary. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Why, what’s going on?”

  She poured me a cup of gin while I told her what had happened that night. When I finished, she frowned at me.

  “You must be more careful, Isabel. What if I had given her the potion?”

  “I know, Mary, and I’m sorry. But there was something about her, I felt sorry for her. I hate that she tricked me.”

  Mary touched my hand gently. “You trusted her because the story she told you was so similar to your own, my dear,” she said.

  Chapter Forty

  Saturday, 16 November 1678

  The next morning, I sat in my office, trying to make sense of what I’d learned about Captain Bedloe, and now Jenny. Oddly, I was angrier with her than Bedloe—my feelings for him had remained somewhat confused because of the intimacy we’d shared, but I had developed genuine compassion for Jenny and her plight. I hated her for the cruel deception she had played upon me. Mary had been correct when she said I’d believed Jenny’s story because it reminded me of my own, for my life had taken a similar turn.

  I was twenty-four when I found myself pregnant with the king’s child. Not so very young, I suppose, but how foolish I had been! Charles had received the news cheerfully, as though this baby was the first bastard he’d fathered. He kissed me tenderly and said, “When will the child come?”

  “Right after the new year, I think.”

  “We must act quickly then. There isn’t much time.”

  “There’s plenty of time. Six months, at least,” I said, giggling. His apparent worry about being a new father charmed me.

  “A suitable husband must be found to give the child a name.”

  A punch to the gut would’ve hurt less, though I’d been at Whitehall long enough to know how these things went. Still, I said, “But it’s yours! It shall have your name.”

  “My dear, you know that’s not possible. I’ll find you a husband to take care of you both. In fact, I already have someone in mind—a member of the palace guard who’s been exceptionally loyal to me. You’ll like him, I know you will.”

  The introduction was arranged a few days later. What Sir Ian Wilde lacked in good breeding he made up for in good looks, and with his wavy blond hair, trim waist and broad shoulders I knew I’d fared better than most women in my position. Nevertheless, I felt only bitterness and steadfastly refused to marry him. In a
n attempt to placate me, Charles made Ian a knight. The elevation in rank meant nothing to me—I was a lowborn but happy blacksmith’s daughter and, despite my liaison with the king, I’d never aspired to anything higher. In the end I married Sir Ian Wilde because Lucian convinced me it was for the best.

  I’d turned to him, expecting support for my decision not to marry, because I’d never known him to concern himself with social convention. In fact, his usual habit was to flout it at every turn. “And what do you say, brother?” I asked him one day shortly after I’d been introduced to Sir Ian. “Surely you don’t believe I should marry a man that I don’t love?”

  “The man you love is spoken for,” Lucian said with a shrug. “It matters not who you marry if you cannot wed the king.”

  This I could not deny. And so, Sir Ian and I were married soon after.

  At first, we were, if not compatible, tolerant of each other. But Ian was given to boorish cruelty, especially when he drank to excess, which was often. He threatened violence constantly and he pushed or hit me occasionally. Once he blackened my eye. I retreated into my impending motherhood and tried not to provoke him. It worked more often than not until my condition grew apparent.

  I’d never gone to any great pains to hide my growing belly—Ian had to have known the real reason for our marriage, even if it wasn’t explicitly said. Why else would the king have made him a knight? He’d accused me numerous times of continuing to carry on with Charles, though it wasn’t true.

  On this night, I’d just slipped my nightdress over my head when Ian’s voice startled me. I thought I was alone.

  “You’ve grown mighty round since we married,” he slurred. “If you’re not careful, you’ll grow fat as a cow.”

  Forcing a smile, I turned to face him and held my arms out to him. “It’s not fat, Ian. I’m with child. You’re to be a father.”

  He gave a brutish laugh. “A father? D’ye expect me to believe that brat you carry is mine?”

  I didn’t know whether to continue the ruse or to simply ignore him. I wanted only to mollify him so that he’d let me go to bed. “Of course it’s yours, darling. Our baby is coming. It’ll be here after the new year.”