Mistress of Fortune

by Holly West

  Without warning, Ian balled a fist and struck my cheek so hard it knocked me backward into a chair. I was dizzy with the pain of it. Before I could gather myself, he bent over and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my ear to his mouth.

  “What kind of fool do you think I am? It’s the king’s bastard in your belly, you filthy, disgusting whore.”

  He released my hair and let me fall to the ground. My scalp throbbed. I landed on my wrist and it bent back painfully. My brain felt too big for my skull. Despite it all, I was conscious enough to see him pull his leg back, ready to kick.

  “Ian, no!” I screamed, scrambling to cover my stomach.

  His boot first made contact with my arm. He kicked again, hitting a soft spot on my belly.

  “You made me a cuckold but who’s the fool now?” He said it quietly, punctuating each word with a kick.

  I don’t know how long it lasted, for at some point I lost consciousness. I awoke, still on our bedroom floor, to a painful cramping in my belly, worse than any agony I’d felt before or since. Ian had gone, and I screamed for our maidservant to fetch the midwife. My daughter Emily came later that night, many weeks too early and nearly killing me in the process. My poor baby died the following day.

  To this day, thinking about her loss made me feel hollow inside, as though a vital piece of myself had been stolen away.

  After Emily’s death, Ian’s brutality worsened. I remained bedridden for weeks after her birth, leaving him bitter and angry not only that I’d lost the child that he now apparently believed was his, but that I would not yield to his demands to create another. One night he took me by force, ripping open my wounds, covering our bed in my blood for the second time.

  I knew that Ian would slowly, painfully, send me to my own grave if I didn’t do something to stop him. I’d heard the rumors about a soothsayer who’d developed a poison—ladies spoke of it to each other in hushed whispers, never daring to mention it in public. When a hapless husband died suddenly, we’d give each other knowing glances. I only half believed the rumors. But Sam knew how I’d lost my daughter and finally admitted he was acquainted with a woman who could help me. After I was recovered enough to leave my home, I asked Sam to introduce me to her.

  When I told Mary my story she seemed not to believe me at first. She insisted upon drawing up my astrological chart and droned on about my moon being in Venus or some such nonsense and advised me never to bathe on Wednesdays, for it was my unlucky day. I was just about to leave in disappointment when she leaned forward and pressed a tiny vial into my hand.

  “This is what you came for,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Put the whole of it in his wine and mix it well—he’ll not be able to detect it by taste or smell.”

  Ian and I had a pleasant enough supper that night and my resolve wavered. I had no wish to become a murderess. I touched the scab above my eyebrow, not fully healed since the last time he hit me, and reminded myself that Sir Ian Wilde had struck the blow that killed my baby. He’d terrorized and raped me. If the Lord God saw fit to offer him redemption, so be it, but I would never forgive him. Nor could I ever escape him.

  Ian retired to the drawing room, leaving me alone in the kitchen to prepare his port. My hands shook as I emptied Mary’s vial into his cup and, terrified I might accidentally ingest some of it myself, I washed my hands with lye soap until they were raw. I brought the tray out to him.

  He sat in the drawing room with his feet up in front of the fire. We’d just finished dinner and as I entered the room, he let out a long belch then patted his stomach.

  “You enjoyed your supper tonight, I hope?” I asked, setting the tray on the table in front of him.

  He raised his little finger to his mouth and began picking between his front teeth. “The beef was tough as the sole of my boot.”

  On another night I might’ve protested, tell him we’d have better meat in the house if he didn’t gamble every shilling away. Instead I remained silent and took petty satisfaction in the fact that he apparently hadn’t enjoyed his last meal. It didn’t last long—I was frightened to my core at what would transpire on this night.

  As usual, Ian needed no coaxing to drink. He took up his glass and sipped, letting the liquid stay on his tongue a moment before swallowing. A thoughtful expression came to his face and for a horrible moment I thought he’d tasted the poison. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to say something about it, but he just took another gulp, then another, and then the glass was empty.

  We sat in the drawing room, me with my embroidery hoop in my lap and Ian dozing in his chair in front of the fire. I couldn’t concentrate on my work, so anxious was I. My gaze kept flitting over to him, keeping a close but surreptitious eye on him. Mary told me it could take several hours for the potion to do its work, but soon after he finished it, Ian grimaced and let out a grunt.

  I sat forward in my chair. “Is something amiss, Ian?”

  He began to wave me off but then clutched his stomach, doubling over. He cried out in anguish, “I’m going to be—” and vomited onto the floor.

  As my husband writhed about in pain, I’d never been so terrified in my entire life. I fought the urge to help him and prayed it would be over soon. It was true I wanted—I needed—Ian dead, but I’d never intended for him to suffer so. I fetched a damp rag from the kitchen and fell to my knees next to him, wiping his sweat-soaked brow while he continued to retch.

  He looked up at me, eyes full of loathing. “You! You did this—I’ll kill you!”

  I rocked back on my heels as he grabbed at me. He was so weak his hand barely touched the hem of my gown. I backward crawled out of his reach and when the convulsions began, I ran into the kitchen, hating my cowardice. Bile rose in my throat and I panicked, thinking I’d ingested some of the poison myself. I drew a few deep breaths to calm myself and I felt better.

  At last there was silence. I wiped the tears from my face and went back to the drawing room. Ian lay on his back, perfectly still. The floor was covered in vomit and his chair was overturned. A vase had fallen and shattered glass littered the room. The stench of shit and urine choked me as I bent over my husband to make certain he was dead. No breath issued from his mouth and his chest was still.

  I said a brief prayer for Ian’s soul and touched his cheek, looking into his dead eyes. His eyelids resisted when I tried to shut them.

  I’d expected to feel relief at this moment but instead I was overcome with something akin to remorse. “Mother of God, Ian, why did you force this decision upon me?” I whispered.

  I surveyed the mess, not knowing whether to clean it up. What would I have done if Ian had suffered a sudden attack and died of natural causes? I left the drawing room as it was and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the empty vial, tucking it into the top of my bodice. I’d dispose of it somewhere else. Exhausted, I sat down at the kitchen table and waited for Sam’s arrival, as we’d planned.

  “May the Lord God forgive me,” I’d thought.

  But now I had to put the memory of Ian’s death aside so I could concentrate on where things stood. Jenny’s reaction to Mistress Ruby’s visit confirmed that Bedloe had indeed played a role in Sir Edmund’s murder, even if the extent of it was not yet clear. What could I now do to prove it? I couldn’t go to Danby and insist that he investigate Bedloe further, nor could I go to Charles. As far as anyone with authority was concerned, the mystery of Sir Edmund’s murder was solved and the culprit punished.

  I folded my hands on my desk and noticed the large ruby from my ring was missing. Where once the brilliant red stone had sat, there was only an empty gold bezel. My heart sank. I thought back to the previous night, when I’d turned the ring around to hide the stone. Had I dropped it somewhere in Bedloe’s room or had it fallen out somewhere along the way? I tried to hold back my tears, but overwhelmed as I was by all that had occurred in the past few days, the loss of the stone was almost too much to bear.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Charlotte cam
e into the room carrying a cup of tea, as she had begun doing whenever I worked in my office. She set it on the desk and started to leave, but paused when she saw my visible distress.

  “Lady Wilde, whatever is the matter?”

  I slipped the ring off my finger and handed it to her. “I lost the stone.”

  She examined it. “Oh no! I know how much it means to you.”

  “Please tell Alice to thoroughly search the house.”

  She gave it back to me and patted my shoulder. “Of course. I’ll help her.”

  I went upstairs, keeping my eyes fixed upon the floor as I went, looking for the red gemstone. There was no sign of it. I went into my bedroom and locked the ring in my jewelry box, then enlisted Sam and Elijah’s help. Together with Alice and Charlotte, we combed every inch of the house. We were still looking when a page named Harry arrived bearing a summons from Lord Danby.

  Knowing I was surely in for a lecture of some sort, I said, “Please send my apologies. I’m dreadfully ill and simply cannot leave the house.” I coughed to add strength to my claim.

  “I’m afraid Lord Danby insists,” he said, frowning. “Please, Lady Wilde, he’s waiting.”

  Sam came up behind me. “What is it?”

  I sighed. “Danby wants to see me. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll come with you—”

  Harry, who stood at least a foot taller than Sam and outweighed him by three stone or more, crossed his arms in front of him. “I assure you Lady Wilde will be safe with me,” he said.

  Sam stood his ground, ready to argue.

  “I insist you allow my man to accompany me,” I said. “Otherwise I’ll leave it to you to explain to Lord Danby why you could not persuade me to heed his request.”

  Harry apparently preferred the former option, for he agreed that Sam would come with me. He insisted, however, that Sam remain with the carriage whilst I met with his master.

  Danby wore a sour expression when I walked into his office.

  “I don’t suppose you need me to tell you why I’ve summoned you here,” he said.

  I had a good idea of the reason, but I decided to make him say it. “Perhaps you should enlighten me, my lord.”

  “Your interference with the king last week was intolerable, Isabel. You assured me you’d stop your query into Sir Edmund Godfrey’s death and yet you did not. Now, once and for all, you must cease your investigating. Edward Coleman was convicted of the murder and hanged as punishment—there is nothing more to be done.”

  “Lord Danby, you’re the king’s chief minister! You know Edward Coleman had nothing to do with Sir Edmund Godfrey’s death. How can you let the actual murderer go free?”

  “I’m telling you this as a friend. If you don’t retreat I shall have you arrested, if only for your own safety.”

  But I had grown tired of his threats and I could no longer hold my tongue. “Why not do it, Lord Danby? Why not just arrest me and be done with it?”

  “Isabel, believe it or not, I have no wish to see you harmed.”

  “Why the sudden concern for my welfare?”

  “The matter is far more dangerous than you imagine.”

  “Perhaps you can explain just who or what I should be afraid of?” I said.

  “There’s nothing more I can say. Just know I cannot protect you if someone should take offense to your continued meddling. And rest assured, Isabel, your actions have already offended.”

  * * *

  When Sam and I arrived home, the entire house was unusually dark; the only light came from the burning embers in the drawing room fireplace. After my meeting with Danby my nerves were already on edge and now my heart jumped.

  “Something’s happened,” Sam said.

  I started toward the fire and my toe knocked into something. When I focused my eyes, I saw an overturned stool. I had to feel my way to the mantel, stumbling on a table along the way. Finally, I found a candle, lit it, and held it up.

  The room was torn apart.

  Cushions from the settee and chairs were scattered about. The china cabinet stood open and broken glass littered the floor. The door to my office stood ajar and I walked toward it. Papers had been pulled out of the desk and thrown around.

  We ran into the kitchen and found Charlotte and Alice both gagged and bound to chairs, their eyes wide with fear. I removed Charlotte’s gag and set to work on her ropes while Sam helped Alice.

  “Charlotte, are you all right?” I asked.

  “Oh ma’am, it was awful! I had already gone to bed when I heard Alice scream. I came downstairs and a man grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth. He threatened to kill me if I struggled.” She began to cry.

  Her ties were now loose enough for her to wriggle out of them. “I know you’re scared,” I said, “but you must try to calm yourself and tell us what happened.”

  “He made me show him where your valuables were.” She sniffed and looked at me with big eyes, shiny with tears. “I’m sorry ma’am! He had a knife—I was afraid he’d kill me!”

  “It’s all right, you’re safe now. What happened next?”

  “I told him your jewelry was in the bedroom. He dragged me upstairs so I could show him, then he forced me back into the kitchen. The other man tied Alice up.”

  Sam had finished untying Alice’s ropes and she rubbed her wrists. “Did you recognize who it was?” I asked her.

  “No, they had their faces covered and wore black hoods,” Alice said. “One was a large man and the other was much smaller. He’s the one that had me. I would have fought back but he’d caught me unaware.”

  “Did they ask for anything else?”

  “No, but I could hear them in the drawing room and it sounded like they were pulling drawers out and knocking things over.”

  Charlotte bobbed her head in agreement.

  “I’ll go out and ask the neighbors if they heard anything,” Sam said.

  “It’s too late, you’ll just disturb them,” I said. “Ask them tomorrow morning.”

  I went to the fire and used the poker to encourage the flames, then filled the kettle with a ladleful of water and hung it over the fire. “I’m fixing a tea to calm your nerves,” I told Charlotte and Alice. Lord knew my own nerves could use some calming as well. I sat down at the kitchen table. “Have you told me all you can remember?”

  “Oh, ma’am, I wish I could tell you more, but they just left us tied up in here and never came back in.”

  “How long were they here?” Sam asked.

  Alice looked at Charlotte, who shrugged. “Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?” Alice said. “It all happened very fast.”

  I sighed heavily. “That kettle will take a while to boil. Let’s go upstairs and see what they took.”

  In truth I had but one concern: I prayed they hadn’t taken my ring. The setting, the part that Adam had crafted with his own hands, was the most important part.

  Like the drawing room, the bedroom had been thoroughly searched. The wardrobe doors were open and clothing strewn everywhere. Alarm coursed through me. My disguise! I depressed the panel at the back of the cabinet, releasing the latch on a secret compartment. Thankfully, my wig, cloak and special paint remained undisturbed.

  I went to my bed, where my jewelry box lay open. The lock had been pried apart with a tool of some sort. It was empty. Most of the jewelry it had contained was expensive but not of sentimental value. It could be replaced. The only item that meant anything was Adam’s ring, and it was gone, taken along with everything else.

  “Is it gone?” Sam said, indicating the empty box.

  “Yes. They took the ring and everything else of value that could be easily carried.”

  He dropped his shoulders in disappointment. “I’m sorry, Isabel.”

  I tossed the jewelry box onto the bed. “There’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself,” Charlotte sobbed. “I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

  I could not find it
within myself to comfort her. Instead, I left the three of them standing there and went back downstairs. I stood in the center of the drawing room with my hands on my hips, staring at the mess. Charlotte and Alice came in and began putting the furniture right.

  The way the thieves had torn through the drawers of the desk made me think they were looking for something specific. Money? A receipt? Thankfully, there was nothing there that would connect me to Mistress Ruby. And most of my money, except for a modest amount I kept in the house for living expenses, was kept with a goldsmith.

  We determined that along with my jewelry and a few other household items, about twenty pounds and a package of letters had been taken. I reflected on the contents of the package and could not recall that it included anything of any interest beyond a few letters from Adam I’d been keeping. I lamented their loss along with the ring.

  I returned to my bedroom with no thought but to tumble into bed. But the clothing in my closet had not just been thrown on the floor, most of it had been ripped to shreds. I fell to my knees in the midst of the tattered silk and velvet, examining the shards of fabric. Why would the burglars waste precious time on such an unworthy task? Surely they were in a hurry to get out as quickly as possible.

  I ran down the stairs, back to the drawing room where Charlotte and Alice were still tidying up. “Alice,” I said breathlessly, “is there any possibility the thief who tied you up was a woman?”

  Alice thought about it. “Yes, I suppose it could’ve been. One of them did seem rather small for a man.”

  Her response strengthened my suspicion—Jenny and Bedloe had committed the theft. The notion chilled me to my bones, but instead of fear, I felt only anger.

  Bedloe and I needed to talk, and this time, there would be no disguise.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Sunday, 17 November 1978

  Once I finally got into bed that night, I slept deeply, without dreaming. The next morning I awoke stronger and clearer headed, and I asked Sam to fetch the constable so that the theft could be recorded. I didn’t think they’d recover the ring, but it made Charlotte and Alice feel better to know something had been done. I remembered Charles’s words about not making accusations I couldn’t prove, and having no real evidence of Bedloe’s involvement, I withheld his name. The constable dutifully took down the details of the crime and assured us he’d find the culprit.