Mistress of Lies

by Holly West

  “But it’s true, Lady Wilde.”

  “If that’s so, how’d you get the money to pay for your journey to England?” Charlotte asked.

  “My mother left me with a little money when she died, along with this.” She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a ring. “My father made this for her. She told me she’d rather starve than sell it.”

  I leaned forward and held out my hand. “May I see it?”

  She passed it to me and I turned it around in my fingers, examining it. The ring was crafted of gold and set with a large sapphire that glinted in the candlelight. The inside shank bore Adam’s maker’s mark, which I recognized immediately. A ruby ring with this mark sat locked in my jewelry box upstairs.

  For the first time, I began to believe that Susanna Barber might actually be Adam’s daughter.

  I held the ring up. “My brother gave me a ring very much like this one before I left London to go to Amsterdam in 1665. When I returned to London the following year, I learned that he’d died, a victim of the plague.”

  Her eyebrows came together in a point over her nose and her forehead wrinkled. “I fear you’ve been misinformed, Lady Wilde. My father didn’t die of the plague.”

  I clutched the ring a little bit tighter. “How, then, did he die?”

  Her befuddled expression turned to shame. “Your woman is right,” she said quietly. “I didn’t return to London just to meet you, though now that I’m here I’m glad to have done it. But I confess I had another reason.”

  “What is it?” I asked, full of trepidation.

  “My father was murdered, Lady Wilde. I came here to find his killer, and I hope that you’ll help me.”

  Chapter Two

  Her words echoed in my mind: My father was murdered. The notion that Adam had been slain was so far from what I previously knew to be truth that for a second, the room’s walls seemed to close in around me.

  “You must be mistaken,” I said. “Or lying.”

  “May I be struck down by the Lord himself if I’ve lied about anything tonight,” she said.

  Her oath did nothing to dispel my doubts. “If I’m to help you find your father’s murderer, you must first tell me everything.”

  “My father indeed took ill with the plague, my lady. My mother was the parish nurse who tended to him. They married after he regained his health.”

  It seemed incredible that Adam had survived the plague when so many had succumbed. When the illness struck, it progressed quickly and without mercy. Most of its victims did not last beyond a few days. And that Adam had apparently been assigned a caretaker who wasn’t a pockmarked old slattern, as most plague nurses notoriously were, was nearly as unbelievable as the fact that he’d survived at all.

  “Which parish did they marry in?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. What does it matter?”

  “Each parish keeps a record. I could check if they married.”

  Her face reddened. “Of course they were married. I’m no bastard!”

  She’d obviously never considered the possibility that her mother might’ve lied to her about the circumstances of her birth. But I judged it better to keep my suspicions to myself, at least for now. “A search of the records might lead to important information,” I said gently. “Do you know what day they got married?”

  “I don’t. But it would’ve been in 1665, during the summer. I know that, for I was born on the twenty-eighth of March, 1666.”

  That did indeed put her age at twelve, which seemed right, based upon her appearance. It was difficult to believe that such a young girl would have the wherewithal to travel so far by herself, even if, as she said, she’d had no choice. Surely she had someone in America who could’ve taken care of her there rather than risking the long voyage to England.

  “What about your mother’s family?” I asked. “Some of the Suttons must still live here in England.”

  She shook her head sadly. “She was orphaned as a baby and brought up in a London poorhouse.”

  “What did Adam do after they married?”

  “He was a goldsmith, my lady, like you said.”

  “Here in London?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  My father, Bartholomew Barber, had been a farrier and a blacksmith who taught Adam, his firstborn son, the trade. But when I was twelve, Adam sixteen, and Lucian eleven, our father died. Not content to spend his life shoeing horses in Kent, Adam used our small inheritance to bring us all to London with aspirations of obtaining an apprenticeship with Sir Richard Winser, a noted goldsmith; Adam’s godmother was a distant cousin of Sir Richard and she agreed to write to her prominent relation on Adam’s behalf. On this basis, Sir Richard agreed to take him on.

  I still remembered that day. Adam burst into the small room he’d rented for us, swollen with pride. “It’s done,” he said, taking my hand and twirling me about. “I’m to begin my apprenticeship with Sir Richard tomorrow. It won’t be long before I’m a goldsmith myself, I’ll warrant!”

  “Will you make me a pair of ear bobs?” I asked. “And a necklace too?”

  “Indeed I will, Isabel. And perhaps a clock-watch for Lucian so that he’ll have no excuse for his tardiness.”

  We all laughed at that. We feasted on roast chicken and minced pies that night, normally far too expensive for our meager budget.

  It was a coveted position, for Sir Richard was renowned not only for his fine workmanship but also for his wealth. Soon after Adam began his apprenticeship, Charles was restored to the throne and commissioned Sir Richard to make the regalia for his coronation the following year. Adam himself made and delivered many of the pieces, thus securing not only the king’s patronage but his admiration as well.

  After it became clear that the plague was a serious threat, Adam had remained in the city out of loyalty to Sir Richard. By that time, he’d apprenticed in his shop for six years. But if it was true, as Susanna claimed, that he’d stayed in London even after he’d come so close to dying of the pestilence, he’d been foolish. It was possible to be infected twice. Why would he risk not only his own life but his new wife’s as well?

  Finally, I could delay it no longer. I needed to hear what Susanna claimed was my brother’s true fate. “You say your father was murdered. What happened?”

  “My mother went to his shop to bring him his dinner, but she found the doors locked. It was odd because my father had been expecting her. She pounded on the doors, but no one answered. She went home, thinking he’d forgotten she was coming and had decided to eat at a tavern, as he sometimes did. But he never came home that night.”

  Her voice was quiet now, so soft I had to strain to hear.

  “The next morning she reported his disappearance to the constable. At first he wouldn’t listen, but eventually he took pity on her and agreed to investigate. He forced open the lock on the shop door and found him dead on the floor next to his workbench.”

  The grim image passed before my eyes and I gave my head a quick shake to dislodge it. “What happened?”

  “He’d been throttled, my lady.”

  Tears were now streaming down Susanna’s face and I regretted making her recount such a terrible story. In the back of my mind, however, I wondered if her crying was just an attempt to gain my sympathy for some other purpose. What did she want from me? Money was the most likely answer.

  Regardless, she’d unsettled me, and I didn’t want her to know it. I needed a moment to myself to gather my thoughts.

  “Would you like to see the ring my brother gave me?” I asked.

  She managed a smile. “I would, my lady.”

  I went upstairs and paused at the top of the landing, willing myself to wipe away the awful picture of my brother’s broken body from my mind. I continued to my bedroom and removed my jewelry box key from between
the pages of the Bible I kept on my bedside table. I was about to fit it into the lock when Charlotte burst into the room.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” she said. “She’s left.”

  “What—why?”

  “I got up to help Alice clear the table when Susanna suddenly cried, ‘She’s gone to call the constable, hasn’t she?’ Before either of us could stop her, she was out the door.”

  I skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Finding no sign of Susanna, I hurried out the door and into the street, looking to the left and right. It was empty.

  Alice and Charlotte stood in the doorway. “Shall I search for her, m’lady?” Alice asked.

  The lanterns on the Strand, near enough to my own street that they normally helped to illuminate it, had already been extinguished. It seemed impossible that any of us would find her tonight, even with the aid of a torch. A gust of wind blew my hair back, reminding me I was standing outside in the cold, where any of the neighbors could overhear us. Gossip made its way through London quickly enough without me aiding its spread in such a foolish manner. Besides, the hour had grown late and I was expected at Coal Yard Alley.

  “No, Alice,” I said, shivering. “We won’t find her now. Come, Charlotte, we must ready ourselves for work.”

  Chapter Three

  I returned to my bedroom to transform myself into Mistress Ruby.

  Though my age was nearly thirty-two, my long, auburn-colored hair was still thick and shiny. I piled it on top of my head and stuffed it into a skullcap. I painted my face in the manner of an old crone, shadowing the areas around my mouth, eyes, and forehead with black kohl to emphasize the lines and wrinkles that seemed to grow naturally deeper as each year passed by. I dotted my face with a mixture of grease and brown clay to simulate the spots of age and finished by fitting a tangled gray wig upon my scalp. A black woolen cloak and hood—useful both for warmth and concealment—completed my disguise.

  It was essential that I become unrecognizable. I was known throughout London as Lady Wilde and many of the visitors who consulted with Mistress Ruby were the same courtiers I danced with at parties, supped with at elaborate meals and gambled with in spirited games of Lanterloo. None of them would appreciate knowing that their supper companion, Lady Wilde, was Mistress Ruby, privy to their most closely held secrets.

  This wasn’t the only reason I disguised myself. It was widely assumed that my late husband, Sir Ian Wilde, had left me with a substantial inheritance on which to live. In truth, he was a gambler and a whoremonger who lost or spent every penny he made nearly as soon as he’d earned it. Necessity dictated that I make my own living now, but pride kept me from wanting it known.

  Charlotte waited for me at the foot of the stairs, outfitted in her own disguise—that of a beggar boy. She’d smeared her face with dirt and soot from the fireplace and placed a cotton roll in each cheek to make her face appear fuller. She wore ill-fitting trousers, belted with naught but a rope, and a brown wool coat to keep out the cold. A soggy-looking hat covered her blond hair, which she’d pulled back and tied with a cord. She’d mastered the amusing swagger of a spirited young urchin, and once outfitted as such, I probably wouldn’t recognize her myself if I didn’t already know her identity.

  We traveled to the Strand on foot, where Charlotte hired a hackney to take us to Coal Yard Alley. I cut my eyes to every shadowy doorway and alley along the way, hoping to see Susanna, but to no avail; the girl had retreated back into whatever gloomy hole she’d sprung from.

  Her abrupt departure left me with many lingering questions. Was there any possibility her story was true? Neither alternative was particularly consoling—either my brother had suffered a painful death from the plague or he’d died at the hands of a murderer. Which was easier to accept?

  Her visit was an unsettling reminder that I had no idea what Adam’s last days had really been like. Upon my return to London in 1666 I’d been so grieved by his death that I’d simply trusted those who’d been closest to him at the time and hadn’t asked many questions. God’s blood, I’d always assumed that my brother’s body had been thrown into a plague pit like that of so many other unfortunate souls. Now there was a possibility he’d actually had a proper burial.

  That, at least, was a comforting thought.

  We arrived at Coal Yard Alley, a dark, closed-end street located at the northern end of Drury Lane, hidden away from the city’s usual hustle-bustle. Charlotte paid the hackney driver and we made our way to the decrepit building where I rented a room on the third floor. I kept it sparsely furnished, with nothing but a bookcase, a cabinet, a desk and a bench for my visitors to sit on. The one luxurious item was a tall-backed upholstered chair for myself, chosen to help give me an air of authority over my customers.

  As soon as we arrived, Charlotte started the fire. Having formerly been a chambermaid, it was something she was quite adept at and it wasn’t long before the flames rose up to warm us.

  There was still a bloodstain on the floor next to my desk, a grim reminder of the violence that had occurred there just a few months before. Since Sam left, I’d felt unsafe in this room, even when Charlotte accompanied me. She’d proven herself to be a braver soul than she appeared, but without Sam by my side I lacked confidence. Though the wounds I’d sustained in the attack had mostly healed, the mark on the floor would remain forever.

  I should bring in a rug to cover the stain.

  When Charlotte finished her work, she sat down across from me on the wood bench and we waited for someone to arrive. Usually, we kept ourselves busy by playing cards, but tonight, I had other things on my mind, as did she. She was uncharacteristically quiet and I knew she was thinking about Susanna’s visit.

  “I suppose you’re wondering about the girl’s story,” I said. “I don’t know whether it’s true. I’ve a valise that belonged to Adam—as soon as we get home I’ll look through it to see if I can find anything that confirms what she said.”

  Her eyes met mine. “How d’ye think she got the ring?”

  “She could’ve stolen it, I reckon. But from whom? And how did she learn so much about my family?”

  “D’ye think we’ll see her again?”

  I shrugged. “I hope so.”

  Charlotte put her hand to her breast. “Oh, Lady Wilde, d’ye think it’s true what she said? That someone murdered your brother?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know, Charlotte. I’m beginning to realize there’s a great many things I didn’t know about Adam. I was young and impetuous and too consumed by my own affairs to pay much attention to his troubles. And I wasn’t likely to listen to his opinion on most matters. He hated that I’d taken up with His Majesty and it was a constant source of worry for him.”

  “But surely he understood why you did it? What woman could refuse the king?”

  “I suppose he understood it to an extent—I tried desperately to convince him it was no mistake. But in the end he was still my older brother and he felt it was his responsibility to make sure I didn’t ruin myself or the family’s reputation.”

  “The important thing is that you loved him, my lady. And I’m certain that Adam knew it. I’ve seen you with Lucian—I know how you love your family.”

  We both settled into silence. I wondered whether we’d receive any visitors tonight. In the weeks following Sam’s disappearance, I’d neglected my work, and now, some nights there might be one or two visitors but sometimes, there were none at all. My income had fallen drastically and I had to consider the possibility that my life as a fortune-teller had come to an end. It was a worrisome prospect. There were few enough ways for a woman to make her way in this world and my role as Mistress Ruby had, up until now, afforded me a life that few other occupations could. I had a household to run and despite what I sometimes told my customers, I knew well enough that money didn’t appear by magic or even by impassioned prayer.r />
  It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in precarious financial circumstances. My time working as a spy for the crown in Amsterdam resulted in a large debt that Parliament subsequently refused to reimburse. Despite my best efforts to pay it myself, I was arrested and spent nearly a year in prison until an anonymous benefactor paid it.

  To this day, I wasn’t certain who’d done this good deed. Most likely, King Charles had arranged for my release, though he’d long denied it. It made sense that he would’ve wanted to keep it a secret for political reasons, even from me. Parliament kept a tight hold upon the royal purse strings, but he could’ve managed it with a bit of quiet wrangling. My liaison with Charles had, over the years, been rather tumultuous, but I could never believe he’d leave me to languish in prison any longer than was necessary.

  Alas, my money troubles hadn’t ended there. When I found myself carrying the king’s child several years later, he arranged a marriage to Sir Ian Wilde, a member of His Majesty’s Guard. I refused at first—why should I marry another when it was the king I loved? But eventually Charles convinced me that the child deserved a name and I agreed to become Ian’s wife. It was all for naught—my baby was born too early and perished the day after. When Ian suddenly died a few months later, his unbridled gambling had left me with another large debt. I had an unfortunate choice: find a way to pay it or face prison again.

  Another marriage was out of the question. Sir Ian had terrorized me with his unpredictable temper and violent nature and I would never allow a husband to yoke me again. Nor could the king be relied upon for any sort of regular income—my time in Amsterdam had demonstrated that, even if he had saved me from Marshalsea Prison. What was left? Prostitution? A lifetime of emptying chamber pots and mopping floors? I was equally ill suited to both fates.

  A visit to an astrologist named Mary Bixby had answered the question for me. I would become a soothsayer. I convinced Mary to show me the tricks of fortune-telling and thus, Mistress Ruby had been born. But now, as Charlotte and I waited for customers that might never come, I wondered if perhaps this was where Mistress Ruby would die. What would I do then?