Mistress of Lies

by Holly West

  He took me in from top to bottom. “More like your granddaughter, by the looks of ye.” But all at once, his patience ran out. “Time for you to go.” His tone agitated the crowd, filling the room with dangerous energy.

  “Not before you tell us where Percy Cantrell lives,” Sam said.

  “Oh no, I’ll not be acting a snitch,” Hornsby said. “Find him yourself if you want to talk to him so badly. Take ’em out of here, Casper.”

  Casper unsheathed his sword and gave Sam a menacing glare as he hovered over him. “You heard him,” he said.

  Sam stood and offered me his hand. I rose from my seat and the two of us headed toward the door, with Casper following. A boisterous cheer rose up as Hornsby’s customers celebrated our exit.

  Once outside, Casper returned his sword to its place and relaxed his threatening stance. “A shilling’ll get you the information you’re looking for.”

  “You’re certain it was Tom Clarke?” Sam asked.

  “Aye. I even talked to him. Said he was happy to be back in London. He’s working a scam he says he expects will be profitable.”

  Sam gave him the shilling.

  “Did he tell you what the scam was?” I asked.

  “Nah. He just hinted that he was expecting a fortune to come out of it. But you hear that a lot around here. Everyone’s one step away from the scheme that will make ’em rich.”

  Percy Cantrell lived just around the corner. The house we came upon was a broken-down hovel barely fit for human habitation. As much as I wanted to find Kitty, I hated to think she lived here. She would’ve been better off in the streets, I reckoned.

  A small, troll-like man answered our knock. His back rose up in a hump and he appeared to be very old. Upon opening his mouth to greet us, it became clear that most of his teeth had been lost, probably several decades prior.

  “We’re looking for a man named Tom Clarke,” Sam said. “We were told he lived here.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “Couldn’t pay, so I threw him out. Haven’t seen him in two or three days, maybe more.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “Didn’t ask.”

  “Was there a young girl living with him?” I asked.

  “Aye. She’s gone too.”

  I heaved a sigh. A shilling spent and I’d learned almost to nothing.

  We left Alsatia and went directly to Coal Yard Alley. Our first visitor was a superstitious earl who was convinced his recently deceased mother was now haunting the room in his home that she’d died in.

  “What makes you think so?” I asked after pocketing my usual fee.

  “The room is always quite warm. Unusually so. But there’s an unbearably cold spot directly over her bed.”

  The bed was probably located near a drafty window or door. “Is the wall nearest to the bed also cold?”

  “Aye.”

  “Hang a quilt upon it,” I said. “Preferably one that your mother sewed herself.”

  “What will that do?” he asked.

  “It will communicate to your mother that you recognize and honor her presence there. Her spirit will feel more comfortable about moving on to the next world.”

  In reality, the quilt would help to insulate the wall so that the cold could not come in from outside. Over the years, I’d learned that many problems had practical, even simple, solutions. If my customers believed my advice came from a supernatural source, I didn’t feel it necessary to tell them otherwise. But the truth was that my skill as a soothsayer consisted mostly of keen intuition and trickery rather than actual divination.

  And thus, another customer left my room, confident that following my counsel would solve his dilemma.

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday, 18 January

  The next morning, I went into my office to record the previous night’s payment in my accounts ledger. It seemed unusually cold in the small room and I chuckled thinking of the earl who’d visited Mistress Ruby, wondering if his house was haunted. It wasn’t long before I discovered the culprit—the window was open, letting in draft.

  The latch appeared to have been tampered with, for it was bent back, preventing the metal hook from catching the eye. Someone had broken in.

  I glanced around. Nothing in the room seemed to have been disturbed. My books were resting neatly in the bookcase, and my papers were safe in the drawer where I’d left them. I didn’t keep anything of value in the room anyway—but the compromised window faced the street and I reckoned a would-be thief would think it the easiest place to access the house.

  I ran back upstairs, thinking about my jewelry box, where I kept the ring Adam had given me. A thief would naturally look there. But the box was locked and, once opened, I noted that all of its contents were undisturbed.

  I returned downstairs to the kitchen, where Alice was clearing the breakfast dishes. “The window in my office is broken,” I said. “When were you last in there?”

  She turned from washing a bowl, drying her hands on the towel tied at her waist. “I dusted yesterday afternoon. I didn’t notice anything wrong with it.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual last night?”

  “No, ma’am. You think someone broke in?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Nothing appears to be missing. Will you fetch Charlotte, Sam and Elijah?”

  I sat at the table. If someone had broken into the house last night, why hadn’t any of us heard it? It might’ve occurred before Sam and I returned, of course, but at least Charlotte or Alice should’ve heard something. Elijah lived upstairs on the third floor so it was less likely he’d hear it.

  The four of them entered the kitchen. “What happened?” Sam asked, sounding concerned.

  “The window in my office is broken,” I said. “Did anyone hear anything last night? If someone broke into this house, surely the culprit would’ve made some noise.”

  “I was out,” Elijah admitted.

  “And we retired early,” Charlotte said, referring to herself and Alice. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Check the house to see if anything is missing,” I told them.

  Sam and I went into the office. He examined the lock on the window and agreed it had been interfered with. “It’s a small window,” he said, “but I think an average-sized man could still get in. Everything’s in order here?”

  Thus prompted, I examined the room again and saw what I hadn’t noticed before. “Adam’s valise is missing.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t take it back upstairs?”

  “Positive. I left it here, next to the desk.”

  After a thorough search of the house, we concluded that Adam’s bag was the only thing that had been taken. Along with the pewter and a few other household items, it contained only the banknotes and the paper bearing Benjamin Stowe’s address. The notes, of course, were quite valuable, if they could be exchanged. My first guess, however, was that Tom Clarke had taken it.

  “Perhaps he intends to exchange the notes?” Sam said.

  It seemed the most likely possibility, I thought. Unless Benjamin Stowe had somehow learned of its existence and wanted to dispose of his address. But I didn’t see how that was possible.

  “Shall I fetch the constable, my lady?” Alice asked.

  “No,” I said. “They won’t be bothered for a theft of such little value.” But it bothered me greatly that Adam’s bag had been taken, regardless of its monetary worth. To me, it was invaluable.

  I didn’t see what I could do about it now, however. We were expected at Bingley House and I considered it to be an important visit. Sam made quick work of fixing the window and after making sure the house was secure, we set off for Ickenham, the small village that supported the group of palatial homes in the area.

  At two o’c
lock on Saturday afternoon, its bustling activity reminded me strongly of my youth. Warm light emanated from the windows of the bakery where Margaret and I used to buy small cakes iced in sugar, hungry tradesmen headed toward the Cock and Fiddle Tavern, eager to eat their midday meals, and busy servants hurried home from the market, loaded with baskets of fresh meat and vegetables to feed the lords and ladies at their estates.

  Bingley House lay about a mile northeast of Ickenham. My first sighting of its brick-and-iron gates made me wistful. I’d lived there for four years and for the most part, it was a happy time in my life. Charlotte peered out the carriage window, her mouth agape on her first glimpse of the house.

  “It’s enormous,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be the maid in charge of cleaning that house!” She’d worked as a chambermaid in a much smaller household and knew what hard work it was.

  I laughed. “There were about ten chambermaids in the household when I lived there. One was employed just to light the fires and make sure they remained blazing until bedtime. None of the Winsers had to raise so much as a little finger if they didn’t wish to.”

  Some of the prettiest gardens I’d ever seen, before or since, surrounded the house, though the cold of winter had withered them now. My cheeks warmed slightly, as they always did, when I saw them. I’d shared my first kiss with Sir Richard’s son, James, in these gardens.

  The house itself was a brick structure, with Dutch gables and banks of windows trimmed in stone. Built in the shape of the letter H, it had four wings and too many rooms to count. The family lived in the east wing, while the servants stayed in their own quarters on the topmost floor. The unused parts of the house remained closed off for most of the year, except at Christmastime, when family and friends traveled from all over England to stay, sometimes for weeks at a time.

  The butler came outside to welcome me. It was customary for the family to come out as well, but it was too cold today. He invited me inside, where Lady Winser and the rest of the household stood in the entry, ready with their greetings. It had been just a few weeks since I’d last been there, but pomp accompanied every visit to Bingley House. Every visitor, no matter his or her station, was treated like nobility and everything was done according to ceremony, with no detail overlooked.

  Lady Winser was not a particularly beautiful woman, but she had a kind face and pale, nearly translucent, skin. Her eyes were bright blue and fringed with dark lashes, her rust-colored gown fashionable but modest. James stood beside her, and next to him, his sour-looking wife, Emily. Their children, James and Lester, completed the family. Their rigid postures showed they’d been well schooled in the manners of their station. Only their baby, Peter, was absent, probably in the nursery.

  “Isabel,” Lady Winser said, clasping my hands. “I’m so happy you decided to come.” We kissed cheeks.

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  James Winser gave me a broad smile, reminding me of his father. He was nearly a head taller than me. He’d matured into a rather handsome man, and though our infatuation with each other had long since passed, I couldn’t help noticing it each time I visited. “Hello, Isabel,” he said. “Lovely to see you.”

  “And you, James,” I said.

  Emily and I exchanged tight smiles and brittle hellos. I didn’t like her, for she’d always been subtly but unmistakably hostile toward me.

  Several of the higher-ranked servants were also on hand to receive me and I politely acknowledged each of them. But my focus was on Lucinda, a timid woman who’d once been Margaret’s chambermaid and now served Emily. I was certain she’d been the one who revealed Margaret’s pregnancy to Nathan Fitch.

  “Let us go inside,” Lady Winser said. “It’s far too cold to stand in the entry. Shall we go to the Great Chamber? Dinner has been laid out there.”

  The servants dispersed and I accompanied the family into the Great Chamber, which is what the Winsers called their drawing room. Its walls were covered in a pale green fabric featuring a design of pink roses. Vases filled with fragrant flowers, the cost of which must’ve been exorbitant given the season, sat on nearly every table. The sitting area had been set with plates of sandwiches, cakes and fruit beside a pot of tea covered with a cloth to keep it warm.

  “I do hope you’re hungry, Isabel,” Lady Winser said.

  I was indeed, for I’d eaten nothing since breakfast. “Thank you.”

  The three of us women sat down, while James stood, waiting for us to settle ourselves before taking his own chair. We made polite conversation while we ate. Lady Winser apologized for Sir Richard’s absence—he had important business in London that couldn’t be postponed.

  “Father wrote to say you’d visited him recently,” James said. There was a smear of jam on the corner of his mouth and I quashed the urge to wipe it away for him. “He said you’d come to his shop seeking information about Adam.” He flicked his tongue to the edge of his mouth, taking the errant jam with it.

  I wondered if Sir Richard had also told them what he’d divulged to me about Margaret. James must’ve known the truth about Margaret’s disappearance, but had he guessed she’d been in love with Adam? James hadn’t gotten along very well with my brother, mainly because James was jealous of Adam’s bond with Sir Richard. It had been clear that Sir Richard intended to hand his business over to Adam when the time came, for James had never shown any interest in goldsmithing or financial matters.

  “I find that I’ve become more sentimental for Adam since I’ve grown older,” I said carefully. “I imagine you must feel the same about Margaret.”

  “Indeed,” James said. “Not a day passes when I don’t think of my sister.”

  “Come now,” Emily said. “Why must we speak about such melancholy things? Let us enjoy our meal.”

  As usual, her tone had an edge to it. She never liked it when James and I reminisced. It reminded her that we shared a history that she was not a part of.

  I had thought myself in love with James once, a long time ago. I suppose he loved me too in his own boyish way. It was a childish sort of courtship, consisting mostly of playful teasing and shy glances. And then there was that kiss in the garden. But when Charles began showing an interest in me, my feelings about James changed; he was, after all, just a boy. He was no competition for a king.

  “Emily is right,” Lady Winser said.

  With that, the matter was decided. Emily gave me a smug smile and we all continued the meal, making conversation about the weather, the children and the servants—the usual trivial subjects we talked about whenever I stayed at the house. Any discussion about Adam and Margaret would have to be conducted later and with discretion.

  Upon finishing, Lady Winser asked if I’d like to go upstairs for a rest before supper and I agreed that a nap would be just the thing. Mrs. Gardener, her own chambermaid and waiting woman, showed me to my usual room. It was beautifully decorated in shades of red, from pink to crimson to magenta. The bedspread was cloth of gold, and a canopy displayed matching drapes. The fire had already been lit, probably first thing that morning, so the room was comfortably warm.

  “I’ll send Charlotte down to assist you,” she said. Sam, Charlotte and Elijah had all been relegated to the servant quarters upstairs. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Not at the moment, thank you.”

  She closed the door behind her and Charlotte knocked soon after.

  “Is Lucinda upstairs?” I asked.

  “She’s helping Mrs. Winser undress,” she said. “The servants have been gossiping and Mrs. Winser is beside herself that you’re here again so soon after Christmas.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know what Emily’s worried about. She should know by now that I have no designs on James.”

  Charlotte gave me a conspiratorial wink. “He is rather handsome though, don’t you think?”

  I
smiled but did not comment. Instead I said, “When Lucinda returns from assisting Mrs. Winser, bring her to my room. It’s time for the two of us to have a talk about Margaret.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nearly a half an hour passed and I’d nearly dozed off when Charlotte finally returned with Lucinda.

  “Stand outside the door,” I instructed Charlotte. “Let me know if anyone happens upstairs.”

  Charlotte did as I asked and Lucinda turned to me, concerned. “I don’t understand, Lady Wilde,” Lucinda said. “Is something amiss?”

  “We haven’t much time,” I said, ushering her deeper into the room. “I want to know what happened to Margaret.”

  The question confused her. “But Margaret died many years ago.”

  “I know the truth, that Margaret ran away. Now I want to know—when did she suspect she was with child?”

  Lucinda’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Answer my question. I promise you’ll not get into trouble.”

  “Lady Wilde, please,” she said, clearly distressed. “Don’t make me talk about this.”

  I exhaled, frustrated. “Lucinda, listen to me. It’s of the utmost importance that you tell me what you know immediately. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to expose your secret.” It shamed me to resort to the same threat that Nathan Fitch had, but she’d given me no choice.

  She blinked a few times, then set her jaw. “It was in June, a month or so before she left Bingley House. She couldn’t keep her food down, vomited nearly as soon as she swallowed it. At first, she was terrified that she’d somehow contracted the plague, but after a few days she realized that she was going to have a baby. She made me swear not to tell anyone.”

  “And you kept her secret?”

  “Of course I did. Miss Margaret was very kind to me. I didn’t want her to get in trouble.”

  “Did she tell you who the father was?”

  “No.”

  I regarded her dubiously. “Didn’t she, Lucinda?”