Mistress of Lies

by Holly West

  There was a commotion coming from an adjacent room. Men spilled out the door, unable to find space within it, and I could hear shouts and laughter coming from inside.

  One of the whores walked toward us languidly, as though she were gliding upon ice. She was not a beauty, but her body was luxuriously curved and suggested the fulfillment of any desire a man might have. She wore nothing but a silk dressing gown tied haphazardly at the waist, her nipples poking out cheerfully from behind the thin fabric.

  “Good evening, sirs,” she said in a voice so high it could not have its real pitch. “’Tis an honor to entertain men so fine as yourselves tonight.”

  “What’s going on in there then?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s just Bess, putting on a show. She’ll do another in an hour if you have a mind to see it, and in the meantime I’d be happy to keep you company.”

  “A show?”

  “Chucking’s her specialty.”

  I recalled a brothel in Amsterdam where a similar entertainment was on offer. While the particulars of the performance varied, it usually entailed the chucking of half crowns into the performer’s exposed honeypot. As Lucian was so fond of saying, “The cunny is the dearest piece of flesh in the world.” I supposed, in this case, it was true.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mother Plimpton take notice of us. Unlike her girls, who mostly wore shifts or dressing gowns, she was fashionably dressed and as bejeweled as any court lady. Her bearing was that of a countess rather than a bawd. I knew her to be nearing age fifty but her complexion suggested a woman many years younger; she could no doubt afford the latest French beauty treatments.

  “Thank you for greeting our guests, Cate,” she said. “I’ll take over from here. There’s a gentleman in the corner who’s requested your company.”

  Cate gave us a winsome smile, curtsied and went on her way.

  “My name is Mother Plimpton, the proprietor of this house. What is it you have in mind tonight?”

  “We’ve been told your house specializes in young beauties,” I said. “And we want the youngest you’ve got.”

  “But of course, gentlemen. I’ve just the girls for you. Excuse me for a moment.”

  She sauntered over to a couch where two young women lounged, one with her feet resting in the other’s lap. She said something to them and they both made their way over to Sam and me, followed by Mother Plimpton.

  “This is Rachel,” Mother Plimpton said, “and this one is Letty. What do you think, sirs?”

  They were indeed young, perhaps fifteen or so, and pretty, both blonde. They gave us innocent smiles but there was a hardness lurking behind each of their eyes that could not be concealed by rosy cheeks and hair ribbons.

  I wished I could get them out of here; it was a pity they couldn’t all be freed. But it would be hard enough just rescuing Susanna.

  “Younger,” Sam said.

  Mother Plimpton frowned. “These are the youngest I’ve got. I assure you these girls are of the highest birth and only serve gentlemen of quality, such as yourselves.”

  I began to worry. What if the barkeep had been mistaken when he said he’d seen Susanna? Or lying, just so I’d give him a coin?

  I feigned angry disappointment. “I was told you had a young one, not more than twelve. Brown hair, amber-colored eyes, prettiest thing you ever saw.”

  Mother Plimpton crossed her arms. “It would seem that your tastes are rather specific.”

  “Rather,” I said.

  “I do have the girl you’re looking for, but she’s not quite ready to entertain.”

  “We’ll take her or no one.”

  “I’ve my reputation to think of.”

  “We’ll give you a pound.”

  Even I knew it was a ridiculous sum to pay when a fellow could exit the premises and find suitable company for a half groat. A bawd like Mother Plimpton would never give up a pound on the pretense of protecting her questionable reputation. She appeared to carefully consider the proposition before declaring, “All right. But don’t forget I’ve warned you.”

  She led us upstairs to a hallway lined with doors. Some were open, and as we passed I heard the clamor of girlish giggles, sensuous whispers and muffled grunts. The room was the second to last, and when she opened the door I was greeted with the scent of orange water. It permeated the room, giving the air a heavy feel. Whether it was this or my nerves that made it hard to breathe I didn’t know.

  “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen,” she said.

  A lone candle sat on the bedside table, the sole source of light in the room. I rested my bottom on the edge of the bed as Mother Plimpton lit a group of candles that rested on a small chest of drawers and a brass candle-tree on the other end of the room. Sam remained standing.

  “I’ll just be a moment,” Mother Plimpton said, then left the room.

  “What do you think?” Sam said.

  “I’m not yet certain. It won’t be easy getting her out, I do know that.”

  He strode over to the room’s one window. He unlatched it but before he could attempt to open it, we heard footsteps. He spun around to face the door just as Mother Plimpton entered with Susanna.

  She’d been cleaned up and was now dressed in an ill-fitting gown that hung on her small frame like a blanket. Her hair was undone and she wore no paint. I was distressed to see that her eye had been blackened. Perhaps I hadn’t gotten here in time—she’d already been forced to work.

  “These gentleman have asked to see you, Kitty,” Mother Plimpton said. “Remember what I’ve told you and make sure they’re well taken care of.” To me, she said. “I’ll take the agreed-upon sum now.”

  I handed it to her and she placed it in the leather purse she had tied around her waist. She gave Susanna one last warning glare and left us alone.

  “Have they hurt you?” I asked, rushing toward Susanna.

  Though I spoke in my regular voice, she appeared confused and fearful all at once. Nevertheless, she managed to keep her composure. “I’m flattered that you chose me, m’lord.” She moved toward the bed. “I shall endeavor to please you.”

  My throat swelled with emotion. “You misunderstand, Susanna. It’s me, Lady Wilde. I’ve come to take you away from here.”

  Sam had managed to pry the window open, but there was only about a two-inch space.

  Susanna’s eyes widened with fear and she shook her head violently. “Mother Plimpton will never allow it. She says I owe her for these clothes, for my room and board. I cannot afford to pay it. She’ll beat me again if she finds me.”

  That explained the black eye. My anger surged.

  “Never mind that,” I said. “I shall keep you safe. But we must hurry. Is there another way out besides the front door?”

  “There’s a servants’ entrance in the back.”

  I glanced at Sam. “We have to make a try for it.”

  Sam nodded. “Are there any others we should watch for besides the side of beef who stands guard out front?”

  “Mother Plimpton has four guards. I don’t know which you’re talking about.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sam said, looking grim. “We best hurry if we’re going to do this.”

  “Mother Plimpton will be watching for us,” I said. “But she won’t be expecting us to take Susanna. Follow me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I opened the door slowly, halfway expecting Mother Plimpton to be standing on the other side of it. But the hallway was empty. I motioned to Susanna and Sam and whispered, “Walk downstairs calmly.”

  We moved through the hall, passing an open door and startling a whore who was on her hands and knees on the bed whilst her cully clutched at her waist, thrusting himself at her from behind. I quashed the urge to cover Susanna’s eyes as we scrambled p
ast. Similar scenes greeted us from other rooms, but there was no sign of Mother Plimpton until we got downstairs and saw her in the parlor negotiating another deal.

  The supper hour had begun and the brothel was more crowded than it had been earlier. The girls still lounged whilst the fops fawned, but now a pretty lass sat in a corner playing a harpsichord and two servants circulated through the men, bringing them drinks and plates of food.

  “Take Susanna out the back,” Sam said. “I’ll take care of Mother Plimpton.”

  I started to protest, but then realized he was right. Our best chance of getting out was if he distracted Mother Plimpton and her guards.

  “Where’s the servants’ entrance?” I whispered to Susanna.

  “This way.”

  As soon as she said it, I glimpsed a large ruffian lumbering in our direction. “Hurry!” I said.

  I followed as she took off in a run, and the two of us skidded into the kitchen. A cook was standing at the fire, stirring something in a large pot. She gasped as we ran out the servants’ door, the guard at our heels.

  Once on the street, we dodged in and out of the passersby. We made it to Grub Street and I turned around to see where our pursuer was but didn’t see him. Just to be certain, I pushed Susanna into an alley where we could catch our breath.

  The sound of footsteps pummeling cobblestones burst out from nearby. I clutched Susanna’s hand and we started to bolt.

  “Isabel, stop!” Sam yelled. “It’s only me!”

  * * *

  I didn’t feel truly safe until we got home.

  Sam described his escape from the brothel as narrow. He’d picked a fight with Mother Plimpton, saying that Kitty hadn’t performed the duties for which he’d paid and that she return his money. She’d called in one of her guards to escort him out and he resisted, which he thought would give Susanna and I the chance to get away. After sufficient time had passed, he allowed the guard to throw him out. He found us a few minutes later.

  “Thank you for getting me out of that awful place,” Susanna said. “You wouldn’t believe the things she expected me to do.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  I could well believe it, but I didn’t like thinking about it.

  Seeing her now, in the light of my drawing room, I realized how much she resembled Margaret Winser. They shared the same large amber eyes and high cheekbones. I’d been searching so hard for a bit of Adam in her that I’d never glimpsed Margaret. And yet, here it was.

  “You no longer have to worry about that,” I said. “I only hope I got to you soon enough so that you didn’t have to entertain any cullies.”

  “Mother Plimpton tried to make me but I kicked and screamed so loudly he couldn’t touch me.” She raised her hand to her black eye. “He was so angry he punched me. Mother Plimpton threw him out, said he’d ruined me for customers for at least a week.”

  “How on earth did you end up there?” I asked.

  “Tom—he’s the man you saw me with at the bear baiting—told me he couldn’t afford to keep us both in room and board. Mother Plimpton found me on the street and promised to look after me so I went with her. Tom’ll kill her when he finds out what she was up to.”

  I had my doubts about that. A man like Tom, who’d let a little girl beg for him on the streets, would’ve arranged the meeting between the girl and Mother Plimpton himself for a fee. That sort of thing happened every day. But Susanna obviously loved Tom and I wanted her to trust me. I feared she wouldn’t if I spoke of him badly.

  “You’re safe now, don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’m just relieved we got you out before—before anything happened. I’ll bring in a physician to examine your eye tomorrow morning.”

  “A what?”

  I’d known America was uncivilized, but was it really so primitive that she’d never heard of a doctor? “A physician—a doctor. He knows medicine and he’ll treat your wound.”

  She appeared nervous. “Can’t you just do that yourself?”

  “We’ll see about that tomorrow. You must rest for now.”

  “But we’ve got to find Tom! He’ll be so worried about me.”

  “Not tonight, my dear. We all need some rest. But I do have a few questions.”

  Susanna looked instantly contrite. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

  “Not angry, Susanna, confused. Why did you ask me to help you find your father’s killer and then run away?”

  “I was afraid you didn’t believe me. I thought you would call the constable. Tom warned me I had to be careful.”

  “I only wanted to make certain you were all right, Susanna. I was surprised to see you with him—I thought perhaps he’d kidnapped you.”

  “Tom would never hurt me,” Susanna said. “I’ve known him since I was a child.”

  “Who is he?”

  “After my father died, he came to America with my mother and me.”

  “Tom knew Adam?”

  “Aye.” Her face brightened. “He speaks of my father often.”

  “They were friends?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Aye. Tom promised my father he’d take care of my mother should anything ever happen to him.”

  What did that mean? Had Adam known he was going to be killed? “Was Tom a convict too?”

  The question appeared to baffle Susanna. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “But your mother was, wasn’t she?”

  “Aye, she was.”

  “I don’t understand how he could’ve traveled with you on a convict ship.”

  “He came with us, that’s all I know.”

  Susanna blinked rapidly and squirmed in her chair, worrying her hands in her lap. I’d best be careful how I questioned her. She was liable to bolt again if she thought I didn’t believe her, or that she’d gotten Tom in some kind of trouble. Besides, it was indeed possible that her mother had been a convict, even if the ship’s manifest didn’t indicate it, though I couldn’t picture Margaret Winser stealing a bit of bread to get by.

  “Where did the name Kitty come from?” I asked.

  “That’s what Mother Plimpton wanted to call me.”

  “I heard Tom call you Kitty that night at the bear baiting. And I know it’s what your mother called you.”

  She faltered. “It’s just a nickname. I don’t know where it came from. But I swear my real name is Susanna.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Margaret?”

  “’Course I have,” she said. “It’s a common name.”

  “I mean, did you ever hear anyone refer to your mother as Margaret?”

  The worried expression intensified. “My mother’s name was Ann. I told you that.”

  “I believe you, Susanna.”

  And though I did believe her, I didn’t know how much I could trust the girl otherwise. Her loyalty seemed to lie with Tom Clarke—it didn’t matter that he might’ve sold her to Mother Plimpton. In Adam’s absence, Tom had taken on the role of father, and Susanna clearly loved him.

  She’s just a girl, I reminded myself. But though she was young, she was obviously clever and not averse to lying if she thought it could get her out of trouble or benefit her in some way. I suspected she’d been lied to throughout her life and I had no way of knowing what she thought was fact and what she’d made up herself. I could only trust the parts of her story that I’d verified to the extent that I could: she was Margaret Winser’s daughter and most likely fathered by Adam. She’d been taken to America by her mother and Tom Clarke as an infant and probably raised there. At some point, Clarke brought her back to England. Everything else she’d told me might be lies, either concocted by Clarke or Susanna herself.

  It seemed clear that Clarke had known Adam around the time of his death. Now I wondered what he might’ve had to do with it. “I don’t
know if your father was murdered, Susanna, but I have reason to believe that he didn’t die of the plague, as I initially thought. How did you learn about your father’s murder?”

  “Tom told me. He said it was time I learned the truth.”

  “Was this before or after your mother died?”

  She didn’t reply immediately, as though considering her answer. “After, when we were on the ship coming to England. It was him who told me my real name is Susanna. He told me my father had been murdered and that he was sure you’d help me find who’d done it.”

  Had Tom Clarke fabricated the tale of Adam’s murder just to persuade Susanna to come here with him? Why? What reason did he have for returning to London when he’d evidently made a life for himself in America?

  “Tell me more about Tom,” I said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where did he live? What did he do?”

  “We lived on the Goddards’ tobacco farm,” she said. “My mother took care of their children and Tom was a farrier.”

  “You grew up there?”

  “Yes, it’s the only place I’ve ever lived.” She was pensive. “I miss it.”

  Considering the sort of treatment she’d had since arriving in England, I didn’t doubt she longed for her home in America.

  I wondered if Margaret and Tom had ever been lovers, but didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. “Did your mother love Tom, Susanna?”

  “Oh yes, my lady.”

  “Were they—did they ever get married?”

  Darkness crossed her face. “No.” Her demeanor suddenly changed. “When can I see Tom again, my lady?”

  How could I tell her that I thought he’d sold her to Mother Plimpton? It was impossible for me to reconcile the man she loved with the man I suspected him to be. I sighed. “Soon, I promise. Do you know where we can find him?”