by Holly West
“I have a proposition for you. Mr. Stowe won’t find out about our conversation tonight—you have my word on that. You go back and report that your job is done, he’s got nothing more to worry about.”
The man regarded me doubtfully, but agreed to do as I said.
When he left, I said to Sam, “What do you think?”
“I think you might’ve gained an enemy in Benjamin Stowe. You must tread carefully.”
“It sounds as though part of his business is offering bribes for favors. Perhaps worse. Do you think he’d resort to violence against me?”
“A man forced to protect himself will resort to anything. Even a man as seemingly upstanding as Benjamin Stowe.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tuesday, 21 January
The next day, Benjamin Stowe himself appeared on my doorstep.
When Alice came into the kitchen to announce his arrival, I became nervous. I’d sent Sam out to try to find where Tom Clarke had moved on to, and Elijah was upstairs in his room. Their absence made me vulnerable.
“Charlotte,” I said quietly, “fetch Elijah. Alice, invite Mr. Stowe into the drawing room and ask if he wants some refreshment.”
I gave myself a moment to compose myself. Did I really think Benjamin Stowe would come to my home and hurt me? In broad daylight? No. I reckoned I was safe, at least for now. I entered the drawing room to find Stowe sipping from a cup of sherry. He stood up to greet me.
“Thank you for seeing me, Lady Wilde. Considering what occurred last night, I thought perhaps you would refuse me.”
“I nearly did,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“I’d like to thank you for not involving the constable in this matter. I made a mistake, sending my man over here last night. It’s not the way I like to do things.”
“Why then, did you do it?” I asked, thinking of Mistress Ruby.
“I wanted to dissuade you from investigating your brother’s death.”
“Why should it matter to you?”
Stow glanced down at his well-shod feet. “I’m afraid it’s a bit embarrassing. You see, I did know Adam. In fact, we did some business together.”
“Why not just admit it when I first asked you about it?”
“As it happened, your brother swindled me. He bought a quantity of coal from me and used a false banknote. When I tried to exchange it with another goldsmith, he refused it on the grounds that it wasn’t authentic.”
“How could he tell?” I asked.
“He said Sir Richard’s signature appeared to be forged.”
That didn’t make sense to me. Adam had the authority to sign Sir Richard’s banknotes himself. Why would he have forged Sir Richard’s signature? Furthermore, Andrew Wheeler had told me that no goldsmith banker would’ve refused to exchange a note from either Adam or Sir Richard. If this was indeed the case, I saw no reason why Stowe would’ve had a problem.
“It was my understanding that Sir Richard’s banknotes were widely accepted,” I said. “Just as they are now.”
“It was my belief, as well. I was surprised, to say the least, when it was refused.”
“Do you remember which goldsmith it was?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” Stowe raised his hands. “I want you to know I hold no grudges. It happened a long time ago. My intent in sending my man over here last night was to try to prevent further embarrassment. Obviously, I’ve only made matters worse. I apologize if I frightened you.”
I knew Stowe was lying to me, but why? Probably because he’d been involved in Adam’s scheme and he wanted to mislead me.
“I accept your apology,” I said. “But since you’ve now admitted to knowing Adam, it seems likely that you also knew Tom Clarke. He did business with my brother, perhaps of the sort you describe. Did you ever meet him?”
Stowe shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
“You’re certain?”
“That was a very long time ago, Lady Wilde. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the name. Now, may I give you a word of advice?”
“Certainly.”
“I’ve managed to forgive Adam’s treachery.” His brown eyes no longer appeared kind, as they had when I’d first encountered him at Coal Yard Alley. “Perhaps it’s time for you to move on, as well. For your own good.”
* * *
Sam returned that afternoon, cheerful with good news: he’d learned that Tom Clarke had just taken a room at a house on Lime Street. But his exuberance quickly waned when I told him about Stowe’s visit.
“I’m sure he meant it as a threat,” I said, referring to Stowe’s statement about me relinquishing my investigation for my own good. “But I’ll be damned if I stop now. I’m too close to learning what really happened to Adam.”
Surprisingly, Sam agreed. “But we must do it carefully. Stowe might not be inclined toward brutishness, but he’s a powerful man. He might have other ways of silencing you.”
Before we’d even finished supper that night, one of His Majesty’s pages was at the door, insisting that I accompany him to the palace. Charles was growing impatient, I thought. I needed to decide whether I’d be moving to Whitehall. But the king had never been the sort to force a woman to bend to his will, and tonight I already had plans to visit a different man. I begged off by telling the page that I felt an ague coming on.
Susanna, it seemed, had begun to settle into my household. She’d stopped her incessant requests to see Tom Clarke and enjoyed playing games with Charlotte and Alice. I started to believe that she might be content here, if given enough time.
That night, after she’d gone to bed, Sam and I headed off in the direction of the Tower, hoping that this time, we’d catch Tom Clarke. We arrived to find a house similar to the ones he’d stayed in before. The landlady who opened the door reminded me of the witches described in the fairy tales Adam used to read to Lucian and me. Her long, crooked nose hung over a mouth devoid of teeth, and her breath smelled as rancid as an overflowing cesspit.
At first, she didn’t want to speak to us at all, but a half-groat got her talking. She confirmed that Tom Clarke lived there but said he wasn’t home at the moment.
“Might we go upstairs and wait for him?” I asked.
She looked dubious but agreed that we could wait and she directed us to a small, cold room at the top of the stairs. It smelled strongly of mildew.
This time, I gave her a farthing. “If you’d be so kind not to announce our presence to Mr. Clarke when he arrives home, we’d appreciate it. He’s an old friend and we’d like to surprise him.”
“Aye,” she said, pocketing it.
As soon as she shut the door, we set about looking for Susanna’s ring. The room’s meager furnishings didn’t provide for many hiding spots. I started with a chest with three drawers, which didn’t yield anything but a soiled shirt and a pair of gloves ridden with holes.
Sam opened the wardrobe and let out a low whistle. “Isabel, look at this.”
He bent down and pulled out Adam’s valise, then brought it over to me.
“So the bastard did steal it,” I said. “Susanna has the handkerchief I found inside.”
I laid it on the bed and opened it. The only thing that remained inside was the plague mask. Not even the banknotes issued to Phineas MacBride and Matthew Collins were there.
“He must’ve sold everything else,” I said, feeling a pang of regret at having lost Adam’s last remaining things. At least I’d found the bag itself and knew for certain who’d stolen it in the first place.
Footsteps thumped outside, toward the door. “Hide,” Sam said, grabbing the valise.
I crouched next to the chest of drawers while Sam knelt behind the bed. Clarke stepped into the room and shut the door. He moved toward the wardrobe to put his coat away, turning h
is back to us. Sam jumped up and grabbed his arms, pinning them behind him.
“Whoa!” Clarke wriggled to free himself but Sam held on tight.
I stepped out from behind the chest of drawers. Clarke’s eyes widened with recognition. “Where are my brother’s things?” I demanded.
Clarke laughed dismissively. “You’re wasting your time, they’re not here. I sold ’em off long ago. Don’t know why you care anyway—your brother was nothing but a thief and a coward.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve got the proof—the forged banknotes—the ones he never exchanged. But don’t worry. His reputation will remain safe. For a small fee I’ll return ’em to you and no one will ever have to know.”
I’d be damned if I gave this rake so much as a ha’penny. But perhaps if I let him think I would, he’d give me more information. “You’ll need more proof than a couple of banknotes to convince me it’s worth paying you off to keep Adam’s secret.”
“I’ll talk—but I want twenty pounds.”
“You’ll get the money when you tell me what you know about Adam.”
“And tell your man to loosen his hold.”
I nodded at Sam. He relaxed, but only slightly. He knew the risks of giving Tom Clarke too much freedom.
“You’re a fool if you think Adam Barber was a noble man,” Clarke spat. “It was him who came up with the entire scheme.”
According to Susanna, Clarke and Adam had been good friends. But this didn’t sound like friendship to me. That was probably another lie he’d told her to gain her sympathy.
“And what scheme was that?” I asked.
“He figured out that he could steal gold from his employer by forging banknotes. He couldn’t issue them to himself, so he’d write them to dead men. Stowe posed as the dead man to buy goods with the banknote and then I’d sell ’em on. We’d split the profits among the three of us. It worked perfectly until Adam got scared and ruined everything.”
“How so?”
“Once he started the ploy, he knew he couldn’t go on being Adam Barber. There was too big a risk that Sir Richard Winser or his colleagues would find out. Sir Richard believed Adam died in August so he dated all of the banknotes he signed for June or July. He changed his name to Michael Sutton and lived in disguise. We all figured it would be fine so long as he didn’t do business with anyone he knew from the past. But one day Adam tried to exchange a note with someone he knew and he got recognized. He spoiled everything by trying to exchange that note and it scared him off the whole thing. He told Stowe and me that he’d made enough money, he was done with it.”
“Even you’re not foolish enough to believe you could’ve gone on with it forever,” I said. “Once the plague danger passed you would’ve been exposed.”
“We still had months to go and a hell of a lot of money to make if it weren’t for Adam’s mistake.”
“So you killed him?”
“I don’t know who did the killing. All I know is that he got what was coming to him. But with Adam dead, his wife had nowhere to go and no way to make money. Ann was afraid Adam’s enemies might hurt her or Kitty. I couldn’t let her starve, could I? So I helped her escape to America.”
“You swear you had nothing to do with Adam’s death?” I asked.
“I never touched him.”
“What about Benjamin Stowe?”
“You’ll have to ask him about that.”
“What about Susanna’s ring? The one Adam made for Ann. Where is it?”
“‘Twas the first thing I sold, of course.”
His words infuriated me. “And did you also sell Susanna to Mother Plimpton?”
Clarke’s confidence vanished and he went limp under Sam’s grip. “You’ve seen Kitty? Where is she?”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said. “I know what you did.”
“What’ve you done with her? Tell me where Kitty is or I’ll kill you, I swear it!” He lunged for me but Sam held him tight.
Clarke’s reaction confused me. Was it possible he didn’t know what had become of Susanna?
“What happened to her, Clarke?” I asked.
“She was out begging one evening and disappeared.” He seemed genuinely distressed. “I’ve been searching for her ever since. Who’s this Mother Plimpton? Is Kitty with her?”
“You sent a little girl out to beg for you?”
“How else were we to eat?” he said. “Once I saw that you were nearly as poor as I was I knew I’d made a mistake in bringing her here. But I always kept a close eye on her, I swear it.” He appeared close to sobbing now.
“Why did you bring her to England?” I asked. “She has a home in America even if her mother is dead.”
“Ann Sutton’s not dead—she’s alive and well and living in Maryland City as we speak. But Kitty wanted to come to London to live with her rich Aunt Isabel. What a disappointment that was!”
His words stunned me. Margaret was still alive? Why had Susanna lied about it?
Seeing the shocked expression on my face, Clarke took the opportunity to lunge at me again. Thankfully, Sam still had his wits about him. He twisted Stowe’s arm back further.
“How did Kitty know about me?” I said weakly.
“Oh, I’ll admit Ann did a good job of building you up over the years. When she found out you’d married a knight, you’d a thought it was the king himself. Wouldn’t she be surprised to learn you’re naught but a pauper?”
How could Margaret have possibly known anything about my current life? Then it struck me: Lucinda, the chambermaid at Bingley House. It was the only explanation I could think of—they must’ve exchanged letters over the years, though God knew how Lucinda had managed it without the Winser family finding out.
Clarke appeared to genuinely care for Susanna. I no longer believed that Clarke had sold Susanna into prostitution—it was probably like Susanna had said, that Mother Plimpton had plucked her off the street by promising her riches. Still, Clarke obviously wasn’t a fit guardian. There was no way I’d relinquish her to his care.
“Where are the banknotes you found in Adam’s valise?” I asked.
“Tell me where Kitty is.”
I signaled to Sam with my eyes. He tightened his hold on Clarke and twisted his arms behind his back. Clarke yelled out.
“Where are the banknotes?” Sam demanded.
“Never you mind,” Clarke said.
He kneed Clarke in the back of his legs, causing him to fall forward. Clarke yelled as his knees hit the floor.
“Where are they?” Sam persisted.
“I won’t say a word until you tell me where Kitty is.”
Sam looked to me for guidance. How far should he go? I abhorred any display of violence, but I reminded myself that Tom Clarke might’ve killed my brother. I gave Sam a nod.
Sam punched Clarke, hard, below the ribs, causing him to groan with pain. “Please, stop.”
“Tell us where they are and he’ll stop,” I said.
“They’re in my jacket pocket. In the wardrobe.”
I stepped over him to get to the wardrobe and he grabbed at my foot to trip me. Sam hit him across the face and he slumped forward, seemingly unconscious. I found the banknotes and took up the valise. Sam and I escaped out the window, into the night.
Chapter Thirty
Wednesday, 22 January
When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Charlotte and Susanna were sitting in the kitchen. Alice set a plate of small cakes dusted with sugar in the center of the table and asked me what I wanted to eat.
“Nothing, at the moment,” I said, still too upset from my encounter with Tom Clarke to think about food.
“Can we see Tom today, my lady?” Susanna said, her mouth full of half-chewed cake.
“You mustn’t eat with your mouth full, Susanna,” Charlotte said.
She finished chewing and swallowed. “Can we see him today?”
I folded my hands in front of me on the table. “As it happens, Sam and I saw Mr. Clarke yesterday. I’m sorry, but he told me he sold your ring.”
She appeared disappointed for a moment, but then shook her head. “I don’t care about that. When can I see him?”
Susanna’s eyes shone with innocence. She loved Tom Clarke so much—why did he have such a hold over her? Was it simply that she’d known him since she was a baby?
Perhaps it would be better if I just let her go off with him. Margaret was still alive—let Tom take her back to America where she belonged. But even if Susanna had lied to me, she was young—still a child, really. I couldn’t just abandon her to a man who let her beg on the streets, who let her get carried off by a bawd like Mother Plimpton. Who knew where she’d end up?
“You’ll see Tom again, very soon,” I said. “But not today.”
“Promise me,” she said.
“I promise you.” I was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Susanna, when did your mother die?”
If the question took her unawares, she didn’t show it. “Last summer, Lady Wilde. On the twentieth of June.” She paused, her eyes solemn. “What’s the matter, my lady? Are you angry with me?”
“What’s interesting,” I said, ignoring the question, “is that Tom claims that your mother is still alive. Have you any explanation for that?”
Her mouth gaped. “It was part of the plan. He told me you’d take pity on me if I told you she was dead.”
“But why did you come to England with Tom if you’re mother is still alive?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. She married a horrible man, Lady Wilde. He—he touched me the same way the man at Mother Plimpton’s did.”
“Was he—did he—” I didn’t know quite how to phrase my question. “Susanna, did he steal your maidenhead?
Her face reddened. “He tried to. He was all the time fondling and kissing me, telling me it was all right because he loved me. But no, he never got under my skirts. Not in the way you mean, at least.”
