by Holly West
As the carriage approached Piccadilly, Elijah slowed the horses. Several expensive carriages were already parked along Portugal Street and I realized that someone was having a party. It could’ve been any of the grand homes situated in the area, but I hoped it was Stowe, for it might make it easier for me to sneak in. I directed Elijah to park far enough away from Stowe’s residence that my carriage wouldn’t be seen.
I considered my appearance, thinking I’d guessed wrong. Dressed as I was now, there was no way I could pass myself off as a servant, hired for the evening to help with the party. I’d have to figure out another way to gain entrance. I removed my cloak and hood, got out and, shivering, set off toward the house.
Elijah stopped me. “I can’t let you go in by yourself, Lady Wilde.”
“It’s safer if I go alone,” I said.
“Please. Sam is my friend, too. I want to help.”
I smiled at him. “Perhaps I could use a lookout.”
Together we moved quickly and quietly over the large expanse of ground surrounding the house. The home itself was one of the biggest in the city—four stories tall, with a wide marble staircase leading to its entrance, a bell tower and no fewer than eighteen chimneys. I decided it would be safer to access the house from the back and it took Elijah and me several minutes just to walk around one side of it.
We found the servants’ entrance and I whispered my instructions to Elijah. He knocked on the door and when a servant answered, he said authoritatively, “Her ladyship went out for a breath of fresh air and is ready to come back inside.”
“Oh my, is her ladyship ill?” asked the girl.
“No,” I said. “I’m quite all right. A little too much wine, perhaps.”
“I’ll just escort her ladyship,” Elijah said.
We passed through the kitchen, which was bustling with so many servants that nobody paid us any mind. We found the back stairs and took them to the next floor. I heard the lilting sounds of a quartet to my left, which meant the ballroom and most of the house’s current inhabitants were probably in that side of the house. I went to the right. Most of the rooms on this side of the house were closed up and many were dark. It was difficult to see what their function was.
In one of the rooms, a fire blazed, giving the room enough light for me to identify it when I opened the door. It appeared to be a library or a study of some sort, and reminded me of the one Sir Richard kept at Bingley House.
“Stand in the hall and alert me if you see anyone,” I said to Elijah, leaving the door ajar as I went inside.
The room’s walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Could Stowe even read them? He might be wealthy, but he hadn’t started out that way. I thought it unlikely he’d have been schooled as a child, but perhaps, as his status rose, he hired a tutor to teach him.
With no time to browse the shelves, I lit a candle and surveyed the room. I started with the massive oak desk located in front of a bank of large windows. I began opening the drawers, looking for anything that might suggest that Stowe had killed Tom Clarke. What would it be? A receipt? A written message of some sort? Had I been less desperate, I might’ve stopped to consider that Stowe was probably far too clever to leave evidence of a murder lying about, but I wasn’t thinking that clearly.
Nothing in the desk even hinted at Stowe’s guilt, so I moved on to a polished wood cabinet in the corner. The constable had said that Tom Clarke was bludgeoned—a cabinet this large might hold a club or a cudgel that could’ve been used to kill him. Unlike the desk, however, the cabinet was locked tight. I tugged again on the door pulls for good measure and cursed aloud when they wouldn’t open.
“Lady Wilde,” a male voice behind me said. “What kind of language is that for a lady to use?”
I gasped, stopping with my hand in midair. All at once, the room was awash with light.
“Turn around. I won’t hurt you.”
Benjamin Stowe stood in the middle of the room, holding a large silver candle-tree with four candles. One of his guards held Elijah’s arms behind his back and forced him to enter the room.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Elijah said. “They caught me unawares.”
Stowe carefully set the candle-tree on a table and came toward me. I wanted to back away from him, but where would I go? With no alternative, I chose to stand bravely, holding my breath in anticipation.
But he stopped next to the seating area in the center of the room and waved his hand toward a chair. “Have a seat, my lady. It seems we have something we need to discuss.”
I exhaled audibly, but instead of taking the proffered seat, I took the one behind his desk. Somehow having the piece of heavy oak furniture between him and me helped me feel safer, even if it was only an illusion.
He smiled. He was at ease, unlike the night before at Coal Yard Alley. His confrontation with Mistress Ruby had not seemed to affect his confidence, despite her declaration that his soul was in mortal danger if he didn’t confess. God’s blood, had he somehow recognized me?
“As you like it,” he said. “May I ask why you’re in my study, going through my private papers?”
“I expect you know the reason why.” I exhaled slowly, unwilling to show him how he’d frightened me.
“I imagine you think that I killed your brother and you’re hunting for evidence to that end.”
“I have my suspicions about that, yes. But that’s not why I’m here. Tom Clarke was recently murdered. Don’t bother denying he’s an acquaintance of yours. I already know the truth. Did you kill him?”
“I can see why you’d come to such a conclusion. Especially when I tell you that Tom Clarke recently visited me with a business proposition. It turned out that it was less business and more blackmail. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Perhaps you didn’t do it yourself, but a man of your means could easily hire someone else to do the deed for him.”
“That I could, but I didn’t. My criminal days are long behind me, Lady Wilde. As it turns out, I’ve found that honest work is far more profitable.”
“Which is all the more reason why you wouldn’t want your illegal activities with Clarke and my brother to come out.”
“It wasn’t difficult to ensure Tom’s silence when he came to me. I paid him what he asked for and that was it.”
Sam had described him as being the sort of person that cleverer men called upon to do menial tasks—someone with aspirations of greatness that never quite transpired. Unable to remain in Maryland after he’d beaten Susanna’s stepfather, she convinced him that returning to England would be the start of a new life for him, but he soon found himself penniless and drifting. Though his actions toward Susanna were noble, he was never destined to make a success of himself, no matter what he did.
But Stowe had not yet convinced me that he hadn’t arranged for Clarke’s murder. “You’ll admit that it’s rather convenient that Clarke died when he did, since he was the only man left who knew your secret,” I said.
“I had nothing to fear from him. He was a beaten man—I could see it in his eyes. There was no need to blackmail me—I’d known him for years and he had only to ask me for money and I would’ve given it.” Stowe paused. “I think you should know that an attempt was recently made on my own life. A ruffian broke into my bedroom while I slept and tried to throttle me. I’ve increased my security as a result, although your presence here tells me I’ve not done quite enough.”
“Indeed,” I said. “Where is the man now?”
“Rotting in Newgate, with any luck. My guards removed him and brought him to the constable.”
I felt a glimmer of hope. If Stowe was telling the truth, I might be able to find out who’d hired the man and if he’d also been called to set upon Tom Clarke. Such a confession could lead to Sam’s exoneration.
“I’m of the opinion that wh
oever killed Tom Clarke also wanted to kill me,” Stowe continued. “Furthermore, the same person murdered your brother Adam twelve years ago.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I have an idea of who it is, yes. But before I tell you who, I think it’s time you learn the truth.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Stowe rang for a servant and asked him to bring some brandy. I waited while he prepared his pipe and lit it, filling the air with the haze of tobacco smoke.
When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to me, but to his man, who was still restraining Elijah. “Take him outside.”
I felt a rush of fear for Elijah, which Stowe must’ve seen in my eyes. “Don’t worry, he’ll come to no harm.” He waited until the door was shut. “Before I continue, Lady Wilde, I want your word that what I’m about to tell you will go no further than this room.”
Could I make such a promise without knowing precisely what it was I was agreeing to? Did I have any choice?
“Agreed.”
He sat back in his chair and blew smoke out of the pipe. “It was Tom Clarke who introduced me to Adam, back in August of 1665. I considered the meeting fortuitous, for I’d had an idea that the plague might give enterprising young men like myself the opportunity to prosper. One night, I expounded this notion to Tom Clarke, whom I’d known since childhood. He was eager to be part of any scheme I might come up with, but at the time I had no plan in mind. It was just musing. Tom wasn’t the smartest of fellows, God bless his soul, but in the end it was him who really started the whole thing.
“He said he knew of a goldsmith banker named Adam Barber who might be keen to work with us. He’d recently been married and his wife was with child. At the time, I didn’t know his wife was Sir Richard’s daughter and that they’d married against his wishes. Tom only told me Adam had thought of a way for us to earn a good deal of money. He then suggested his cunning ploy—he was in charge of the gold in Sir Richard’s vault, but he couldn’t just steal it without arousing suspicion. His idea was to issue banknotes to people who’d died, dating them to before their death. I’d pose as the dead man to buy goods, and then Tom would sell the goods off, exchanging them for gold. The forged banknote would work its way through the system and Adam could redeem it without suspicion.”
So Adam was gradually skimming gold out of Sir Richard’s vault by forging banknotes for which he never received a deposit. The dead man ruse would cover his tracks, but the imbalance would be discovered when Sir Richard returned to London. It would be impossible to hide.
“The whole thing was Adam’s idea?” I asked.
“He came up with the part about banknotes. I came up with the rest. Once we’d fleshed out the plan, Adam became reluctant. It seemed he felt a lingering loyalty to Sir Richard. I’ll admit that I was rather aggressive back then and didn’t react favorably when Adam said he didn’t want to go through with it. Tom and I roughed him up a little bit and he finally agreed to try it out.”
His story was interrupted when the servant reappeared with the brandy, bearing a cup for each of us.
“Thank you.” I forced myself to sip it—it was all I could do not to empty the cup in one gulp.
“Now then, where was I?” Stowe sucked on his pipe and exhaled the smoke through the side of his mouth. “Oh yes. A week after Adam gave me the first banknote, I procured a large amount of coal from a merchant in Lancashire, which Tom Clarke sold off cheap to a salt glaze factory in the city. We cleared nearly fifty pounds in the deal and it seemed too easy not to continue. Within a fortnight, we set up the next one.”
Fifty pounds was a substantial sum of money. It would’ve taken many years for them to earn such an amount in a legitimate business.
“Were all of your endeavors so profitable?” I asked.
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“Adam was using the name Michael Sutton. Why?”
“He was afraid that Sir Richard would find out what was he was doing. He knew that Sir Richard thought he’d died in the plague and figured his best option might be to just go forward as if he had. He changed his name, stayed close to home, and when he did have to go abroad he did so in disguise.”
The sting of disappointment I felt was acute. In essence, Adam had faked his own death, and that of his wife, Margaret. All for money, and possibly, revenge against Sir Richard for not allowing them to marry. It seemed a betrayal too cruel to fit the circumstances, even if, to an extent, I understood his motivation.
“Here’s what bothers me,” I said. “Adam had to know that he couldn’t go on doing this forever. Eventually Sir Richard would return to the city and find out. What did he plan to do then?”
“We all knew our good fortune would end eventually. But Adam had taken the most risk, being that it was his name on the forged banknotes. He planned to escape to America when the time came and take his wife and daughter with him.”
I recalled Adam’s visit to Andrew Wheeler, during which he’d disguised himself in order to exchange a forged note. “If Adam was so fearful of being found out, why did he try to cash a banknote himself?”
Stowe set his jaw. “There were a couple of weeks in November when, due to the weather, coal was scarce. Adam tried cashing a note with another goldsmith banker himself, just to see if it would work. The man recognized him and Adam panicked. He swore that was the end of all of it.”
“But was it?”
“I convinced him to make one more deal, which went smoothly. Nevertheless, he swore that he was through with our partnership. A few weeks later, he was found dead in an alley, throttled.”
Dead in an alley. Susanna had told me that he’d been found dead in his shop, but perhaps she’d just been confused on this point.
“And you know who did it?”
“I’m telling you all of this because we might be able to help each other. If my theory is correct, we’re both in danger.”
“What is it?”
“I think Sir Richard Winser found out what Adam was doing and arranged to have him killed. And if you’re not careful, he’ll kill you too.”
I raised my hand to my mouth. “No,” I said. “It couldn’t be true.”
“Perhaps an account of the last conversation I had with your brother will convince you otherwise,” Stowe said. “He came to me, terrified, saying that Sir Richard had learned about our scheme. He was afraid for his life.”
“When was this?”
“January 1666.”
“Had Sir Richard threatened him?”
“I don’t know what transpired between them. I only know that Adam was murdered shortly afterward.”
“But why should I believe you? You were angry when Adam told you he no longer wanted to do business with you. He’d ruined everything.”
“Angry, yes. But I was no more a killer then than I am now,” Stowe said. “Think about it, Lady Wilde. Your investigation into Adam’s death has been troublesome to me—despite my denials, I knew you’d eventually find out the truth. I could’ve done something about it after your first visit to my office. And yet I didn’t. Isn’t that proof enough I didn’t kill Adam or Tom?”
“What about Tom Clarke? Might he have been angry enough to murder Adam?”
“Tom didn’t have the sense to plan a murder. He never would’ve gotten away with it.”
“Tell me more about the recent attempt on your life,” I asked. “What happened?”
“Someone broke into my home the night before last. The rogue made it upstairs and stood just outside my bedroom with his dagger unsheathed before my guard caught him.”
“Do you know who hired him?”
“I interrogated him at length before the constable came to take him. I couldn’t get him to tell me,” Stowe said. “But there’s no doubt in my mind the man was there to kill me at the behest of an
other. He told me that much.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Chester Plum, if that’s indeed his real name. It might not be.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this, Mr. Stowe. You’ve just admitted to fraud.”
“I’m afraid it’s your word against mine. Any evidence of my involvement with Adam is long since gone. I’ve nothing to fear from you. You, however, have plenty to worry about. Whoever tried to kill me will certainly try to harm you, as well. You know too much. Furthermore, the Goldsmiths’ Company won’t take kindly to your assertions that there is corruption in the goldsmith bankers trade, even if it was twelve years ago. If you go forward with your quest for justice in Adam’s killing, you’ll put yourself and his daughter at risk. They won’t let anything that might tarnish the reputation of their industry, and with good reason. England’s goldsmith bankers control the country’s finances.”
“And you really think Sir Richard tried to kill you?”
“I would stake my life upon it,” Stowe said. “Perhaps a poor choice of words given the circumstances, but nevertheless, it’s true.”
* * *
I felt gratitude, albeit begrudging, toward Benjamin Stowe. He could well have called the constable when he came upon me in his study, and I would’ve had difficulty explaining my presence. Elijah and I would’ve been locked up in the holding cell at Newgate Prison—as Stowe had said, it was my word against his and he held far more power than I did, my relationship with the king notwithstanding. The fact that Stowe hadn’t had me arrested gave credence to his story, and while I still didn’t consider him exactly trustworthy, the story he told me about Adam and their business dealings together rang true.
