The Second Mrs Thistlewood Read online

  Mrs Hooper senses something is amiss, but I keep my anguish to myself. When she sends me home an hour early, I step out of the shop and scour the street for anyone who might follow me. Ladies gather at shop windows admiring goods on display, while others pass by in stylish carriages, homeward bound with purchases. Few men walk the pavements, and none have a sinister air. I turn onto Leicester Square to find it bustling with visitors. Noise spills from the open door of a coffee shop where husbands pass the time in cheerful debate while waiting for their wives. This time, I stroll along the pavement, listening for the slightest sounds. I deviate from my usual route home and wander through Covent Garden, reassured by the hubbub that increases in volume as I draw near to the centre. I stop by a table of gloves displayed beneath a shop window. A choice of colours, all cut from fine quality leather, but alas I must resist the lure of owning a pair. From the corner of my eye, I see an ominous figure withdraw to a shadowy side street. I straighten my posture and thrust out my chin, then walk towards the spot where I saw him. He’s no longer there, but I know he’s close. And watching me.

  I look around, contemplating my next move. If the man wishes to hurt me, I’m defenceless. I could flee, but he knows where I live.

  My temples throb, my fingers tremble. Arthur dismissed my claims of being followed, declaring me of no interest to anyone. My imagination runs wild. What if the stranger derives pleasure from hurting women? I know such men exist.

  There is one person who can set my mind at ease, and he is a mere stone’s throw away in Bow Street.

  ‘Susan!’ William scrambles to his feet and dismisses the clerk who escorted me to his office.

  William strides forward, extending his arms to draw me into an embrace, but I step back and stand rigid.

  ‘Susan? What’s wrong? You’re as white as milk.’

  ‘Someone’s following me.’ The words gush from my lips, and I fall to my knees.

  ‘Dearest, please, don’t distress yourself.’ He tries again to embrace me, but I resist. He holds out a hand to raise me to my feet. ‘Come. Have a seat. Tell me what troubles you so.’

  I dry my tears and stare across the desk, uncertain of where to begin.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says. ‘Why didn’t you answer my letter?’

  ‘There was no point. Not while other pressing matters beg your attention.’

  His brow furrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Miss Hurst.’ I cringe at the petulance in my tone.

  ‘Miss Hurst?’

  ‘For pity’s sake, your betrothed!’

  His frown evaporates, and he chuckles. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  His mirth fuels my anger. ‘I’ve met her, remember?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘The beautiful Miss Jane Hurst, at least fifteen years my junior, so it’s no wonder you prefer her to me. I trust the wedding plans are progressing well?’

  ‘They are. But they’re not my plans.’

  ‘The bride-to-be and her mother always take control of such matters.’

  William tilts his head to one side. ‘No, you don’t understand, I’m not involved at all.’

  I have no wish to consider the matter further and stare at my hands, wondering how to introduce the topic I came to discuss.

  ‘Jane’s not my betrothed.’

  I lift my head to look at him. ‘Why not? Did you break off the engagement?’

  ‘No. Miss Hurst is my brother’s fiancée.’

  I catch my breath. ‘You have a brother.’

  William nods. ‘Edward, and he’s chosen to settle at last.’

  We both fall silent. I’m processing his revelation while he must wonder at my misunderstanding.

  Eventually I break the silence. ‘I didn’t know you have a brother.’

  ‘Edward’s older than me. An officer in the Royal Navy. He’s put his wayward life behind him and become a gentleman of business instead. He’s much older than Miss Hurst but his boyish charm won her over, and probably his fortune too.’

  I hide my flaming face behind my fingers. ‘I’ve been such a fool. Please forgive me.’

  William smiles. ‘A little misunderstanding, nothing more.’

  I rise from the chair, my legs unsteady. William stands at the same time and comes around the desk towards me. Then we enjoy a fond reunion, clinging to one another as if our lives depend upon it.

  ‘Tell me, Susan, why did you come here today?’

  I release myself from his embrace and burden him with my troubles. He does not seem surprised that someone has been tailing me.

  ‘You’ve nothing to fear. From the description, I know who’s been watching you. He works for the magistrates. I’ll instruct him to intimidate you no more. And anyway, it’s not you who is of interest, it’s your husband.’

  ‘William, there’s something you should know.’ I look towards the door to check it’s still closed. ‘Arthur intends to murder members of the Cabinet.’

  William sighs. ‘We know.’

  A breath catches in my throat. ‘You do?’

  William pulls me to him. ‘Dear Susan, believe me when I say it won’t be long before we can be together.’

  I nuzzle against his shoulder, relishing the comfort of his protective embrace. ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘We know of Arthur’s plans. But, Susan, you mustn’t tell anyone else what you’ve heard, or things may not turn out as we hope.’

  ‘I don’t understand, William, how did you learn about Arthur’s intentions?’

  William holds me at arm’s length, and his lips part into a loving smile. ‘Because one of his closest allies is a spy.’

  Chapter 41

  Mrs Westcott’s cook baked a delicious cherry pie. The sweet-sour taste of preserved cherries is balanced by a generous quantity of sugar. The pastry is light and crumbly, and the syrupy juice laced with a hint of brandy. It’s by far the tastiest pie I have ever eaten, and I wonder if it would be disrespectful to request a second helping.

  ‘I’m thrilled you agreed to work on Jane’s dress.’ Mrs Westcott blots her mouth with a corner of the tablecloth. ‘There’s no finer needlewoman than you.’

  I smile at Jane before sipping tea from an elegant china cup. Something about the delicate floral pattern reminds me of the sugar bowl given to me by my mother.

  ‘What is it, dear? You look sad.’

  I force a smile. ‘I had a piece of china similar to this. Forget-me-nots rather than cornflowers, and it was only a sugar bowl but of great sentimental value.’

  ‘What happened to it?’ asks Jane.

  I hesitate, wondering how best to reply. ‘We were ready to emigrate to America, but things didn’t go according to plan. We boarded a ship, but because of unforeseen circumstances had to disembark and leave all our possessions in the cabin. My husband tried to get them back, but to no avail.’

  Jane’s eyes widen. ‘The ship sailed with your things still on board?’

  Mrs Westcott senses my discomfort. ‘A most unfortunate situation. Jane, dear, play a tune on the piano. Susan has a delightful singing voice; your mother and I would enjoy listening to you both perform.’

  Jane raises an enquiring eye. I smile. Singing will provide a welcome distraction from thoughts of Arthur’s antics.

  As Jane brings the last tune to a close, Mrs Westcott and Mrs Hurst applaud enthusiastically. A third pair of hands joins in, and my eyes dart towards the door. William meets my gaze with an intensity that sends a shiver through me.

  ‘Bravo,’ he says. ‘Best performance ever.’

  Mrs Hurst is all of a twitter. ‘Mrs Thistlewood, you must sing at Jane’s wedding.’

  Heat flares in my cheeks. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not a soloist. I’m more used to singing in a group.’

  William grins. ‘Mrs Thistlewood has friends who sing too. Perhaps a trio?’

  ‘Consider it,’ presses Mrs Hurst. ‘It would add an elegant touch to the celebration.’

  I won
der what I would wear for such a fine occasion. ‘I’ll speak to Beckey and Anna and ask if they’re willing.’

  Mrs Hurst claps her hands. ‘That’s settled then.’ She is obviously a woman accustomed to getting her own way.

  ‘I must go,’ I say, reaching for my reticule. ‘It’s been a pleasure to spend the afternoon with you. I’ll work on the embroidery over the next few weeks and send a message when I’ve finished. Then we’ll plan the final alterations.’

  ‘I hope to see you long before then, my dear,’ replies Mrs Westcott. ‘William will walk you home. It’ll be dark soon.’

  ‘Thank you, but it’s not far. I’m happy to go alone.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Mrs Westcott is as indignant as I thought she would be.

  A ripple of amusement crosses William’s face. He knows I would love nothing more than to return home with him as my escort.

  ‘I’ll be out a while, Mother. I have to call at Bow Street to finish a report for the court session tomorrow morning.’

  A maid helps me into my scarf and coat. When the front door opens, a bitter chill engulfs us. I step outside into the icy grip of winter, warmed by William’s presence. As soon as we turn the corner, he offers me his arm.

  ‘Is your husband home?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He keeps irregular hours and doesn’t always tell me his plans. We should part at Drury Lane in case someone recognises me.’

  William sighs. ‘I crave a few minutes alone with you.’

  ‘We can’t take the risk.’

  William stops and turns to me. ‘Come to Bow Street. If asked, I’ll say I’m interviewing you as a witness to a case, then we can enjoy privacy in an empty office upstairs. There won’t be any magistrates in today, and very few officers with it being a Sunday.’

  I squeeze his arm, then pull up my hood, then tilt my head forward to hide my face. I’m treading a dangerous path by associating with William, but my heart will not allow me to dismiss him from my life a second time.

  The officer at the main desk ignores us when we enter the building. I suppose he’s used to officers coming and going with all manner of companions. We climb the staircase and hurry to an office at the end of the corridor. Once inside, William kicks the door shut and pulls me close. In William’s arms, I feel safe.

  Heavy footsteps pound along bare wooden floorboards. We draw apart and scurry to the chairs placed on opposite sides of the table. I sit with my back towards the door.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ says a deep voice.

  William gives a curt nod. ‘I’m interviewing.’

  ‘Do you have to do it here? Can’t you go downstairs? I’ve reports to write.’

  ‘The case in question is of a rather delicate nature and strictly confidential. There are other offices you can use.’

  ‘I like this one,’ comes the gruff reply. ‘Get fewer interruptions this far along the corridor.’

  ‘Precisely,’ says William, fixing the unwelcome visitor with a hard stare.

  ‘Understood. I’ll leave you to it.’

  The door closes with a click. We both exhale.

  William waits for the sound of receding footsteps. ‘How are things at home, Susan?’

  With reluctance, I turn my mind to formal matters. ‘Much the same. Arthur is as volatile as ever. But I’m no longer being followed, thanks to your intervention.’

  ‘Does Arthur still hurt you?’

  I grip the fabric of my coat and crush it against my palms. A silence falls between us and I’m compelled to look at William. I can tell from his expression he knows what remains unsaid. Tears threaten. I close my eyes, blinking them away.

  ‘I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be supportive. He repulses me.’

  ‘Dearest, you must be strong. Arthur will do something wrong and we’ll catch him. We know his plans are evolving and he intends to set something in motion soon. When we know the details, and have evidence, he’ll be arrested and tried, and you will be free.’ William’s gaze is full of love. ‘Trust me, I will see that Arthur gets what he deserves.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  William tilts his head. ‘There is something you could do.’ He hesitates. ‘No. I shouldn’t ask it of you.’

  ‘Tell me.’ I wince at my petulance.

  A shake of the head.

  ‘William, please! Every day, it gets harder to endure Arthur’s attention.’

  ‘Well…’ He leans forward and neatens the edges of a pile of paper on the desk. ‘No, I can’t ask you. You’re in enough danger, and we have spies.’

  William has piqued my interest and I’m determined to hear his proposal.

  ‘Tell me! If there’s some way I can rid myself of my despicable husband, don’t I deserve to know?’

  William looks me in the eyes. There’s a sharpness I don’t recognise in his expression, an attitude he must reserve only for official matters.

  ‘The informants have done well to date, but none are close to Arthur. Not like you. As his wife, there are certain… moments when you might persuade him to confide ideas before he shares them with anyone else.’

  My cheeks flush, and I stare at my lap. I can’t believe what William is asking of me.

  ‘But you have men watching and listening at all of his meetings.’

  ‘Trouble is, he attends so many and we can’t be confident of having a spy at all of them. What if they’re absent the day he makes a crucial decision? If you can seduce him into talking, we’ll know his intentions sooner than we would otherwise and have more time to prepare for making an arrest.’

  ‘I’d have to convince Arthur of my devotion to him and his cause, and I’m not confident I can keep up the pretence.’

  William sits back in his chair. ‘It was a foolish idea, and wrong of me to suggest it. Forgive me.’

  There’s a pressure building behind my eyes. ‘I can try,’ I say, in little more than a whisper. ‘Every time I lie with him, a part of me dies.’

  ‘Then don’t, Susan.’

  ‘It’s my duty and I have no choice. I may as well turn an unpleasant situation into something useful. I’ll do as you ask.’

  ‘Dearest, you don’t have to, but I believe you have the courage to see it through.’

  ‘William, if I succeed at getting Arthur to confide in me, you can’t let them arrest me as a traitor. Protect me, please, because any support I offer Arthur is only for gathering information. Lives are at risk, and not by my choosing.’

  ‘I’ll protect you.’

  ‘When Arthur’s caught, what happens to us?’

  William rises from his chair and comes to my side of the desk. He takes my hands in his. ‘When you’re free of all ties to Arthur, the future will be ours for the taking.’

  ‘I can’t imagine growing old without you.’

  William raises my hands to his lips. ‘Nor I without you.’

  He helps me stand, and we say our farewells before leaving the office. I reach for the door handle, but William places his hand over mine.

  ‘I have a present for you,’ he says, withdrawing a package from inside his jacket. The brown paper and lilac ribbon tell me the gift is from Paternoster Row. ‘Open it.’

  I untie the ribbon and pull off the paper. ‘Northanger Abbey!’

  ‘Published only last year.’

  I stroke the blue-green marble pattern of the cover, then open it to peer inside. ‘The first volume of Northanger Abbey: and Persuasion.’

  William’s expression radiates happiness. ‘Considering our conversation, Persuasion seems apt.’

  For a fleeting moment, I wonder if William brought me here intending to recruit me to extract information from Arthur. I dismiss the idea and dust his cheek with delicate kisses.

  ‘I purchased all four volumes. You may have the next whenever you like, but do not risk Arthur’s suspicion by taking them all at once.’

  He’s right. If I arrive home with all four, Arthur will demand to know how I can afford such self-indulgence.r />
  William walks me to the corner of Russell Street and Drury Lane. The streets are quiet tonight. After scrutinising those who are braving the cold, we shelter in a doorway and press our lips together.

  ‘Susan,’ he says, cupping my face in his hands, ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you,’ I reply, warmed by the truth within my words.

  Our declarations of love linger in little white clouds, captured in time for a few brief moments.

  Chapter 42

  Mr Edwards sits opposite me at the table. Veal shrivels on the side of his plate. I’m half-tempted to reach over and spear the untouched meat with my fork. I can’t bear to see it go to waste.

  ‘Fetch the Madeira, Susan.’

  Arthur’s gravelly voice drags me back to the role of wife and hostess. Mr Edwards is staring at me and appears deep in contemplation. For a second or two, I wonder if he’s a spy in Arthur’s network, but then dismiss the idea as a foolish notion. Mr Edwards has been flinging around proposals with the zeal of a fanatic and even advocated the use of violence. A spy wouldn’t suggest such radical ideas, would they?

  ‘Susan, the Madeira?’ Arthur’s tone betrays frustration.

  ‘Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.’

  ‘What important matter takes your attention from your husband and guest?’

  ‘I was reflecting on your conversation about how best to turn the government for the benefit of the people.’