The Second Mrs Thistlewood Read online

  ‘Is that so? And what do you conclude?’

  I stare at Arthur’s mean face. ‘You’re not there yet. The ideal solution remains elusive.’

  He acknowledges my reply with a grunt. Mr Edwards conceals a smile behind his fingers. I look back at Arthur and raise my eyebrows just a fraction. He knows the Madeira bottle holds only a glassful for each man and gives the slightest hint of a nod to acknowledge my concerns. As I rise from the table, the gentlemen stand, and Arthur proposes they move to the armchairs by the fire. This is a clever ruse because while I pour the Madeira, I will have my back towards Mr Edwards, concealing the fact we have little available to share. I hope Arthur has a plan to avoid a request for a refill.

  I select two small glasses and drain the bottle into them. When I turn to carry the glasses to Arthur and Mr Edwards, I become rooted to the floor. Mr Edwards has a large knife in his hand. Arthur’s eyes sparkle as he takes the weapon and turns it one way then the other, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the blade. Mr Edwards looks at me and smiles. There’s no warmth in his expression, but it’s enough to prompt me to pass him a wine glass. Arthur gestures for his to go on a small side table.

  ‘Well?’ says Mr Edwards.

  ‘Needs sharpening.’

  Mr Edwards pulls a small block from his bag. ‘Use this.’

  Arthur runs the cutting edge of the knife against the stone, first pressing with one side of the metal, then the other. The shrill scraping sets me on edge. Arthur holds the knife near the candle and squints at it. Mr Edwards leans forward, eager for Arthur’s approval. Arthur smiles, then turns his eyes on me. Two things leave me cold. First, he’s aroused by the prospect of plunging the knife into another man. Second, I detect a darkness in his soul, more evil than anything I’ve seen before. I have an overwhelming urge to run away from home but must resist and make myself useful to William and the magistrates of Bow Street.

  ‘Ready?’ Arthur drains his glass and slams it on the table as a statement to Mr Edwards that the time for drinking wine has passed.

  Mr Edwards gives his empty glass to me.

  ‘We’d better hurry,’ says Arthur. ‘Tonight, we appoint a special executive committee and swear in George as one of the five members.’

  ‘An executive committee. Plans must be progressing if you need such formal appointments.’

  Arthur makes a show of kissing me on my cheek. ‘Thanks to George and his connections, we’re ready to arm our soldiers.’

  Mr Edwards appears uncomfortable at this revelation. ‘Come, Arthur. They’ll be waiting at the White Lion. First round of drinks is on me.’

  I wait over thirty minutes before dragging on my coat and heading out into the frosty night. When I arrive at Bow Street, I pull up my hood and cover my mouth with my scarf, then enter the warm building and approach the duty officer. I give him the note with William’s name written on the outer surface and an old-fashioned wax seal to deter curious eyes from peering at the contents.

  ‘I’ll put it on his desk ready for tomorrow morning,’ the officer says with a kind smile.

  I curse the fact William’s not working late tonight. If someone overheard Arthur and his men discussing their plans, there might be sufficient grounds for arrest. I mumble my thanks and hurry back into the chill night air. I consider calling at William’s mother’s house, but then I might stay too long. After watching Arthur with the knife and seeing the effect it had on him, I suspect he won’t stay out late tonight. And I need to see Anna before I return home.

  I push my fingertips into Arthur’s knotted shoulder muscles.

  ‘Did all go well at the meeting?’ My voice sounds casual yet caring.

  ‘Reasonably. We have fresh ideas that are a vast improvement on previous ones. Now it’s a matter of getting the timing right.’

  ‘What do you propose to do?’

  Arthur doesn’t reply. His muscles tighten beneath my fingertips, and I know I must act fast if I’m to learn the details. I clench my jaw and glance at the clock. Eight minutes until the clock strikes ten.

  ‘Arthur, I’m proud of you,’ I say, sliding onto his lap.

  I register his surprise as I drape my right arm across the back of his shoulders and trace the line of his jaw with my left index finger. I adjust my position, moving my face close to his so we breathe the same air. His pupils widen, opening windows into the black depths of his soul. I force myself to stay there, feigning love and lust. This is for William. For England. For me.

  ‘I’ve always admired your commitment, but the recent steps you’ve taken show incredible determination. I’m in awe and believe you to be General of the most important army ever created. When I watched you with that knife in your hand, I saw a warrior within you. It’s an honour to be your wife.’

  My words have the required effect and his arousal throbs against my thigh.

  I stand and lift my skirts to straddle him. As I settle astride his lap, Arthur gasps. I close my eyes, unable to look at him as our lips touch.

  I rub my cheek against his. ‘So, tell me, General, what will you command your army to do?’

  Arthur nuzzles my neck. ‘First, we’ll get the attention of members of the Cabinet by attacking Coutts bank. Second, we’ll set fire to a few buildings, although we’ve yet to decide which ones.’

  I play with the buttons on his pantaloons, pressing my palm against the straining flesh beneath the fabric. ‘Targets that affect the ministers personally. Clever thinking.’

  Arthur catches his breath.

  ‘Then what?’ I shift position, rubbing myself against him, teasing him with the promise of more.

  ‘Then we seize the Tower.’

  ‘Will you succeed this time?’

  ‘With better planning, I’m sure we will.’

  I raise myself a little so he can free himself from the confines of his clothing, then lean forward until our noses touch. ‘I sense something great will happen.’

  Arthur places his hands on my hips, but I keep my stance. I want him to think his grand ideas stimulate me as much as they arouse him.

  ‘Tell me more,’ I mouth, before clenching my top teeth against my bottom lip.

  The clock strikes the hour. I hold my breath.

  He smiles. ‘When ministers gather for a formal dinner, we’ll storm the building and assassinate them.’

  He studies my face for a reaction. My insides are churning and I’m trying to shut out images of mutilated bodies, but I feign surprise while concealing my abhorrence of such a plan. His grip on my hips tightens and my leg muscles ache from resisting his pull. One minute after ten.

  ‘And then?’ My voice is thick with fear. Arthur interprets it as encouragement.

  ‘Then you’ll become the wife of a key member of a provisional government.’

  ‘Goodness.’

  The ticking of the clock marks out my hesitation. My legs tremble. I have no choice but to lower myself on to him.

  Frantic knocking at the front door.

  ‘Ignore it,’ says Arthur, grasping my wrist. His fingernails dig deep and tear my skin.

  More knocking. Loud. Persistent.

  ‘We should see who it is.’ I press my fist hard into his belly, winding him. ‘They sound desperate.’

  ‘Come back here,’ he snarls. ‘Finish what you started.’

  ‘Arthur, it might be someone for you. Perhaps there’s a problem with one of your soldiers, or maybe your plans have reached the wrong ears.’

  ‘No!’ He springs to his feet and adjusts his clothing. I get to the door first and fling it open.

  ‘Mrs Thistlewood?’ A man stands on the doorstep, twisting a cap in his hands. He has a serious frown. ‘Anna sent me. Please come with me. It’s an emergency, and Anna said you’d know what to do.’

  I turn towards Arthur. He won’t refuse such a request in front of another man.

  ‘Probably little George,’ I say. ‘His breathing has deteriorated of late.’

  Arthur pretends charm
for our surprise caller. ‘Hurry! Go! Anna’s a dear friend.’

  I reach for my cloak and leave Arthur standing in the doorway while I hurry along the road with Anna’s neighbour. I allow myself an indulgent smile. Now I know the basis of Arthur’s plot.

  Anna was as good as her word, and the plan worked.

  1820

  Chapter 43

  The stench of burnt cabbage destroys my concentration. After placing a ribbon to mark my place, I close the cover on Northanger Abbey: and Persuasion volume two. Acrid smoke curls from the rim of the cooking pot and makes my eyes water. I leap up from the chair and regret it instantly. At work, I spent most of the day standing, and now my feet are paying for it.

  Grasping a cloth, I lift the pot away from the fire. The blackened remains cling to the bottom, forming a thick rim around a hole in the base. How could I have not noticed it was burning? I throw open a window, inviting frosty air into the kitchen. All is quiet in the shared back yard, the air temperature plummeting towards freezing. I hobble outside to draw water and grimace as my palm sticks to the icy metal handle of the pump.

  I set a second pot of water over the heat and wait for it to come to a boil, then add the remaining cabbage which I’d saved for tomorrow. An ice-cold draught creeps through the kitchen. I can’t afford the temperature of our home to drop too far or it will take many hours to rewarm. With a heavy sigh, I shut the window.

  ‘Susan?’

  I secure a stray lock of hair beneath my cap and rush into the hall to greet Arthur. My stomach clenches. Mr Edwards is with him.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention you were bringing a guest?’ I help Arthur out of his winter coat and hang it on the stand.

  ‘We have reason to celebrate,’ says Mr Edwards, presenting me with a large flagon of porter.

  ‘Is that so?’ I accept Mr Edwards’ gift with my free hand. ‘And what’s the occasion?’

  ‘I’ll tell you over dinner,’ says Arthur. ‘Is it ready?’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Then we’ll wait in the parlour and continue our discussion.’

  ‘Very well. The food is nothing elaborate.’

  ‘We haven’t eaten for eight hours, so I’ll be grateful for anything,’ says Mr Edwards.

  I withdraw to the kitchen to stare at near-empty shelves and the meagre offerings in the pot and on the table. The men will have to make do with ham, yesterday’s bread and boiled cabbage. I will have nothing.

  ‘What’s this?’ Arthur wrinkles his nose as I deliver the plates to the table.

  ‘I worked an extra couple of hours for Mrs Hooper and could find nothing fresh so late in the day.’ I turn towards Mr Edwards. ‘Please accept my apologies, but this is the best I can offer.’

  ‘Fine by me. A glass of porter or two to wash it down and my belly will be full.’

  Something about his acceptance of the situation endears me to him a little. I pour three glasses of porter and take my seat at the table.

  ‘You’re not eating,’ observes Arthur, before taking a large bite from a hunk of bread.

  ‘I’ve no appetite.’ My stomach makes a soft gurgling sound and I pray they cannot hear it. ‘I’ll eat later. Tell me the news, Arthur.’

  ‘Time passes too fast, Susan. We’re already in a new year and have yet to wound the government. But today, we took a great step forward.’

  Mr Edwards looks smug, and I address my next question to him. ‘And what have you achieved?’

  ‘The time to act is almost here. We’ll target each Cabinet minister in a coordinated strike, taking them by surprise in their homes.’

  Arthur stretches across the table to reach for the flagon. His jacket falls open, revealing the smooth wooden handle of his knife. It’s a shocking reminder that these men are not playing at being soldiers. They intend to kill.

  ‘Do you know where the ministers live?’

  Arthur nods. ‘They make no secret of their addresses.’

  ‘But what of their families?’ Images of blood-soaked bodies pour through my imagination.

  Arthur gives a reassuring smile. ‘We don’t want to kill any wives or children, but it’s inevitable one or two innocent family members will get caught up in the affray. Be comforted knowing they will not lose their lives in vain.’

  I want to yell at him, chastise him for his nonsense, but I dare not. ‘And when will this occur?’

  Mr Edwards answers. ‘Soon. We haven’t decided on a specific date. We need the right foot soldiers for a coordinated attack. And more weapons, although I have that in hand.’

  ‘And afterwards? What then?’

  ‘Do you recall a fellow by the name of Watson? We were in court together.’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘We visited Dr Watson today. The circumstances of our meeting were difficult, because a prison’s not the best location to discuss plans. But we’ve prepared a proclamation and drawn it up with Watson’s help. As soon as the deed is done, we’ll appoint a provisional government and summon a meeting of representatives.’

  I meet Arthur’s gaze. ‘You’re sure this will work? And serious about seeing it through?’

  Arthur takes a swig of porter, then wipes his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Deadly serious.’

  After another busy day at Mrs Hooper’s, I hobble home with Anna by my side, the pair of us cursing the early start of this year’s London season. I hoped to have finished the embroidery on Miss Hurst’s dress by now, but progress is slow because I’m tired in the evenings and straining my eyes with fatigue and poor candlelight.

  ‘I spoke to Beckey about singing at the wedding,’ says Anna, as if reading my thoughts. ‘She’s keen to perform.’

  My heart sinks. ‘How can I refuse when you two are so willing to oblige?’

  ‘Susan, it’s an opportunity to get involved with something positive and happy. Winter is a miserable season. An early spring wedding is just what we need to lift our spirits.’

  I let out a frustrated groan. ‘I’m so far behind with the embroidery.’

  ‘Let me help. We can work together.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘It will be a pleasure. Mary King can take care of George while I help you. He’s developed a surprising fondness for her.’

  ‘Remarkable, how much she’s changed.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I can’t imagine how I’d cope without her now. Shall we meet for a few hours on Sunday, to work on the dress?’

  ‘That will be perfect. Thank you, Anna.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure. You’d do the same for me. Ask Beckey to join us. I’m sure she’d do a little dusting while we sew. We could practise a song or two while we work.’

  I turn to look at my friend, and she beams at me, her brown eyes twinkling.

  ‘I’ll ask,’ I say, laughing.

  We link arms and quicken our pace as a flurry of snowflakes flutters around us.

  Chapter 44

  ‘The king’s dead! Died last night.’

  I pause, a small cube of sugar-coated raspberry jelly pinched between my thumb and forefinger. I stare at the butcher’s boy. His eyes are wide, his shirt spotted with blood. There’s an air of excitement about him, and I imagine him running from one shop to another, spreading the news like a contagion. I pop the sweetmeat into my mouth, taking care not to chew it.

  ‘God rest his soul.’ Mrs Hooper crosses herself, then reaches for the appointment book. ‘Susan, I’ll need your diplomacy for this. Postpone as many appointments as you can. For the next few days we must focus on mourning dresses for the courtiers who bless us with their patronage.’

  News of King George’s passing comes as no surprise. It’s common knowledge he was unwell in body and mind, hence his son ruling as Prince Regent for nine years. I expect our new king will notice no difference when he transforms from regent to king, although he’ll demand a lavish coronation. He’s renowned for self-indulgence and extravagance. I replenish the dish of jellies, then turn my attention to the appointments book and begin w
riting polite notes of cancellation in my neatest hand.

  The shop is all of a flutter. King George’s funeral will be a state occasion, and our workload will more than double. Anna gives us each a length of black lace to wear as an armband, then organises an assault on near-finished pieces to ensure they’re completed to the usual high standard. Mrs Hooper leaves the shop in a hurry to buy as much black fabric as she can find before other drapers and dressmakers hear the news. Meanwhile, the rest of us rearrange furniture, clean worktops and tidy shelves.

  Mrs Hooper knows her clientele well. By midday, eight ladies wait their turn to place orders.

  Arthur is in a celebratory mood. ‘The king’s death couldn’t have happened at a more convenient time.’

  It troubles me he’s full of glee discussing a death. ‘How does it help you, Arthur?’

  ‘With the funeral arrangements in place and a general election looming, there will be official dinners bringing Cabinet ministers together, and some venues will be easy to infiltrate.’

  ‘Yesterday’s newspaper said the economy’s strengthening again. Is action still appropriate?’ I yearn for freedom and don’t want Arthur’s plan to lose momentum.

  Arthur’s eyes narrow to slits. ‘It is. The situation is improving, but for the working classes life is still a struggle. Their lives are governed by men with deep pockets and no comprehension of the plight of the common man. Come, Susan, you know this.’

  ‘I do, Arthur. I was making sure you’ve not lost sight of the reasons for the fight. Isn’t it important to review plans and question motives to ensure we make the best decisions?’

  Arthur puts his arms around my waist. ‘There was a time when I doubted your loyalty, Susan. It pleases me to have your full support. You’re right; we should always consider the repercussions of every decision taken. The last thing we need on our consciences is a list of poor choices.’