“Ada, she was…caught in flagrante with Mr Wentworth by the servant delivering news of the deaths of Mr Wentworth’s brothers.” He squeezed shut his eyes as he tried to eradicate the image. “She’d been cuckolding her husband for nearly half a year before he died. She had every reason to wish him dead.”
Ada looked up, confused. “But you said she didn’t kill him.”
“Her hand was around the paper knife. That’s what Phoebe admitted, in court. That’s what will convict her.”
“Yes, but he forced her.” Ada looked angry. “You clearly do not know Mr Wentworth as I do. He could persuade anyone of anything, though in this case, I’ve no doubt he used brute force. He is a master of manipulation, a bully.” Her voice was rising now, and Hugh put an arm about her to hush her distress, but she pulled away and went to stand before the fire. “I know how dangerous he is, and I thought you did too.” Her expression was both pitying and angry. “Oh, Hugh, how dare you insinuate that there is a particle of blame to be attached to poor Phoebe.”
“She lied, Ada. She lied to her husband; she lied to me, and she lied to you.”
Ada put her hands on her hips, her expression combative. “Do you think I didn’t lie to you when I had my secret assignations with Wentworth? Do you think we’re all as holy as you are, Hugh? Who have never had to utter a lie in your life because you’ve always been so safe and protected? Partly because you’re a man, and everything has turned out well for you, so that you only have to play the knight in shining armor and you’ll always look so much better than everyone else?”
“I don’t believe she should die for it if that’s what you mean,” he answered hotly.
“Well, that’s good! I don’t either, and the fact that it was due to my request that she even got caught and is where she is now is…intolerable!” Ada was breathing fast now. After a long silence, she said, “So what are you going to do about it, Hugh?”
He stared. “Do about it? What can I do about it? She’ll learn her fate tomorrow, though God knows I’d do anything to spare her life.”
“Because you love her, or because you don’t think she deserves to die…despite the fact that she lied to you, and you can’t bear the idea of thinking that the same woman who gave herself to Wentworth could give herself to you?” Ada let out a strangled cry of frustration. “You men are all the same. You have no idea that a woman is completely dependent upon the goodness of the men who surround them. You’re exactly the same, Hugh. You have this unrealistic notion of what ‘good’ is all about. The only reason I met Wentworth secretly was because you prevented me from seeing him! You were so terrified I’d be enticed after I hinted at my feelings for him after you met him at the Assembly. Perhaps I’d not have been so intent on defying you if had you not been so determined to protect your innocent sister.”
“Good Lord, Ada!”
She shrugged. “The folly of youth. What have been your follies? Just because I’m a woman, I’m allowed so little latitude, and sometimes we women chafe at the restrictions imposed by the men on whom they are dependent—even when those men have only the very best of intentions. But now I’m straying from the subject.”
“Indeed you are.” Hugh felt uncomfortable.
“You agree with the magistrate that Phoebe should be punished for ‘lying’ though you think a death sentence is a little harsh? Well, Hugh, if you are sincere about enforcing good, then you just need to get Phoebe out of there. Rescue her,” she added when he looked at her blankly.
“How on earth am I to do that?” Hugh watched Ada’s bent head and furrowed brow and felt his desperation rise.
He moved forward to put his hands on Ada’s shoulders and tipped her face up to his. “Ada, do you think I’d really scorn Phoebe like that?” He shook his head. “I’ve had to confront so much about myself and the way I treated her since Phoebe went missing. At first, I assumed she’d left me, having little regard for anything other than feathering her nest as best she could and having had a better offer. I forced myself to be angry with her as it lessened the pain.”
Ada stroked his shoulder. “I know, Hugh,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry if I wasn’t as sympathetic as I should have been. I thought the same as you.”
“And then when I learned that Phoebe had been pretending to be someone else the whole time she’d been with me, that was hard enough. When I saw her as notorious Lady Cavanaugh, and that not a soul stood up to defend her, I could only wonder why she’d never told me the truth at least. What else had she to hide? I assumed she was at least in part guilty, and I felt anger; I admit it.”
“But you were persuaded otherwise? I hope so, Hugh, because I can assure you that if Wentworth had any hand in it—as, of course, he does—then Phoebe was the blameless victim. Wentworth gains his power through manipulating others.”
Hugh dropped his hands and leaned against the mantelpiece. “How on earth am I to help her, Ada?”
Ada shrugged. “How on earth do I know?” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Tomorrow, Wentworth will say his piece, and that’ll put the final nail in her coffin.”
“Wentworth!” Hugh started at the name, glancing up in sudden excitement. “That’s it, Ada! Yes, we know Phoebe was framed or manipulated by Wentworth. And when she went to this house of…introduction you mentioned in order to find evidence to help your case he was there, and she was caught. But what other secrets might be learned here at this….?”
“Madam Plumb’s Salon of Sin,” Ada supplied as her lips curved into a smile. “You’re right, Hugh. I have no idea if you’ll find anything, but at least it’s something you can do. Wentworth’s wife is there. She may be able to help you. Testify against her husband, perhaps.”
He sighed. “I don’t know about that but I know I certainly won’t sleep. Not now that at least I’m offered this kernel of hope.” He shook himself out of his lethargy and said with renewed energy, “You’re right, Ada. It’s the best I can try: to find Mrs Wentworth and make her talk.” He strode toward the door. “I must change.”
“And you must go in disguise, Hugh. That’s what everyone does, I believe. And I’ll whisper the address. Even saying the name makes me blush with shame.”
There was nothing out of the ordinary about the house. It stood four-square and respectable by a neat square park surrounded by wrought iron railings. For ten minutes, Hugh sat in his carriage and watched the front door. Some arrivals came with loud, confident companions while others, wearing masks and veils, were more furtive.
He pulled his mask down over his eyes and squared his shoulders. What had
seemed a bold and daring mission now seemed fraught with disappointment.
The truth was, what could he possibly learn that would help Phoebe? Wentworth’s story was not just plausible, it had not been contested, and not a single person had stepped up to defend the woman he loved. Every member of the late Lord Cavanaugh’s household and all of Wentworth’s retainers had vouched for their respective masters, declaring it easy to believe the worst of Phoebe.
After gaining admittance and being ushered down a narrow hallway to a suite of reception rooms, Hugh had already decided his greatest chance lay in speaking to Wentworth’s wife. She was a dancer, a vestal virgin, he now knew, called Ariane, though he was sure that a woman working in this establishment did not restrict her repertoire to simply dancing.